Page 41 of The Rules of Their Red-Hot Reunion

CHAPTER TEN

SERVICEFORTHETempest-Vane ball had been a bitch and Pasco was running an hour later than he expected. After a quick shower, he pulled on his black suit, white shirt, and black tie—nothing showy—and headed to the ballroom on the third floor, directly above his busy restaurant. He hesitated, thinking he should check in with his restaurant staff, but knew that if he did he’d be sucked into whatever was happening in the kitchen.

Nobody had called him with an issue, so he’d just let sleeping restaurant dogs lie.

And...he really couldn’t wait to get to the ball to see Aisha.

Something had changed since their conversation about his dad at her cottage, and their connection had, despite their busy schedules, deepened. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about what she’d said about his need to be responsible for everyone and everything and thought she had a point. But how to change the habits of a lifetime was still giving him trouble. Being protective was wired into his DNA and he didn’t know if he’d ever stop worrying about the people he loved.

Pasco stepped into the lift, his blood fizzing with anticipation at seeing his lover. The past few weeks had been incredibly busy, but they’d managed, somehow, to have a few arrive-late-and-leave-early sleepovers. When they couldn’t be together, their early-morning and late-night phone calls got him through the hours until they could be together again.

Their busy lives weren’t ideal, but they were making it work, trying to accommodate each other as much and whenever they could. They were certainly communicating better and their lovemaking was...yeah, bloody fantastic. Better than it had ever been.

But he still felt dissatisfied and wanted more. More time, more making love, more conversations about everything and nothing.

More.

It was strange to feel like this and Pasco wasn’t sure how to cope with his restlessness. Ten years ago, five, working like a demon got his blood pumping, made him feel ten feet tall. Now all he felt was frustrated. And tired.

The last month had been a perfect storm, with Hank bombarding him with videos of a warehouse space he was convinced would make an awesome restaurant and entreaties to come back to the States. His producers wanted a definite answer on whether he was going to do another season of his popular travel show and he was dashing between The Vane, dropping in on St Urban before heading to Pasco’s, Franschhoek, where he’d installed a temporary chef and manager.

He hadn’t visited Binta for a few weeks and he was also neglecting his kitchenware line. Frankly, all he wanted to do was ignore all of it and spend some time with Aisha, have a leisurely meal, catch a movie, watch the sun go down behind the Simonsberg mountain with a glass of red in his hand and her at his side.

Maybe a dog lying at his feet.

Pasco rubbed his face, surprised by his longing for domesticity. But there was only one woman he could see as his wife and that was his ex-wife.

Did he really want to do that? Go there? Or was he just overworked and tired? Stressed? But a little voice inside him insisted that his first choice was the only woman with whom he could imagine spending the rest of his life.

Absurd notion—preposterous, really—but it didn’t make it any less true. Aisha was it for him.

But they’d tried once, and they’d failed. How could they—even if she was interested in trying again—be together? Aisha was up for a promotion and if she got it, and she would because she was bloody brilliant at her job, she had the option to live in London or Johannesburg. If she moved to London and he didn’t move back to New York, they’d only, with their schedules, occasionally see each other.

But seeing each other when they could was better than nothing. But he knew, after a few months of incessant travelling, the novelty would quickly fade, and travelling would become a drag. And, in time, they’d drift apart.

Crap, he simply couldn’t find a solution.

Living apart was not what he wanted anyway. He wanted to see Aisha every day, in every light, and in every way. He wanted her in his bed, on his deck when he woke up, to meet her for lunch or an afternoon quickie. He wanted a life with her, he wanted awife.

But to get what he wanted, one of them would have to make a massive sacrifice. He would either have to slow down, or Aisha would have to give up her job. Neither option was possible.

He couldn’t slow down; he’d tried that before and he’d been miserable. Aisha had worked damn hard for her promotion, and he couldn’t ask her to give that up—that wouldn’t be fair.

Devil, meet Deep Blue Sea.

Why did relationships have to be so damn complicated? This was why he’d avoided them for so long: he didn’t like thinking this hard. Oh, and he probably also avoided relationships with other women because he was still in love with his wife.

He’d never stopped being in love with her.

Pasco stepped into the lavishly decorated ballroom—white and gold—searching for Aisha in the sea of black-and-white tuxedos and ball gowns. Navy blue seemed to be the favoured colour this year, along with a dark, turbulent grey.

Pasco caught a flash of dazzling, deep pink and sucked in a breath. Stepping to the side, he saw Aisha standing next to the dance floor, talking to Muzi. She wore a ruffled sari, the fuchsia colour eye-popping. A heavily jewel-embellished, teeny-tiny blouse and matching belt gave her traditional outfit a trendy vibe.

And yeah, he loved the deep vee in her blouse hinting at her stunning breasts and, because she had a drool-worthy body, the way the dress highlighted her tiny waist and stunning skin.

Pasco forced his feet to move and when he reached her, he took in the matching colour of her lipstick, her subtle make-up, and the tiny silver bindi placed between her eyebrows. She’d straightened her hair and it fell in a thick black fall of shine down her back.

She looked sensational...strip-her-down-and-take-her-to-bed stunning.

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