Chapter Eight #3
I move to his side, bracing a palm on the rail. Nope, I’m not going to acknowledge the way my heart leapt. Not at his question, but at the fact that he’s seeking my opinion.
I look around for a moment, the thrill of past projects and future possibilities making my pulse gallop.
‘You’ll need period boats, but the backdrop’s perfect.
Those fig trees could swallow a set whole.
’ I point to a spot of higher ground. ‘Raise your facade there—wide-angle sweep, sun at your actors’ backs. Instant cinematic nostalgia.’
He whistles low, pleased, then a flash of that devastating smile. ‘You sure you’re on sabbatical? Because I could use a location producer who sees light like that.’
Just like that? My breath catches. I yearn to yank off his shades, look into his eyes and verify he’s not toying with me and my emotions.
Behind his shoulder Nico’s head snaps up, interest sparking in eyes that linger on me a beat longer than polite. ‘You work in film?’
‘Documentaries,’ I reply, summoning a smile despite being a little disgruntled at the interruption. And the knowledge that Ashon’s watching me too, perhaps gauging my reaction to his maybe not-too-careless reply. ‘Story rescue missions, mostly dealing with natural disasters.’
Nico replies with something I don’t hear because all I can see is Ashon prowling towards me. He clears his throat—subtle but unmistakable—and drapes an arm across my shoulders when he reaches me. ‘I should really punish you,’ he murmurs in my ear, even with an edge.
My eyes widen. ‘Punish me? For what?’
‘For wasting auteur DNA on turndown service,’ he grates, then to Nico, ‘She’s understating her accomplishments. Her last doc took home a Tribeca audience award.’
I tell myself I mistake the punch of pride in his voice, conflating it with the thrill of being punished…in the bedroom…by my husband. Where I make him quake with the force of my allure.
I want more of that. Extensively. For ever?
Ashon’s eyes narrow on me. ‘What is lurking in that clever mind?’
‘Plot twists,’ I murmur before I can stop myself.
He stiffens but his eyes ignite. ‘Which kind?’
‘The kinds I shouldn’t entertain beyond the parameters of what we agreed.’
‘But you are?’ he presses, almost urgently, his eyes now burning.
I purse my lips, terrified I’ve already left my flanks wide open.
‘Would it help to know I too have considered…things?’
My eyes widen. ‘Really? You—’
Beside us Nico grunts. ‘Impressive.’
Ashon’s arm tightens, proprietary, just as disgruntled at the interruption. I feel a flicker of heat that has nothing to do with the Botswana sun. Then his body moves, planting himself firmly between me and Nico. It would be funny if it didn’t evoke distinctly un-feminist feelings inside me.
We drift to a stop near a sandy bank and his mouth drifts over my temple. ‘To be revisited?’
I give a jerky nod as Mpho kills the engine and hops out to test the footing, then waves us onshore.
The instant my sandals hit the warm ochre sand, Ashon launches into pitch mode.
Bigger, louder, gesturing like a conductor directing an invisible orchestra.
Passion and power and utterly unapologetic about either.
‘A three-generation feud—trade empire versus missionary outfit, enemies turned reluctant partners, then lovers. Legacy poisoned by greed. Present-day descendants forced to uncover buried sins.’
‘Generational enemies-to-lovers,’ I muse, heartbeat quickening. ‘Epic. Messy. People will eat it up.’
He nods, one corner of his sinfully sensual lips quirking. ‘You approve?’
‘Hmm. I’d watch it twice.’
His eyes gleam and I know he’s thinking back to heated acts in cinema rooms. ‘Good, because I want you advising on the historical beat sheet.’
Nico coughs, a polite bid to re-enter the conversation, and asks a technical question about natural light reflectors. Ashon answers, but the guy’s gaze keeps flicking to my bare legs peeking from my wrap skirt. I’m more amused than flattered. Ashon is not.
‘He’s half a breath from being tossed in for a swim with the hippos,’ he drawls when Nico drifts off.
‘Easy. At least he isn’t calling me spotlight-hungry like a certain someone’s ex.’
One eyebrow quirks. ‘Payback’s a bit—?’ he begins.
‘Bit of karma,’ I finish, teasing.
But Ashon doesn’t laugh. His jaw ticks. The next second he grabs my waist, hauls me flush against him and kisses me full on the mouth. It’s slow and thorough and impossible to misunderstand.
The reeds rustle, a fish splashes, Nico mutters an awkward excuse and pivots to film the scenery.
When Ashon finally frees my lips, I’m breathing like I ran the length of the delta. ‘W-what,’ I whisper, ‘was that for?’
He shrugs a broad shoulder. ‘Claim staking.’ His voice is gravel and smoke. Brazen as fire.
I roll my eyes but press closer. ‘Primitive.’
‘Effective,’ he counters, his thumb stroking my lower back. ‘But also possibly answers a few questions we both have.’
Head still spinning from last night and now this display, I wander ahead while he huddles with the crew, but I feel his gaze on me like a hot, possessive hand.
And I… I don’t hate it.
Because it feels like the answer to Ashon’s question is yes.
Yes.