Page 71 of For Better or Hearse

Ash.

She’s the first one he looked for.

It’s stupid not to use your number now.

Ash tries not to smile at the text from theTall 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.