"Tell me to stop," Victoria said, her lips barely an inch from Sasha's.
"I can't."
"Tell me this is wrong."
"It is wrong." Sasha's hands twisted in Victoria's dress, pulling her closer. "Completely wrong."
"Tell me you don't want this."
"No," Sasha said, her eyes dark in the lamplight.
And Victoria was drowning in green eyes and the scent of summer air and the way Sasha was looking at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once. She wanted to kiss her, properly this time, wanted to press her against the bookshelf and forget about everything else except the way Sasha felt in her arms.
She wanted to strip that blue dress off her shoulders and map every inch of skin with her mouth. She wanted to hear Sasha say her name like a prayer. She wanted things that were completely inappropriate and entirely necessary and…
"—thinking of turning in early myself," came her mother's voice from the dining room, growing closer. "This heat is simply exhausting."
Victoria sprang away from Sasha like she'd been burned, her heart hammering against her ribs. Sasha grabbed the decanter with shaking hands, her face flushed and her hair slightly mussed.
"Get out of here," Victoria growled, like she was warning her away. "Go."
Sasha nodded, face flushed and lips swollen. "I’m going."
And she fled, leaving Victoria feeling like she was on the very edge of a cliff and very, very close to toppling over into the void.
Chapter Sixteen
Being driven to the beach by her fake boyfriend's chauffeur made Sasha feel like she was living in some sort of alternate reality where normal rules didn't apply. It was sort of like being on television but without the annoying director telling her what to do.
"Davies, you really don't have to…" she began for the third time as he held open the car door.
"Miss Fox, I assure you it's no trouble at all." Davies's expression was perfectly neutral, though she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile. "Master Ambrose requested beach transportation, and beach transportation he shall receive."
"We’ll walk back," Ambrose said. "If it makes you feel any better?"
"It might," said Sasha.
"Come on, then." He was already halfway down the path to the sand, carrying a ridiculous wicker picnic basket that probably cost more than Sasha's last ten pairs of shoes, which, to be fair, were all sneakers. He turned and waved enthusiastically.
"I've packed champagne!"
"It's eleven in the morning," Sasha called back.
"Your point being?"
She followed him down to the beach, which was predictably stunning, all golden sand and turquoise water that looked like it belonged in a postcard rather than actual Cornwall. The heat was oppressive, even this close to the water, the sort of sticky warmth that made clothing feel like a punishment.
"Right," Ambrose said, spreading out an enormous blanket with surprising efficiency. "You haven't had much of a holiday, what with all the gardening and the sneaking around and the wanting to shag my sister, and… stuff."
"I don't want to shag your sister."
"Please. You practically vibrate when she walks into a room." He pulled out the champagne and two crystal flutes, because apparently plastic cups were beneath Sullivan standards even at the beach. "You deserve a proper day off."
Sasha accepted the champagne and looked around. "Where's Lukas then? Thought you might have invited him along."
Ambrose's face fell spectacularly. "Plant collecting trip. Something about rare specimens in Devon. He left this morning and won't be back until tonight."
"Ah. So this is less 'treating Sasha to a lovely beach day' and more 'Ambrose needs emotional support because his crush is away.'"
