She swallowed down the wave of nausea.
When Wyatt reached out for the basket, she handed it to him, then took the blanket instead. In silence, they made their way to the grass. There was only one spot free, a little to the side of the cliff, where they wouldn’t have a perfect view of the sunset. But the spot offered them a different view. Of the large green trees on the hills a short distance away; the houses amongst the trees; the ocean crashing against the rocky bases of the hills. Not seeing the sunset didn’t seem so bad, considering.
She spread out the blanket in front of them, looked down. Realised she wasn’t entirely sure how to sit. All her options seem to involve inelegance or flashing some poor unexpected guest.
‘Need help?’
Her body tensed at the prospect of his touch, but she managed to arrange her expression into a careful smile.
‘Yes, please.’
Wyatt held her hand as she settled onto the blanket, legs to the side, one angled over the other. Before he sat down, a waiter approached him with two glasses of what she thought was lemonade. She couldn’t be sure since the ice filled the glass just as much as the liquid did. He handed her one of the glasses, then lowered his body onto the blanket.
‘What is this?’
‘Lemonade,’ he confirmed. ‘I ordered it when you went to fetch the basket.’
‘Quick work,’ she commented. ‘Thanks.’
It was all either of them said for the longest time.
‘How badly do you wish someone else had got the last blanket?’
‘On a scale from one to ten?’ she asked thinly. ‘An eleven.’
‘Ten being how badly you wanted it to be me then?’
She glanced over at him. His mouth curved. She let out a breath.
‘You’re being a lot less prickly than earlier.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
She didn’t even blink. ‘Sure you don’t.’
Something flickered in his eyes. ‘I thought it might be easier if I were nicer to you.’
‘No, you don’t,’ she replied. ‘You don’t believe in being nice for the sake of easy.’
The edges of his mouth turned down. ‘True,’ he said softly. The tone of it brushed over her skin. ‘Fine, then. Your father asked me to be.’
CHAPTER THREE
HE HADN’T MEANT to tell her that, and, somehow, he’d made it sound worse than it had been.
Which he knew based on the way the air around them was now standing to attention.
‘Is that what you two were talking about just now?’ she asked stiffly.
‘Yes.’
‘He asked you to be nice to me.’
It wasn’t a question, and it sounded as if she was speaking to herself more than she was to him.
‘Well,’ Wyatt said, ‘he said that he knew this was tough on the both of us. And he...suggested that it might make things easier if I cut you some slack.’
She made an impatient sound deep in her throat. ‘Is that why you were being so polite earlier?’
‘Yes.’
‘Just because my father asked?’ Her voice sounded strangled.
He shrugged. ‘It made sense.’
‘Because I’m the big bad wolf,’ she muttered.
The anger he thought he’d set aside—much as he had the attraction—stirred. ‘I think the person who asks for a divorce is generally the big bad wolf in the tale.’
‘Not the person who signs the divorce papers without a fight?’ she retorted, but quickly shook her head before he could reply. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’
He didn’t believe her.
‘I wasn’t talking about you anyway,’ she continued. Closed her eyes. Opened them. ‘And you’re right. It does make sense.’ There was a pause. ‘How about this view?’
He didn’t reply. Was afraid if he did, they’d find themselves doing a post-mortem of their marriage. He’d decided—one desperate, torturous night two years ago—that the best thing he could do for himself was to forget that Summer Bishop existed. It had been hard to do considering the building he worked in bore her name, but he’d been determined.
For the most part, he’d succeeded. He’d buried himself in his work. Deeper, he qualified, since he hadn’t stopped digging since Trevor had given him his first job opportunity. Trevor had shown him work was the kind of investment Wyatt could make without regret.
It had been the first of many lessons Trevor had taught him. Wyatt had paid attention to all of them. Who could blame him? Trevor had a life Wyatt hadn’t dared to dream of when he’d been a child. Stability, security. Love, happiness. When Wyatt had realised it was possible, he’d been determined to do whatever it took to try and get it. The professional and financial success he’d managed; the personal success, not so much.
He wasn’t sure why he’d thought things would be different with Summer. He’d had a string of short-lived relationships before her. A long-term relationship was bound not to work. Especially not with her.
It hadn’t mattered that he’d thought she was a perfect match for him. Or that their life together had had the potential to inspire others—just as Trevor and Lynette’s had inspired him. He and Summer weren’t...suited. She’d made that clear when she’d asked for the divorce. When she’d said she wanted to focus on her business; that she didn’t have time for their marriage.
A lie, he’d known immediately. What she hadn’t had time for was him.
What else was new?
He shook the sinister question out of his head. He’d learnt his lesson. He wouldn’t rise to her bait about how he hadn’t fought for their marriage. She’d decided he wasn’t good enough to be her husband. How was he supposed to fight that?
He did linger on her comment about her father though. It spoke to that thing he’d picked up between Summer and Trevor earlier. That...vibe. He wasn’t sure how they were connected; he only knew they were.
‘When people say silly things about Africa, I wish I could show them this,’ she said suddenly, and he looked over. Her face had lost some of its earlier tension, making it seem softer.
Soft Summer made him think of Vulnerable Summer. Behind-the-Mask Summer. The effect of that was immediate. Potent.
He cleared his throat. ‘You mean, you’d rather show them this than the picture of your pet lion?’
Her lips curved. ‘Exactly. I’d prefer not to exploit Nala like that.’
Wyatt chuckled, and wondered if he should be allowing himself to enjoy her. She’d hurt him. This was the first time since he’d truly come to terms with the fact that she had—since signing the divorce papers—that he was seeing her. He shouldn’t even be wondering about enjoying her. He should be tempering the anger; taming the hurt.
And yet he still found himself enjoying her.
‘I’m sure Nala appreciates it.’
‘I don’t do it for the fame, Montgomery. It’s the right thing to do.’
She lifted her glass and took a slow sip of her lemonade. His lips twitched. Heaven only knew why. He shouldn’t be attracted to her sense of humour. He shouldn’t be watching her tongue slip between her lips as it checked for leftover lemonade. That moment earlier should have been enough warning about his attraction to her. When he’d felt her body against his after he’d caught her, her butt pressing into an area that had immediately awakened, as if it had been in a deep slumber since her.
He’d told himself the fact that he’d had no sexual interest in anyone since his divorce was normal. He’d never been through a divorce before to know for sure, but it seemed logical. Of course not wanting to risk his heart in another relationship seemed logical.
Until he’d realised he’d never risked his heart in any of his relationships before Summer. He’d had a distinct sexual interest in the women he’d dated before her though.
> Then he’d seen Summer again and his body had responded to her as if she were the prince in a fairy tale; he, the princess put under a spell that only she could break.
He was immediately disgusted with himself for the fanciful notion. The anger he’d been struggling to keep a grip on was suddenly firm in his hands, too. She was making him feel this way. Even though she’d left him as everyone else in his life had, he was allowing her to make him feel this way. Which made him just as angry at himself as he was at her.
He was angry that she made his body betray him. That for the second time that day, she’d called him by his surname. He was angry that he missed that. And that even though he’d missed it, he still didn’t want her to use it.
It was something intimate. Something people who were close to one another did. He and Summer weren’t close any more; they no longer shared intimacies. She had no right to use it in the same way she had when they’d still been married.
His anger had nothing to do with the fact that no one else in his life called him that now. It had nothing to do with the hurt he felt at that fact; or the longing; or the inevitable resentment. He still had Trevor. So what if their relationship wasn’t a surname-calling one? Relationships didn’t only look one way. Being close to someone didn’t only look one way.
This was the worst part about seeing Summer again, he thought. Contemplations on things he’d gleefully ignored most of his life. She did this to him. She made him think about his feelings. Sure, feelings were natural—but they were feelings, and he had no patience for them. Not when he knew he shouldn’t entertain them.
Not entertaining them had got him through a father who’d left when he was ten. It had helped him survive a mother who’d almost died from alcohol poisoning when he was fourteen. It had kept him sane when he’d been bounced between his mother’s house and foster care until he was eighteen. It had kept him from hitting rock bottom when he’d returned from his first term at university to find out his mother was selling the family house and was nowhere to be found.
‘I can hear you stewing,’ she commented into the silence that had grown tense as he’d been thinking.
‘I’m not stewing.’
‘You don’t have to stay here, you know,’ she replied, ignoring his denial. ‘I do, because my mother asked me to, and, obligation.’
‘You don’t think your father was asking the same of me when he told me to cut you some slack?’
‘No,’ she said simply. ‘Though if he was, you’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’ve been perfectly cordial to me.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him that if you like.’
‘Why does this sound like a bribe?’ he asked, feeling more sullen than angry. ‘I leave, you get to spend time alone and you tell your father I’ve been nice.’
She snorted. ‘No one said anything about nice.’ She tilted her head towards him, though her eyes were still on the view ahead of them. ‘Cordial. Or polite, though they mean the same thing. That’s my final offer.’
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either. He supposed that gave her an answer.
She sighed. ‘So, you’re going to be stubborn.’
‘I’m not going to leave the first event at your parents’ anniversary celebration because you asked me to.’
‘Especially not if you think my father would disapprove.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
Her eyes slid over to his, and there was a sadness there he’d seen come and go during their short relationship. His last memory of it had been outside the lawyer’s office after they’d signed the divorce papers.
‘Everything,’ she answered softly. ‘It has everything to do with it.’ There was a pause. ‘But if you feel like you have to stay for his sake, I won’t stop you.’
‘Thanks,’ he answered dryly, though he was still thinking about what her answer meant.
‘We don’t have to talk though.’ She looked out into the distance again. ‘In fact, I’d prefer it if we don’t. We can just pretend that we did.’
‘You were the one who heard my stewing,’ he muttered.
‘Pretend I didn’t interrupt you.’
And he did. For all of a minute.
‘What did you mean by that?’ he asked. ‘“It has everything to do with it”,’ he repeated, when he saw she didn’t understand.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘That would cause unnecessary drama.’
‘So it does matter.’
‘Let me rephrase this,’ she said, turning towards him now. He didn’t think she realised it, but in that movement, she’d cut off the world around them. ‘It’s too late to matter.’
He frowned. ‘This cryptic thing doesn’t work for you, Summer.’
‘I don’t particularly enjoy it either.’
She shifted again, her body seemingly relaxed as she set one hand on the ground behind her. The other still held her half-full lemonade. He’d forgotten about his. He took a sip, barely tasting it.
‘We’re being watched,’ she said, a pleasant expression on her face. ‘So I’m going to drink the rest of my lemonade, order another, and check the picnic basket so it doesn’t look like we’re arguing.’
‘We aren’t,’ he said, for his benefit and hers. She gave him a look, but proceeded to finish her drink.
It made sense that they were being watched. And it explained why Summer had taken on a relaxed stance when he knew she felt anything but relaxed. He followed her lead, not wanting to give anyone something to talk about. Though he knew that their presence there together would already be cause for discussion.
Summer had stopped attending Bishop events after their divorce. It had been gossiped about endlessly for months after. There was a period when Wyatt couldn’t join a group of people without them falling silent; the universal sign that he’d been the topic of conversation.
It had bothered him. He knew she struggled with maintaining her Summer Bishop persona. Cool, infallible heiress. It had been the first thing that had bonded them. He’d found her crying on the steps of her parents’ Christmas party; when she’d joined the party though, there’d been no sign of it.
He knew what it was like to have to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. His mother had made sure of it when she’d told him to keep her alcoholism a secret.
If Summer wasn’t attending Bishop events, it must have meant that she could no longer continue with the façade. He wouldn’t have been concerned about it had he not known she’d created the façade for the sake of her family, too. To support the idea of the Bishop unit, which was part of what made them so powerful.
He hated to think he’d somehow damaged that. Her ability to pretend or her relationship with her family. When he’d summoned the courage to ask Trevor about it, Trevor had gone quiet. Then he’d said it wasn’t Wyatt’s fault.
Wyatt didn’t quite believe that. But if it was his fault, maybe he could do something about it now...
‘You know,’ he started easily. He didn’t want to scare her off or alert her to how much what he was about to say smarted. ‘Part of the reason I’m surprised you’re here is because you haven’t attended a single event since the divorce.’
Her eyes flickered up to his. There was something there before her expression became unreadable. She calmly opened the basket and pulled out the bottle of champagne that had been carefully laid over clear boxes of cheeses, breads, and fresh fruits.
She popped it open, seemingly forgetting that she’d told him she would be ordering another lemonade. She poured herself a generous glass. Then she leaned back, lifting the liquid to her lips as if his question hadn’t affected her in the least.
Well. He supposed he hadn’t damaged the mask then.
‘I didn’t realise you’d noticed.’
‘It wa
sn’t subtle.’
Cool it, he warned himself when his voice took on a hard edge.
‘I was tired of being subtle.’
‘The mystery still doesn’t suit you.’
‘Luckily what suits me is none of your business.’
Their gazes locked. All the muscles in his body tightened.
The anger was there now. He didn’t have to long for it, or wonder where it had gone to. But it didn’t cool down the attraction that had flared the moment they looked at each other.
Oh, who was he kidding? The attraction was always there. Through dating and through marriage and even through divorce. And now. Now when she made him think and feel when he would rather not.
His eyes slipped from hers almost of their own accord, lifting to the severity of the hairstyle that had once been a wild, lazy afro halo around her face when they’d been together. Being tied so tightly at the nape of her neck accentuated her already prominent cheekbones. It gave her a more drastic beauty rather than the easy beauty of her other hairstyle.
His gaze lowered to her dress. It was lace, with sleeves that went just past her elbows and a skirt that ended just past her knees. Perfectly appropriate for the occasion, which he knew would be why she chose it.
It wasn’t for the reason that occurred to him now: so he could enjoy the way its material skimmed the curve of her breasts, the slope of her waist, the rounding of her hips.
He could still feel the softness of her body under his fingers; could still see her brown skin stretched over it. He remembered how he would run his fingers over the arches of her body. Remembered how he would trace the stretch marks, the indents at her hips, her stomach, her butt. How he’d follow his fingers’ path with his lips, how they’d—
He took a deep breath, rearranging his body so that he sat up straight, as if somehow the stern position would help him regain control of his mind. His body. His emotions. And then his eyes met hers, and he saw an answering heat there.
‘Sure, Bishop,’ he murmured softly. ‘Let’s keep telling ourselves we’re none of the other’s business, shall we?’
Second Chance with Her Billionaire Page 3
