Page 85 of For Better or Hearse

“Then you do what you need to get through it,” Tessie says. “Alcohol. Weed. Nathaniel’s abnormally big—”

A knock at the door makes Ash jump a foot off the bed.

“Someone’s at the door.”

Tessie squeals. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Goodbye. Good night. Tell Boudica to calm it the fuck down.”

Tessie’s squeak is indignant. “That is not her name.”

Ash hangs up. Gathering herself, she sweeps her hair away from her face. With steady hands, she opens the door.

Nathaniel.

And just like that, she can breathe again.

“Hey, Bigfoot.” He wears an amused smirk, as if he could hear her and Tessie’s conversation.

Oh god, what if he did?

Ash grips the knob. Tight. Forces herself back down to earth. “To what do I owe this displeasure?”

He arches a brow. Leans in the doorway. Between that and his rolled-up cuffs and damp hair, it takes everything in Ash to not let her heart do thatawooga! awooga!thing in her chest.

She’d give anything for the ability to channel her earlier hatred of Nathaniel Whitford. But she can’t do it. It no longer exists.

A sparkle in his eyes, he reaches out. “I want to take a walk.”

Ash stares at his hand.

He’s infuriating. God, she loves it.

Slowly, she clasps her hand to his. “Then take me for a walk, asshole.”

When Nathaniel says awalk,he means down the beach until they’re away from the resort and in front of all the mansions that overlook the ocean.

They settle on a blanket they grabbed from the gift shop. Between them, a bottle of wine and an easy silence.

“I wanted to walk,” Nathaniel says, “but really, I wanted to see you.”

“I’d never imagine such a heinous thing,” she teases, lighting up on the inside.

Nathaniel chuckles. He takes a swig from the wine bottle.

In the moonlight, she studies him. The dangerous angles of his handsome face. He’s like an optical illusion. There’s so much more to him than meets the eye. He’s not a rude, rich trust-fund baby. Not a jerky, opinionated doctor. He’s a good man with a genuine heart and a sharp mind. The ridiculously sculpted pectorals are just a bonus.

He passes her the wine. His fingers brush hers in the exchange, sending sparks dancing up her arms.

She takes a sip. “Drinking from the bottle is very heathen behavior.” She lifts it in a toast. “I approve.”

Nathaniel meets her stare. “Bad habit.” When his eyes land on her lips, then trace the remainder of her body, her cheeks flame.

Every memory of earlier, his hands all over her, how good it was, floods her brain. She doesn’t know what this is. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Her lips. She wants them all over Nathaniel. She can’t explain her many riotous feelings for this very serious man.

“I have many bad habits,” she offers. “I reuse tea bags. I have way too many intrusive thoughts. I bite the heads off gummy bears first, and all doors in my room must be completely shut when I’m sleeping.”

“Because of the monsters,” he says with utmost seriousness.

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