Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

She hesitates for a moment, in a way that has me holding my breath for no reason I can think of. Then she smiles. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I guess we have to.’

‘It won’t be that bad.’

‘Sure it won’t be.’

They share a look that is purely conspiratorial and a twist of longing spears me. I miss Holden. I know I literally just came from his place, but I don’t mean in a physical sense. I mean I miss him as part of our family, as someone who looks at us like brothers and grins. He’s a part of our fabric and I don’t care what any DNA result says. He’s a Hart as much as I am, as much as Jagger is.

The front door clicks open. I move nearer her bedroom door so I catch the moment she pokes her head back in the corridor to meet my eyes. She’s glaring at me but I see amusement in her features and I shrug my shoulders, pulling her bedroom door wide open. Her brother’s out in the communal corridor; there’s no risk of being seen. But nonetheless, she quickly withdraws her head, slamming the door to her apartment behind her.

It’s only the third time I’ve been in her apartment, and it’s the first time without Asha. Charlotte. A small frown smudges my face. My curiosity is natural. We’ve been sleeping together for just over six months but I know hardly anything about her beyond the basic biographical details. That she’s the MD of her family’s luxury cosmetic and lifestyle brand, that she works her beautifully shaped rear end off, which explains why she’s twenty-eight and, up until she and I happened to meet, hadn’t had sex in almost a year. She’s fiercely intelligent and doesn’t take shit from anyone—two things I respect enormously about her.

I’m tempted to snoop. Just a little. Yeah, yeah, it’s kind of a bullshit thing to do but, looking around her apartment, I can’t help but notice little details that I would never have guessed at—details that have previously passed me by because I don’t notice anything except Asha when Asha is around.

Things like the fact she must enjoy cooking, going by the healthy assortment of cookbooks near the kitchen. I pick one up. It’s well thumbed, vegetarian, which she definitely isn’t. I replace it, then do a three sixty. Her taste in furnishing is eclectic and bright, not what you’d expect from a woman who runs a company like Fleurs Sauvages. This is fanciful, frothy, feminine. I smile at a pink cushion shaped like a pair of lips.

I’m so tempted to look around, but I don’t. Not just because it would be weird and creepy, but because no part of this is about getting to know one another. Our cardinal rule was formed a week after our one-night stand: this is just sex. I don’t ask about her life, she doesn’t ask about mine.

I’ve never been in such a perfect relationship.

I whistle as I pull the door shut, already wondering when I can see her again...

CHAPTER TWO

‘ASHA, THIS IS Angus Fienes, the son of a dear friend of ours.’

My stepmother puts her hand in the crook of my arm, drawing me away from the conversation I was in the midst of. I dutifully obey, ignoring the glance of disapproval she gives my hair.

‘Hi.’ I look in his direction, not at all surprised to see a guy who looks like he could have walked off a preppy photoshoot beside her. His teeth are the brightest white I’ve ever seen, his eyes oceanic blue, his skin a buttery tan, with hair that looks soft and golden. ‘My stepdaughter, Asha.’ She doesn’t pause before she says my name, in the way my father does. To Caroline, I’ve only ever been Asha; she didn’t know me as Charlotte, so it’s easier for her to accept my reincarnation.

‘Asha—’ his smile is one hundred per cent model perfect ‘—I’ve heard a lot about you.’

I look at him blankly, knowing I should insert some kind of platitude, and that I would if I really cared. Nonetheless, Caroline is looking at me expectantly and this is her birthday party, so I placate her by offering the man a tight smile.

‘Angus is a hedge fund manager. Very successful,’ Caroline murmurs, leaning closer towards me. This bothers me on so many levels. I like Caroline. She’s a sweetheart. But she is also, unequivocally, a gold-digger. Twenty-four years younger than my father—who she makes sublimely happy, I’ll admit—she was working as a flight attendant for an airline when they met. Despite the fact she’s got a fortune at her fingertips, and I at mine, she doesn’t seem to realise I don’t place quite the same value on marrying well as she evidently does. Beyond that, I wonder what she’d say if she knew I’d been sleeping with one of the wealthiest men on the planet for the last six months.

Six months! How the hell did that happen? When we began, I swore I’d only let it go on for a month or so. Just to store up some great sex memories before going back to my somewhat monastic commitment to running Fleurs Sauvages. I hadn’t been as sold on the whole ‘just sex’ thing as Theo—not that I’d tell him that. Not because I want more than that with him—only a masochist would try to turn a committed bachelor like Theo into anything more—but because one day I do want an actual relationship. With someone. A husband. Kids. A familiar sense of nostalgia washes over me because that sense of family is something I’ve never known. So maybe, in my mind, I’m making it bigger and better than it really is, but all I know is that the sense of belonging which comes from family is something foreign, something that I really want.

Angus laughs quietly—it’s a nice laugh. ‘It’s easy to be successful in this market.’

I give him a point for modesty but take it away again when I realise how false it is. He’s preening in front of me, waiting for me to make some comment on his genius. I don’t. He’s right; it’s a soft market right now, not hard to be successful.

Caroline falters a

little, her smile dropping by degrees. ‘Asha runs the make-up side of things.’

I suppress a familiar flare of irritation. The ‘make-up side of things’ is actually Fleurs Sauvages and the company is worth over sixty-four billion dollars. It’s not just make-up, but a complex range of luxury brands across all industries—handbags, fragrances, jewellery, footwear, lingerie. While cosmetics are my passion project, I’m responsible for everything that falls under the Fleurs Sauvages umbrella. Or, as my family apparently likes to think of it, I ‘tinker with pretty things’. That used to bother me a lot more than it does now.

When I first took over, the pressure to prove myself was immense. I went to work every day with a nauseated feeling in my gut that I couldn’t shake. I don’t know when that eventually gave way. The company’s first billion-dollar year with me at the helm? When I finally secured an exclusive deal to have only our products used for Barcelona and Lyon fashion weeks? I don’t know. But as I’ve got older and worked harder, I know I have the experience and skills necessary to do the company justice. In any ordinary family, I’d say I have what it takes to make my father proud, but pride isn’t something I’ve ever known from my dad. That doesn’t stop me from wanting it sometimes, though.

‘Impressive.’ Angus is being sincere now and it occurs to me that, given his line of work, he has a fair idea—a better idea at least than Caroline—what being MD of a company like Fleurs actually entails.

‘Thank you.’

‘Would you like a drink?’ He nods towards my empty glass. I stare at it for several seconds, a frown on my face, consternation rolling through me. I feel guilty! Actual guilt! Like I should say no because of Theo. Because I’m fucking him? Jeez, what’s wrong with me? He’s made it abundantly clear that all he will ever be able to give me is a long line of orgasms and I’m fine with that.

Dating each other is absolutely verboten. But other people?