Stranded For One Scandalous Week (Mills & Boon Modern) (Rebels, Brothers, Billionaires Book 1)

by Natalie Anderson

  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.

  His skin tightened as he thought of her mouth. It was that fever again—he wished his extreme emotions would ease. Except, regarding Merle Jordan, they weren’t really emotions. They were hormones. Sheer, mere, lust. But part of him welcomed the warmth of it. For all the partying, he’d been feeling cold these last few months. He’d attributed it to too much of the same game as always—long work hours, jaded social scene, easily won escapades. Boredom, in other words.

  Merle Jordan wasn’t boring. Merle Jordan wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met. A very serious, homeless archivist.

  By the late afternoon he was out of patience to wait any longer for when and how she might appear. He strode to the study, where he knew she’d set up her archival operation. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight outside. He avoided looking at the cardboard box open on the floor, nor did he glance at the papers spread on the large table. He still wasn’t ready.

  Merle was standing by the table, a page in hand, staring at him, and he stared right back because what was she wearing? The white inspection gloves on her hands he could understand, but those coveralls? Akin to a hazmat suit, they enveloped her completely, only instead of white or blue or high-vis neon, they were all black. They were, without doubt, the most shapeless sack he’d ever seen.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked nervously.

  He could still only stare. Beyond the suit her skin was as luminous as he’d remembered and he lost himself in her dark brown eyes. They reminded him of rich chocolate, that sort he’d like to play with—to melt, then lick. As he watched, her eyes widened and grew d
arker. Velvet delicious. Her long brunette hair was held back in a loose braid that hung down her back. Utilitarian, yes. Also, stunning. He still couldn’t stop staring.

  ‘Mr Castle?’

  That snapped him back to reality. ‘Mr Castle’ was his father, Hugh. He was Ash.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, thank you.’ Her polite response wasn’t enough to sugar-coat her wish to dismiss him and only worsened his irritation. His own contrariness was killing him.

  ‘Did you find a body in the bunker?’ he muttered.

  Her brown eyes widened fractionally before a flinch compressed her features. ‘A...what?’

  ‘A body. In the bunker,’ he repeated unrepentantly and grinned as he gestured towards her. ‘Hence the forensics fashion.’

  He knew he’d been out of line, but he wanted her to unleash the spirit flaring in her eyes.

  Her chin lifted. ‘Very funny.’

  Vitality flowed through his veins. It might be a frosty reaction, but he’d got her to speak.

  ‘A lot of the boxes are dusty.’ She iced her explanation with the coolest of tones. ‘My “forensics fashion” protects my clothes.’

  Even as fiery embarrassment stained her skin, the determined dignity in her restrained response made him squirm. To his amazement, Ash experienced a rare moment when he regretted his teen-acquired tendency to say whatever outrageous thing popped into his head. And what kind of sub-human was he for being annoyed that she was so well-covered by her clothing?

  But as he watched, her smooth forehead wrinkled and her coolly assessing gaze narrowed. ‘You were joking about a bunker, right?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’ he drawled, as he realised an opportunity had suddenly opened up. She’d fallen for bait he’d not intended to set.

  ‘If only you had a moustache, you could twirl the ends,’ she muttered. ‘Obviously I don’t know, or I wouldn’t have asked.’

  He paused to savour the surprising sass of her answer. She was crisply to the point and her quietly crackling energy stoked his.

  ‘There’s a secret bunker,’ he said, determined to snare her interest now.

  ‘A relic from the war?’ She frowned. ‘Here on the property?’

  ‘Sadly no, not a historic one. That would’ve been fascinating. This one is more...’ Bonkers. He cleared his throat. ‘It’s new. My father had it installed.’

  Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You mean a panic room?’

  ‘I think it’s a little more over the top than that.’ He’d not checked it out yet. He’d missed its construction entirely and had only become aware of its existence when he’d read through the list of current contractors the estate was paying for. Because he’d been so out of sorts at his glimpse of the garden, he’d avoided investigating in full the other changes to the grounds. Having Merle with him while he did might be a good diversion.

  ‘Why would your father want a bunker?’ She looked confused. ‘Why here?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ He had no idea, he just wanted to avoid his history by focusing on her and he didn’t want her to disappear on him again yet. ‘Want to see it?’ he purred.

  Her eyes darkened even more, melting into delicious pools of an unreadable emotion.

  ‘I’m partway through this box,’ she muttered.

  It was a weak show of reluctance. An absurd level of anticipation swept through him. Surely this was like catnip to a woman who liked historical records and old things?

  ‘It’ll still be here when we’re done,’ he replied easily, trying not to let his eagerness for her company show too obviously. ‘Apparently, it’s only in the garden. It shouldn’t take long.’

  He watched, conscious of the increasing awareness between them—the rising colour in her cheeks, the thrum of heat in his blood.

  ‘There might be all kinds of things stored in there that should be considered for the archives,’ he tempted.

  ‘You don’t know for certain?’

  ‘I’ve not been in there yet.’

  Surprise flashed. ‘You’ve not yet ventured into a secret bunker that’s been built here?’

  He shook his head, suppressing the instinctive rejection of anything his father had built and focusing on her. ‘Could be exciting, right?’ he said blandly. ‘Like discovering Tutankhamun’s tomb?’

  He watched as her mouth quivered, but she couldn’t suppress her smile for long. A hard lump in his chest eased. One point on the board—he’d made her smile. And it had been worth the effort.

  ‘Let me just finish up with this letter.’ She put the document she held onto the table, drawing his attention to his father’s things. Things that made his skin crawl. Things he wanted to burn.

  ‘You don’t wear glasses?’ he asked, distraction a necessity as she marked up something with her pencil.

  ‘Stereotype, much?’ she muttered coolly. ‘Bookish girl must need glasses?’

  He laughed. This was what he’d needed, a little sparring with someone determined to remain uninterested. Except she already was. He knew she was. And that wasn’t all arrogance. Sparks like this were never one-sided.

  ‘Actually, I asked because of the lamp you’re using. It casts an unusual light.’

  ‘It’s to avoid damaging the documents,’ she explained as she added something else to the paper. ‘It’s not for my eyes. I have perfect eyesight.’

  ‘Perfect?’ he echoed with amusement. ‘You can see right through me, huh?’

  She glanced over and shot him an instant kill look. That heaviness in his chest thawed fractionally more. ‘You already know I can.’

  ‘Yet you’ve been avoiding me,’ he said when she finally stepped away from the table.

  ‘You came here to be alone,’ she said, her expression devoid of the coy flirtatiousness that he was used to from women. ‘I’ve been giving you the space you asked for.’

  He’d been regretting that request since the moment he’d made it. Though, contrarily, he equally regretted not insisting that she leave. Truthfully he was the one who ought to leave. He shouldn’t have come back. It had only dredged up memories he’d fought hard to forget. A reminder of who he was and the family failings he couldn’t ever escape. A frank reminder of his own damned, futile existence. Maybe he should leave his mother’s things in her hands. But he was curious about Merle now too.

  ‘Besides, I have work to do,’ she added.

  That ‘work’ didn’t include entertaining him. But she was watching him and he realised the thoughtfulness on her face had slid to concern—and compassion. He stiffened. Did she think he was distressed about his father’s death? He didn’t want her pity.

  ‘You’re paid to work the weekends as well?’ he asked shortly.

  That colour rolled back into her cheeks. ‘I thought I may as well get on with it, seeing as I’m to remain hidden.’

  ‘Well, take a moment—let’s go and see if there’s anything worth saving down there.’ He didn’t think for a second there was, but if he was wrong he wanted rid of all of it immediately. It was only for Leo and for his cousin Grace that he’d agreed to assess everything before selling. For transparency and honesty. They’d missed out on so much, he’d ensure they weren’t short-changed in anything else ever again. The other property sales were already completed and all personal effects had been shipped here for a final sort.

  ‘Apparently the entrance is via a hidden trap door in the back of the pool house,’ he added, desperately needing to think about anything other than Leo and Grace and his father’s awful shame.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Merle knew this was a Bad Idea, but she couldn’t resist. Like the home cinema, she’d only briefly glanced at the pool house earlier in the week, opting to explore the leisure activities as a weekend reward for work done. She’d been keen to assess how muc
h work there was ahead of her because Leo Castle’s brief had been sketchy. He hadn’t known how many boxes were onsite or even the state of the property. But since Ash’s unexpected arrival she’d been confined to the study.

  Apparently there was no lazing about with a long weekend lie-in for Ash. Which had meant not for her either. It had been impossible to lie in bed listening to him splash about this morning. It had put all sorts of inappropriate images in her mind—and that was already distracted enough by that shockingly hot dream. She was mortified that she was thinking about him in such an inevitable way. Even right now she was trying not to stare at him and not get bothered by the fact he was still wearing only swim shorts. It was perfectly appropriate attire. This was a holiday home and he’d been swimming all morning, but she was too aware of all that skin, and her fingertips tingled with the appalling temptation to touch.

  As she followed him she desperately fixated on the stunning grounds. There were a couple of alfresco dining areas—an enormous table overlooked the pool, a sweet setting for two was in the corner, while sun loungers and comfortable chairs were placed in sheltered spots where the views over the bay to the sea beyond were sublime.

  ‘The bunker was put in when the pool and tennis court were done. As far as I can tell from the plans, they dug up the entire area and basically buried a prefabricated structure.’ Oblivious to her feverish thoughts, Ash moved aside a rug on the pool house floor. ‘According to the notes I have...’ He trailed off and pushed on one of the inlaid tiles.

  To Merle’s astonishment, four of the tiles slid back to reveal a dark cavity. ‘Oh, wow. There really is a trap door.’ She chuckled. ‘It’s like something out of a spy movie.’

  ‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘Ridiculous.’

  As she stared down, lights flickered on to reveal a steep flight of stairs.

  ‘Shall we?’ He glanced at her with a wicked smile.

  Her heart pounded. It was crazy to feel this frisson. ‘We leave this open, right?’ Merle double-checked.