The Billionaire from Her Past

by Leah Ashton

  Memories always benefited from a glorious rose-coloured haze. Reality was complicated.

  ‘You sent me messages for almost a year, Mila. Why would you do that if you thought our friendship was a mistake?’

  Mila shook her head. ‘Because that wasn’t about us—that was about Steph. That was about my concern for you.’ She paused, trying to organise her rioting thoughts. ‘And, besides, you were on the other side of the world. You weren’t supposed to go and buy the shop next door.’

  ‘That’s nice. So you were only there for me if I remained at an acceptable distance?’

  Yes. No. No.

  They both knew that wasn’t true.

  And Mila also knew that she’d never expected Seb to come home. Or that if he did she’d feel...

  Feel what? She couldn’t even describe it.

  Off-balance?

  Confused?

  Uncomfortable?

  And worse. Breathless, warm...tingly. Dammit. Tingly.

  She didn’t want this. Not with Seb.

  ‘This isn’t a mistake,’ Seb said, his voice low but with a hint of something far from calm in his tone.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Mila said simply. ‘Disagree away. It doesn’t change anything. We were always going to end up friendly acquaintances once we’d finished this charade of vaguely awkward lunches and tennis and talking about the weather. Let’s just fast-track it.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about the weather with you.’

  She’d deliberately referenced his words at the funeral, not caring any more.

  ‘Then what do you want from me?’ she said. ‘Someone to reminisce with about lolly bags at the movies? We can do that on social media. Tag each other in old photos or something.’

  ‘That isn’t what I want.’

  ‘We can even make pithy comments and subtle references that no one else on our friends list will understand!’ Her voice was gloriously false. ‘It will be so fun!’

  She was done with this now. Her dad was permanently gone from her life, and now Seb was relegated to a category only marginally more intimate.

  She had to learn from what had happened with her dad. You couldn’t force relationships. And her friendship with Seb—through time and distance and neglect—had been over long ago.

  So shouldn’t she be feeling good? Relieved?

  She refused to think about that.

  ‘That isn’t what I want,’ Seb repeated.

  ‘I understand,’ she said. Mila knew all about not getting what she wanted.

  She turned, feeling the sand rough between her toes. She was a few steps into the dry sand beyond the waves when Seb spoke again.

  ‘Is that it?’ he said.

  Tears threatened again, from nowhere. Desperately unwanted.

  ‘I thought it was pretty clear,’ she said, and kept on walking.

  ‘It’s not to me,’ he said.

  If he’d touched her, physically tried to make her stop, she would have shoved him away. But instead he took big strides in the deep sand to overtake her, to stand in her path.

  Now she had to walk around him. That was harder than it should have been, even though she knew he’d never stop her.

  For a moment it seemed impossible. She just stood there, her eyes trained on the knot of his tie.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said finally.

  ‘I want you in my life.’

  She made herself meet his gaze, annoyed that it was so difficult to do so.

  Even in the moonlight she felt too exposed. As if he could see something inside her that even she didn’t know about.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you used to be my best friend,’ he said.

  Mila shook her head. ‘Not enough. I’m not living in the past any more.’

  No longer would she grasp onto childish hopes and dreams built on snatches of memories. Not with her father, and not with Seb.

  ‘I’m not a substitute for Stephanie,’ Mila said suddenly.

  ‘I never thought you were,’ Seb said.

  Finally she’d made him angry. She’d cracked the veneer of calm he’d been so careful to maintain. Now on the beach. Before on the red carpet. Maybe the whole time he’d been back in her life.

  But why did she even want to do that? She had no idea.

  ‘But I am...kind of,’ she said gently. Now it was her turn to be calm. ‘You lost the woman you loved. I’m part of your same shared memories. It makes sense you’d want to reconnect. And we tried. But it’s not working.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mila said, warming to this theory. ‘Don’t feel bad about it. It’s okay.’

  Now she should just walk past him. Or at the very least fish her phone out of her bag and call a taxi. This was over.

  But instead she wiggled her toes in the sand. Beneath the relative warmth of the surface the tiny grains were freezing, just a few inches below. Her feet felt heavy, as if the sand was setting around them like concrete.

  ‘Stop it, Mila,’ Seb said.

  He stepped closer, and it was impossible to move.

  ‘Don’t you dare reduce yourself to a variation of someone else.’

  Something in the atmosphere had shifted, triggering an uncomfortable tension.

  Mila shook her head, as if that would fix it.

  Seb stepped closer again.

  ‘Maybe I would be better off as a different variety of Mila,’ she said, trying to recall the false levity she’d voiced before. She failed, and simply sounded breathless. ‘You know—like a new, improved version? Mila two point zero.’

  Now he touched her. His fingers brushed against her wrist, his hand gently circling it, his thumb sliding over her furiously beating pulse.

  ‘You don’t have to change a thing.’

  Mila could barely think with Seb so close to her. She seemed to be leaning towards him. His tie was still her focus, but it was much closer now.

  ‘My mum thinks I should eat more salad,’ she managed.

  Seb’s laugh was sudden and loud, whipped about in the sea breeze.

  ‘I can accept that,’ he said. ‘But only if you want to.’

  ‘I will if there’s no coriander. That stuff is—’

  But her words stopped forming as Seb’s hand shifted, his fingers meshing with hers. She held on tight as she finally lifted her gaze.

  The street lights were all behind him, up above the beach, so his face was in almost total darkness. She could just make out the shape of his cheekbones, the strong line of his nose.

  And his mouth.

  She definitely knew where his mouth was. It was as if every sensation in her body was focused upon it, as if nothing else existed beyond Seb, Mila, this cloaking darkness...and his mouth.

  Her shoes dropped from her fingers to the sand with a soft thud, seemingly releasing her feet from their concrete-like shackles. She stepped closer, because she was helpless to do anything else.

  She closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts...or something. His breath was warm, soft against her eyelashes.

  Snippets of common sense did flitter within her, but with no success. Her body was awash with too many emotions right now for her to pay attention: her father’s rejection, the loss of the man she’d always so badly wanted him to be.

  Plus the awful emptiness that her attempts to remove this man right before her from her life had triggered. Even despite her maddening inability to do so.

  With all this whirling loss and confusion all Mila knew was that she wanted to feel good. She wanted to feel close to someone—to anyone.

  No.

  Not anyone. This man.

  Right now this man felt right. More right than anything else that had happened
tonight. That had happened in for ever.

  ‘Mila...’

  Oh, God, his voice was low and rough. The voice of a man barely in control.

  Seb wanted her. He wanted her.

  Tonight that was what she needed more than absolutely everything.

  Mila’s eyes snapped open. It was far too dark to read anything in Seb’s eyes, but that really didn’t matter.

  If anything, it helped. It reduced everything down to what she wanted and what he wanted. Which was to touch much more than just their hands.

  Mila gripped his hand tighter and then, her gaze dropping to his lips, tugged, pulled him towards her.

  Their lips met a split second before their bodies—chest to breast, hips to hips. Seb’s hand dropped hers, only to appear near her waist, his other hand at her lower back, drawing her even closer.

  Mila’s hand curled up and behind his neck, her fingers combing into his hair.

  Their mouths were momentarily as cool as the breeze, but as they kissed there was nothing but heat.

  Seb showed no caution. He kissed her with the confidence of a man who knew what they both wanted—and he was right. All Mila wanted was to be closer, closer—luxuriating in the sensation of lips and teeth and tongue.

  This was all want and all need. As wild as the ocean and as uncontrollable.

  Mila slid her hand towards Seb’s tie, tugging at it, and then at the top buttons of his shirt, frustrated that so much of him was covered in linen and silk. His skin felt impossibly hot beneath her fingertips, and then against her back, as Seb’s hand searched for its own bare skin, finding it at her shoulder.

  They barely broke apart for air, every kiss just fuelling the next. Their mouths and their bodies working together in search of that same goal of delicious sensation. Of heat and of need and of want.

  But then it was over. As abruptly as it had begun and so suddenly that Mila reached for Seb automatically, her body refusing to accept the space now between them.

  But the space was there, and her fingertips held nothing but thin air.

  ‘We can’t do this,’ said Seb.

  ‘Why not?’

  It seemed the only possible question. There was nothing more right, right now, than that kiss. Mila was absolutely sure of that.

  ‘This is wrong,’ Seb said, and his unknowing contradiction was like a punch to her gut.

  Reality descended.

  ‘You’ve had a tough night. I shouldn’t have done this.’

  ‘We did this,’ Mila said.

  He shook his head. ‘No. This is my mistake. This wasn’t supposed to happen.’

  ‘I didn’t plan this either,’ she said, but he wasn’t really listening.

  Instead he ran his hands through his hair, staring up at the sky.

  As every second passed the rightness of what had just happened became less tangible.

  ‘This can’t happen,’ Seb said, but Mila had the sense that he wasn’t really speaking to her. ‘It would change everything.’

  He’d walked a few steps away, but now came closer again, focusing again on Mila. Again the lack of light was frustrating. It was impossible to read whatever was in his eyes.

  ‘I need you,’ he said, rough and earnest. ‘In my life. As my friend. Not like this. I won’t risk our friendship. Not for a kiss. Not for anything.’ A pause. ‘I don’t want this.’

  A car drove past along the road above them, its lights briefly revealing Seb’s gaze.

  But Mila could see nothing. He’d retreated, shut up shop, boarded up his windows.

  It took a few seconds for his words to start hurting. Maybe she’d already felt too much tonight. Surely soon she would run out of space.

  But, no—the pain found a way. Alongside her father’s rejection now lay Seb’s. And beside that the faintest echo of Seb’s very first rejection, all those years ago. When a teenage Mila’s raw heart had first begun to build its armour.

  Now she had fifteen years of further reinforcements, but tonight she’d let Blaine and Seb step right through.

  That wouldn’t happen again.

  Mila retrieved her shoes and finally stepped around Seb, as she should have done what now felt a million hours ago.

  She’d already ordered a taxi on her phone by the time Seb joined her on the footpath a few minutes later.

  He talked a bit, tried to get Mila to respond, but she just couldn’t pay attention. Instead, with a frustration so intense it made her want to scream, she focused on doing everything in her power not to cry.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ON MONDAY, SEBASTIAN pushed open the door to Mila’s shop with one shoulder, a takeaway coffee tray in his hand. Sheri was at the counter, looking every inch the university arts student that Seb knew her to be, complete with vintage eyeliner and purple Bettie Page-style hair.

  She smiled as he approached her, and more broadly when he placed her coffee in front of her.

  ‘Awesome,’ she said. ‘Thanks. Mila’s out the back.’

  Mila was carefully sliding a tray of pottery into the large kiln that hunkered against the side wall. She glanced at him, but for such a brief second that he had no chance to register if she was glad to see him or otherwise.

  He suspected otherwise.

  Her tone—if there was such a thing in text messages—had been terse over the weekend. She hadn’t answered his calls.

  ‘Mila—’ he began, but she held up a hand.

  ‘Give me a sec,’ she said.

  He waited as she swung the heavy door shut and then pushed a series of buttons on an electronic screen. The kiln beeped happily in response.

  ‘Yes?’ she asked, once she was done.

  But she still didn’t really look at him, instead walking over to the sink to wash her hands.

  ‘I’m not happy with how things ended on Friday.’

  Mila shrugged. ‘That’s a shame.’ Her gaze zeroed in on the coffee tray. ‘What do I owe you for the coffee?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m not here just to bring you coffee.’

  ‘Really?’ she said. She turned, propping her butt against the sink cabinet. She wore skinny black jeans beneath a long artist’s smock, liberally splashed with what he assumed was clay and glaze.

  Her feet were clad only in flip flops, her toenails painted a vivid red. They drew his eye, and also drew an unwanted memory of bare feet on the beach, sinking into sand as he and Mila sank into each other.

  ‘So what do you want, then?’

  Mila’s voice dragged him back to the present. Her tone was strong and direct—like the Mila he was used too. Not fractured or abandoned. He’d never seen Mila like she’d been on that beach, even as a teenager. Friday had been something else—a different level.

  He’d hated to see Mila in pain. He’d hated to cause her pain.

  ‘I want to fix this,’ he said.

  ‘I thought I’d made it clear how our relationship would progress from now on,’ she said.

  She was meeting his gaze now. Her big blue eyes were luminous.

  ‘I don’t want to just be another forgotten acquaintance on your friends list.’

  ‘You want me to be a real friend?’ Mila said, very calmly. ‘Who you can have lunch with and buy coffee for—’ she nodded at the cups he still held ‘—and chat about current events and our lives and stuff?’

  He nodded, but he knew this wasn’t headed anywhere good.

  ‘But not to kiss on the beach under any circumstances, right? Just so we’re both crystal-clear.’

  He couldn’t read her at all now. He didn’t know what she meant.

  ‘Did you want that to happen?’ he asked, genuinely surprised. Although he wasn’t sure if he was surprised by what she’d said or the fact that she’d said i
t.

  He hadn’t allowed himself to reflect on what had happened, and the tension between them well before that kiss. He’d only focused on the fact that it shouldn’t have happened at all.

  ‘No,’ Mila said. ‘I didn’t.’

  She said the words firmly, her gaze equally firm. But there was still something wrong. Something in the way she held herself and the way she looked at him. A vulnerability, perhaps, that made Seb want to fill the air with explanations.

  ‘I just can’t do this, Mila. And not just with you—this isn’t about you. This is about me, and what a crappy husband I was, and how that proves I shouldn’t do relationships, that I’m terrible at them. I’d just screw things up and hurt you like I hurt Steph. And I just can’t face hurting you, and losing you, too—’

  ‘It was a kiss, Seb, nothing more,’ Mila said, again with that relentless calm. ‘There’s no need to talk about relationships.’

  ‘Mila—’

  She shook her head. ‘You were right. It was a mistake.’

  ‘So why—?’

  ‘Can’t we be friends?’ she said. ‘Because it’s a waste of time. Just like it’s a waste of time whenever I answer a call from my dad. Or am stupid enough to agree to see him. People make time for those who are important to them. Neither of us did that—for years. You know what? I can’t be bothered with subterfuge.’

  ‘I’m not like your father, Mila,’ Seb said, his jaw tight.

  ‘You’re right,’ Mila said simply. ‘You have absolutely no reason to feel guilty for walking away.’

  ‘I’m not walking away.’

  Mila smiled sadly. ‘You already did. So did I. Can’t you see?’

  It felt as if a hand was inside his chest, relentlessly smothering his heart. Until now Seb had refused to believe this could happen. This was fixable. It had to be. He couldn’t lose Mila as well. He couldn’t.

  ‘For more than fifteen years we were almost inseparable. So what if we got busy and distracted and lazy—and if I’ve been a grieving, selfish ass? That doesn’t erase our friendship. I don’t believe you ever thought our friendship was over before Steph died. So why is it over now?’