I love you.
The press of his mouth on hers was hard, his lips compressed. Merle arched her neck, taking the almost bruising weight and then pushed back—with a softening of her own lips, with the slide of her tongue. She heard a choked sound in the back of his throat as he relented and released his hold on himself. And she stole in—all loving, passionate strokes. Warmth flowed, relief flooded in. Touching him like this? Feeling his rising response? Her heart soared. Love in a kiss. Love in a wordless, honest gift—
That he suddenly tore free from. He stared down at her, his breathing heavy. But he said nothing.
Reality slammed into her. She was never going to see him again. And she was angry with him for making her think even for a moment that she could have had more. That she could even dare ask for more. She went back to gripping the back of the damned deckchair. For support. To stop herself from following him and crying. From throwing herself in front of that damned helicopter in lovelorn desperation. To squeeze tightly to ride through the wave of pain as he turned and strode across that perfect tennis court that he despised.
They could’ve been more. They could have had more. They could have had everything that mattered. He couldn’t see that. He completely disagreed.
Which had to mean that she’d been wrong.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ASH STRIVED TO stay busy, setting himself a hellfire week of work. He read reports, organised face-to-face meetings, inspected new prospects. But whenever he thought he’d found the sweet relief of pure focus, an image flashed into his mind—a shot of her in the pool, the gleam in her eye at a mid-play move of a board game, a portrait of her smile. Stills that switched the rest of the world off, meaning he could see only that moment, feel again the ripple of pleasure...only to suffer a tearing ache the milli-second he realised it was a mere mirage. His sadistic mind spasmodically tortured him with emotion-drenched memories that were too deep and good to be real. And he couldn’t shut it off.
By midweek, he’d decided he’d reflect. Maybe if he remembered it all, if he methodically thought over every interaction, of every day, he could then compartmentalise it into his mental history box and move forward. But remembering made his skin burn hot and then goosebump. It made that tearing ache in his chest rip even wider. It made his breathing uneven and restlessness surge. He closed his eyes and willed for some perspective.
He wasn’t missing her.
Maybe he could class it as a warped holiday romance? That—particularly given the location—he’d succumbed to a complicated set of sensations. He’d sought physical escape from the horrible recollections and unhappiness of discovering how fundamentally the property had been changed...and the switch from misery to delight had been so intense he’d attributed more meaning to the pleasure he’d felt with her. The problem with that classification was the disservice to Merle. She was much more than a distraction. She was much more than someone he’d had good sex with. She was more than a moment in time.
By the end of the week he’d realised that yes, he missed her. With every breath, every beat of his heart, he ached with loss. Beneath that, a feral anger prowled deep, growing exponentially bigger. She didn’t contact him. He didn’t contact her. It had to be finished. It was for her benefit. And this misery he felt now, he deserved. Because she deserved more than him—in every way.
He hated who he was. Not good enough. Not committed enough. He would inevitably let her down. Better now than in the future though, when it would only be worse.
But her words—that declaration—tormented him.
Ask me for all my firsts...
On the Saturday following his return to Sydney, Ash arranged a brief meeting with his half-brother. There were issues that had been outstanding for too long, and somehow catching up with him felt more important than it ever had.
Leo was impeccably on time, of course. His starched white shirt hurt Ash’s jaded, sleep-deprived eyes. His half-brother was a half-inch shorter, neater and more legitimate-looking with his short hair and sharply fitted suit. So incredibly serious. There was only a glimmer of a smile in his eyes as he joined Ash at the waterfront cafe for a coffee. It had been a few weeks since they’d last caught up. Their interactions were mostly via messages, and mostly they only discussed heavy decisions regarding the business.
‘You’ve been keeping well?’ Leo’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Ash and took the seat alongside him.
The fact Leo had asked meant Ash knew he must look like death.
‘Yeah. Fine.’ Ash coughed the rasp from his throat and moved straight to business. ‘Thanks for arranging the archival work on Waiheke.’
Leo studied him impassively. ‘Have you considered the options for the property?’
Yes. Decisions needed to be made. It wasn’t fair on either of his half-siblings to drag out the process any longer. They’d already divided the proceeds from the other personal properties three ways. ‘I can’t sell that one. If you and Grace agree, I’d like to buy you out.’
He didn’t actually need their consent—the house was his. But he wanted to do right by them.
‘You want to keep the beach house in New Zealand?’ Leo didn’t look surprised. ‘Fine by me.’
Ash breathed out. He already knew Grace wouldn’t object. She’d been so appalled to discover her true lineage last year that she’d said she didn’t want anything from the estate at all. Ash didn’t blame her for that anger. But he refused to let her give up all of her claim. He’d transfer her share to her—what she then did with it was her choice.
As for the beach house? Selling it no
