I’ve a horrible inkling it might not be as straightforward as that.
Passing through the warm, inviting atrium, I pause to admire the neoclassical features. Gold and auburn flames flicker and dance on the traditional open fireplace, the scent of burning wood and cinnamon lingers enchantingly in the air. A million images hit me consecutively like a slideshow of my eighteenth year, each and every one of them stars Sasha.
Her smile.
Her infectious laugh.
Her hand in mine.
Her mouth all over me.
Shaking off the memories, I pass through unnoticed, bar the receptionist who offers a discreet nod and smile before returning to her computer. With the paparazzi taken care of and the place locked down to residents only, it feels pretty secure.
Having snuck around this castle for the best part of my youth, I know exactly where the kitchen is.
The main restaurant’s empty at this late hour. Lurking at the kitchen’s double doors, I glimpse the lights still blazing brightly behind the circular panes of glass. This kitchen used to be the heart of the castle, perhaps it still is.
Nudging the door open a crack, I hear a sound I haven’t heard in years. One that no passage of time would ever allow me to forget; Sasha’s unreserved vivacious laughter.
Perched on top of a stainless steel countertop, her long legs cross under one of her trademark pencil skirts. This one’s leather, just to rightly set my pulse racing. The top button of her charcoal coloured blouse is open, displaying a hint of creamy porcelain cleavage. In her right hand, she clutches a glass of red wine.
Her hair is as unrestrained as the smile that lights her face and her jade eyes sparkle and glint with an abandonment that renders me grinning foolishly at the sight. Blood pounds and rushes below. She’s fucking beautiful. One hundred per cent natural and utterly out of this world.
I follow her eye line, seeking the source of her amusement and my grin freezes on my face. A six-foot version of what looks like a lifelike Ken doll stands adjacent to her, his blond floppy hair falling over one bright blue eye. He looks utterly enamoured with the woman before him. Hell, there isn’t a man in this world that would blame him, but it still makes me want to go all GI Joe on him and hand him his ass.
It didn’t occur to me she might have a fucking boyfriend.
Envy rips through me. Yet another emotion I haven’t felt in years. I have no right, but the urge to swoop in and mark my territory is overwhelming. She’s not mine. She hasn’t been for years, but the urge to claim her is feral.
My feet move before I can stop them, directing me straight towards them. Yanking off Pierce’s stupid baseball cap, I toss it on one of the gleaming chrome counters as I march across the room, all previous rationale evaporating.
Ken steps in front of Sasha, his hand rising to her lips. The way she parts her mouth for him sends a shiver of longing shooting through every single cell in me. Fuck.
My breath’s trapped in my throat while I wait for him to kiss her, but instead he simply pops a tiny morsel of food in. Instead of staring into his eyes, she closes them.
There might be hope yet.
I know now with complete certainty that I won’t be able to leave until she parts them like that for me. For my tongue. Even if there’s no hope of a future between us. I need to taste her again. And not just her lips.
It defeats logic. She lives here. My life’s in the States, but I’ve never been more certain of anything. Maybe Jayden’s right. Maybe we need closure.
Though it has nothing to do with a, ‘I really hate you and I’m totally glad we’re separating but let’s have one final dirty goodbye shag to make sure,’ and everything to do with ‘I know what your body needs because it’s haunted my dreams every single fucking day since the last time I touched it.’
Random images of what might have been if Sasha had come to the States with me all those years ago bombard me.
If I could have only hung on for six more months. Ifs don’t change a thing though, but after all these years, she is still the full package for me. She’s a goddamn work of art. I’m sure we’d have been happy. We’d have made a life together.
She was mine first. And I need her to be again. Even if only for a while.
CHAPTERELEVEN
SASHA
‘Ryan.’ I hop down from my less than professional position on the kitchen counter and wipe my mouth, hoping Conor’s buttery pastry isn’t stuck to my lips.
Ryan marches deliberately towards me – his eyes glinting like a hungry predator. It’s accurate. He’s the only man with the ability to eat me alive, chew me up and spit me out. He’s the polar opposite to Conor’s safe, easy-going demeanour. I’d be a fool to forget it.
Yet, despite the obvious danger, the heat exuding from his blackening pupils beckons me, drawing me in, urging me to connect with him somewhere deep inside his chest. And his pants.
