Sultry Oblivion by Alexa Padgett
Aya
Nash took the kittens out of the carrier the moment we entered his sleek vehicle—I’d caught the Tesla logo on the front earlier. He settled both babies, a girl and a boy, in his lap, his eyes alight with happiness.
“What are we going to name them?” he asked.
“You pick,” I said.
“You’re not always going to be this easygoing, but all right.” He settled back, his good hand stroking the pewter-colored female. “This is going to take some serious thought.”
I turned away a little so he couldn’t see my smile. Nash, the big softie, had probably dreamed of owning a pet for years. He had names picked out; I was sure of it.
“You’re Mayet,” he said.
I turned in time to see him tickle the gray kitten’s chin.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
He shrugged, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Kitty in Egyptian. Lev thought it clever.”
Yep, I’d been right about the names. I leaned my head on his shoulder. “I love that,” I said.
“And you, little man. You will be...”
The boy cat rolled over on his back, revealing more russet patches on his shiny white coat.
“Jigsaw.”
I kissed Nash’s sharp cheekbone, marveling at the heat from his skin. The flush hadn’t yet receded. Showing emotion was still such a challenge for him, and it would, no doubt, be a challenge in our relationship. Not that I was much better. Boarding school and my father’s family had worked hard to quash my “outbursts,” deeming such shows of anger and sadness “unladylike.”
“Mayet and Jigsaw. Great names.”
“Thanks.” He was silent a moment, cuddling the three of us. “Thanks for my kitten.”
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.”
“It’s the best gift I’ve gotten in years.”
“So I should cancel the chocolate cake with caramel icing?” I asked.
“No way! That’s my favorite.”
The storms in his eyes abated, and I inhaled sharply at the warmth pooling there.
“I love you,” he said. “And I think I love them.” Awe colored his tone.
My heart lurched and then thumped, warm and gooey. This man. He was such a dichotomy. Arrogant and domineering to his peers and the press, but such a soft, sweet soul under the veneer his parents’ life had shellacked him with so early. I knew why he was the way he was. He needed softness and comfort in his life.
And I had begun to understand what he’d been trying to tell me: my leaving the way I did had changed him, too. He’d lost me that night, just as I’d lost him.
We carried the cats,their carrier, beds, food, litter box, and other paraphernalia we’d stopped to pick up into the kitchen under the baleful eye of Steve. I headed to the huge freezer and pulled out another bag of vegetables, which I wrapped in a towel and handed to Nash.
“I know it has to be bothering you. I’ll get the kittens organized.”
Steve helped me set up the food dishes and water, but his wary expression remained.
“What’s your plan?” he asked as we settled the kittens’ food in the pantry.
“Well, I’m going get the cats organized and make sure Nash’s hand’s okay. We’ll need to discuss whatever the early news stories say, though I don’t want to read them, and—”
“I mean about Nash,” Steve said. His brows tugged in low over his nose. “He’s fragile.”
I bit my lip. Nash wouldn’t like Steve calling him such, but I understood Steve’s worry. “Mama Grace wants me at the ranch.”
He kept his body still. “All right.”
“And I want time with Nash. To see how we fit.”
He narrowed his eyes. How had I not noticed that they were a similar shape to Nash’s? Probably because I’d never thought to pay attention to Nash’s bodyguard back then.
“I’m not going to interrupt your attempts to normalize relations with your son,” I said.
He jolted. Then he ran both hands through his hair. It was more silver than blond these days. “He told you. Of course he told you.”
“We used to share everything.”
Steve tipped his head. “You did. I’ve never seen two young people so in tune.” He cleared his throat. “He either ignored me or lashed out once he discovered Brad wasn’t his father. You leaving made it worse, I think.”
I bit my lip. “Blaming me for your shortcomings isn’t fair.”
“Just as blaming me for life decisions you don’t understand isn’t fair,” he shot back. After a moment, he sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aya. Honestly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”
“And now?” I asked. “If I’m back for good?”
“I hope you’ll be good for him again. Ground him. Get him to see the whole picture. He and I have made some progress, but he needs more than just me.”
I considered Steve’s words as I exited the pantry, aware of Nash’s gaze on me. I smiled at him, letting him know I was fine. As I rounded the table, the kittens scampered across the large porcelain tiles, tails straight up. They looked so cute in their funky collars Nash had picked out—somewhere between Joan Jett and sparkling princess vibe for Mayet and bad-ass biker for Jigsaw. I smiled, loving their names, loving Nash for allowing his inner child to peek through the years of cynicism and heartache.
My phone jangled as I pulled it from my pocket and set it on the counter. With an internal sigh, I glanced down. But it wasn’t my father calling as I’d expected. This time, the name that flashed was Alistair. My stomach swooped, and my face drained of color.
Thankfully, I had my back to Nash so he didn’t witness my momentary freak-out. I steeled myself and pressed the green button.
“Hell—”
A spew of invective flew from the speaker, loud and nasty. I held it farther from my ear, a dull roar forming in my head, no doubt attempting to protect me from the worst of the epithets.
Nash plucked my phone from my hand.
“This is Nash Porter, and if you ever call and speak to Aya like that again, I will make it my personal mission to destroy your reputation, your finances, and your future.”
He clicked it off and tossed the phone to the counter before wrapping his arm around me and tugging me tight to his chest. I laid my cheek there, listening to the dull thud of his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, drinking in the warmth of his body and the scent of his body wash.
Slowly, my muscles released, unclenching enough for me to take a full, if shaky, breath.
“Want to tell me who I just threatened?” he asked.
I tipped my chin up and smiled. It was wobbly, but it felt real. It felt good.
“Alistair.”
“Right. Well, he’s nasty.”
“He really is. No wonder Lindsay’s in love with him.” We shared a brief smile. “He’s not going to take your threat well.”
Nash shrugged. It was such a Nash thing to do, and I couldn’t help but smile again. He did have the funds and the capability to ruin the Seymour family, and Alistair would’ve known it as soon as he heard his name. That was part of why I’d never mentioned Nash to them.
“I’m glad you’re willing to fight my battles,” I told him.
“Always.”
I grinned. “Like with Lord?”
Nash grunted. “He’s on some reality TV show on the WB. Can you imagine what a shitshow that must be?”
“Well, yes. You went out of your way to ruin him in middle school. No one recovers from a Nash Porter knockdown.”
He rubbed his knuckles down my cheek. “I hope they don’t, because they don’t deserve to. Just like Brad Porter.”
I raised my eyebrows, but he shook his head. “Forget I said that. I don’t want to talk about Brad.”
“Some people never learn,” I said.
“Their mistake.”