Stranded For One Scandalous Week (Mills & Boon Modern) (Rebels, Brothers, Billionaires Book 1), Natalie Anderson [android e book reader .txt] 📗

stand it as she swept her hands, her mouth, her body over his. This was a woman lost in the throes of desire, exploring her sensuality with him. And he’d never felt as lucky. It felt like a first time for him too—this discovery.

‘Like that?’ she asked, a breathless sweet echo of his own check-in with her last night. Ensuring understanding, acceptance, pleasure.

The blue sky was a background to her beauty. Brilliant, almost blinding, the whole world seemed hot and vital. She writhed above him—with a moan, with a choked laugh. His heart beat painfully. She killed him. Never had he experienced such sweet, heady enjoyment. She was fresh and intoxicating and wicked. She didn’t offer the slick moves of a lover aiming to please another. This was too innocent, the expression in her eyes too dazed. Joining her in this was a privilege that he could only strive to deserve—vowing to make it better for her still. She groaned as he worked his hand between them, feeling her flaring response—and his own complete unravelling.

‘You’re stunning.’ And he was helpless. Unable to think of anything more intelligent to say as she made him arch and shout, ‘Merle!’

‘I didn’t think it could get better than last night.’ Merle drowsily studied Ash but couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking. He sipped his drink, gazing across the water, his breathing taking time to slow. And as she too slowly recovered, she began to imagine the full extent of the week’s possibilities.

He glanced down and met her gaze, his mouth quirking. ‘You look like a satisfied kitten.’

‘Kitten?’ she echoed with mock outrage. She did not want to be a kitten. ‘Can’t I be a panther?’

He answered with another bitingly gentle kiss and suddenly she was all out of shy patience. She didn’t want more games. She just wanted him. She broke free from his gorgeously decadent lips and breathlessly asked him to take total advantage of her again.

‘You’ve gone to so much trouble,’ she muttered as she pulled the soft blanket higher up her shoulders another half-hour later.

‘I really haven’t,’ he laughed lazily.

Perhaps for him it wasn’t a bother. Perhaps all these things that were luxuries for her, were simply normal to him.

‘Well...’ she smiled a little sadly ‘...I appreciate it, so thank you anyway.’

He turned that intense gaze of his back on her and she saw questions in his eyes.

‘Talk to me,’ he muttered. ‘Tell me everything.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m pretty boring, Ash.’

‘No. You’re an enigma.’

‘As flattering as that is...’ She shuffled lower in the rug he’d cocooned about them. ‘You’re in for disappointment.’

‘You’re not used to talking about yourself?’

‘Not used to someone being interested.’ She laughed to let him know she was joking. Except they both knew it wasn’t a joke. It was a sad, self-piteous truth that she instantly regretted uttering.

‘Let me in, just a little.’ An Ash Castle dare.

She met his gaze. ‘Will you do the same in return?’

‘Sure.’

She laughed for real then. ‘Are we really going to play emotional strip poker?’

‘I’m asking for history, not emotion.’

‘You don’t think they go together?’

‘No. There are just facts. Points along the way.’

‘Points that move and shape you.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Why not show me just one of the cards you hold so close, Merle?’

She’d let him in—literally—so this shouldn’t be difficult. And she wanted him to reciprocate because she wanted to understand what drove him to be as determined—as resolute—as he was. And as recklessly, relentlessly unattached. That he was obviously as curious about her? That tilted the balance. Was fascination as mutual as the desire between them?

‘Come on,’ he tempted. ‘Where did you grow up? When did you get your first coveralls? Why did you go into archival work? I want the whole—’

‘Biography? Really?’ She tugged the rug higher. She didn’t want to tell him about her past. She didn’t want him to pity her. Although she had the horrible suspicion he already did.

‘Absolutely.’ He leaned back and surveyed her, humour dancing with curiosity in his eyes. ‘Why not start with the coveralls?’

‘You can’t cope with them, can you?’

‘I’ve already told you I changed my mind about them.’ Ash laughed.

And every time Ash laughed, Merle found herself slipping further under his spell.

‘How and why did they become your go-to style?’ He was like a terrier.

She sighed and relented. ‘When I went to live with my grandfather I picked up a pair from his workshop and they were comfortable. I felt like I could do anything I liked in them.’

Ash leaned closer. ‘There are so many things to unpick in that, I don’t know which question to start with.’

She rolled her eyes but tightened her hold on the rug at the same time.

‘Your grandfather,’ he decided swiftly. ‘When and why did you go to live with him?’

Merle gave in. There was no reason to hide this from him and telling him about it suddenly seemed easy. ‘My mother was a back-up singer for a series of bands. She spent most of her time on the road, gigging here and there. It was hand-to-mouth and hard but she loved the lifestyle.’

He toyed with the edge of the rug near her fist. ‘But how did you fit in with that lifestyle?’

‘For the first decade I waited backstage. When I was very small others in the band would watch me and as I got older I quickly learned to be quiet and stay out of the way. Half the time the headline artists didn’t even know I was there. That’s how I liked it and how she kept me safe.’

‘Safe?’

‘She worked late nights at downmarket venues. It was good to be invisible when I was a young girl.’

His frown set her on the defensive.

‘Don’t disapprove,’ she said. ‘Mum was amazing. She took great care of me. She taught me how to take care of myself.’ Merle had known their situation was precarious and that she had to stay silent and good. ‘She wasn’t supposed to have me