Page 83 of Filthy Rich Temptation
‘Not a problem you need to worry about. You’ve got me. You both have, for as long as you need.’
And forever more too. Because one thing’s brutally clear – now that Sadie’s back in life, my heart won’t let her go without a fight.
What that means… I’m too fucking terrified to admit.
But this isn’t about how I feel. I tell myself the same as I told her. It’s about how she feels.
Her life. Her freedom. Her and Lottie’s path.
And whatever comes next, I’ll walk it with them – even if it tears me in two at the end.
15
SADIE
And I thought Theo’s penthouse was impressive.
Turns out his ‘beach house’ is something else entirely.
Perched high above a secluded cove, it’s a blend of weathered wood, white-rendered walls, and sea-tinted glass. Stark and sculptural, yet somehow gentle, like it’s always been here, surrounded by the driftwood and windswept dunes.
Inside, every room invites the landscape in, each one perfectly positioned to capture the golden cove below, or the restless, endless sea beyond.
From the moment Lottie and I stepped out of the car, we were wrapped in its beauty – and the warm, effusive welcome of Theo’s live-in housekeeper, Isla. A grey-haired widow with the kindest smile and brightest blue eyes, who served us a feast for dinner, then took Lottie to see the chickens in the coop. Since then, it’s been chicken this and chicken that andallthe smiles.
Now, with Lottie finally settled in bed, I pad down the hallway in search of Theo, taking in every abstract coastal print on the white walls, every sculpted piece of driftwood nestled in the recessed shelves. Even the pale timber floor catches the eye, while the thrum of the sea fills the air like nature’s own lullaby.
Pure heaven.
Though not as heavenly as the sight that greets me when I reach the living room.
The last of the evening sun filters through the glass walls and linen drapes, softening the room’s clean lines and coastal tones… and him.
He’s stretched out on the low-slung sofa, glass of wine in hand, phone resting forgotten beside him. The light turns his skin to honey, drawing out the textured tones in his dark-blond hair and the stubble along his jaw.
His white T-shirt and pale-blue jeans wear the day’s creases, but somehow only add to the effect that’s all him. He looks undone in the most effortless way. Like he belongs here. Like this place was designed with him in mind, which it was, and yet he rarely comes here. Or so Isla said in passing.
I hesitate in the doorway, unwilling to break his peace. But I fear Lottie will come for him, if he doesn’t get to her first…
‘I hate to ruin the mood,’ I say gently, ‘but she’s asking for you…’
His eyes shift into focus, sharpening on me before softening with a smile. ‘She is?’
I nod. ‘She’s almost gone, but I reckon she’ll fight it until she gets a goodnight from her Uncle Feo.’
He places his glass on the table and rises. ‘Consider it done.’
As he passes, his hand brushes my hip – light, almost absent-minded, but enough to still my breath. For one suspended beat, I think he might lean in. Say something. Do something. But he just smiles and says, ‘Help yourself to some wine. I won’t be long.’
I watch him go, my cheeks too warm, my tummy too. I blame the car journey, being in such close proximity but with Lottie as a constant chaperone. Then Isla. But soon… we’ll be alone.
Alone for the first time since last night… the flutters within me multiply and I move before he finds me stuck in the same spot, stuck in a stupor of my own making.
I pour myself a glass and step out onto the deck. Breathe in the view as dusk settles over the cove. I can’t remember the last time I witnessed anything so quietly perfect and unspoiled by human touch.
I wrap my cardigan around me, letting the breeze thread through my hair, and sip my wine. It’s a crisp, dry white. Refreshing, but it could never quench my thirst. Not when it’s stirred by the man now returning, his footsteps soft on the wood behind me.
‘She seems quite content here,’ he says, wine in one hand, the other settling on the rail beside me. The sight of those fingers up close draws last night’s touch back under my skin and I swallow, look back to the sea.
