Just another paying customer, albeit a very wealthy one.
The rich scent of cinnamon and pine wafts through the air as the heavy front door swings open, dramatically banging against the inside stone wall.
The manly form that enters is a far cry from the boy that left all those years ago. He’s inexplicably more exquisite. A magnetising aura radiates far and wide in every direction. His star quality is undeniable. With that jet-black hair and powerful physique, even from across the room, he’s impossibly striking.
For fuck’s sake. Someone upstairs is testing me. Haven’t I endured enough?
A discreet, fleeting glance allows a quick closer inspection. The worst is confirmed. Ryan Cooper, aged twenty-eight is utterly fucking arresting. If I didn’t already know the man was a rockstar, it wouldn’t be hard to imagine.
He exudes a unique confidence. Still rocking the bad boy vibe, a fitted black leather jacket sculpts his powerful shoulders before nipping in his lean waistline. Low hanging jeans drape below his hips, sculpting a ridiculously pert backside.
My stiletto comes to an abrupt stop, hovering an inch above the bottom step as I drink him in. His hair is longer than it used to be, shaggier. The way it frames the familiar contours of his face begs me to rake my fingers through it. Stubble dusts his jaw.
And that mouth.
Oh my god.
His full Cupid’s bow – plush, plump lips. The memory of exactly what they’re capable of springs to the forefront of my mind.
Close your mouth, Sasha fucking Sexton.
Despite my best efforts, a tiny, barely audible gasp escapes my throat.
His head whips round. The rucksack he clutches drops to the floor as his chin lifts, and inquisitive eyes seek out mine. They’re a warm dark chocolate, only accentuated by his Californian tan.
In one eternally damning split second, he manages to transport me back to my swooning teenage self. The naive, hopeful girl brimming with absolute awe and adoration for the boy before her. Heat floods my veins as spiralling chemicals surge to parts of me that have been in an unrousable slumber since he left.
The natural light accentuates tiny amber flecks in his smouldering eyes. Torrid golden flames ignite in his irises, dancing dangerously as his tongue flicks over his lower lip before disappearing again.
Our eyes lock and something powerful passes between us – an undeniable connection so raw that it penetrates every inch of my body, searing my soul.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
So much for remaining cool. Three seconds after his untimely return, the man has my insides blistering and my blood boiling.
He takes a step forward as my foot eventually connects with the bottom step.
‘Sasha,’ Ryan’s gravelly voice pronounces my name like it’s the most precious word to fall from his tongue. ‘It’s been a while.’
He strides across the grey mosaic tiled flooring to stand directly before me.
I offer my hand to shake his, at the same time as he bends to press a kiss against my face, leaving our hands joined while his hot lips press against my cheek. I’m on the verge of spontaneous combustion. The contact further fuels the growing, dizzying lust inside; the lure of his touch as promising as ever.
Mustering the strength of an army, I manage to utter three tiny words. ‘It certainly has.’
Tearing my eyes from his, I sidestep his hold, channelling my inner Beyonce as I sashay towards reception to Louise, who’s standing wide-eyed and open-mouthed watching our unusual exchange from behind the polished walnut desk.
If there are whispers around the castle regarding my history with Ryan, none of the staff have said it to my face, but this little encounter will likely spread like wildfire. Even the best staff gossip.
‘Louise, this is Mr Cooper. Please ensure he has everything he needs for the duration of his visit.’ My tone can only be described as pleasant. And distant. Which is exactly what I’m aiming for. Attractive he might be. He’s also the bastard who disappeared after taking my V-card, and smashing my heart to smithereens the same night my parents died.
I’d do well to remember it.
There’s no sign of his companion yet. Perhaps she’s arriving separately. It’s none of my business. I’m not supposed to care. Turning abruptly on my heels, I get halfway back to the staircase in my attempt to escapehimand the gut-wrenching, world-spinning effect he creates, before he catches my wrist.
Yanking free from his grip, I glare up at him. Beyonce and her cool demeanour have officially left the building, ten years’ worth of rage and hurt rise dangerously close to the surface.
He towers over me. ‘That’s it? After all these years?’
