Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

‘Wait for it,’ he says again, and now Major Andrews turns around to grin at me, apparently amused at Theo’s excitement.

A few seconds later and the plane is out of the clouds. Sydney opens up beneath us like a tiara against the ocean, all sparkling silver high-rises, white waves, golden sand.

The distinctive Opera House and bridge are visible as the plane circles lower, and I crane forward in my seat.

It’s a spectacular city and this view of it is unrivalled. The plane drops lower and I keep my eyes on the view, marvelling at its beauty as conversation between Theo and Major Andrews turns quiet and serious. They’re focused now on the business of landing the plane.

I watch as they run thei

r fingers over the dials and then the airport comes into view, the runway long and straight beneath us. Theo grips the controls and the plane lurches lower, and lower, and my stomach flops because seeing a plane come down like this is unnerving, actually. I’m not worried, just awestruck; it’s breathtaking.

Lower and lower. There’s a noise as the wheels drop and then we’re in a proper descent and the plane touches down. I let my breath go, smiling as they apply the brakes and the plane slows down quickly, the wings offering resistance to help bring the plane to a halt. Theo unbuckles his seat belt and turns to me, standing before the plane has stopped moving. Major Andrews is steering it now, using the instrument panel to bring the bird into a hangar a little distance from the commercial planes.

‘So?’ Theo grins, his hands on his hips. ‘What do you think?’

What do I think?

I think seeing him fly an airplane is incredibly hot. I think Sydney is beautiful. I think he is beautiful. I think a thousand things and then I think a thousand that I shouldn’t, and in the back of my mind is my dream, the darkness and oppressiveness of it threatening to eclipse the happiness of that moment.

‘I think that was pretty cool,’ I say lightly, careful not to give away even the slightest hint of the thoughts that are hounding me.

He grins. ‘I’m glad.’ His kiss is light and over before it begins. He pulls away from me and I watch as he walks along the plane, bracing himself on a chair as he nears my handbag. He lifts it up, then grins.

Not a hint of concern.

No beetling of his brow.

Nothing.

It’s almost the end, and he doesn’t care.

I tell myself I don’t either.

* * *

Sydney in September is beautiful, and warm. I stretch against the sun lounger. The pool makes a gentle lapping noise at my feet. The harbour is right beneath us, sparkling and pretty, filled with boats—big old ferries but nimble, elegant speedboats too.

I don’t hear the doorbell to the penthouse but Theo does. He pushes up, his hands trailing my feet as he moves past me. ‘The door,’ he explains at my quizzical look.

‘Oh.’ I stay where I am, my eyes heavy. Since we arrived in Sydney yesterday, all we’ve done is sleep, eat, swim and make love. There is euphoria in this, but also the ever-present feeling of disbelief, of bracing for impact, like I’m in a train that’s heading towards a broken bridge and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, nor to avert disaster. But I’m being melodramatic, aren’t I? It’s not as though I’ve never had to overcome anything in my life, and I’ll overcome this too.

A moment later, voices break through my slumberous state. Two male voices and that of a woman. I blink my eyes open just as they step onto the terrace.

‘Ash...’ Theo smiles but I feel something in his expression. Frustration. Guilt? It makes no sense. I reach for a towel, wrapping it under my arms.

‘This is my brother, Jagger.’ He gestures to a man—handsome, with fair hair and white teeth. ‘And my sister-in-law-to-be, Grace.’ He comes to stand at my side but doesn’t touch me. It’s noticeable only because he’s barely stopped touching me all morning.

‘This is Asha Sauvages, a friend of mine.’

Grace’s eyes flick wide. ‘As in Fleurs Sauvages?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Wow. I love your products.’

I’m glad, because I’ve brought a shedload of cosmetics as a wedding gift for her. ‘Thanks.’

Her smile is genuine. There’s something about her I find myself warming to. ‘We only popped in to say hi,’ Grace explains, flicking her gaze to Jagger. ‘We won’t keep you long.’