Page 6 of The Rules of Their Red-Hot Reunion

CHAPTER TWO

LATERTHATMORNINGand back in her office at St Urban, Aisha stepped out of her heels and walked across one of the two Persian carpets in her office towards the bank of windows looking out onto the extensive vineyards. In summer they would be lush and green and in winter they’d looked like little old men resting their arms on wire strands. Right now the leaves were turning and falling, creating little pops of autumnal colour across the lands. Aisha knew Muzi’s company, Clos du Cadieux, rented the vineyards from Ro and she recalled reading about a rare, old country wine cultivar Muzi discovered on this property. St Urban, the property passed down to Ro by her infamous biological mother, Gia Tempest-Vane, was where Ro and Muzi fell in love.

It was a beautiful building, and the renovations to the centuries-old house were sensitively undertaken. When she brought the original handcrafted furniture back in, after having the pieces restored and French-polished, and replaced the cleaned paintings, the property would start coming to life. She could see it so clearly: luxury furnishings, amazing art, discreet staff on hand to fulfil the biggest or smallest wish, classical music piping through the common areas of the house, and the beautiful views of the vineyards and mountains enticing the guests to kick back and relax. She could make this place one of the favourite bolt-holes of the rich, famous, and stressed.

She just had to ignore Pasco Kildare while she created magic.

Aisha ran her hands up and down her arms, unable to stop thinking about Pasco. Man, he looked wonderful: sexy and strong. Ten years and a little maturity looked good on him. And just like that, she recalled his clever, mobile mouth on hers, the way he kissed. His large, skilled hands on her skin, how he could make her tremble with just one hot look. It had been so long ago, but it seemed like yesterday. She could still smell the scent of their small apartment when he cooked spaghetti bolognese, the rumble of their tired air conditioner, and the sound of taxis hooting at the crack of dawn.

Memories of their brief marriage bombarded her: their small apartment and the double bed they shared, the small desk tucked into the corner of the living room. Mismatched cutlery and crockery, the old, battered two-seater leather couch he’d found at a yard sale. The smell of his skin and the way his arms held her tight when they slept. He always groaned, then sighed when he slid into her always-willing body. He’d greet her, whether they’d been apart ten minutes or ten hours, by placing his hand on her lower back, pulling her into him—her shirt wrapped around his fist—as he plundered her mouth. He always kissed her as if he was never going to see her again and Aisha now wondered if he’d subconsciously known they would never last.

He’d been in love with his career and she’d been in love with the idea of being married, of being Pasco’s wife. At nineteen, lonely, insecure, and looking for attention, she’d desperately wanted to be at the centre of the family she and Pasco created, to walk through life with a teammate, someone who had her back, someone who made her the centre of his world.

She’d met him in a pub, immediately entranced by his innate confidence. He was the guy all the men wanted to be and whom all the girls wanted to be with. She hadn’t expected him to notice her, never mind spend the rest of the evening talking to her. He was a chef, he’d told her that night, but wanted his own restaurant, then a bunch of them.

She’d smiled at his ambition, liking the fact he knew where he was going and how he was going to get there. It took her a month to realise Pasco’s journey required fourteen-to sixteen-hour days, and another six months to acknowledge he was a workaholic and he had no intention of slowing down, not even for her.

Maybe things wouldn’t have been as bad if lack of time was their only problem, but she’d never been an equal partner in their marriage. Pasco didn’t play well in that particular sandbox. He refused to relinquish any control over anything. From finances to the future, Pasco had it all planned, and her input was either ignored or dismissed. And when she did push a point, he distracted her with sex or told her he was tired and didn’t want to fight, promising to make time for them to talk. He seldom, if ever, did.

It took a while, but she eventually realised they were driving Pasco’s car on Pasco’s highway and she was just along for the ride.

After a few dismal months of isolation and loneliness, interspersed with stunning sex, she finally realised she’d left one gilded cage to fly into another.

She’d been a needy, neglected, unseen teenager. And then she became a needy, neglected, unseen wife...

A bird flew close to the window and Aisha jumped at the sudden movement. She’d been lost in the past and she couldn’t afford to let that happen. She had to live in the world as it was, not how she wished it to be.

And that meant working with Pasco to establish Ro’s vision of a space to host fine-dining, pop-up restaurants. Ro was her client and keeping her client happy was how she was going to impress her boss and the board, and it was her path to promotion. Chief of Operations was as far as she could climb up the ladder of the family-owned business, and she’d be second in command. She could live with that.

For now. Aisha recalled Pasco’s demand for her to leave St Urban and snorted. His arrogance was breathtaking. But Pasco had never been shy to state what he wanted; his needs and desires were paramount. Ten years ago, his career took precedence over everything else, and she was expected to fall into line with his plans.

That wasn’t going to happen. She would not adjust her plans, change her course simply because he wanted her to, because he demanded it. She’d been raised in a passive-aggressive household—outright conflict was something the Shetty family avoided at all costs—but the subtle war of words, snide put-downs and coated-with-sugar insults had been just as brutal. In her years away from her family, and Pasco, she’d learned to be direct, say no, to push back and stand her ground.

She didn’t like confrontation, but neither did she avoid it.

Pasco wasn’t going to be able to manipulate her, manoeuvre her, distract her. She’d grown up, thank God.

Aisha tapped her lip with her index finger. This St Urban project was going to be trickier than most because the players in the game were all connected. Ro was married to the most influential winemaker in the country, someone who had an international reputation for excellence, and he was a close friend of the Tempest-Vane brothers. They were the billionaire owners of various companies, including The Vane Hotel, one of the best in the world. They’d used Lintel & Lily’s services before and were regarded as especially important clients.

And Muzi’s best friend was an internally acclaimed chef. And her ex-husband. Why was life punishing her like this?

Oh, and while she was questioning the universe, why couldn’t Pasco have lost his hair, got flabby and pasty? It was so damn unfair he was more attractive than he’d been as a young man.

At twenty-four he’d been rangy, a little thin, but some time in the last decade he’d packed on the muscle. His shoulders were definitely broader, his thighs thicker, his arms bigger and, yeah, sexier. The man worked out, that much was obvious, hard, and often. His light brown hair was sun-streaked, and he’d taken to wearing a couple of days’ growth on his lower face. Aisha wasn’t a fan of stubble, but Pasco’s scruff looked good on him.

His eyes, a deep, dark green and framed by short, dark stubby lashes, were as penetrating as ever. He was a harder, hotter version of his younger self and her body, dumb thing, wanted to get naked and roll around with him.

She was not going to be that stupid, she told herself. She would not jeopardise her career, her promotion, her dream for a man. She would never allow herself to be an afterthought, and she would put herself first. It had taken her years to become a confident and independent woman, and she’d never allow herself to be needy or insecure—unseen!—again.

If they were going to work together, and it was looking as if they were, they were going to have to decide on some rules. The first of which would be that she couldn’t fall for him again...

Number two would be for her to be an equal partner in the decision-making process, something she hadn’t been in their marriage.

Rules would give them boundaries, a box to work within, structure...

The trick would be to get Pasco, not a fan of being told what to do, to buy into the concept.

La Fontaine was Pasco’s second home and he adored Mimi, the woman who’d adopted Muzi when he was a kid, but, hell, he’d rather pull off his toenails with pliers than attend one of Mimi’s famous cocktail parties. But he’d promised her he would, and Pasco wasn’t one to break his promises.

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