He refused to remember. But he’d been refusing to remember for a long time now. And after yesterday’s article?
The piece had celebrated his ʻsainted’ father before speculating and comparing his disparate sons’ lives yet again. Ash still couldn’t fathom how his father had been held in such high esteem for so long. Even after Ash had exposed Hugh Castle’s cheating soul to the world by providing Leo with a DNA sample to prove he was Hugh’s illegitimate son, his old man’s other successes had overridden any punishment he should have faced. Hugh had been miraculously forgiven not just by his beloved ‘society circles’, but by the media and court of public opinion too. Even though the lying old jerk had spent years denying Leo’s birthright, years destroying Leo’s mother’s reputation.
Who could blame Hugh for a few transgressions when he’d suffered the heartbreak of a dying wife for so long?
As though his father were the victim. Empathetic explanations were offered and forgiveness assured. But not by Ash. Never by him. The falsity of it all was something he couldn’t forget. Indeed, the abbreviation of his name was apt. Because all Ash could offer were the acrid, smoking remnants of what had once been. And all he wanted to do was destroy what was left of his father’s legacy. For him this place on Waiheke Island was the core—the most obvious construct of his father’s deceit. It was the ultimate symbol of his father’s ability to build over the truth with nothing but a fabrication of perfection.
That article had forced all those feelings up and he’d finally come to face the poisonous betrayal of his father’s last actions. To say his final, bitter goodbye so he could forget it all for ever. To finish it, so Leo didn’t need to trouble. But his capable half-brother had already stepped in. He’d hired Merle Jordan to sort out the vast personal collections that had been dumped here in the aftermath of their father’s death. Was there any need for Ash to stay here at all?
Bitterness and an acrid sense of futility swamped him—scouring off the old scab and exposing the raw wound he’d been hiding for years. He’d been helpless the last time he was here, too—watching his desperately unwell mother. Disappointing her beyond redemption. But there was one last thing he needed to do for her—despite his inability to ever secure her forgiveness. And that task wasn’t right for a stranger’s hands—not even the soft, light, careful hands of the archivist standing before him. It was a job only for Ash. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. He had enough regrets regarding his mum already. So he had to stay for a day or so at least to accomplish this last for her—he’d go through her things and dispose of them himself.
Like most people, Ash infinitely preferred pleasure to pain. And the memories he couldn’t restrain now were the worst of his life. So what else could he do but glance again at the welcome radiance of his initially unwanted housemate?
The luscious Merle Jordan’s hair was still mostly tied up in that messy pile while a few wispy curls lingered from the damp heat of the bath. She wore not an ounce of make-up but her pouty lips were a tantalising pink and her eyes were like dark pools in secret caves—their depth indeterminable, possibly dangerous, but still so damn inviting. His senses begged him to step closer, to stare deeper, to touch and discover if she was as soft and yielding as she looked. Sex had always been an escape and he needed escape more than anything in this bitterest of returns.
‘I’m hungry, Merle.’ He couldn’t resist voicing his thoughts.
Her eyes widened and he could’ve sworn the pulse at the base of her neck fluttered faster.
‘Is there anything delicious to eat?’ he added lazily, unable to resist the pleasure of watching her react to such a very little tease.
She swallowed. ‘Um...’
‘Or do I have to find that out for myself as well?’
He suppressed the smirk at her visible flare of irritation.
‘There’s...’ Her voice faded away.
‘Not much?’ he gathered drily, wondering how much more it would take to provoke the real response he just knew she was thinking.
Her expression turned mutinous. Her lashes fluttering her eyes a direct stare into his pitiful soul.
‘Didn’t you bring anything with you?’
He smiled. It was the slightest of stands with a hint of scorn. She thought he was spoiled and, yes, that was exactly what he was. He’d make no apologies for it or for any of his other faults. But he liked that tiny glimpse of her spirit. He wanted to see more of it. More of her—all over.
Frankly, he didn’t expect to have all kinds of appetites roused here and now.
But as he gazed at her, suffering her wide-eyed scrutiny, something else tugged inside him. A very small desire to do a little better. He abruptly turned and stalked to the kitchen. But he was keenly aware of her following him with that intriguingly subversive look barely hidden in her expression.
Once there, he scoped the shelves, but there were limited signs of her presence. In the fridge there was a single block of cheese. On one shelf in the pantry there were a few small tins of fish, a couple of packets of instant noodles and a box of crackers. Just looking at her pathetic supplies made his stomach rumble.
‘What do you exist on?’ he grumbled, glancing over to where she stood on the other side of the large kitchen counter, primly holding her hands together and pursing her very kissable lips.
‘I have sufficient supplies.’
‘Sufficient?’ he echoed drily. ‘How sad. Why have merely sufficient when you can have satisfying?’
Colour tinged her cheeks again. He couldn’t resist acting up the outrageousness he knew she expected from him. She thought he was an irresponsible playboy? He was quite happy to perform if it meant he kept seeing her blush.
‘Instant noodles.’ He groaned. They weren’t even decent flavours.
‘They’re delicious.’
‘I prefer my noodles hand-pulled and fresh.’ He knew he sounded awful, but it was too much to keep from pulling another eye-roll from her. He poked through the tins and came across a small stack of individual steamed puddings—complete with caramel sauce. They were little single-serve tubs to go in the microwave.
‘Oh, here we go.’ He glanced at her slyly. ‘So you’re not afraid to spoil yourself in secret?’
Of course she wasn’t. Hadn’t he just caught her indulging in a luxurious candle-lit bubble bath while sipping over-priced champagne? She had a decadent, sensual streak.
She stared at him, those eyes widened in shock. Then he saw her chin tilt.
‘You want to eat my little dessert?’ Her voice was impossibly breathy.
No. He wanted to eat her. And they both knew it. He stared at her, stilled by the glimpse of steel in her eyes. And of heat.