Aya

  Nash’s complete disinterest in children had left me raw enough that Mama Grace shot me worried glances as I entered her kitchen. After a moment, she plunked a large glass of iced tea in front of me, and I gulped it down.

  “Ike, honey, why don’t you go grab that book and the tools you brought?” Mama said.

  When he trotted from the room, she placed her hand over mine. “What happened? Is your father causing you that much distress?”

  “What? No. Actually, I’d forgotten about my father.”

  She leaned back, meeting my gaze. “Nash, then.”

  Tears filled my eyes as I bowed my head. “He doesn’t want kids.”

  “Ah.” Mama Grace rubbed her work-roughened palm over my forearm. The gesture soothed me.

  I licked my lips. “This… I’ve always wanted children. Being an only child was hard. I mean, I have half-sisters, but they’re more than a decade younger than me. And with my mother gone… I’ve always had this need to surround myself with family.”

  “Because it’s a hole in you,” Mama said, her gaze soft with understanding.

  I swallowed, nodding.

  “Don’t fret just yet. Nash’s home experience was mighty different than yours with your mama and granddaddy,” Mama said. “He’s still struggling with accepting Steve.”

  I nodded, and as much as I wanted to lower my head to the table and cry, I rose to help Ike with the large red toolbox he struggled to carry. Today, spending time with him would be enough.

  I just wasn’t sure how Nash and I would navigate tomorrow. Panic pulsed between each rapid heartbeat because once again it felt like there were differences in our lifestyle choices and ways of seeing happiness, the future, that might be too big to surmount.

  After Ike and I had launched the rocket, I’d welcomed the rest of the afternoon alone. In the meeting earlier, I’d asked my solicitor in London to send me a copy of my mother’s will, which was now pulled up on my computer. I’d hoped the legalese might take my mind off of Nash’s brusque dismissal of ever having a family, but so far, it wasn’t working.

  Halfway through, I looked away from the document and rubbed my forehead. The clause about my marriage still spun through my head.

  Why had my mother written her last document this way? Her love for Nash had been great, but she never would have pushed me into a relationship I didn’t want. She’d lived the fallout from that choice.

  So…I was missing something.

  Something I feared had to do with Nash’s Pop Syad and my Jeddi. The two of them had wanted us to meet in Paris at that international school. Instead, Nash’s mother had insisted he stay in Austin. Then my mother had brought us here because our grandfathers had wanted Nash and me together. So much so that that I wouldn’t have full access to my trust unless Nash Porter and I had a child together, and then, a portion of the money would remain in a trust for my children with Nash Porter, divided evenly among them.

  If we couldn’t conceive naturally, we had ten years past my thirty-fifth birthday to adopt. If I married a man other than Nash Porter, I would receive one-half of the two-point-two billion pounds that had sat in the account at the time of my mother’s death. It was now closer to five billion, according to my solicitor’s note accompanying the document. If I remained unmarried at thirty-five, the bulk of my trust turned over to various nonprofits, though I still remained a wealthy woman.

  Billions. So much money. Ridiculous money.

  No one needed that kind of wealth. Yet I had it.

  I’d never bothered to find out the exact amount, just as I’d never worried too much about my father’s spending.

  Now, I scrutinized both. The Aldringham estate made a decent annual profit, yet my father had siphoned more than half of my monthly allowance for his expenditures—until I’d stopped him. That’s when he’d become serious about me marrying. No wonder he remained so angry about my rebellion.

  After a long internal debate, I took a breath and pulled up my solicitor’s email address.

  Dear Mr. Floyd,

  I would greatly appreciate you forwarding this message along to Ms. Lindsay Herrington-Smythe. Discretion is of the utmost importance, though I wish you, too, to be aware of my concerns.

  Even after my attempts to remove my father, Lord Aldringham, from my accounts, he’s managed to continue siphoning to the tune of another three-hundred-thousand pounds this year. Please inform him that he no longer has access to my accounts, and make sure that is the case. Should Ms. Herrington-Smythe look more closely at Lord Seymour’s accounts, my guess is she’ll find him in debt to my father. I have no idea how much, but I think that was the true reason for the offer of engagement made to me by Lord Seymour.

  I highly recommend she take great care to protect her fortune and her future, should she continue to have further acquaintance with Lord Seymour, as I do believe my father might well become ruthless in his desire for funds, especially once his motions for access to my accounts fail in the coming weeks.

  I’d also like my next quarter’s allowance sent to me directly via cheque, so there is no ambiguity about who is in possession.

  Warmest regards,

  Aya J. Aldringham

  I closed out of the program before shutting my new laptop. I tapped the lid, wondering if I’d handled that situation correctly. Lindsay had changed the course of my life, but she’d shown me kindness in London, and she’d seemed to want to make amends for her actions back in high school. Regardless, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if she ended up miserable because she hadn’t had all the information I could have provided.

  So ultimately, this was the right decision—the only choice I could make. A small smile tipped the corners of my mouth. I felt more settled, more self-confident than I had in…years.

  Part of me wanted to just give a lump sum to my father and be done with him, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone, even if I did. He’d managed to develop a lifestyle much above his means, and he’d long planned to use my inheritance to fund it—either by emotional manipulation or, since that had failed, through a marriage agreement with Alistair.

  Mostly, though, I was irked that my relationship with my father even bothered me. I was happy here in Austin. Despite the hard work of trying to move forward—or perhaps partially because of it—being with Nash made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in years. I enjoyed my coursework and getting to know Jenna and Kate. Yet my mind kept snagging on the sharp edges of my family.

  I re-read the child clause in the will. Well, if Nash didn’t want kids, the money would go to charity and do more good than it would sitting in a bank account. There was really nothing here to be bothered with—apart from the ridiculousness of the clause in the first place.

  Still, a niggle of worry slithered through my mind. Nash and I were already in a difficult place where having kids (or not) was concerned. Should I tell him about this? He worried about secrets between us, but this could be like lighter fluid on an already smoldering situation. But if I didn’t tell him, would that make me part of the problem? Would it indicate a lack of trust? I dropped my head into my palms.

  “Well, that’s not what I hoped to see.”

  I lifted my head and smiled at Mama Grace. “I’m in a bit of a pickle,” I said as I turned in the chair to face the door.

  “Did someone say pickles?” Jenna ducked under Mama’s arm and flopped down on my bed. “They’re gross. Can’t stand the vinegary taste.” She looked at me. “Oh, you weren’t talking about the food. What’s wrong?”

  I sucked in a long, slow breath, debating my options. But the bottom line was, I didn’t know how to move forward. So I decided to share my situation. After I finished talking, I tugged on my fingers. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Nothing right now,” Mama Grace said.

  My gaze flashed up to hers before finding Jenna’s. “But Nash doesn’t like secrets…”

  “I’m not suggesting you keep one. Well, not for long,” Mama said. “It’s just… You two kids have so much working against you, including your struggles to forgive. I don’t think adding another hurdle right now is the smartest choice.”

  I returned my gaze to Jenna. “What do you think?”

  She appeared troubled. “I think you’re screwed.”

  I slumped in the chair.

  “I hear what Mama’s saying, and after how upset you were with Nash earlier, I think it’s valid to think he won’t react well to this weird codicil. At all.”

  I nodded.

  “Mama’s right. You still need time to get past your history. Typically, I’d say the truth is best, but Mama’s argument is sound. Yeah, I guess I’d wait until he’s calmer.”

  I pleated my shirt. “But if I don’t tell him, he’ll think I lied. Or worse, that I’m trying to manipulate him as my father’s done me. He may misunderstand my interest in having kids entirely.”

  “I think you work on helping him get to a place of acceptance with Steve,” Mama said. “That’ll go a long way toward smoothing out all these harsh feelings about families.”

  “I don’t know…” I shifted, an uncomfortable feeling building inside me. Would Nash see that as manipulation? He was so sensitive about such things.

  Mama Grace sighed. “Then don’t decide right now. Lord knows I’m not always right. I nearly broke my boys’ relationship, and Camden’s had to work hard to forgive me.”

  “I…I don’t want to make this worse, but I also don’t see a way through.”

  Mama came over and smoothed my hair back.

  “Feel it out, and do what’s right when the time comes,” Jenna said.

  I blinked at her, trying to eliminate the tears forming in my eyes. “Even if that means losing him?”

  She and Mama shared a look. “Aya, honey, if he can’t accept that your mama created these conditions without your knowledge, then he’s not the man I thought he was,” Mama said.

  20

  Nash

  Over a weekend in late July, yet another interview with Aya’s father surfaced, this one including the tidbit that he’d tried to get full custody of her because of her mother’s “poor choices.” Aya spent the afternoon listless, as she’d been off and on since my comment about not wanting kids. I didn’t wish to discuss that with her again—not when we clearly had such different views—so I was at a loss as to how to fix things.

  Instead, I focused on her father. With a little research, I figured out the perfect solution—to the troubles with her father, at least. I smiled as I placed the call to Hugh.

  He sighed long and hard into the phone. “Are you sure you want to do this, man?”

  “I don’t like bullies.”

  “Not every situation is like the ones with Lord Prescott.”

  “You’re right. Some people are worse. But yes, I’m sure. I need to make amends for screwing up.”

  “I don’t think this is the best way—”

  “I didn’t ask you that,” I said. “I just…I want her happy, man.”

  “Fine,” Hugh grumbled. “But remember I said this was a terrible idea.”

  “Gotta go.”

  I hung up just as Aya entered the room. She hadn’t been at my place much, but I’d asked her over today so we could spend the afternoon and evening together—a quiet one, without Steve or my security in the house. Steve was out on a date, and Brandon had someone nearby, but we had the place to ourselves.

  The guys and I had agreed to perform in some local shows soon, which would tie up nights, so I was trying to soak up all the time with her I could get.

  She wore jeans that encased her trim thighs and tight ass to perfection. Her tank top was simple cotton, but that didn’t stop me from admiring the view. And damn, I loved the way she smelled. So clean—like sunlight. Her eyes brightened to almost blue, and her soft, pink lips turned up in a smile when she noted the kittens playing near my desk. I smiled back.

  She plopped down in my lap, and I grunted a little as I shifted her off my hard, aching dick to my thigh. The kittens meowed and clawed at the legs of my jeans, begging for attention.

  Typically, I sat on the floor with them in the smaller sitting room adjacent to the library, because they seemed to like the space. It was cozy and near the kitchen—their other favorite spot. I’d seen Steve slide them pieces of ham and replace their water with cream…when he thought no one was looking.

  The guy was as much a softie as I was, but even less willing to show it. His unwillingness to bend those stiff walls was part of why I remained angry with him.

  I set aside those concerns and focused on placing the kittens next to us, one by each hip, on the leather sofa. I petted their small heads as I stared into Aya’s brilliant eyes.

  “What has you thinking so hard?” she asked.

  “You and me, long term.” I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if that was the right thing to say. Aya seemed less skittish, but part of me worried she’d always expect me to take back my emotions, my love, at any minute. That this was all just one big manipulation.

  Trust eroded when you let someone down. I knew that better than most.

  “And that made you smile?” She flicked at my lower lip.

  “It did. I like long term with you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “That wasn’t all you were thinking about.”

  Once again, Aya could read me better than anyone else. “I was thinking about Cam and Jenna and all they’ve had to overcome to be happy. I mean, he’s settled down, has a kid on the way. They’re so happy; it’s kind of disgusting.” But I was still smiling. “As Cam says, ‘happier than pigs in mud.’”

  She giggled. “He says shit, I bet.”

  I shook my head. “Mud, because Jenna might not mind getting dirty, but she always smells like a rose. Direct quote.”

  Aya snuggled her head into my shoulder. “They’re so cute.”

  I ran my hand down her long hair and petted her, much to the kittens’ yowling disappointment. “I want you to be happy like that, Ay.”

  She looked up at me, those large eyes so filled with emotion. Most of it seemed like love, but fear still drifted in the background. I held her, trying not to let my discontent bleed through.

  “I do, too.” She opened her mouth, then shut it.

  I waited, but that oily feeling slid through my middle. “What?” I asked.

  She dropped her gaze. “Will you…will you at least consider, maybe in the future, the possibility of a family?”

  I could deny her nothing. “In the distant future,” I clarified.

  Her eyes turned darker with frustration, but she nodded. “Distant future,” she parroted.

  I hugged her to me, appreciating the concession. I could only hope my own feelings on the matter would temper themselves as well.

  The kittens frisked at my sides, trying to climb my T-shirt. Aya scooped them both into her arms as she rose, rubbing their soft fur against her chin as she moved toward the sitting room. I had a delightful view of her round ass, and I watched it sway as she walked. She settled the kittens in their bed, pulling out a couple of their toys, which they tumbled over in adorable disregard for decorum, and then she beelined back toward me. This time, I watched those high, perfect tits bounce a little as she shut the door between the rooms.

  She slid back onto my lap, her arms around my neck. I relaxed into the cushion, my hands on her hips, fingers molding to the taut globes of her buttocks.

  “I like you here,” I said.

  “I like being here. So much, Nash.”

  My dick took notice as she bit my earlobe. I kept still, barely breathing, waiting to see what she’d do next. Her small, warm palm pressed against my cheek, and I turned my head.

  She smoothed her lips over mine before she settled her mouth there, tongue dipping between my parted lips. My heart rate kicked up and my arms tightened around her of their own accord.

  I turned her a little so her neck wouldn’t strain as she kissed me—and so I could palm her gorgeous ass. She moaned into my mouth when my hand slid down to her upper thigh. She pressed her breasts into my chest, her nipples pebbled hard against the soft cotton of her shirt and mine.

  The kiss went on and on, each swipe of my tongue bringing forth a new flavor or texture I had to savor. Kissing Aya was more than foreplay; it was a sensual give-and-take unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

  Her lips quivered against mine when I slid my hand from her thigh, under her top, and up her rib cage. She opened her mouth wide, moaning, tipping her head back harder into my supporting hand when I plucked at her taut nipple. She pressed tighter into my lap as I used the heel of my hand to swirl her areola.

  “I like that,” she moaned against my lips.

  “I can tell,” I said. Humor trickled through me, but it was vastly outweighed by the heavy hit of lust.

  When Aya arched her back, pressing her breasts against my palm, my erection firmed, and I was desperate for her to grind down onto it, giving me the friction I craved.

  “Ay, this is getting so hot.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, going back to sucking on my earlobe.

  “I promised you…”

  “That you’d love me.”

  “I do.”

  She pulled back and her eyes burned. “Prove it.”

  I loved every single second of her goading me. I pinched and plucked at her nipple again as I placed soft, open-mouth kisses against her pulse at her throat. She shifted, restless in my lap, but I wasn’t going to give her a hard fuck.

  Aya deserved more. She needed it slow, deep—so deep she didn’t know where she ended and I began. And then, when she’d lost her mind to the pleasure I could give her, I’d pound her body so hard, she would never forget I’d been there.

  Best fucking plan I’d ever created.

  Executing proved harder than expected, though, because Aya had her own ideas.

  21

  Aya

  I’d missed the profound pleasure I found in Nash’s arms, and though I understood we still had work to do, I wanted to connect with him on this physical level. This seemed a way we could move forward—a way we’d always understood each other. I couldn’t stand being so separate from him any longer.