Page 31 of The Rules of Their Red-Hot Reunion

He dropped his head to nuzzle her temple. ‘I don’t want to fight with you, Aisha. We were kids, we made mistakes, both of us. But here we are, older and, hopefully, a little wiser. Let’s move on, sweetheart.’

He rested his forehead on hers. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you, Aisha.’

What else could she say but... ‘I’m sorry I hurt you too.’ And she was. Aisha sighed and the cracks in her heart started to knit themselves back together. There’d be scars, but those chasms would heal.

His too, she hoped.

‘Spend the day with me,’ Pasco suggested, his lips brushing hers. ‘I want to drink my coffee and watch the sunrise with you in my arms. Then I want to make you breakfast and take you back to bed. Give me today, sweetheart, one day where we have no past, no future, no worries, no agendas.’

God, she was tempted. So tempted. She wanted that more than she wanted to breathe or for her heart to keep beating. But playing hooky, from life and reality, was a risk and one that might come back to bite her. It might make her want more, far more than she could ever have.

But it had been so long, years and years, since she’d allowed herself the pleasure of a step out of time, to take a day for herself, to spoil herself. And spending the day with a man who made her heart race, her skin prickle, and her mouth water was the ultimate in spoiling herself.

She didn’t shop, she didn’t take spa days, she didn’t take vacations. She worked. She could do this, she was allowed to do this, and, being a big girl, she’d accept the consequences.

‘One day, Aisha. Come play with me.’

When he looked at her like that, those deep green eyes temptation personified, she couldn’t resist. And why on earth would any woman want to?

After breakfast—fluffy blueberry pancakes with honeycomb and bacon butter—and another round of soul-stealing, languid, lovely lovemaking, Pasco bundled her into his shower and told her he’d be back in half an hour. She showered, pulled on the long-sleeved T-shirt he’d left her and climbed back into his bed, buried her nose in his pillow, and drifted off to sleep. She woke up an hour later and saw a pile of clothing at the bottom of the bed.

Yawning, she pawed through the pile, finding designer jeans and a white, men’s style button-down shirt, a soft leather jacket, belt, shoes, socks, and even underwear. And the sizes were spot on. She dressed and, carrying the low-heeled boots and socks, walked down the hallway, back into the entrance hall—that wall would always have a soft spot in her heart—and into the lounge area. The sun was shining, and Pasco had opened all the doors leading onto the entertainment area and she could hear the waves crashing onto the rocks below. This was a brilliant example of bringing the outside in. Wide awake and not in a sex-induced haze, she could take in the details of his exquisitely decorated apartment, the squishy cream couches with colourful cushions, the enormous flat-screen TV, the wall of books. Sculptures and paintings, some old, some new, added character.

Dropping her boots to the Persian carpet, she padded past a ten-seater indoor dining table—there was another one outside—and found a gourmet kitchen with its cheffy ovens, upmarket appliances, and a huge fridge.

Pasco stood at the island, expertly chopping vegetables. He smiled at her, and Aisha felt her heart roll over. ‘Don’t you have minions to chop vegetables for you these days?’ she asked.

‘I do, but I like to keep my hand in,’ Pasco told her, his knife flying even as he kept his eyes on her.

Sliding onto a bar stool, she sniffed the garlic-and-herb-scented air. ‘What are you making? It smells delicious.’

‘I thought I’d test out an idea I had for a recipe while you slept,’ he replied, leaning across the island to drop a quick kiss on her lips. He dropped his eyes to her chest and waved the knife at her shirt. ‘I’m glad the clothes fit.’

‘Thanks for getting them for me,’ Aisha said. ‘I’ll pay you back.’

He ignored her suggestion and Aisha looked around the apartment. ‘This is one hell of a place, Kildare. How many bedrooms?’

‘Three plus a study, wine cellar, gym, and sauna upstairs.’

Wow. ‘When did you buy it?’

He dumped the diced onions into the pot sitting on a sleek stovetop embedded in the island. ‘Ah, when I sold my New York place. I came home, looked for a place on the beach, saw this, and put in an offer on the same day.’

‘Thereby obtaining yet another of your goals,’ Aisha stated. She saw the bottle of orange juice and poured some into the glass he’d been using. She took a long sip and realised that it was freshly juiced. Marvellous.

Pasco nodded, his thoughts far away. ‘I guess the house I saw so long ago made such an impression on me because my friend’s family had so much and we had so little.’ The corners of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smile. ‘I was always competitive and I didn’t like coming second-best.’

Aisha lowered her glass, trying to make sense of his words. ‘I don’t understand. You come from money, your dad is one of the wealthiest men in the valley, your mum is a doctor.’

Pasco stirred the onions before gripping the edges of the counter, straightening his arms. ‘The man I call my dad, the man I consider to be my dad, is my stepdad. I took John’s surname the year I turned thirteen, the year I went to high school. And yeah, he’s wealthy, but before we met him we were, at times, dirt poor.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Aisha said, her thoughts swirling. ‘Your mum is a doctor.’

‘It’s an ugly story, Aisha,’ he said as he cleaned his board of onion skins.

But it was a story, one he hadn’t told before, one she didn’t know. Despite their wedding vows, she didn’t know much, or anything, about his early childhood, and the fact he was telling her this now both intrigued and scared her. What did it mean? Was this his way of deepening their friendship?

She didn’t understand...

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