Ain't Misbehaving (20 page)

“She’s a lovely girl,” Margaret said when she caught him watching Charlotte. “Does she know you love her?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Only to me. I was hoping you’d hit it off with my daughter, but she informs me she made a pass at you during your last visit and you politely brushed her off.” Margaret’s tone was wry, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I could have told her subtle would work best with you.”

Ash barked out a laugh. “I do prefer to do my own hunting.”

“Your parents must be very proud of you.”

“There’s just my father, but he is pleased with the way I turned out. And I’d have to say he deserves the credit.”

Margaret smiled warmly again. “I hope you’ll bring Charlotte to visit again, once you’re married.”

“Maybe,” Ash said, knowing he’d have to persuade Charlotte first. Hell, he wasn’t sure why she thought he was only interested in a fling. Maybe it was his track record. He’d made a point of telling his girlfriends he wasn’t looking for a wife, but a couple of them had thought otherwise, hearing what they wanted to hear. With Charlotte—he didn’t know. All he could do was silently pursue her and let her realize that together they were a great team.

Just after midnight, Ash sought Charlotte out, folding her in his arms and moving slowly to a waltz. “Are you almost ready to call it a night?”

“Margaret said they intended to have supper soon. Perhaps we could sneak off then and no one would notice.”

Almost as soon as she’d spoken the words, the song ended and the lead musician announced a supper break.

“A mind reader,” Ash marveled, loving the way the grin spread from her lips and echoed in her eyes. Even better, it was all for him. She genuinely enjoyed his company, she was always happy to indulge him sexually, so why the hell was she running scared when he hinted at permanent? “Let’s pretend we’re going to wander around the gardens.”

“You want to snatch a kiss or two in the dark.”

“Of course, but we’ll wait for the good stuff until we reach my bedroom.”

Keith Matheson intercepted them before they reached the door, and Ash swore under his breath. “Fate conspires against us.”

“Why don’t I meet you in your room?”

“Good idea.”

She slipped into the garden, her apricot dress a slash of pale color against the dark background.

Ash played nice, chatted with the gentlemen Keith wanted to introduce him to and offered a charming smile to the two women in the group when all he wanted to do was run after Charlotte. The women twittered like birds, their hands waving in illustration of their gushing. Their gazes flitted to his scars and away, eyes lowering until they ended up flirting with his chest. After half an hour of frustrating social chitchat, he managed to extract himself and made his way upstairs. As he turned the corner into the passage, he saw someone entering his room.

Charlotte must have gone to her room first. His steps lengthened, eager to get to her and do some more subtle wooing. It was no hardship caressing her body and capturing her moans with his mouth. He opened the door, surprised to find the room in darkness.

A feminine squeak of shock suddenly echoed through the air, followed swiftly by a male shout. Ash switched on the light, flooding the room with illumination.

Charlotte sat up in the king-size bed, clutching the pale blue sheet to her naked chest. David Matheson, Keith’s son—also naked—stood by the bed, a pillow held in front of him to maintain his modesty.

“Is this an exclusive party or can anyone join?” Ash asked.

“I thought…I came… What is she doing in your room?” David asked, his voice gaining in strength with each word he spoke.

Ash leaned against the doorjamb. “I invited her. What are you doing here?”

“You’re gay. Nicola told me,” David said, searching Ash’s face and edging farther away from Charlotte. Ash lifted his brows and David’s face crumpled. “She lied to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Ash said. “Your sister has been pulling your leg.”

“You’re really not gay?” Obviously David wanted to believe he still had a chance.

“No, I’m sorry.” Ash speared a glance at Charlotte before turning back to David. “Do you need a robe?”

Scarlet flooded his cheeks. “I have one on the floor somewhere.”

Ash saw a silky pile of tartan fabric and plucked it off the carpet, handing it to the young man. David awkwardly juggled the pillow while trying to cover himself.

“Charlotte, shut your eyes,” Ash said. “David, I’m closing my eyes too. Put on your robe. Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t listen to your sister again,” Ash said, ushering the young man out of the room. He closed the door behind him and turned to survey Charlotte. “Are you okay?”

“Speechless, more than anything,” Charlotte said. “He’d just arrived. I thought it was you. When I reached out to touch him, he didn’t feel the same.”

“Good to know,” Ash said, studying her sheet-draped form. “Do you have anything on under that sheet?”

“Not a thing.” Her saucy tone raised a smile in him.

“Did he touch you?” Ash held still, uncharacteristic jealousy surging through him. The unusual emotion made him realize how hard he’d fallen, how much he cared for Charlotte.

“Nope, I was the impatient one.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “After all, it is a dirty weekend and that should involve touching.”

Ash laughed. He dragged the armchair that sat in front of the window and placed it hard up against the bedroom door. “That should stop any further nocturnal visitors,” he said and started to strip off. “We can be as dirty as you want.”

Chapter Ten

The flight from Napier to Auckland was full of screaming teenagers, excited about a school trip to the city. Charlotte winced at the harsh shriek from the seat behind them.

“Headache?” Ash’s fingers curled around hers.

“I get them sometimes when I’m tired.” She smiled ruefully and whispered against his ear. “It appears that dirty weekends can contribute to headaches.”

“I’ll have you home soon. You can have an early night and catch up on your sleep.”

“But we were going to talk about the campaigns.”

“I’ll email you the details. Read through the notes. I have a busy day tomorrow, but I can meet you for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Sounds good.” She tried not to recoil at the stab in her brain. “I’ll go to bed when we get home. Take a couple of headache pills.”

The flight landed and transit through the airport went smoothly. Soon they sat in the rear of a cab, on their way to Remuera.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi driver made the turn onto Charlotte’s street. He let out a disgusted sound and jammed on his brakes. “What the devil is that kid doing?”

Charlotte gaped at the teenager who ran across the road waving a T-shirt in his hand. The cab pulled into the driveway of Elizabeth’s Remuera house. The door opened and Elizabeth carried out an armful of books. She dumped them on the ground beside a suitcase bulging with clothes and more books, and the crowd converged to paw through the items. Without a glance at the people milling around the driveway or their cab, she stomped back inside. An instant later she was back with another load of possessions.

“What the hell?” Ash said. “I thought they were going to stay in Taupo for two weeks.”

“Those are mine.” Charlotte jumped out of the cab and stormed to the door, meeting Elizabeth face-to-face when she emerged with yet more items. “What are you doing with my stuff?”

“This is my house,” Elizabeth said in a terse, low voice. “I choose who I have living in it, and I don’t have to put up with you any longer.” She shoved past Charlotte, a music box teetering on top of her armful of jeans and sweaters. Charlotte gave a cry of alarm and grabbed for the treasure her mother had given her when she was six. Elizabeth ducked to avoid her, and the music box went flying. Tinny music played when the lid opened, halting abruptly when it crashed onto the concrete driveway.

Charlotte cried out and fell to her knees. Her vision blurred as she picked up the lid and the tiny ballerina, cradling the broken pieces in her hands. Apart from the framed photo of her parents, the white music box was the sole item of remembrance she possessed.

Ash crouched beside her. “Charlotte?” Concern layered his voice. “What’s going on?”

Charlotte turned to him, a choked laugh squeezing past the tightness of her chest. “Elizabeth is kicking me out of the house.”

“She couldn’t ring you to tell you? Discuss it in a civilized manner?” He shot a look of disbelief as Elizabeth disappeared inside the Victorian house and slammed the front door shut. “What if we hadn’t come along when she started throwing out your possessions?”

“She doesn’t care.” The shock of defeat held her immobile. People still sorted through her things while others stared and whispered. Her shoulders slumped as she blinked back frustrated tears. Her head ached so much she could barely think. Overwhelmed, she picked up the rest of her music box and slowly turned to survey the remains of her stuff. “What am I going to do?”

“We’ll rescue what we can and pack it into the cab,” Ash said, already stooping to pick up several art books and some paint brushes.

“But I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Of course you do.” Ash squeezed her shoulder and sent her a comforting smile. “You can stay with me.”

The front door flew open and Elizabeth lobbed a pair of battered boots, a red T-shirt and a box of tampons through the air. Tampons bounced in all directions, drawing laughter from the bystanders. Elizabeth ignored the amusement and raked a chilly glare over Charlotte. “That’s the last of your stuff. If you’re not out of here in ten minutes I’ll call the police and get them to remove you from the premises.”

“Fine.” Somehow, Charlotte forced her frozen limbs to move and ignored the murmur of voices from the group of onlookers. She picked up the photo of her parents, favorite books given to her by Gran. Both Ash and the cab driver scooped up other belongings, piling them in the trunk. Heaven knew how many of her things had been picked up and spirited away before she arrived.

“This is better than reality television,” a teenage girl said.

Charlotte’s cheeks burned. She didn’t glance at the bystanders, but continued picking up her books while resigning herself to publicity and further humiliation.

“Isn’t that
The Beast?
” a man asked.

“It is,” an elderly woman said. “I recognize his scars. She must be the mystery redhead.”

Phone cameras pointed at her and echoes of
The Beast
rippled through the group.

“Is that everything?” Ash asked, his calm manner going some way to tamp down her growing despair and bitterness. She had done nothing to deserve this treatment from Elizabeth.

“Yes, I think so.” Charlotte scanned the driveway and grassy lawn to the right. Tampons still littered the grass along with broken pastel crayons and spilled paints. Elizabeth had dropped a box full of oil paints on the driveway. Some of the tins had burst open on impact, dribbling bright blue, gray and yellow paint over the concrete. Luckily she’d had her most prized possessions with her—her laptop, her e-reader and few pieces of jewelry.

Ash grasped her arm and tugged. “Let’s go then.” He led her to the cab and seated her in the rear, then slid in beside her.

The driver backed out of the drive after Ash gave him directions to his house. Ash pressed her against his chest, his arms comforting and familiar. Yet Charlotte’s mind whirled, anguish bringing a wave of nausea.

“I can’t stay with you. People will talk.” Despondent, she refused to meet his gaze. Her presence in his life would bring the publicity he loathed. Her head pounded afresh, sharp darts digging at her temple as she admitted the harsh reality. With little money and no job or home, she couldn’t afford to turn down his offer.

“Newsflash, sweetheart. They’re already talking. Besides, I’ve suffered through their worst. Stay with me as long as you need.”

“What about when you get sick of me? I don’t want to outstay my welcome.” He never dated the same woman for long. He’d tire of her soon, and what would happen then?

“We’ll discuss the details when we get home.”

Home.
She didn’t have a home. Heck, she hadn’t felt comfortable in Elizabeth’s house from the day she moved there with her father. Silent and defeated, she closed her eyes, trying not to think about her future.

When they arrived at Ash’s house, the taxi driver helped them carry her belongings inside. While Ash took care of the cab fare, Charlotte stood mutely in the hallway, unsure of what to do next.

“Charlotte, I’ll show you to your room,” Ash said, taking her arm.

The room was delightful with walls painted a fresh lemon. Accents of green in the bed coverings and in a set of plant paintings contrasted to produce a soothing haven. If she opened the balcony doors, she was sure the perfume of roses would waft up from the gardens below.

“This is your room. If you require privacy, shut the door and I won’t bother you.” His fingers lightly gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “But I want you to know you’re welcome in my bedroom day or night. I enjoy your company and will not kick you out of my life. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she whispered, but she accepted his words as an act of kindness, a promise made with invisible restrictions and terms—a temporary type of benevolence. The truth was she needed to forge her own way and create a future for herself. She was responsible for her own happiness, and it was what Gran had wanted for her.

“Let me get you some headache tablets then I’ll leave you to sleep.”

“No!” A shaky laugh emerged in her effort to appear calm. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with her misery. “I’ll take the tablets, but I’d prefer to keep my mind busy. Maybe I could watch television.”

“You don’t want to sort out your belongings?”

Her second attempt at an untroubled laugh was better. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Ash gave her a long look, his brows furrowed as if he saw through her bravado to the writhing mass of insecurities lying beneath the surface. Finally, when it felt as if his gaze were flaying her skin, he gave a curt nod. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”