‘Not that I know of.’ She shrugs. ‘Anyway, that’s all ancient history. I’m just focusing on my future now, trying to write th
e life I want for myself, you know.’
I can’t imagine having that kind of attitude, but I nod because I want Cora to have whatever she wants, and the new life she’s planning sounds pretty perfect for her. ‘I’d like to see more of your photos.’
‘My portfolio?’
‘Sure. But I meant the ones you took this morning.’
‘Right.’ She smiles, but there’s a sense of reserve in her expression. ‘They’re rough. I was just practising.’
‘Show me.’
She moves her hand towards my belly, running her fingers up towards my chest, then lower, following a line of dark hair that arrows towards my cock. Her eyes lift to mine, and there’s a silent challenge in them.
‘Soon.’
And in that single word I feel a rebirth of my needs and wants, so I jerk my head in a small sign of approval.
‘Soon will be fine.’
Her smile is pure sexiness. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Mr Hart.’ And her head drops to my chest, then follows the same path as her finger, so I suck in a deep breath and prepare for what she’s about to do.
There’s no preparing for it though. The moment she wraps her mouth around my length I feel the strangest sense that I’ve come home. I refuse to analyse it—I don’t have the brainpower right now, anyway—but that doesn’t change the fact there’s perfection in this moment. Sheer, undeniable perfection...six more days of it.
CHAPTER TEN
Five nights left in Sydney
THEO’S LOOKING AT ME in that way I’m now very, very used to. Like he doesn’t know if he wants to shake me or hug me. Pity is in his eyes, the same pity I’ve come to know often, that I resent with every fibre of my being.
‘How’s Asha?’ The question is calculated. If anything can relax him, it’s talking about his fiancée. I offer him a beer from the fridge. He takes it, shifting his gaze to the view and, sure enough, a smile moves over his face when he thinks of the woman he’s going to marry. ‘Busy. Amazing.’
His happiness should make me happy but it doesn’t. Much like Jagger and Grace, I feel like my brothers both exist in bubbles now, completely self-contained and separate from me. They have these lives—rich, full lives—and even if it weren’t for the fact I’m not a real Hart I’d still feel on the outside.
‘The new product line’s going well?’
‘She’s killing it.’ His pride is tangible. ‘She knew it would be huge but it’s dominating sales in its demographic; they can barely keep up with demand.’
‘She must be thrilled.’ I think I sound normal. It’s a normal thing to say, right? So why does Theo whip his head around to look at me, a frown settling over his face.
‘Yeah. How’s the casino?’
I shift my shoulders. ‘Good. The development’s coming together well. The Roosevelts deal’s almost completed.’
‘And you?’
I drain half of the beer before I can answer, then cradle it in the palm of my hand. Here we are, at the crux of things. ‘Is that why you came out here?’
His eyes narrow. ‘Jagger says you’re not returning his calls.’
Something hollows me inside. It’s true. Twice a day, every day, Jagger’s been calling, and I’ve been ignoring them. Ignoring him. I close my eyes and see their beautiful daughter and feel...the opposite of Felicity. I’m happy for him, theoretically, but seeing that biological connection and knowing myself to be completely alienated from anything like that fills me with an inexplicable rage. Not at the baby, not at Jagger, not at anyone I can think of. It’s just a free-floating anger that’s eating me alive.
Except when I’m with Cora.
Or drunk.
I should have left Australia by now. Being here isn’t good for anyone. Europe beckons. Or South America. Somewhere far from this, them, my life.