Page 63 of Phillip

A series of hot flashes ignited.

Phillip tilted his head toward the car. “Get in and decide later if we talk or not. Either way, I have to eat. A man needs his energy to keep up with you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Cool air rushed over Ashley, somewhat taking her edge away. She used the opportunity in the passenger’s seat to study the Blackthorne estate as Phillip eased up the drive.

She wondered who else might be at the estate and what they might think. Brock would know something had happened between her and Phillip. He’d always been protective over his brother and the Blackthorne family name.

Phillip parked, and she admired his casual demeanor. “Decided what we’re doing yet?”

Her eyes bugged. How could he talk about sex so lightly?

“Food,” he said, though she thought maybe it was foodfirst, then he helped her out of the car and took the bag from Montgomery’s.

“Hello?” he called as they walked in. “No one’s home, or they’re ignoring me.”

“Consider me shocked that ever happens,” she muttered.

He laughed and led her down the hall and to the lower level. They entered an expansive billiard room with a bar and kitchenette in the far corner. She could only imagine the munchies and snack foods that the cabinets held and the family time that the brothers and cousins had enjoyed together on the couches, watching the large-screen TVs on the walls.

Phillip stopped at a large table and laid their take-out bag on it. “What would you like to drink?”

“Water.”

“You got it.”

She followed him, then took the plates and utensils that he handed her from a cabinet. Ashley set the table for them and unpacked the bag as Phillip returned with two large tumblers of ice-cold water.

They both sat down, and Phillip dug into his lunch immediately, but she held back and swallowed another round of jitters.

“This is really good,” he said, half swallowing a forkful. “It would have been better hot from the kitchen, but given the situation, I like it this way.”

A mix of embarrassment and arousal twisted in her chest. She lifted her fork and tried to take a bite, nodding her agreement that it was delicious, while her mind marveled at his laid-back demeanor and casual reference to their escapade at the restaurant.

He’d said they should talk after they ate. Somehow, she wasn’t sure she could eat before they talked.

Phillip paused. “You don’t like it?” He speared a zucchini off of her plate. “I know you don’t like this.”

“No, I do.”

He swallowed the zucchini. “Then eat.”

“I thought you mentioned that we were going to talk,” she finally said with a forced, unemotional bravado.

“Right. We need to do that.” He took another zucchini off of her plate.

She smacked his fork with hers. “Hey. Would you stop that and pay attention to what I said?”

“You said we need to talk. We’re talking. But you’re not going to eat this, right?” He held the vegetable up on the end of his fork then ate it without waiting a second.

Her need to talk about today stalled. “You remember I don’t like zucchini?”

“The facts about Ashley Catherine Cartwright aren’t hard to recall. Sweet, smart, great ass, and doesn’t like zucchini.”

It was such a small detail, but it clarified a harsh realization: losing Phillip was her biggest regret.

Her fork trembled, and she set it down. Nausea rolled through her, spreading her weakness from limb to limb.

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