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

by Natalie Anderson

  ‘Let me in, just a little.’ An Ash Castle dare.

  She met his gaze. ‘Will you do the same in return?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She laughed for real then. ‘Are we really going to play emotional strip poker?’

  ‘I’m asking for history, not emotion.’

  ‘You don’t think they go together?’

  ‘No. There are just facts. Points along the way.’

  ‘Points that move and shape you.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Why not show me just one of the cards you hold so close, Merle?’

  She’d let him in—literally—so this shouldn’t be difficult. And she wanted him to reciprocate because she wanted to understand what drove him to be as determined—as resolute—as he was. And as recklessly, relentlessly unattached. That he was obviously as curious about her? That tilted the balance. Was fascination as mutual as the desire between them?

  ‘Come on,’ he tempted. ‘Where did you grow up? When did you get your first coveralls? Why did you go into archival work? I want the whole—’

  ‘Biography? Really?’ She tugged the rug higher. She didn’t want to tell him about her past. She didn’t want him to pity her. Although she had the horrible suspicion he already did.

  ‘Absolutely.’ He leaned back and surveyed her, humour dancing with curiosity in his eyes. ‘Why not start with the coveralls?’

  ‘You can’t cope with them, can you?’

  ‘I’ve already told you I changed my mind about them.’ Ash laughed.

  And every time Ash laughed, Merle found herself slipping further under his spell.

  ‘How and why did they become your go-to style?’ He was like a terrier.

  She sighed and relented. ‘When I went to live with my grandfather I picked up a pair from his workshop and they were comfortable. I felt like I could do anything I liked in them.’

  Ash leaned closer. ‘There are so many things to unpick in that, I don’t know which question to start with.’

  She rolled her eyes but tightened her hold on the rug at the same time.

  ‘Your grandfather,’ he decided swiftly. ‘When and why did you go to live with him?’

  Merle gave in. There was no reason to hide this from him and telling him about it suddenly seemed easy. ‘My mother was a back-up singer for a series of bands. She spent most of her time on the road, gigging here and there. It was hand-to-mouth and hard but she loved the lifestyle.’

  He toyed with the edge of the rug near her fist. ‘But how did you fit in with that lifestyle?’

  ‘For the first decade I waited backstage. When I was very small others in the band would watch me and as I got older I quickly learned to be quiet and stay out of the way. Half the time the headline artists didn’t even know I was there. That’s how I liked it and how she kept me safe.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘She worked late nights at downmarket venues. It was good to be invisible when I was a young girl.’

  His frown set her on the defensive.

  ‘Don’t disapprove,’ she said. ‘Mum was amazing. She took great care of me. She taught me how to take care of myself.’ Merle had known their situation was precarious and that she had to stay silent and good. ‘She wasn’t supposed to have me there, but she didn’t want to leave me with strangers. I sat on a stool in the wings and read. She could see me from the stage. We were okay.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘When I was about twelve, she sent me to live with my grandparents. She said I needed to go to school, that I was too bright to be held back by her lifestyle. She wanted more for me.’

  Ash’s expression remained serious. ‘Did you know your grandparents before you went to live with them?’

  ‘My mother was young when she had me.’ Heat built in her cheeks. ‘Very young. They didn’t want her to keep me. In the end she left home before I was born. They didn’t approve of her choices but she was hardworking and she did everything she could to give me the best.’

  ‘Did they approve of you? Of your choices?’

  ‘Well...’ She half smiled. ‘My grandmother was determined I wouldn’t make the same choices my mother had.’ She’d lectured Merle about her mother’s ‘downfall’ so many times. She’d been so controlling, so strict. But Merle had swallowed back the rebellion and resentment and she’d stayed silent. Knowing again that she had to, to survive.

  ‘How did that determination play out?’

  Merle’s smiled twisted sadly. Ash was too astute—honing in on the most vulnerable angles in her answers.

  ‘She could yell. A lot. It was best to be quiet. Fortunately I was good at that.’

  Be silent, be good, be as unseen as possible. Even though she’d hated having to do so. Hated not being able to stand up for her mother. The one time she’d spoken up, she’d suffered a horrible slap-down. Literally. A punishment that had gone on far in excess of what her ‘crime’ had deserved. But now she shrugged the worst memories off.

  ‘She lectured for hours. She wanted to control my every minute. So I tried to stay out of her way, out of sight really. I tried not to cause any trouble and not give her anything to be disappointed about.’

  Her grandmother hadn’t realised how hellish school was for Merle—there was no danger of her falling in with a ‘bad crowd’, because no crowd was interested in Merle.

  Ash’s frown didn’t lessen at all. ‘Where was your grandfather?’

  ‘Out in the garage. He was a second-hand goods trader and he had a garage and shed full of everything you could possibly imagine. The safest, easiest way to avoid my grandmother was to be with him. I went with him to all the markets.’ He’d given her safe haven from her grandmother. And from school.

  ‘But he didn’t stop your grandmother from shouting at you?’

  ‘He did by taking me with him,’ Merle countered. ‘And when I was home I studied in my room. I did chores without question.’ She looked at him and saw he still didn’t understand. ‘She wasn’t well,’ she whispered.

  ‘So you had to be quiet and out of sight your entire childhood,’ he said grimly.

  It hurt, even though it was true. ‘You’re awfully good at judging.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He leaned over and looked into her eyes. ‘You’re awfully good at making excuses for all three of them.’

  Her heart stuttered. ‘They were the only family I had,’ she answered simply.

  ‘That I do understand.’ His lips twisted in a gentle smile. ‘So they were? What happened?’

  She’d known he was going to ask but it was still hard to articulate. Her voice would hardly work. ‘When Mum was on tour in Australia there was a fire at the lodge. They didn’t have batteries in the fire alarms and they didn’t have an up-to-date guest list. She died of smoke inhalation before they realised she was still in the building.’

  She knew Ash was looking at her but she couldn’t meet his eyes. She never spoke about this. Most of the time she tried not to even remember it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Merle.’

  She nodded mutely, her throat too tight for sound to emerge.

  ‘You could’ve been there too,’ he said softly.

  She coughed. ‘I know.’ She’d stayed at that same lodge several times before the move to her grandparents’. ‘I was a light sleeper as a kid,’ she whispered. ‘Maybe if I’d been there I would’ve heard something, maybe I’d have woken. Maybe I could have saved her.’ She dreamed she had sometimes. Then she’d wake and remember the worst was real.

  For a moment there was silence. But it wasn’t strained, it was oddly connecting.

  ‘I was devastated when my mother died,’ Ash said gruffly, looking out across the water. ‘Even though I knew it was coming, it wrecked me.’

  His quiet admission devastated something within Merle.

  ‘She had a heart conditi
on all of her life,’ he said. ‘I always wished I could’ve done something about it even when I knew I couldn’t.’

  Merle’s heart ached at the guilt echoing in his voice.

  So he was human. He wasn’t always supremely confident, floating through life with bulletproof, brilliant ease. He had hurts too. She’d known that. And whatever had happened with his father had cemented his slide into rebellion. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. Maybe it was because he cared an awful lot? And he didn’t want to.

  ‘How old were you?’ she asked.

  ‘Eighteen, at the end of my final year of school.’ He frowned and looked back at her, that alert curiosity lighting his eyes once more. ‘How was school for you—when you finally went?’

  ‘Horrendous. I was never going to be popular like you.’ She laughed a little sadly. ‘And don’t even try to tell me you weren’t. People can’t cope with someone being a bit different and I was very different. I’d never been to school, I had no clue how to play the social clique game...’ She broke off.

  ‘So how did you survive?’

  ‘The same way as always. Stay quiet. Stay unseen. Sometimes it’s better not to be noticed.’

  ‘Merle—’

  ‘Most of the time I succeeded,’ she interrupted before he could contradict her.

  It was easy to be invisible. Easy to avoid eye contact. Easy to avoid answering calls and replying to emails. Easy to be forgotten about.

  ‘Most of the time?’

  He’d heard the wistful edge of regret that she’d been unable to mask. But she didn’t want to go there. Too embarrassing. There was a long moment of silence that she refused to break.

  ‘Where are your grandparents now?’ He didn’t relent.

  She sighed. ‘Three years after I went to live with them, my grandmother had a stroke. She became more difficult. It was a hard couple of years before she had another stroke that left my grandfather on his own with me. He was worn out from caring for her and it took me a while to realise his cognitive abilities were declining. In the end, I couldn’t manage him on my own, not with needing to work as well to support us both. So he went into a facility. I sold the house, and everything else, to ensure he got good care. He passed away eight months ago.’

  ‘That’s why you’re between residences? You sold the house to cover his care costs?’

  She nodded. ‘I only got this job because my boss at the records management company is pregnant and needed someone who could take a live-in job. I did an interview online with Leo. I was lucky and I need to do a good job here.’

  A flash of guilt curdled her blood. What was she doing taking the week off work? Worse—spending it with Ash like this? Fraternising with her client’s half-brother was surely a huge mistake—the most unprofessional thing she’d done in her life.

  ‘Don’t panic.’ He read her mind. ‘I’m gone at the end of the week, remember? There won’t be any repercussions. You’ll get the job done. What’s happened between us won’t have any impact on the future.’

  Wouldn’t it? That seemed impossible. She wasn’t the same person she was yesterday, was she? Or perhaps this wanton lover had been inside her all along, just waiting for Merle to allow that part of herself to be unleashed. There was no locking her away again now.

  ‘That’s why I’m not going to “burn the lot” like you keep telling me to,’ she said softly.

  ‘The only reason I haven’t is out of respect for the volunteer firefighters.’ He grimaced.

  ‘You don’t want to keep any of it?’ She didn’t quite understand why. ‘You have good memories here.’

  ‘I have bad ones too.’

  She hesitated but had to ask. ‘Did she die here?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘But I wasn’t here at the time.’

  He didn’t want to talk about it. She recognised the reluctance because it mirrored her own. Digging too deep hurt. This week with him was only an interlude, an experience. One she had to handle lightly.

  She threw the blanket off and stood up on the sand, shaking free of the melancholy that had briefly descended. ‘I think it’s time for another swim.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ASH SAT ON the deck absorbing the morning sun and reading while waiting for her to wake. He’d swum, then prepped a simple breakfast that was on the table beside him. Letting her rest was hard. The selfish part of him wanted to go in there and wake her. But she needed her sleep; they’d shared yet another very late night.

  He couldn’t concentrate on his book. Memories stirred and impatience tightened his muscles. He hadn’t holidayed in years. For all the nights out or weekends partying on a yacht, there’d always been a laptop on the desk, a call to be made, business to be done. But he hadn’t checked his emails in four days—the longest stretch ever. Time had slipped easily and deliciously like those plump oysters had slid down his throat two days ago. Hours could be lost in the simple pleasure of kissing Merle Jordan and long, sunny days had bled into long, hot nights. It was easy to forget why he’d come here in the first place and that he’d never intended to linger like this. He focused only on Merle. Together, they’d discovered she had a penchant for skinny dipping and she’d laughingly embraced her sensual, hedonistic side. She also had a hidden decadence that was dangerous to his peace of mind. They laughed, ate and drank and duelled over anything and everything light and simple. Drawing her out, engaging her, was rewarding. She was a quick learner and fiercely competitive and now she held nothing back. Her teasing smile alone sent anticipation rippling down his spine.

  She’d blossomed before his eyes. But even though she’d let him in, he was more curious than ever. She’d been lonely, her early life lacking in laughter. He’d had to teach her the rules to the most common of board games. That was why she’d been so quick to choose snakes and ladders the other night. It was the only game she’d known how to play. He wanted her to experience more of the things she’d missed out on. And he wanted her to experience them with him.

  Half an hour later she joined him, her eyebrows lifting. ‘You wear glasses.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So there’s something less than perfect about your body,’ she teased.

  ‘You think the rest of my body is perfect?’ He smirked.

  ‘It’s not like you don’t already know that.’

  ‘Still, I’m touched, given it’s you who thinks so.’

  ‘My opinion matters?’ Half disbelieving, half flirt. Wholly gorgeous.

  ‘Very much.’

  She rolled her eyes and angled her head to read the spine of the book he was holding. ‘It’s an amazing library in there. Someone took time and effort to amass a good collection.’

  ‘My father bought someone else’s lifetime effort. He didn’t carefully select each item himself. It was an investment,’ he said drily. ‘Like the art and the wine. It was for money, not love.’

  ‘He loved the actual collecting.’

  ‘He was avaricious. Not for love but for show. There’s a difference.’ Merle, Ash suspected, would always collect things for love. Things that held meaning to her. ‘I still can’t believe you don’t have piles of dusty old things perfectly arranged in boxes with ridiculously detailed labels, keeping everything for ever and ever.’

  She giggled and picked up the small bowl of fresh fruit he’d sliced for her. ‘You think I’m a future hoarder?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She shook her head. ‘Most of my mother’s things were lost in the fire and her parents didn’t keep any of her childhood things, so...’ She shrugged. ‘I guess that’s why I went into archive work. Because I know what it’s like to lose everything. I know that some things are irreplaceable.’

  Her smile twisted when he failed to hide his sceptical expression.

  ‘I watched my grandfather lose his memory,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s why it’s important to me to help
people hold memories for another. I think sometimes that’s all we can do.’

  ‘You don’t think sometimes people hold on to things for too long? Everything eventually wears out as things rot or break—either way, they’re rendered useless. Don’t they just become a burden?’

  ‘You don’t have to keep hold of everything, Ash. You get to choose. Keep what matters and let go of the rest.’

  He rested his head back against the chair. ‘You make it sound easy.’

  ‘You treasure these games now you’ve found them again,’ she pointed out. ‘You wouldn’t part with them now.’

  She was right, of course. Aside from Merle herself, they were the best thing about coming back. His mother was the reason he’d stayed away so long, but she was also the reason he’d returned now. He’d needed to see the place one last time. To say goodbye. For all of his teasing, Merle’s words had an effect on him and he found himself seeing things from her point of view. There ought to be more here than those games of his mum’s. There should be her personal papers and effects. The things he should have taken care of so much sooner.

  ‘You really don’t have anything of your own you treasure?’ he asked. Surely someone who put sentimental value on things had something she prized?

  ‘I once had a gorgeous copy of Jane Eyre. I got it at one of the car boot sales I went to with my grandfather.’ Reminiscence softened and warmed her brown eyes. ‘It wasn’t exactly a first edition but it was old and lovely and had the nicest inscription.’

  Ash frowned, confused. ‘The inscription was from your grandfather?’

  ‘No, I bought the book. The inscription was to someone else—the previous owner, I guess.’

  She’d treasured a book that had been gifted to someone else?

  ‘I know it sounds weird.’ She laughed sheepishly at the look on his face. ‘But it had obviously been treasured; it was in such perfect condition and it had been gifted with love. I didn’t think it should just be thrown away.’