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

by Natalie Anderson

  She hesitated. ‘I think strong feelings provoke strong reactions.’

  ‘Oh, indeed.’ He stared at her for another pregnant moment. ‘You’re assuming that what’s written in those diaries is even true.’

  ‘Actually, I’m not assuming anything. Of course, a historian would study other sources to confirm if one person’s account of things is true. But I don’t have to worry about that, and discovering dead people’s secrets is something I enjoy.’ She mirrored his cock of the head and blinked back at him. ‘Those of the living too, actually.’

  ‘Allow me to disappoint you early, darling. I don’t have any secrets. Secrets are never any fun, despite what others will try to tell you. Take that bunker—it’s an unnecessary, expensive monstrosity. And it wasn’t my father’s only secret. Nor was it the biggest in his life, unfortunately.’ Ash coolly reeled off a list. ‘Illegitimate offspring. Hidden bank accounts. Shady dealings.’ His blandness was too studied. ‘And for years I had no idea. It’s amazing how little you can know someone even when you live under the same roof.’ His direct gaze seared through her. ‘Maybe you’ll know him better than I did once you’re done. Or maybe, as I said, you should just burn it all.’

  She was curious about him right now, not his father. ‘Everyone has some secrets.’

  ‘My family life was a family lie,’ he said. ‘Which I hated. So if I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it with full transparency. No secrecy. No shame. No regrets,’ he said with proud finality. ‘That’s why it’s a good thing my half-brother is now in charge of my father’s company, not me. Leo’s the responsible one. He’ll keep an eye out for those employees. Ironic, isn’t it? That the child my father denied for so long is the one willing and able to preserve all he built.’ He glanced down at his steaming curry and then looked back up at her, his expression even more alert than usual. ‘Do you have family treasures of your own?’ he asked. ‘A mountain of old letters and recipe books and chipped china?’

  Merle didn’t answer. She’d had to sell everything to afford the care bills for her grandfather, and now she was homeless she had no space to store anything big anyway. But she’d always found solace in other old things that she had no direct connection to. Not that she was about to tell deeply cynical Ash Castle that; he’d only scoff.

  ‘Things can be destroyed, Merle,’ Ash drawled, proving her point immediately. ‘What’s the point in holding on to things so tightly when, with a strike of a match, they can be lost for ever?’

  ‘Says a man who accumulates more things than most people.’

  ‘Only money,’ he corrected.

  ‘People can be lost too,’ she muttered.

  ‘So things are sometimes safer than people?’ he asked astutely. ‘Is that why you surround yourself with them?’

  ‘What makes you think I do?’ Her defensiveness rose.

  ‘You spend your days prioritising and protecting material things from other people’s pasts,’ he asserted. ‘But not around actual, real live people.’

  She tilted her chin at him, feeling that frisson—that kick from his light teasing. ‘And here you are,’ she said pointedly, ‘avoiding actual, real live people.’

  ‘It’s a momentary hiatus, not a habit, for me.’

  ‘Well.’ She breathed softly, absorbing the hit. ‘We all have bad habits, Ash.’

  She took a mouthful of the curry, feeling her tastebuds zing. But her nerves were zinging all the more from the appreciative grin he flicked her. Suddenly, he pushed back from the table.

  ‘I’ve forgotten something vital.’

  Before she could question what, he went inside. She took the chance to release a breath she’d not realised she’d been holding. Instinctively, she knew they were dancing around something more serious than either of them wanted to recognise. Maybe she ought not to open the lid on those hurts, yet she couldn’t resist her curiosity.

  He returned brandishing a bottle of champagne. She eyed it warily. ‘Is it as expensive as that other one?’

  ‘More.’ He laughed negligently and popped the cork. ‘Will you help me drink it?’

  ‘I imagine you could manage it on your own.’

  ‘Are you referring to my insatiable appetite?’

  That awareness fizzed inside her, the bubbling sensation mirroring the miniature ones in the glass. She lifted the glass he filled for her and took a haughty sip because he’d set a challenge she didn’t have the strength—or will—to ignore.

  Ash had tried to distract himself by mucking about in the kitchen, but now she was sitting across the table and it felt like the most intimate date he’d had in years. Which was crazy, because it wasn’t really a date. They were just two people staying in the same house sharing dinner. His body begged to differ. His brain? That needed respite from the edginess in their conversation. They’d veered close to topics he didn’t discuss. He needed to raise shields, and to do so he fell back on customary form—to be outrageous and turn this to a totally superficial skin-to-skin tease. He’d make the most of their chemistry. It was the perfect distraction.

  ‘Are we going to talk about it?’ he asked bluntly. The colour in her cheeks deepened in that gorgeous way. ‘The kiss, I mean.’

  She sipped her champagne to avoid answering.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he purred. ‘You’re not the first woman I’ve rendered speechless.’

  ‘Well, you are the most arrogant man I’ve met,’ she said calmly—no flirtation couched in mock-outrage.

  ‘Am I?’ He grinned and went in search of some truth. ‘Or maybe it’s just that you’ve not met many men.’

  ‘Actually I’ve met several arrogant jerks over the years.’ She lifted her chin. ‘You’re by far the worst.’

  Again, no hyperbole. Just a calm, direct comment. Ash stifled his surprise. Somehow he’d imagined her to be a complete innocent—permanently hidden away from the eyes and attentions of other men, like some Rapunzel trapped in a tower of archival boxes. But she’d met several guys? When? Who?

  ‘The thing is, you don’t have to be,’ she said, derailing his curiosity. ‘You attract women easily.’ She angled her head and a gleam shone in her deep eyes. ‘Of course, mostly it’s your bank account,’ she said flatteningly. ‘But your looks help. And your confidence to a degree. You just take it too far.’

  His looks? His confidence to a degree? He was used to women being attracted to him and to all kinds of attempts at flirtation or to capture his interest. But sweet, shy Merle’s serene stocktake of his eligible bachelor qualities didn’t feel like a flirtation attempt. The realisation was both refreshing and disappointing.

  ‘But the “one night” thing that you admitted to last night,’ she added. ‘That’s purely for self-preservation.’

  ‘You’re incorrect,’ he drawled. ‘That’s for their benefit. I’m not a marrying man, Merle. I never will be.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ She pouted and looked downcast. ‘Perhaps I’ll learn to live with the disappointment, eventually.’

  He chuckled. ‘Miaow.’

  Her lashes lifted and those deep brown eyes stared soulfully into his. ‘As if that’s not the reaction you wanted.’

  What he wanted was becoming untenable. Not to mention impossible.

  It was his turn to take another sip of champagne to buy time. Easy banter usually stood him in good stead. He enjoyed setting the mark and establishing the very basic rules he lived by. He generally glided towards the inevitable conclusion that chemistry such as this inspired. It was all anticipation—in the parry and thrust of prospective pleasure. But Merle seemed determined to stamp out the sparks showering between them with absurdly prim, pragmatic denial. Didn’t she know desire like this could only be destroyed by as explosive means as possible? The frankly animal urge to reach out and rouse her spirit disturbed him. For the first time he was truly trapped by lust. And it was crazy.


  ‘You’re blushing.’ He was so tense he sounded husky.

  ‘It’s the champagne,’ she muttered.

  ‘It’s not the champagne,’ he muttered back.

  She lifted her chin with a defiance that undermined itself with its own fierceness. ‘It’s not you either.’

  ‘Then there’s only one thing remaining.’

  ‘And that is...?’

  ‘You.’ He smiled as triumph roared at the realisation. ‘You’re bothering yourself.’

  Her flush receded, leaving her a little pale, but her gaze didn’t shy from his. ‘Is that something you’re familiar with?’

  Clever woman, wasn’t she? Reflecting his barb back at him and forcing a fragment of honesty to escape from beneath his veneer. ‘Sure. I get very sick of myself.’ He stiffened. ‘But I know how to escape my own thoughts.’

  ‘Via rakish escapades?’ Her gaze was relentless.

  ‘Rakish?’ He chuckled at her old-fashioned terminology. ‘Why not? There are worse ways, I think.’ He cocked his head and challenged her. ‘What are you going to do to escape your thoughts, Ms Prim?’

  ‘Just because I won’t slither beneath your spell, you say I’m prim. Really?’

  She was opting for diversion—setting up another superficial spar to escape answering with actualities. He knew the gambit well, as he’d played it many times himself.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not taking it personally.’ He smiled. ‘Because I don’t think it’s just me—I don’t think you’d slither beneath anyone in any great hurry.’

  She tossed her head to the side. ‘Because no one would want me to?’

  Actually no, that wasn’t at all what he’d meant. The flash of vulnerability on her face let him know that wasn’t a play for compliments. In fact, he’d scored an unintended foul. The vein of rejection that everyone had apparently ran particularly deep within her. Why? Protectiveness—that rare sensation for him—surged.

  ‘We both know one guy who definitely wants you to,’ he muttered almost angrily. ‘And there’s no way I’d ever be the only one.’

  ‘This is what you do, is it?’ she asked. ‘Flatter any female in the vicinity. Is it a compulsion to seduce everyone into liking or wanting you?’

  Was that the effect he was having on her? He hoped so. But he realised she didn’t believe he actually meant what he’d said about her. ‘So judgmental, Merle. Why?’

  He waited as she looked down at the empty plate before her, hiding her mesmerising eyes from him. Then she glanced back up and he saw a new bitterness in the heat of her rich gaze.

  ‘I’m jealous of you.’

  Surprise silenced him.

  ‘You swing through life, apparently not giving a damn about anything, yet getting everything you want.’

  ‘I’ve already told you I work for what I get,’ he pointed out.

  ‘In business, sure. But in your love life?’

  ‘Love life?’ He scoffed. ‘I don’t have a love life.’

  ‘Sex life, then. It comes so easily to you. You have no idea how hard it is for normal people.’ She paused. ‘Shy people.’

  That hot wave of protectiveness washed over him again, only this time it was merged with an equally powerful surge of possessiveness. Both feelings were foreign. Both were undeniable. ‘All you have to do is ask, Merle. All you have to do is say yes. Have you ever done either?’

  Colour swept over her skin and clued him in to her true status.

  ‘Never ever?’ His eyes widened. ‘Not to anyone for anything?’

  ‘I went on a date once.’

  ‘Once?’ Prim wasn’t the word for her. But something compressed his chest, a premonition of her pain. ‘You were hurt?’

  Her attention flashed back to him. ‘Only my pride.’

  He was relieved, but that underlying irritative effect she had on him flared up again. ‘So because that happened once, you’ve not said yes again?’

  She shrugged dismissively. ‘No one’s ever asked again.’

  She’d been ignored? No. His gaze narrowed and he slowly shook his head. ‘Maybe that’s because you work locked away in isolated rooms with only old, dusty things for company. How do you expect to meet anyone if you don’t go where the living are? I bet you’ve never downloaded any dating apps.’

  She bet he never had either. Merle shuddered at the thought of trying to make herself sound attractive on an app in twenty words. ‘What would you have me do? Wear a tiny bikini and pout in a profile pic?’

  Annoyed by him and by her own wayward thoughts, she stood and carried the plates inside to the kitchen with ruthless efficiency, as if she could wipe this heated awkwardness away like harmless crumbs.

  ‘Merle—’

  ‘I’ve something to show you,’ she interrupted. Distraction all the way.

  She’d prove to him things from the past were worth preserving. That slightly wicked gleam lit in his eyes again and she had to catch her laugh. She went back down the corridor to the study. It only took a minute to grab the boxes she’d found and bring them back to the kitchen. ‘Look at these—it’s an amazing collection. I think they’re all vintage.’

  She put them on the bench in front of him. There were a number of traditional games—chess, snakes and ladders, dice games and puzzles. Glancing up, she saw he’d paled slightly.

  ‘Where’d you find those?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘In a cupboard in the study.’

  ‘Curious thing, aren’t you?’ His gaze was locked on the games in front of him. Tension bracketed his sensual mouth, stealing away his customary smile.

  ‘It’s my job to notice interesting things tucked away in dark corners,’ she answered lightly. ‘Someone did a good job of collecting these. They would have been hard to find. Especially in such good condition as this—they’ll be worth a lot. This compendium alone is worth thousands.’ She placed the last antique wooden box down carefully.

  ‘They weren’t collected for their value,’ Ash said softly. ‘They were my mother’s.’

  ‘Your mother’s?’

  He now reached for the nearest. ‘I thought they were long lost.’ He frowned. ‘Everything else of hers seems to...’

  Merle paused, unsure how to respond.

  ‘All those things in the boxes you’re sorting,’ he added softly. ‘All the art, the books, the collections. They’re all his, right?’

  Her heart sank at the hurt in his voice. She’d not meant to upset him, merely distract him. ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m glad the games are still here.’ A half-smile tugged his lips. ‘She loved a challenge.’

  Merle was intrigued. ‘Was she a risk-taker, too?’

  ‘Oh, she was a player and she liked to win.’

  ‘So that’s where you get it from.’ Merle glanced up when she heard his choking laugh. She was stupidly pleased to see his smile return.

  ‘She made a couple of bad bets in her life,’ he said. ‘Her husband being one of them. She had a chronic health condition, so she wasn’t on the sports sidelines when I was a kid. She had a lap table she’d set up on her bed and we’d play. Board games, puzzles, cards.’ He lifted the lid off one box and ran a finger across the wooden counters. ‘I haven’t seen these in for ever.’

  It took a moment for everything he’d just said to really sink in. How sad for his mother and for him. Yet they’d had good times.

  ‘So which was your favourite?’ she asked. ‘Which are you best at?’

  She saw that dangerous, playful light in the amber.

  ‘You want to play with me, Merle?’

  ‘A board game,’ she stressed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not too much of a risk for you?’

  ‘I think you have your own code of conduct.’

  ‘High praise,’ he mocked. ‘You think
I play around, but I play by the rules.’

  ‘Your rules, yes. One night, right?’

  He drew back and shot her a serious look. ‘No cheating. No children. No commitment. Fun and done.’

  ‘In that one night? Truly? You don’t ever want more with someone?’

  ‘What is more, Merle?’ he asked sardonically. ‘It’s only messy.’

  ‘What’s so wrong with mess?’

  ‘People are greedy. And selfish. Everyone is, at heart. Especially me.’

  ‘I think that’s just an excuse,’ she said cheerfully. ‘To make it easier for you. You don’t even have to try to be better.’

  He laughed then drew in a steadying breath. ‘You want to see if you can beat me, Merle?’

  ‘I’m not afraid to try.’ She lifted her chin. ‘A board game.’

  Satisfaction flared between them both.

  ‘You pick the game,’ he ordered. ‘I want you to have some kind of chance.’

  ‘Snakes and ladders,’ she said promptly. It was the only one she actually knew the rules to. ‘A roll of the dice and you can win or lose.’

  ‘You’re relying purely on chance? You’re not willing to back yourself and pick a strategy game?’

  ‘Who says you can’t have strategy in snakes and ladders?’ She scooped up the dice and shook them in her hand.

  ‘You’re not going to kiss them?’ he teased.

  ‘I don’t think that will bring me any extra luck.’ She rolled and made the first move on the board.

  ‘Kiss mine for me,’ he jeered.

  She puckered and made a loud popping sound with a fake kiss. He promptly rolled double sixes.

  ‘Thanks, darling.’

  She didn’t reply. She was too busy fuming at the man’s luck. That wicked grin spread over his face as he counted out the spaces he got to move—landing on a ladder, naturally enough. Three rolls along she rolled the dice and found herself on the head of a snake and slid back to the beginning again, while he was already onto his next move.

  ‘You play a fast game,’ she noted. ‘Barely taking the time to consider your options.’

  ‘Because I know what I need to do.’ He slid his counter on the board and lifted his intense gaze to hers. ‘Look at that,’ he said softly. ‘I won.’