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He reached for Tia’s hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it, so she lost the thread of her conversation and turned to face him, her eyes flaring wide, lips parting. The smile he had for Tia was different. It came from the very centre of his soul, was lit by all that he’d been and was, and all because of her.

The dinner was much like the night before, in terms of the tension, the drinking, the acerbic barbs, Rupert’s obtuseness, but it was different, too, because something had shifted for Hamish and her. What had started as a need to pretend they were married had quickly morphed into something else, so the lines were so smudged and blurred it seemed they almost didn’t exist.

It felt like she was looking at the rest of them almost through a veil, like she and Hamish were real and they were not.

But Tia had been forged in the fires of desperation and protecting herself was not only second nature: it was the sum total of her parts.

She prepared and planned. She anticipated.

So even as she was still bathing in the after-effects of what they’d shared that afternoon, she was aware of the horizon coming towards them. The return to New York, to separate apartments, separate lives. She thought of the return to a more clinical, professional relationship and hated that even the idea of that opened a chasm in her chest she didn’t know how to fill.

But she was busy. She had a life—a full life all her own. A life that she’d never thought lacking until recently. There was Roman and Kate, baby Grace, and Tia’s business. Her travel. And soon, a baby of her own, she reminded herself, heart thudding in the hope of having not only a baby but a part of Hamish, too. His baby, that they would both adore and love.

Her stomach twisted.

“Is that your phone?” Cressida’s voice was scathing, as though Tia had brought a dog with diarrhoea to the dinner table.

Tia looked around, frowning. She’d slipped her phone into the pocket of her blazer, which was resting on the back of the chair.

Hamish retrieved her phone, handed it to her. She saw her assistant’s name on the screen and stood.

“I have to take this, excuse me.”

“The library is just a few doors down,” Eleanor offered. “On the right.”

Tia thanked her and left the room, swiping the phone and trying to push all thoughts of Hamish and their future from her mind. The contract she’d thought would offer so much safety now seemed less promising. She tried not to think about that as she stepped into the library.

Tia was gone so long Hamish started to worry. Not that she couldn’t handle herself, but that something might have gone wrong with one of her deals, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he just wanted her to know that he was there if she needed him. Not that she would, but it still felt important to at least offer.

He excused himself from dinner and strode to the library, knocking once before pushing the door open. Tia was pacing and talking a million miles an hour, giving instructions, thinking, then more instructions. It was like watching an air traffic controller at the busiest airport in the world—she was clearly talking to multiple people, not just her assistant, and pulling them all together to do various tasks.

She was…incredible.

Breathtaking. He could only stare as she nodded, clicked her fingers, told someone else to do something else then, perhaps sensing him, turned and offered him an apologetic smile. “Hold on,” she said into the call, matter-of-factly, as though she knew nobody would speak without her say-so. “I’m sorry. I’m going to be a while.”

“Of course. I came to see…” if you needed anything. The words died on his lips. This woman, this amazing, powerhouse woman didn’t need anything from anyone. She was a monolith, a silo, a strength that existed without any supports.

“I’m fine,” she said with a nod, then crossed the room, pressed the mute button on her screen and whispered in his ear. “You’d better not be on the sofa when I get to your room.”

He laughed softly. “If you’re inviting me to share the bed, then my answer is yes.”

“Only until you’ve made me come at least two more times—not to sleep.”

“Of course, the rules,” he said. “Sleeping in the same bed doesn’t fit what we agreed.”

Her eyes flashed with something for a moment but then she smiled. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“And two more times? Please. I’m going to make you come so much you forget who you are.”

Her soft exhalation of breath was his triumph. He slipped from the library thinking only of Tia and the night they had ahead.

Chapter Fifteen

IT WAS ONE OF THOSE PERFECT summer evenings, balmy, a hint of light clinging to the horizon despite the lateness of the hour, the long fingers of dusk reluctant to release their grip, the air humming with happy little nocturnal insects, the breeze bringing with it the fragrance of the garden—gardenia, rose, jasmine, lavender. Scents that were inextricably bound up with not only his childhood but his very existence.

He was reflecting on that—the importance of place to self, and whether it could ever be untethered—when footsteps sounded. He closed his eyes on a wave of gladness—that she was finished sooner than she’d anticipated, and that she’d come to find him. He turned to say as much and saw not Tia, but Cressida, moving towards him, long blonde hair loose, lifting in the breeze, her off-the-shoulder dress showing her perfect sun-kissed tan and decolletage.

His brow furrowed at the unexpectedness of this. It had been a long time, but he could very clearly recall the last time they’d been alone. Then, in London, in his apartment. He’d been trying to delicately piece his life back together, to work out just how much adhesive tape he’d need to apply and to which cracks to make everything hold. She’d been working out how to break herself off altogether, and slip into a whole different picture.