Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

I throw the Scotch back, staring out at Sydney with a growing sense of unease. Asha and I formed our deal weeks ago, and it makes sense. She wants things I can’t give her. I can’t monopolise her body, her time, just because I love making love to her, when she wants to settle down and have kids. What we’re doing feels great right now but what if she wakes up in a year’s time and resents me for holding her back?

We made this agreement and it’s the right thing to do, but, fuck me, now that we’re in Sydney and the wedding is just around the corner, I can’t quite believe we’re nearing the end of this. I try to picture my life without her in it, and I know how I’ll cope with that, I know I’ll find someone else to sleep with as quickly as I can, just to prove to myself that she doesn’t mean more to me than I’m comfortable with—

But shit, right now, the idea of fucking someone else is like drinking acid.

The idea of not seeing Asha again is like a dagger through my gut.

I hear the door click open then slam shut and turn towards it, taking a moment to sum up the situation. She wore a simple green maxi dress to the hens’ party. It’s emerald in colour, picking out the depth of her eyes and the translucency of her skin. I stare at her for several seconds, at the way she’s styled her hair in big, loose waves, tumbling down her back, and a deluge of wants and needs overtakes me.

But then she stubs her toe and swears under her breath and I realise exactly what I’m looking at.

‘You’re drunk.’ I can’t help it. I laugh. Asha is ‘tiptoeing’ through the penthouse, but with all the grace and stealth of a baby rhinoceros.

She turns to me, her eyes huge in her face, and lifts a finger to her lips. ‘Shh...’

I laugh again, a deep, rumbling sound, as I move quickly across the room and put an arm around her waist. It’s an arm designed to steady her but, holy crap, just having her so close to me makes my body harden, awareness throbbing through me.

‘Did you have a good night?’

‘I had the best night.’

Her voice is the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard. I steer her towards the kitchen and lift her easily, plonking her on the edge of the bench while I grab a bottle of still mineral water.

‘Grace is so nice. And her friend Penny is nice. They’re all so nice.’

She dances a little on top of the benchtop, wiggling her hips and lifting her hands in the air. ‘But I’m hot.’ She frowns, pulling at her dress, her frown deepening when she can’t get it off.

‘Hang on—’ I laugh ‘—it’s zipped up.’ I come around behind her and run the zip the length of her body, fiercely telling my cock to settle down because Asha is in no condition to have sex.

‘That feels good,’ she murmurs, apparently not getting the memo.

I step away from her, not looking at how gorgeous she is, not looking at the delicate lace of her bra that reminds me of the thong I used as handcuffs that night in Paris.

I hand her the mineral water. ‘Drink this.’

‘I’m not thirsty.’ Her voice is a purr.

Great. She’s doing her level best to seduce me and I’ve decided to go all honourable and not sleep with her because she’s drunk? What the fuck is wrong with me? Then again, that’s not new. Sleeping with someone who can barely walk has never been my thing. But Asha’s Asha. We’re different.

‘Do you know what I don’t get, Theo?’ Her voice is a little slurred, her eyes heavy. She drinks the mineral water and smiles at me but her eyes are troubled, as though she’s hurt. The idea of that—of anyone hurting Asha—brings all my masculine protective instincts to the fore.

Something inside of me shifts. ‘What’s that, Asha?’

‘Jagger is so madly in love with Grace. I mean, he’s crazy for her. He even showed up tonight—’

‘What?’ I interrupt, pulling a face.

‘Yeah. He said he didn’t want to go a whole night without seeing her.’

I bite back a derisive comment. That brother of mine has got it bad.

‘How come he wants to be normal and you don’t?’

I know what she’s asking but it’s easier to make light of her question than it is to answer it honestly. ‘You don’t think I’m normal?’

She rolls her eyes and winces as—I can only presume—her head aches in response. I spin away, grabbing a couple of paracetamol. ‘You know what I mean.’ She’s frowning when I turn back to her.

‘Nope.’ It’s a lie. Guilt shifts inside of me. Sober, Asha is sharper than a blade. I doubt I could win an argument with her to save my life. But, after God knows how many glasses of champagne, she’s blurry and foggy and I’m ashamed to say I’m taking advantage of that.