Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

It’s why this works so well. From the beginning she’s been completely happy to keep this light and simple. I’ve never been with a woman who’s so receptive to the lack of emotional complication I want. Nonetheless, her look of abject horror at the mere suggestion we’re dating sparks amusement and, yeah, it knocks my ego a little, sure.

I shrug nonchalantly. ‘It seemed a little more acceptable than going into details about our arrangement. Besides, I didn’t think you’d like me introducing you as a friend with benefits.’

‘Is that what we are?’

I grin. ‘Something like that.’

Her mesmerising eyes are locked to mine, amusement and scepticism flashing in them. ‘Somehow I doubt your brothers could be so easily shocked.’

She’s right, of course. ‘I’m a gentleman; what can I say?’

A smirk crosses her lips. ‘You are very far from that, Theo Hart.’

Sparks fly from me to her, so warmth arcs around the terrace.

‘Besides, you want me to come to this wedding to meet friends of yours, right? So what if I get chatting to some guy and end up dating them, or even marrying them? You don’t think that will strike your family as odd?’

Something shifts inside of me. It feels a little like indigestion. I suggested this to Asha. I mean, if Angus and I are the kind of men she goes for, then she clearly doesn’t have the best judgement. I mean, he’s no way near good enough for her and I’m the most commitment-phobic guy in the universe.

‘They’ll think I wouldn’t commit and you found someone who would. Or that I fucked it up somehow.’ I grin. ‘Believe me when I tell you that one of my relationships ending abruptly is not going to spark even a hint of surprise from any of my family.’

Curiosity crosses her

features. She’s weighing up her words, wondering how to ask whatever it is she’s thinking. It’s at this point I realise this is our first time sharing a meal together. We’ve feasted on delivery burgers in bed once or twice, when hunger has driven us to make contact with the outside world, but usually we’re not together long enough to span a proper meal. It’s more of a wham, bam, you’re the best sex ever ma’am, kind of affair.

This, eating across from Asha, is different, and I notice new things about her. Like how long and elegant her fingers are, how neatly manicured are her nails. How she holds her fork mid-air as she speaks, as though she’s the conductor and I’m the orchestra.

‘Have you always been so anti-relationships?’

I focus my gaze on the view, a frown tightening my jaw. I don’t know why but I don’t particularly know how to answer the question.

‘Have you always been such a great cook?’ I volley back, shifting my gaze to hers.

She hesitates a moment. ‘It was either that or starve.’

I lean back in my chair, silently encouraging her to continue.

‘My dad couldn’t cook to save his life. When we were young, we had a nanny, Mrs Bessington—Bessie. We loved her. But when she retired Dad didn’t get around to hiring anyone else and suddenly the home-cooked snacks disappeared...’

‘So it was sink or swim?’

‘Cook or starve,’ she corrects me with a wink.

‘Who raised you then?’

She tilts her head to the side. ‘We went away to school, and in the holidays Dad made an effort to be around.’

‘Made an effort?’ I prompt, curious at that.

Her smile doesn’t sit quite right on her face, like her muscles are working too hard to hold it in place. ‘He’s always worked really long hours. I must get my insane work ethic from him,’ she jokes, reaching for her wine and sipping it. ‘But I guess you know a thing or two about that.’

I don’t particularly want to discuss my father. ‘Where did you go to school?’

‘Felton Academy until I was thirteen, then I went to France for a couple of years, to a boarding school in the Loire Valley. My great-grandmother was a student there, so it’s sort of a tradition,’ she murmurs, spearing another piece of pasta. ‘Dad’s really into all that stuff.’ I suspect her eyes are itching to roll heavenward.

‘Did you like it?’

She laughs. ‘I liked it but I’m not so sure it liked me.’