Page 9 of The Rules of Their Red-Hot Reunion

CHAPTER THREE

FURIOUSWITHPASCO, and emotionally and physically exhausted, Aisha decided to leave St Urban and head into Cape Town, thinking that sharing a pizza with Priya would be more fun than spending the night in her new cottage and brooding.

After changing into jeans and a lightweight jersey, she tossed her jacket onto the passenger seat and pulled on her seat belt before plugging Priya’s address into her GPS. Although she and her third oldest sister talked often, she hadn’t seen her in real life for over five years. It was hard to meet when one of you bounced around the world and the other had two small children, a husband, and a busy career as one of the city’s best paediatricians.

She and Priya had always had a strong bond and Priya was the one who had knocked her other sisters back in line when she thought their teasing went too far. Priya had never given her Christmas gifts designed tofixher—self-help books, literary classics, or gym memberships—and had never called her the loser sibling as her other sisters often had. She was the one who Aisha had called when she’d needed a ride home during her rebellious phase, who had loaned her money when her parents had punished her by withholding her allowance, the only person who hadn’t made her feel like a complete fool when she’d asked for help understanding compound fractions.

After the huge family fallout five years ago, Priya was all the family she had.

It would be good to catch up, play with the kids, to get to know her husband, Oscar, a bit better. To feel as if she wasn’t completely alone in the world...

Aisha started her car, pulled away, and started down the tree-lined driveway. As she approached the bridge crossing over the small river, she saw the lights of another car approaching her and frowned. St Urban was private property—no one else was supposed to be on the grounds, so who was this person, and what did he want?

A little nervous, Aisha stopped and locked the doors to her car. She watched as the car stopped on the other side of the bridge and killed its lights. She watched as the car door opened upwards—fancy!—and sighed when she recognised the long-limbed figure climbing out of the vehicle.

Kildare.

Exactly the person she didn’t want to see. Aisha pushed her head into the headrest and sighed again. She knew she couldn’t avoid Pasco for ever, but she’d hoped for a little more time to get her head straight, her raging emotions under control. Nobody, before or since, had affected her the way Pasco did. He made her incredibly angry and sad, and horny and hot and frustrated...

Pasco stopped in the middle of the bridge, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and stared at her, his expression unreadable. He wore black trousers, trendy trainers, and a soft-looking sweater the colour of thick clotted cream. The sleeves of the sweater were pushed up his strong, muscular forearms. He was strong and sexy and looked oh-so-unhappy to see her.

There was a time when his eyes warmed when he laid eyes on her, when his standard greeting was a no-holds-barred kiss, before gifting her with an I’m-so-damn-happy-to-see-you smile.

That was then, this was now.

He’d come halfway across the bridge and his actions suggested she needed to meet him there.

All she’d wanted to do was to go to her sister’s place, eat pizza, drink wine and chill, catch up. She did not want to go another round with Pasco Kildare.

But she couldn’t go forward—his car was blocking the road—and she couldn’t retreat because she didn’t want him to think she was avoiding him. Her only option was to leave the car and talk to the damn man.

She’d far prefer to drop a concrete block on her foot.

Sighing, Aisha picked up her jacket and left the car. The sun was setting, the temperature was dropping so she pulled on her leather jacket and wandered over to where he stood.

‘Things are dire when you have to block the road to get a girl to talk to you, Kildare,’ she told him.

‘Don’t flatter yourself. I was coming, you were leaving, and we can talk here as easily as we can at St Urban.’

Typical Pasco, she thought. The time and place suited him, but it didn’t suit her. ‘I’m actually on my way to meet someone so can we talk some other time?’ She turned to walk back to her car. Pasco needed to learn the days of her rolling over at his command were long over.

‘Got a date?’

A frisson of excitement ran up her spine at the hint of jealousy in his deep voice, and Aisha fought the urge to spin around. After counting to ten, then to twenty, she slowly turned and looked up into his moss-green, forest-deep eyes.

‘Yes,’ she lied without hesitation or a smidgeon of guilt.

Pasco’s jaw hardened and his lips flattened. ‘Tough.’ An owl hooted and he turned his head towards the sound, his eyes scanning the trees.

‘I’ve decided to help set up the restaurant and am considering Ro’s offer to be the guest chef for three months when it opens. I’ll send you an email as soon as possible concerning the kitchen equipment specs, what decor I want, the layout.’

Again, he was making assumptions without her input, just as he used to do when they were married. ‘That’s not going to work for me,’ she told him, lifting her chin.

‘Why not?’ Pasco demanded.

‘I’m not your lackey and I don’t take orders from you. Secondly, I don’twantto work with you,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to convince Ro to find another chef to consult on the restaurant.’

Pasco’s frustration-filled eyes collided with hers. ‘You will do no such thing.’

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