Page 20 of The Rules of Their Red-Hot Reunion

Their tongues tangled, his hands skimmed over her back, her butt, her ribcage. This kiss was strange, sweet, tender, so powerful in its simplicity. A man and a woman who wanted each other, the soft torment of tongues colliding, hands stroking... What was more basic than that?

Basic and mind-shatteringly powerful.

They were just a man and a woman who wanted each other, Pasco reassured himself. They’d always had explosive chemistry...it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. But, just in case it did, in case he deepened the kiss and took her on that couch—he was so damn tempted—Pasco lifted his mouth off hers and rested his forehead on hers.

‘Where’s the portfolio, Aisha?’

Aisha dropped her hands from his neck and stepped back, confusion replacing the lust in her eyes. Pity. But necessary.

She pushed her hair off her face and sucked in a deep breath. ‘What?’

‘The interior decorator’s portfolio of sketches that you want me to look at?’ It took everything he had to sound professional, businesslike. How the hell his brain was functioning sans blood, he had no damn idea.

‘Uh—’ Aisha glanced at her desk, still trying to gather her thoughts.

He spied a large leather portfolio on the credenza behind her desk and stepping away from her took a considerable amount of effort. He picked up the portfolio and held it up. ‘This it?’

‘Yes,’ Aisha replied. She folded her arms and rocked on her feet. She glanced at his mouth, shook her head and straightened her shoulders. Her cool expression told him she was taking her cue from him and was happy to pretend that nothing had happened between them, that they hadn’t shared a kiss that had rocked his world. ‘But I need to explain—’

Hell, no. He needed to get out of here before he lost the battle to take her on that couch in the middle of the day. Not that he had any problem with midday lovemaking—Crap, Kildare! Pull it together!

‘I’ve set up a lot more restaurants than you have. I’ll figure it out.’ He made a show of looking at his watch. ‘Time is up, I’ve got to go.’

‘But—’

Pasco didn’t dare look at her again—didn’t need to, he could hear the anger in that one word—and swiftly walked to the door. He jerked the door closed behind him and, two seconds later, heard the sound of that heavy stapler crashing against the wooden door.

Yep, not unexpected. And probably deserved.

Aisha stood in the doorway of a closed health shop and eyed the busy entrance of Binta, a famous oceanfront venue a seagull’s cry away from one of Camps Bay’s most famous beaches. Every Capetonian and most South Africans had heard of the iconic oceanside spot, a cornerstone of the city’s social scene. It was laid-back, vibey, expensive, and casual and on any other day she’d be happy to meet Priya for a drink and a meal as they watched the magnificent sunset.

But, unfortunately for her, Priya was hosting a party for her husband’s fiftieth birthday in Binta’s private dining area and most of the extended Shetty family would be in attendance.

Marvellous.

She’d tried to get out of attending, tried very damn hard. But Priya had shot down her every excuse. It was Saturday evening so she shouldn’t be working anyway, and she was staying in Priya’s guest suite so she wouldn’t have to worry about driving back to Franschhoek—or anywhere since her sister lived in a massive house just down the road and she’d walked to Binta. Priya had also received reassurances from the rest of the family that they’d leave the past in the past.

Hah.They’d try, but Aisha was expecting more than a few snide comments. She assumed there would be a lot of wistful wishing—We all wish Aisha followed her sisters into the sciences, but it wasn’t to be—and the backhanded compliments that always made her want to run screaming from the room. Five years ago, her parents were finally on the point of forgiving her for her disastrous marriage when events, more accurately her sister Reyka, conspired to hurtle them back into stony silence.

She’d video-called her folks every month or so for the past two years, brief, light conversations, but this party would be the first time she’d see her parents in the flesh for more than a decade and she was as nervous as hell.

Damn Priya for insisting on her being here. Yes, she understood she couldn’t avoid them for ever, that she’d have to see and speak to Hema and Isha, and deal with Reyka, but she didn’t want to. It would be much easier to go back to St Urban and work. She had so much to do, a hotel to get off the ground, and she didn’t need the drama her family always rained down on her head. She always came away from encounters with them questioning herself and the path she’d chosen; feeling less than, and irritable for feeling that way.

Aisha looked across the road to the ocean and wished, for the first time in a long time, she had a masculine hand to slide hers into, a shoulder to place her head against, a strong arm around her waist. Someone to stand in her corner, someone tough and protective, who wouldn’t hesitate to step in when he felt she was being bullied or disrespected. Yes, she was a strong woman—she’d learned to be one—but even strong women sometimes needed to lean, craved some support.

She’d love to have Pasco here...

There, she’d admitted it. He knew nothing about her family, except she had a bunch of sisters and that her parents didn’t approve of their marriage. She’d never spoken about them, told him how she was bullied and put down, how alone and unseen she felt. Early on in their relationship, she’d realised their time together was limited, and she hadn’t wanted to spend the rare moments they had discussing her childhood.

They hadn’t talked much, or at all. Aisha pushed her thumbnail between the tiny gap in her two front teeth as she watched the waves roll onto the beach. He hadn’t opened up to her either... God, it was tough to admit that they knew each other’s bodies inside out, but not each other’s minds or hearts. What drove them or hurt them, made them happy, or what made them cry.

All they’d had was an out-of-control attraction. And it was bigger and brighter than before. She’d tried to ignore it to concentrate on business and had sent him another round of emails and left irate messages for him to get in touch—though, to be fair, he had given her feedback on the restaurant’s decor and had authorised her to order some kitchen equipment—but there was still so much to do. On Monday, she intended to hunt him down again and, hopefully, they’d get through more than two bullet points this time.

But if he kissed her again—if she kissed him back—all bets, and possibly clothes, were off.

Aisha glared at Binta’s pretty facade.Just get this done, Shetty. An hour, two, and you can leave. And if you don’t drink, you can drive back to Franschhoek tonight.Gathering her courage, Aisha stepped onto the pavement, the skirt of her long-sleeved ankle-length maxi dress swishing around her ankles. She touched the thin black leather belt encircling her waist, thinking she liked the patterned fabric in white and fuchsia and the black edging at the hem and neckline. It was conservative but a little boho, a lot stylish. She’d pulled the sides of hair off her face and allowed the rest to fall down her back and kept her make-up understated. She looked good, but knew her mum and sisters would find something to criticise.

They always did.

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