‘I think he’d be proud of you.’
Her eyes are huge in her face. I brush my lips over hers and feel her sigh. ‘Do you?’
It’s so strange, that she wouldn’t immediately see that as an indisputable fact. I catch her face in my hands, one on each cheek. ‘Hell, yeah, Asha. Of course he would be.’
And I kiss her to show her how honest I’m being. I kiss her as though my life depends on it. She tastes like vanilla and raspberries; her skin is warm like sunshine. She is a wildflower brought to life, with her bright hair and soft skin.
My very own fleur sauvage. I push up, my body over hers, an insatiable need to possess her driving my movements now. I reach across the bed, pulling a condom from the bedside table and rolling it in place. She stares up at me, her hair like a jewel across the bedlinen. I kiss her as I thrust deep inside her, moving quickly, desperately, hungrily, my body knowing how to give pleasure and take pleasure all at once.
She arches her back, her moans calling to me. I drop my head, taking one of her beautiful nipples into my mouth, my hands on her hips revelling in the feeling of her, of this. I remember the way she looked tied to the bed, the way her hair spilled across the pillow and I remember the way she went down on me, taking my cock deep in her mouth until I tipped my seed into her throat.
Fuck. She is hotter than anything, anyone, anytime.
I make her mine, as I’ve done countless times since we met, and she welcomes me as always, meeting my passion with her own, answering my needs as I answer hers.
It’s only much later, when she’s dressed for her day, making coffee in the kitchen, that I realise we crushed the geranium into nothing. I pick up its broken, fragile remnant and hold it in my hand for a moment before discarding it on the bedside table.
Nothing lasts for ever. Ashes to ashes.
CHAPTER TEN
‘ASH. WAKE UP.’
I blink slowly, a fog of disorientation making it hard to think straight. Where am I? There’s a noise, low and soft, like the hum of a car. No, not a car. A plane. I’m on the Hart Industries jet. We left the States last night, bound for Sydney. Is it morning? Travelling multiple time zones always throws my body clock out of whack, or maybe it’s some kind of self-preservation technique because, a month after my abortive date with Angus Fienes and our subsequent deal, the Sydney weekend is here and that means one thing: this is over. The end. No more Theo.
‘We’re nearly landing. Come and see.’
I look towards the window to my right. All I can see is blue sky.
‘Not yet. I’ll show you.’ He’s like a little boy at Christmas. Pushing aside the last vestiges of sleep, I step out of the bed and heat suffuses my cheeks as I remember how we spent a good portion of the flight. It turns out there is something special about the mile-high club after all.
I place my hand in his without thinking and follow him through the plane. At the door to the cockpit he surprises me by spinning around, pressing a kiss to my lips then grinning again, the same look of happiness on his features.
I return his smile but it feels dredged from deep within me. My dream is hot on my heels, grabbing hold of me, and I remember it piece by piece as Theo opens the door.
I was in a maze, one of those huge mazes made of pine trees, thick and dark, and I couldn’t find Theo. I knew he was there because I could feel him but I couldn’t find him. And as I took each turn, looking for him, the maze corridors grew thinner and darker so they were pressing down on me and against me, the needles sharp, hurting my skin, the air thin, making breathing difficult. There were no stars in the sky but it was night, and it was neither cold nor hot, just heavy. The air was oppressive. I shiver as the dream rushes through me.
Theo doesn’t notice my expression.
‘Have a seat.’ He gestures to a fold-down chair behind the captain. ‘Asha, this is Major Andrews.’
‘Hey.’ I remember him from the last flight.
‘Good morning, ma’am.’
I don’t tell him to call me Asha. What would be the point? I’m probably never going to see him again. The thought rushes through me like an icy wind. I’ve made my peace with this—or thought I had—but the truth is, the reality of what I have to get through in the next seventy-two hours is enough to make my insides shudder.
This is the end.
Inescapably, inarguably, and probably for the best. Since we left Paris I have seen Theo almost every night. We didn’t consciously agree to that, but the impending cessation of our relationship filled us both with an insatiability, and indulging it seemed not a question of desire so much as a necessity. I have no idea how I’ll draw breath when Theo isn’t a part of my world and yet I must, because soon that’s the reality in which I’ll find myself.
I imagine my future and know how important this is. I want everything he doesn’t; I want what he can’t give me. This has to end, even when that feels like ripping my arms from my body.
Theo takes the co-pilot’s seat. His hair’s down, and it falls about an inch beneath his shoulders. The ends are much fairer than the top, but it’s not because of any chemical intervention or vanity, just the sun’s natural effect on him. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans but he looks like he belongs behind the wheel—er...controls—of this thing. And there are about a billion controls. Tiny dials and wheels, switches and buttons. I watch, awestruck, as he and Major Andrews move side by side. It’s like some kind of ballet, perfectly choreographed. Despite what Theo says, he looks so at home here. I imagine he could well have chosen this as his career.
‘Wait for it,’ he murmurs, turning around to face me, his smile so beautiful I can’t help but return it. The plane dips a bit and the clouds wrap around us, grey and thick, woollen. It’s impossible to see, but then, flying’s not like driving. They’re relying on their instruments to direct them.
The plane wobbles a bit as we pass through more clouds, but here, at the front of the plane, it’s barely a dip.