It turned out Hugh Castle had been old-school—keeping an extensive collection of everything from business files to correspondence, to orders of service from state functions, to menus from society weddings, to feature articles—mostly about himself. It wasn’t surprising. The man had been massively successful. She labelled each item and inputted the details into the database she’d set up. But she still couldn’t help thinking about his eldest son just outside. Reportedly, the cause of the division between Hugh and Ash had been Ash’s wild lifestyle—all reckless partying and playboy rebellion. But Ash had forged his own success through high finance and venture capital—risky deals that had paid off. He had the gift.
Of course he did.
When Hugh died a year ago there’d been speculation regarding who’d inherit the vast estate—the wayward acknowledged son or the illegitimate son Hugh had refused to recognise. Ash had notoriously declined anything and everything to do with his father for years, yet even so it had stunned people to see Leo, the son Hugh had always denied, taking over the management of the flagship property company Castle Holdings.
Merle’s own curiosity burgeoned, exacerbated by the physicality of the man outside the window. Why had Leo, not Ash, taken over? In a flash of weakness she typed his name into an online search engine—but it was the images that caught her attention. As she scrolled down the never-ending expanse of photos her stomach knotted. There were brunettes, blondes, redheads, women with long hair, bobs or elfin crops, thin and curvy and everything in between... The only thing they had in common was their smug, ‘look at me’ smiles. Merle sharply inhaled, staving off the acidic emotion. Surely she wasn’t jealous?
Apparently Ash Castle had dated a huge, eclectic number of women over the last decade. Of course he had—wasn’t it ‘one night’ only for him? Indeed, rarely did one woman feature in more than a few shots. Yet, while they all wore that satisfied smile, the look in his eyes didn’t reflect the same. The gleam wasn’t desire, more like resentment, and in many he’d raised his hand to block the blinding flash or push away the paparazzi blocking his path. The photos went back years, documenting a familiarity with a party lifestyle Merle hadn’t experienced. She didn’t want to. She liked her life as it was—safe.
She shut down the web browser. The pointless search hadn’t assuaged her fascination. If anything, she was more curious. Ash didn’t just operate in a different world, but a whole other stratosphere. She glanced again at the family photo on the mantlepiece in the study. He stood between his parents in front of the beach. He looked about ten in the picture, but his eyes were unmistakable. Merle thought it interesting that, despite their estrangement, Hugh Castle had put this one personal picture pride of place in his holiday home.
She glanced out of the window and saw Ash swimming yet more lengths. Envy rippled over her. The afternoon heat had seeped into the study but she couldn’t open the doors the way she had earlier in the week. Not with Ash only yards away and her determined to remain invisible. But it would have been nice to take a dip. Instead, she adjusted the air conditioning so it basically blasted ice at her.
Once she was finished here she’d sneak up to her suite for the evening. The room upstairs was opulent with a comfortable study area and balcony overlooking the pool and the bay, so she could hardly complain about being stuck in there. But she felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of the luxurious home cinema she’d spotted on her first day with its vast digital library. Tonight had been going to be her movie night—after Friday night’s champagne bath pamper treat. She’d been looking forward to working out that fancy popcorn machine... Yet suddenly the fantasy scrolling through her head like some romance movie was of her curling up on that amazing lounge suite and watching a movie with Ash Castle...
Fool. That wouldn’t be a romance, but a tragedy. Or, worse, a mockumentary. A prank plot line where the out-of-her-league girl thinks the perfect guy has become genuinely interested in her. It would end with her as the punchline. Again. She’d been humiliated by a perfect-looking popular guy once before and she wasn’t up for a repeat. Those guys knew they were attractive, and they got it too easy, so they got bored and played games. Cruel ones. She knew, she’d been the target. So that fantasy bubble could just pop and disappear for good.
Besides, Ash Castle wasn’t perfect. He was a playboy. The type she’d been warned about all of her life by her super-strict grandmother—though truthfully, her grandmother had warned her about all men, and to be wary of her own desires. It was from her mother’s experience that Merle knew the heat-of-the-moment temptation a man like Ash could inspire was nothing short of life-changing. That mistake wasn’t one Merle was about to make. So, instead of the movie and the popcorn, she’d curl into that cosy armchair in her room with cheese and crackers. She’d celebrate surviving one whole day, and in a week he’d be gone.
Ash floated on his back and gazed up at the house through narrowed eyes, wondering if he’d actually imagined the whole woman-in-his-bath moment last night. Had she been some wishful mirage from his overtired brain? A wistful fantasy of female perfection?
No. Not even his fertile mind could have conjured up such a stunning, ethereal yet earthy sample of femininity, nor the horrors of her outfit afterwards. Now, the studied silence and stillness of the house irritated the hell out of him. Merle Jordan was the avoidance champion of the world. He ought to appreciate that she was being quiet and staying out of sight, given he’d told her he’d come here for space when he’d tried to banish her from the premises.
Of course, peace was the last thing he could find. It was the first time he’d been back in years and memories tortured him. Echoes of old arguments rang in his head like faint wails of distant sirens, keeping him eternally on edge. That aim to sort his mother’s things was impossible when he couldn’t even bear to look around him. His father’s redesign of the property was massive and so bitterly pointed. Every element of his mother’s input had been erased. There wasn’t just a new pool, but also a whole new guest wing with the private cinema and bowling alley, and the wine cellar had doubled in size. But it was the changes in his mother’s beloved garden that had angered Ash to the point where he couldn’t bear to walk beyond the pool area to see the full devastation. He’d tried to burn the fury out with a brutal workout, hoping to exhaust himself and finally silence his overthinking brain. It hadn’t worked. He kept on thinking—though increasingly he kept thinking about Merle. She was an infinitely preferable subject.
Merle Jordan, mouse-like woman of mystery. What was she doing in there? How was she managing to stay so quiet? So out of sight? So deliberately invisible?
A fling wasn’t what he was here for. And, despite the undeniable awareness flickering between them, she clearly didn’t want it either. But of course, to Ash Castle and the contrary, spoiled mood he was in, that made her even more enticing. He liked a game and he liked to win. Isolation wasn’t what he wanted any more. Not here, where the house that had once held such happiness had been so destroyed. Of course, it wasn’t the renovations that had wrecked everything. That had been Ash himself. His own weakness was the culprit—the one he’d inherited from his cheating jerk of a father. He breathed in sharply and determinedly—blessedly—thought of Merle Jordan instead. She’d been mortified when he’d caught her naked in the candlelight but later she’d revealed a little sass. He wanted to see more of that—he was sure it was there. When she wasn’t biting her tongue.