Page 59 of For Better or Hearse

She looks like your type.

Why the hell did he reply the way he did? The idea that Ash thinks he only wants blondes in high heels annoys him. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

In fact, he can’t help but be drawn to Ash.

She’s excessively goofy and earnest and maybe a little off-putting with her positive attitude and mean sense of humor.

She’s a mix tape blasted to the max, and even then, he wants to crank the dial until it snaps.

The woman is entirely too beautiful. The husky sound of her voice. Those blood-red lips. Her feral black hair. That impossible-to-ignore yellow bikini that breaks every synapse in his brain.

He’s hated her since the moment she objected to his wedding. Now, she’s the only one he wants to talk to on this trip.

He’s teetering on the verge of an emotion, a discovery, he can’t describe. It’s dangerous. Not to mention confusing as fuck.

After Camellia, Nathaniel doesn’t do confusing. As an emergency physician, he was an expert in triage. Only he was constantly triaging and re-triaging their relationship. What hethoughtit was is not what it was. There were times that he felt like he was a window dressing. Along for a ride. Camellia’s ride. He won’t be miserable like his parents. He can’t make that mistake again.

A frantic, hammering knock—rap, rap, rap—jerks Nathaniel out of his feverish state.

“Nathaniel? Are you in there?”

Ash.

Flames rising in his chest, he crosses the room in less than a second. He lunges for the knob. Throws open the door.

Ash stands on the threshold, hugging herself. In the bright light of the hallway, her eyes are a kind of earthen moss. She’s in a robe that’s too big for her. Tied carelessly around the waist, one shoulder slipping low. Long bare legs. Her hair a wild, careless tangle.

“Nathaniel,” she gasps, her voice low, gravelly.

“What’s wrong?” he says, alarmed.

“It’s Augustus. He has a fever.”

Cold sears his stomach.

“I think he’s sick. I didn’t have your number. I didn’t know what to do, so I—”

His hands land on her shoulders, cutting off her wild ramble. “Slow down.”

She sucks in a breath. “Can you—can you get your fancy doctor bag and come help?”

The corner of Nathaniel’s lips tug. “You assume I have one?”

She props her hands on her hips and stares at him. Waits.

“Fine,” he grumps, crossing the room to pull out the small satchel he brings with him in case of emergencies.

She brightens, a smile of vindication on her face. “I fucking knew it.”

“Pain in my ass,” he snaps, before softening his voice for her. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ash gives him a grateful look. Together, they head for the elevator. He tries not to notice, tries not to feel the absolute lock of his body as her small hand slips around his as they rush down the hall.

“Well?” Ash makes a sound of distress when Nathaniel exits Augustus’s room. She sits on the living room couch, hands tucked between her knees. “Is he okay? Is it the cancer?”

“Not cancer,” he says. He sets his bag on the bar. “My grandpops has all the classic symptoms of sunstroke.”

“Sunstroke?” A relieved breath puffs out of her. “Oh, thank god.” Then her face clouds. “This is my fault. I should have made sure he was—”