For Better or Hearse

Chapter Seventeen

I t’s stupid not to use your number now.

Ash tries not to smile at the text from the Tall Asshole . Instead, she focuses on the chessboard in front of her. She and Augustus have been engaged in an unending battle for a little over an hour. She makes her move—defending the d5 pawn with another pawn—and then discreetly taps out a quick reply.

Who is this? Satan?

Funny .

When Augustus peers her way, his brow lifted in curiosity, she waves her phone. “Your grandson.”

“Ah.” He goes back to studying the board.

Ash smirks at the bubbles appearing, disappearing, then—

Can you meet for a drink on the beach?

Ash bites her lip and stares at the text. It’s probably a bad idea. After the way Nathaniel reacted to her on the beach today, her thoughts have been mushy oatmeal. Why did it turn her on? The emotion on his face—she misread it, right? She had to have. Today, on the beach, there was a tremor in his voice meant for her.

Augustus chuckles, pulling her back to the moment.

Shit. She looks at the board, sticks a hand out, takes in her impending doom. “Don’t—”

“Checkmate.”

Ash puffs a lock of hair out of her face. Scowls. “Damn it.”

“There. Now you have to go,” Augustus instructs.

After waving off her efforts to help, he pushes to standing and hobbles slightly before righting himself. Ash watches him closely. Today was a long day for him. Without a doubt, he’ll be moving slowly tomorrow.

He chuckles all the way to his room. “Enjoy, my dear.”

The bedroom door shuts with a soft click.

Ash rereads the text. A drink? Why? To engage in a battle of wills? Or to continue their tentative truce?

Either way, she can’t let him win, nor can she be the one to break their temporary peace.

She absolutely has to go.

In her room, Ash rifles through her suitcase. She can’t go to one of Augustus’s fancy hotel bars in sweats and mismatched socks.

As she searches, she can’t help but think about Nathaniel’s heated eyes on her earlier today. Tracing her breasts, the shape of her thighs, her hips. And then—awareness. Worry. The way his big hand palmed her cheek and stayed there.

She wants to see that look on his face again.

Soft. Suddenly, she wants to be soft.

She slips on a semi-sheer black tank bodysuit with a low neckline that reveals an adequate amount of cleavage. Then she adds a leopard print sarong with a sky-high slit that exposes her tattooed thighs. Her hair’s wild from the salt and sea, so she leaves it be. All she needs now is a slick of mascara, a flick of a cat eye, and dark cherry gloss.

When she’s finished, she assesses her reflection. Too much? Not enough? She’ll let Nathaniel judge.

Her brain is muddy. Confused. Why is she even doing this? Playing this game? Regardless, it’s the only game she wants to play. The way his eyes grazed over her. Witnessing it. Teasing emotion out of a seemingly emotionless Nathaniel Whitford.

Rile, react, repeat.

She likes it too much to stop.

Ash shakes her head, clearing it, and checks her blood sugar. Then she slips into her sandals and heads out.

She walks the few minutes to the bar on the beach. A swanky tiki-haven with a righteous view of the Pacific crashing on the cliffs. Sunburned tourists take up most of the chairs, but there’s one vacant. One meant for her. Right beside Nathaniel.

Seated at the bar, studying his phone with laser-like interest, Nathaniel looks handsome and confident. Dressed down in linen pants and a white button-up. Cuffs shoved up to his elbows. The high arches of his cheekbones are so unfair she wants to puke.

Watching from the shadows, Ash smothers a smile. He picks up his phone. Puts it back down. Drums a little beat on the bar, then does it all over.

Nathaniel Whitford antsy. Never thought she’d see the day.

There’s a pulse between her legs as she slides onto the barstool. His masculine scent surrounds her instantly. Salt. Sea. Sun.

“Margarita? Cheeseburger?” At the sound of her voice, he straightens. Turns. She leans in conspiratorially, gesturing at his order. “Could you be any more cliché?”

His eyes snap to her face. That strong muscle in his jaw pulses. He sets his phone down before she can see what he’s looking at. “Keep laughing, and I won’t share my fries.”

It’s impossible not to notice the way his gaze dips, lingers on her colorful thigh, the gentle slope of her breasts, her lips.

“Fry hoarding is a victimless crime,” she drawls as she snags one. She pops it into her mouth.

He zeroes in on her lips as she chews, a half-smile turning up the corner of his mouth, then lifts his hand to signal the bartender. “What can I get you?”

“Tequila. In a fancy as fuck glass.”

“You heard her,” he tells the bartender. “Tequila in a fancy as fuck glass.”

Ash laughs aloud, and in response, Nathaniel’s smile grows wider.

“Is it weird?” she asks. “That your grandfather owns these hotels? Like do you have to fight the billionaire urge to scream your wealth and privilege at the sky? ”

He makes a noise that could pass for a chuckle. “You have an obsession with billionaires.”

“Maybe I do.” She arches a brow. “Or maybe it’s just you I’m obsessed with.”

He cocks his head, squints, and her heart stutters.

Feeling like she’s said too much, gotten too close, Ash breaks eye contact. “Augustus’s hotels are all so beautiful.” She exhales as she scans the bar. The darkness of the ocean and the sky blur as one. “It truly is paradise.”

“That was his goal,” Nathaniel murmurs. “Make every hotel feel like it’s your home.” He nudges the tequila the bartender set on the bar top closer to Ash. Golden liquid in a champagne flute. “Wait until you see the hotel in Maui. That’s one for the books.”

Maui. It’s like a brief blip in the center of her brain. That whisper of Jakob . And then it’s gone.

Ash sips her tequila. A shot of fire to her belly. “You ever think about taking it over? His hotel business?”

“No. I prefer putting people back together over picking out carpet samples.” He takes a drink of his beer. “I talked to my brother today,” he says simply.

She looks him over, surprised at his uncharacteristic openness.

“I told him I’d listen to his idiotic podcast if he shut up and hung out with our grandfather.”

She hums. “I think…that’s a very selfless act.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” The words are clipped, gruff.

Fuck. They’re having an actual conversation. Sitting without sniping. Their easy closeness sends a ripple of fear down her spine, has her shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Nathaniel has the ability to draw her secrets or worries out of her with an ease she’s never experienced. It’s like breathing. Natural.

Ash takes a long sip of her tequila. “Tell me a truth.” She tilts her head. “Do you still think I’m a con-artist ghoul?”

“No. Not anymore.” There’s a ragged edge to his voice .

Ash flushes at the sound. It’s the tequila. Has to be. The heat of it spreads through her like a sun, warming her insides, her heart.

“My turn.” Nathaniel twists on his stool to look at her. “What are you afraid of?”

She ponders it. Takes another sip. “I’m afraid of nachos.”

He barks a laugh, looks surprised at the sound, schools his expression.

She continues. “They’re pointy and comprised of an amalgamation of sauces and shapes and textures that can’t be discerned.”

Nathaniel stares at her. Blinks.

She draws back, narrowing her eyes. “What?” she asks. “You’re looking at me like I’m—”

“The most fascinating person I know?”

It catches her off guard. Jettisons her defenses. Steals her breath. When was the last time she heard something so beautiful? Has she ever? “Really?”

“Really.”

She places her chin in her palm. Considers him. “I make sense to you now?”

“Yeah.” He dips his chin. “You do.”

Her eyes shut. When she opens them seconds later, the smile’s still on her face.

“That makes you happy,” Nathaniel says, continuing to stare at her. “Why?”

Why? Because she’s always been too much to so many people. Or not enough.

She’s horrified when tears spring to her eyes.

Quickly, blinking fast, she looks away. Oh god. Oh fucking shit. She’s never affected like this. It must be the tequila. This is why Tessie always warns her away from the stuff. One sip, and she loses her marbles.

“Ash?” Nathaniel’s tone is inquisitive, etched with concern.

Two late-night stragglers stroll in, the movement and noise garnering their attention. A man wearing a frilly white shirt and a bandanna, and a woman with biceps bigger than bowling balls.

“Looks like the party has found us,” she murmurs, relieved at the interruption.

“That’s how Paul Walker died,” the man says. “The government took control of his car and killed him.”

“Joel, you’re embarrassing me,” the woman huffs. “No more conspiracy theories.”

The man, Joel, scoffs. “Oh, twenty years of marriage, and you suddenly think you’re too good for me?”

“Holy shit,” Ash gasp-whispers. She grabs Nathaniel’s bicep. “Are we witnessing a marriage mid-breakup?”

“What are we working with here?” Nathaniel angles closer, voice laced with humor. He grins, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

Ash dips her head. Wills the image to be deleted from her mind. Hotness overload. “We got a guy who looks like a pirate and a woman who looks like she could take him down with her bare hands.”

Ash sinks lower. Squints at the couple.

“Oh, she will,” she predicts. “End of the night, he’s going into the Pacific. And she will claim that insurance money and run off to Bora Bora.”

The man, trying to spin the annoyed woman around on the not-a-dance-floor, backs into Ash’s chair, rocking her forward.

She steadies her tequila.

Amused, she turns to Nathaniel. “Do you ever think about how drunk people lack the core strength to sit on barstools?”

“You want to take a walk?” Nathaniel asks, putting a hand on the back of her chair. Annoyance furrows his brow. He glares at the blundering man as if he has a personal vendetta. “On the beach?”

At her nod of assent, he helps her off the stool. One palm pressed gently against her shoulder, he guides her out of the bar .

Seconds later, they’re on the white sand. Balmy air and the scent of plumeria surround them.

“Wow,” Ash breathes, lifting her champagne glass in a toast. She drags her attention from Nathaniel and takes in the ocean. “Drinks on the literal water. Hard to beat.”

He appraises her. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“How you would beat this.”

Her heart stumbles a little at his deep tone. She really should have left the tequila at the bar. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.”

She thinks on it. A little shock of glee fills her. “I don’t think you can. Tequila. The stars. The dark. The Very Tall Asshole next to me. They’re all bad ideas.”

“You,” he says, the single word making her breath hitch. In the moonlight, the angles of his face look like they’ve been chiseled from stone. He’s so good-looking, it’s debilitating.

“I’m a bad idea?”

He takes a long sip of his beer, drags a hand through his hair. “You aggravate me.” His gaze drops to her lips.

Her heart takes off, hammering at a furious pace.

Flirting. They’re flirting with something. Most likely disaster.

Either way, Ash should go. Take her tequila and run.

Instead, she lets out a breath. “Is that good or bad?”

“Good.” His voice thickens. He moves in closer. “I think.”

The ocean crashes against the shore. A breeze kicks up, ruffling her hair, obscuring her vision.

Nathaniel reaches out. One big hand caresses her cheek, sweeps her hair behind her shoulder, taming it. Instead of pulling away, he inches closer. Long fingers hold her jaw. Eyes turning heavy-lidded.

Ash waits, hesitant, anticipatory. Her body sizzles.

It’s the throttling he’s been waiting for .

Her lips part. All the air escapes her lungs. She tips her head back, eyes him. “Nathaniel. If you’re going to ki—”

His mouth lands on hers. Every one of her protests smothered. There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy in his kiss. It’s only warm and hungry and addictive. He grips the edge of her sarong with his free hand, using it as leverage to pull her closer.

Her champagne flute thuds to the sand.

She has better things to do with her hands.

She clings to those broad shoulders. Arches into his touch, deepening the kiss. Offering more of herself as Nathaniel unleashes a deep, tortured sound from the back of his throat. It’s hot as hell, sending shivers through Ash. He feels so good.

Too good.

Next thing she knows, he parts the slit of her sarong, his hand roaming. A big palm squeezes her thigh. This time it’s her turn to make some sort of wicked, desperate sound. Because his lips taste like lime. His sea-salt scent makes her head spin.

“Kill,” she gasps into his mouth when she pulls back. “Not kiss. I was going to say kill.”

“Not yet,” he rasps against her lips. “I’m not done with you.”

Ash laughs darkly. And then Nathaniel’s mouth is back on hers.

She opens her eyes while she’s kissing him. Her heart pounds. God, he’s so fucking beautiful. He looks so hungry. And she’s feeding him. The thought causes her to whimper.

She closes her eyes, digs her nails in and intensifies the kiss. Might as well. She’s had just the right amount of tequila.

He growls in response. Slides a hand up to cup the curve of her throat. Sweeps his thumb over the back of her neck. Slow and teasing. “God's sake, Ash,” he groans, but his tone isn’t exasperated. He sounds…turned on. Ravenous.

Heart rate spiking, she clutches the thin fabric of his shirt. Yet instead of shoving him into the ocean the way she’s imagined, she glues him to her. She feels delicate against this ridiculously massive body of his.

“Ugh,” she mumbles, even as she holds him close. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because we hate each other.”

“Liar,” he murmurs, smug. With his thumbs, he grazes her collarbone—a primal motion that curls her toes. His jawline is dangerous, and so is his kiss. So sweet. If she lets him get too close, there’s no telling what she’ll let him do to her.

Heated gaze raking over her face, he pulls back a fraction. “It’s a lie.”

She blinks at him. Unsteady and confused and overheated. Doesn’t he hate her? Doesn’t he still hold a grudge?

As if in answer, his mouth lands on hers again.

Ash stiffens. Expecting apocalypse, the entire collapse of society the minute his arms lock around her waist.

But there’s only bliss.

Sweet, beautiful bliss.

A little murmur of joy pops off her lips. Wordlessly, she nods. Gives in.

Kissing. They’re only kissing.

A good idea. She hasn’t had a blistering make-out session since…well, since she hooked up with her roommate at that German hostel.

Wait. No.

A bad idea.

What is she doing?

She’s kissing Augustus’s grandson. Making a mess of things like she always does.

Whatever exists between them, this isn’t what she meant when she suggested a truce.

Abort mission. Abort kiss. Abort everything about tonight.

“Nathaniel,” she murmurs .

As she tries to pull away, he tugs her back into his arms. He’s hot, hard. The length of him presses against her like a brand. Only, instead of lunging for his lips for the third time like a feral kiss-starved hell beast, she stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

“No.” Her lips pulse from his kisses. “It’s the truth. We hate each other.”

They assess each other, both breathing hard now.

Nathaniel bites his swollen lip. Reaches out to run a hand down her shoulder. “I don’t hate you.”

The hangdog look on his face will haunt her for the rest of her life. At this rate, she’ll never get him out of her horny nightmares.

Torn, Ash tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

Sure, they could continue this enemies-with-benefits thing for the rest of the trip. A distraction—or better, a reward for suffering through their time with the Whitford family—but then what? It ends. That’s where it goes. Nowhere.

Easy enough, right?

Except she doesn’t deserve Nathaniel. Not even a quick, casual hookup. Not when she did what she did to him. Guilt burrows a hole inside her. Devours her like flesh-eating bacteria. She hurt him and she could hurt him again. She can’t do that to him.

And she can’t make any more mess of her life than she already has.

Besides, she and Nathaniel, they don’t compute.

He is Vlad the Impaler, and she’s Elizabeth Bathory. They do not exist in the same century.

Hands on her shoulders, Nathaniel steps into her. Frowns more deeply. “Tell me why.”

“Because of Augustus.”

Every ounce of emotion drops off his face. Like a whiteboard being erased. “Right,” he says, suddenly rigid. His hands fall away from her body. The loss of him stings.

Shaking her head, she twists away from him. The burn in her heart intensifies. “I mean your grandfather is paying me to be here. I shouldn’t fraternize with…” Heat fills her face, that pulsing spot between her legs, but she forces herself to look at him. “I’m here for Augustus. No one else.”

A muscle in his jaw snaps tight. He runs a hand over his mouth, stifling a groan.

She bites her lip. Glances down. “I apologize for your raging boner.”

He exhales, chuckles. “You have no idea.”

Ash backs away. “I—I should go.”

“Yeah.” The heat in his eyes is still there. It scares her.

He doesn’t try to fight her on it. It’s relief. It’s disappointment. It’s both.

Nathaniel gives her a head start. Then she’s walking, stumbling, running across the sand like she’s trying to leave Past-Ash behind. A mistake. She’s made a very bad mistake. And she doesn’t know if that mistake is the kiss or the not-continuing of the kiss.

All he is is a heart interruption. Ash thumps her chest. Time to get back to her regularly scheduled beat.

Even if a little voice in her head tells her that it’s impossible.