Page 72 of For Better or Hearse
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 swankytiki-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 ofJakob. 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?”