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

by Natalie Anderson

  Maybe partly—and his reaction? So worth it.

  ‘Merle?’ he asked again. ‘Why are you chuckling to yourself?’

  ‘I’m thinking that I don’t care what anyone thinks.’ She smiled, aware of her blossoming sensuality and confidence. ‘Except you. But I know you like my outfit.’

  ‘Not just your outfit.’

  A ripple of sensual awareness skimmed down her spine. The pleasure, the sensations, of this evening? Stepping out with him, teasing him, enjoying every mouthful of that stunning food, the restaurant’s stylish decor and the sexy beats from the live band by the dance floor... Everything had been perfect. It wasn’t an experience she wanted to just remember, but an experience that she wanted again.

  Ash Castle had opened up her world. He’d pulled her free of the shroud beneath which she’d hidden for so long—not her coverall, but her tendency to stay safe back in the shadows. He’d given her more than he’d promised. More than the sexuality she felt safe exploring with him, more than the light jokes and games between them. More than the serious conversation too.

  But there was another, rarer element curling around all these things, threading them together, forming an unbreakable, undeniable core within her. Something invisible, something strong, had melded to her central framework and become inseparable from her very soul. She gazed up at him, lost in the world of memory and sensation, laughter, spark and sensuality. The world that was totally, utterly Ash.

  Ash’s clothes felt too tight. His collar especially. It made breathing difficult. Thinking was simply impossible. That weird protectiveness rearing within tensed all of his muscles. But Merle held him close. She had rhythm. But then, he knew that, didn’t he? She moved so well in his arms. In sync and breathing together, they sensed and anticipated each other’s movements.

  He was desperate to be alone with her. Yet he didn’t want to short-change her on the night out he’d promised. But she cupped his jaw. And she tempted him.

  ‘Shall we continue this dance upstairs?’ she murmured.

  She saved him.

  As the lift rose, taking them to their hotel suite, his tension scorched. ‘Merle...’

  ‘Yes?’

  Something broke apart within him then. Her simple, sweet response. Affirmative. Listening. Willing.

  It was everything he wanted from her. And it terrified him at the same time. He had no idea how he unlocked the hotel room or what he did with the damn key card, just that somehow they were inside the door and alone. Thank heavens.

  This wasn’t just superficial desire, but also physical need underpinned by bone-deep longing. A fast release wasn’t going to work. But he was unable to stop himself from trying. The sexiest outfit ever had just become the source of the most insane frustration. Somehow he worked it out and the scarlet shimmered down her body in a slither of sexy colour and then she stood so close to naked, clad only in a tiny bra and thong, in matching scarlet. Ash had never felt as honoured in his life. Not even their first night together compared to this. He was utterly lost for words.

  She smiled at him again. ‘Thank you for tonight. It was a lot of fun.’

  Fun? He couldn’t stand the compressed sensation inside his chest. It was as if his heart had been clamped by some medieval instrument of torture. He couldn’t bear to look into her beautiful eyes but he couldn’t look away and something once held fast slipped loose inside. In another breath, every last semblance of his control was lost.

  He tore the condom wrapper between his teeth. Her eyes widened with humour and arousal. A gorgeous, intoxicating, provocative mix that made him even more desperate to take her. Now. To his eternal gratitude she stepped forward and reached for his belt, intuitively understanding the level of pain he was in right now. Two strokes of her gentle hand up his turgid length was two too many for him to handle. He growled. Her gaze lifted to his. A smoky, sensual pride gleamed in those brown eyes.

  He buried his thoughts by kissing her, rejoicing because it wasn’t a response that she gave him, it was an action of her own—the dance of her tongue against his, the slide she’d learned so quickly, tore at the last of his self-restraint. The way she wanted him destroyed him. This was a pure celebration of their physical selves—of desire and pleasure to be found with each other. But it wasn’t just that. The sudden tightness in his chest hurt.

  He spun her to face the wall so he couldn’t see her expressive face, because he was so close to something else. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of that tiny scarlet thong and tugged it down. Seconds later he’d unhooked her bra and taken a moment to skim his palms across her tight-budded breasts before sliding his hands to settle heavy and hard on her hips, holding her where he needed her to be. This was sex. This was just another night. This meant nothing more. But then she braced her hands on the wall in front of her and pushed back, sliding her curvy derriere into him. Claiming her space. No longer hiding, no longer content to be invisible—not around him.

  He could only take pleasure in her stance. Pressing her against the wall. And she was hot and wet, the silken pull of her muscles sending his into overdrive. He tensed at the base of his spine. His release so close. Too close. Too soon.

  He fought to regain himself and slow it down. But her hair was loose and fragrant and her moans of delight, of demand, rang in his ears. He couldn’t resist pressing a kiss at the side of her neck and once there he was lost, tempted again by those sweet, small earlobes just made for him to nibble. She shuddered and cried out, her lithe body shaking. Passion and pleasure rushed over him at her response. His skin rippled as goose pimples lifted everywhere. He swiftly slipped his hand down to delve and delight her and heard her harsh, high-pitched cry of pleasure. He closed his eyes but the shock waves of her detonation went through him anyway and sucked the last of his control with it. He gripped her tightly and pumped hard, all control gone.

  His heart slammed against his ribs. He didn’t want it to be over. He didn’t want this just to be...that. A night. A good time. A meaningless moment. Because that was the last thing this was for him. This felt like so much more and, even though he’d tried to deny it, he couldn’t any more. He tried again—slammed on the mental brakes, trying to stem the unfettered feelings flooding his body.

  He wasn’t even undressed. His trousers were around his ankles as though he were some out-of-control teen. His shirt was stuck to his back, slick with sweat from the searing heat she’d roused in him. He’d ravished her. He could feel her legs trembling as she rested her forehead against her arms, taking support from the wall in front of her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he groaned. ‘Too fast.’

  But she tilted her head back, resting against his shoulder and exposing the long, vulnerable column of her throat, and laughed. A brief, sexy chuckle that rang with pleasure and unvarnished, unashamed pride.

  The jumble of concern in his head faded away. ‘You liked that?’

  She chuckled again. ‘You seemed as if...’

  ‘As if?’ he said quietly. ‘As if I couldn’t stop myself? As if I couldn’t wait? As if I wanted nothing more than to be locked in here with you? Because that’s exactly what happened.’

  At the dewy, deliciously dirty satisfaction in her eyes he was hard again. And, given the way she pressed her lithe, lissom body back against his, she knew exactly what she’d just done. She was the sweetest vixen. He’d forgotten that this was supposed to only be sex. He’d forgotten that it was ending. He’d forgotten that he couldn’t give her what she most needed.

  All he wanted now was to make love to her for hours and hours.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MERLE SIPPED HER fresh-squeezed orange juice and wondered whether she should wake him. For the third time in the hour she opted not to. He needed the rest. And she needed more time to process. Last night had been...indescribable. No words could explain the sensations she was still floating upon. The intensity followed by suc
h tenderness. He’d kissed her, kissed her, kissed her. Now she tried to stay in the present, tried not to panic about the fact the week was almost over and he’d be returning to Australia soon. She had to be grateful for the experience, right?

  But she wanted more.

  She wanted the man who’d come apart before her very eyes last night. She wanted more of that kick to the heart she’d felt when she’d seen his reaction to her scarlet jumpsuit. That thrill of pleasure. She wanted more of his attention, his wit, his warmth.

  ‘Merle? Why didn’t you wake me?’ He walked through the door already dressed in those dark denim jeans and tee that skimmed his muscular frame.

  He looked as if he’d had a hard night—his hair rumpled, stubble on his jaw, the sight of which sent a tingle to her fingertips. She wanted to touch him all over again. She didn’t want the night to be over. Ever.

  ‘You were in a really deep sleep,’ she said huskily.

  For a moment their gazes meshed. But his lips twisted and his lashes lowered. ‘Come on. We’d better get back. I’ve missed a bunch of messages from the pilot.’

  ‘Oh—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said negligently. ‘He’ll be ready the minute we get there.’

  She nodded. Things moved that way for Ash. Instantly and at his summons. Because he didn’t want to stay.

  Her heart sank as she realised. He never stayed.

  Ash strode across the tarmac, gritting his teeth to suppress another yawn. Strange, he’d never felt this exhausted. Maybe he was coming down with the flu? Maybe that would explain his behaviour last night. He’d never lost control like that. Never been so overcome by lust he’d barely paused long enough to ensure his partner was there with him. But Merle had been. In fact, she’d been a step ahead. He’d heard it in her breathing, seen it in her glazed eyes, felt it in every inch of her body. She’d stayed a step ahead of him the rest of the night too. She was still a step ahead of him now. He followed her into the helicopter. He didn’t speak. The bright sunlight made his eyes ache.

  Last Friday he’d arrived on Waiheke at night and the house had been cloaked in dusky darkness. For the first day he’d focused on the pool. Then he’d been so focused on Merle he’d not noticed the property—he’d avoided it. But this time, the midday sun was bright and he was so focused on not looking at Merle that he couldn’t help but see it. All of it. A wall of hurt and regret slammed into him. The helicopter lifted up as soon as they were clear and walking towards that wretched lawn court. In only a few minutes silence returned. He glanced to see Merle watching him. Beyond her, the house loomed. He couldn’t decide which caused him the most discomfort.

  ‘This is the last time I’ll be here,’ he muttered unthinkingly. He had to be done with it.

  ‘This week.’ She nodded.

  ‘At all,’ he corrected flatly.

  She paused on the path. ‘You’re not coming back?’ Her soft lips parted on an audible breath. ‘Are you planning to sell it?’

  Her shock lifted his heart for a second—before it smashed back down like a stone hitting concrete.

  ‘Why does that surprise you?’ he asked. Surely she understood this place held little happiness for him?

  ‘You love it here.’

  ‘No.’ His blood ran cold here. ‘I wasn’t going to come back at all. But in the end I couldn’t let it go without...’

  He growled, because he’d never expressed it aloud—never wanted to. But he was tired and somehow he couldn’t resist the compulsion to tell her. As if she were justice herself—a scale with which he could weigh the decision—even though he already knew it tipped him towards guilty.

  ‘I had to see what he’d done to wreck the place,’ he muttered in frustration.

  ‘You think this is wrecked?’ Merle’s gaze shot back to the house briefly before returning to shine that steadfast belief into his. ‘Ash, this place is beautiful—’

  ‘You’re wrong. It was beautiful.’

  She didn’t understand the level—or the layers—of destruction. She didn’t know that the last time he’d visited was branded in his brain and had left a wound that would never heal. He’d regret the pain he’d caused for the rest of his life. There could be no redemption. His mistakes were unforgivable.

  ‘The heart of it got ripped out, and a new facade put in place,’ he said gruffly. ‘It looks like perfection but there’s nothing real.’

  His skin tightened but the misery swelling within couldn’t be contained. He stood even more rigidly, resisting the threatening emotional explosion. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t even walk inside. Instead he gazed around the garden.

  ‘Ash?’

  ‘There used to be an orchard where the tennis court is,’ he muttered. ‘Apples, peaches, plums... I used to climb up and pick something and take it to where Mum was watching from the balcony. She always knew where the best ones were but she let me find them.’

  He was too lost in memory to register the long pause.

  ‘That would’ve been awesome,’ Merle eventually responded with her softness.

  ‘They ripped it out when they put in the bunker and the tennis court.’ He stared at the green expanse that had shocked him so completely. ‘The garden was everything to her. She couldn’t do the physical work but she designed it. She was good friends with the groundsman and they kept a record of the produce each year.’ He surveyed it, remembering how much there’d once been. ‘I guess nothing of any real depth can grow when there’s a lump of cold metal just beneath the surface.’

  Which was him too, right? Fine superficially, but beneath—what was there really? For the first time he felt how lacking in depth, how empty inside he was. A sense of futility stunned him—for all of his success, his years proving to his father that he didn’t need him, that he could do better than him. What, exactly, had it all been for? His father had foisted the inheritance on him anyway. Ignoring Ash’s years of anger and absence. He’d still assumed that Ash was his true son—just like him, the worthy recipient of what he’d created.

  ‘I haven’t been back here in almost a decade,’ he admitted quietly.

  Friday night had been the first time he’d seen that the trees had been replaced with perfect lawn, that the comfortable old house had been renovated into soullessness with stripped-back decor and nothing intimate or personal about the place. He knew it was maintained by a team of strangers who swooped in and set everything ‘just so’. Even now, a year after his father’s death, they maintained its flawless facade. It irritated him intensely. Even after his death his father was all about false appearances. About destroying what should have been wonderful—purely because of greed. Everything had been an investment, but Hugh didn’t value true treasure. Like those damned trees.

  ‘Why haven’t you been in so long?’

  He’d simply been unable to. But it had come to a point when he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

  ‘After Mum died, I fell out with my father. I refused to have anything to do with him or the company, I avoided all our properties and built my own,’ he said. ‘Now I’ve finally come back and discovered my worst nightmare was reality. He’s scrubbed everything of her from the place. He’s destroyed everything she’d created to fulfil some stupid desire for some gadget he thought was essential.’

  ‘You came here a lot before she died?’

  ‘When Mum’s health declined, she moved here permanently.’

  Merle stood very still beside him. ‘But your dad was still in Sydney?’

  He nodded. He could hear the confusion in her voice. He’d already told her his family life had been more of a family lie. But she still didn’t realise just how messed up it had been. And he couldn’t seem to stop himself from remembering.

  ‘Did you divide your time between them?’ Merle asked when he didn’t immediately answer.

  ‘I went to a very prestigi
ous boarding school a few hours north of Sydney,’ he explained with full sarcasm. ‘It offered every advantage for a young person, you know. Then I’d come here for the holidays.’

  He had rarely seen his father—so he didn’t impact on the secret lifestyle his father had enjoyed. Glancing over, he saw her deepening frown, and Ash shook his head. ‘Yeah, no denying my teenage years were dysfunctional.’

  ‘But why do you want to sell it now?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think you hate this place, Ash. I think you still love it. It’s just that you were hurt here. Maybe being here makes you remember what you lost.’

  Being here made him angry. And powerless. Because there was no fixing any of it.

  ‘Mum’s passing was awful,’ he admitted. In an almost naive way he hadn’t realised how ill she was. He’d thought she would go on as she was for years—in a kind of weak but strong stasis. He’d thought he’d have a chance to make things right again once she’d got over her anger. But there’d been no chance. ‘I’d already lost everything before that. Because I’m the one who inflicted the pain here.’

  Her steady, unflinching gaze stabilised his careering emotions.

  ‘What happened?’

  He’d known she’d ask. Who wouldn’t when given a statement like that? He’d wanted her to. He wanted her to know. Because then? Then she’d know the truth. She’d know him for who he was. And that light in her eyes when she looked at him? That would dim.

  ‘It was my fault my mother died when she did,’ he said harshly.

  ‘What?’ Merle’s soft voice lifted. ‘How?’

  ‘I broke her heart.’ And it had already been so damaged, the harm was irreparable. His own heart tore every time he so much as thought of it.

  But Merle stayed still, her gaze true and calm. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I proved to her that I was just like him.’

  Didn’t I teach you to play fair? Not to cheat? Never cheat, Ashton.

  His mother’s recriminations echoed. Even after all this time they scalded his vital organs, making it feel impossible to breathe. If he told Merle the whole truth she’d recoil. She’d step back. She was too much of a believer in good things not to shrink away from something awful. And maybe after last night that would be best. Because last night had changed this.