From “I don’t”…

To “I do”?

In this Billionaires for Heiresses story, Summer Bishop knew her parents’ anniversary party in stunning South Africa would be hard. Spending the week with her gorgeous ex-husband, Wyatt Montgomery, reminds Summer of their painful divorce but also—inconveniently—why she fell in love with him! Summer never told Wyatt why she left, and he’s determined to uncover her secrets. Will Summer reveal her heart for a second chance with her husband?

Being an author has always been THERESE BEHARRIE’s dream. But it was only when the corporate world loomed during her final year at university that she realised how soon she wanted that dream to become a reality. So she got serious about her writing, and now writes the kind of books she wants to see in the world, featuring people who look like her, for a living. When she’s not writing she’s spending time with her husband and dogs in Cape Town, South Africa. She admits that this is a perfect life, and is grateful for it.

Also by Therese Beharrie

Tempted by the Billionaire Next Door

Surprise Baby, Second Chance

Her Festive Flirtation

Conveniently Wed, Royally Bound miniseries

United by Their Royal Baby

Falling for His Convenient Queen

Billionaires for Heiresses miniseries

Second Chance with Her Billionaire

And look out for the next book

From Heiress to Mum

Coming soon

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Second Chance with Her Billionaire

Therese Beharrie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09081-0

SECOND CHANCE WITH HER BILLIONAIRE

© 2019 Therese Beharrie

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

WHEN WYATT MONTGOMERY walked through the door, Summer Bishop took three steps forward and stopped next to the first single man she saw. The man looked over at her, smiled, and she resisted the smile that courted her own lips. He was perfect. About her height, a pleasing enough face, and he wasn’t standing next to anyone else.

He turned then, offering her a glass of champagne from his tray. All desire to smile vanished. The man was a waiter.

Heat crawled up her neck, but she refused the embarrassment. It simply wouldn’t do. Embarrassment wouldn’t get her through this weekend. Though she was sure it would make an appearance, she didn’t have to pay attention to it.

Not when she spoke with her ex-husband. Certainly not when she pretended a man she didn’t know was her date so she could avoid said ex-husband.

Fortunately, Wyatt didn’t know she’d been trying to avoid looking like a lonely loser. Yet when she felt his gaze on her, she could have sworn he did. She took a glass of champagne from the waiter’s tray—why the hell not?—and downed it in one gulp. Then she returned the empty glass to the tray with a quick nod of thanks, before trying to focus on what her parents were saying.

But she couldn’t.

It was as if Wyatt had issued a wordless bet the instant he walked into her parents’ party. Her skin was hot, prickly, as if he knew she was desperately avoiding his gaze and was taunting her from across the room. Look at me, he seemed to be saying to her, stop pretending I’m not here. His voice was annoyingly smooth, even in her thoughts. It reminded her of all the times he’d whispered things in her ear that had—

Don’t you dare, Summer Bishop.

Adhering to the voice in her head that was kindly warning her against drooling over her ex-husband’s seductive prowess, she tried, again, to focus on her parents. They exchanged adoring looks. Told the family and friends who were there to celebrate their vow renewal on their thirtieth wedding anniversary about their love for one another. Their loyalty to one another.

She took a deep breath. Tried to control how the champagne now felt as if it were burning a hole in her stomach.

When that didn’t work, she slipped back, behind the waiter, and then past two more people, then four, until finally she was at the glass sliding doors that led to the patio. Grass stretched out from the end of the patio to the edge of the cliff the lodge had been built on.

Whatever she felt about being forced to attend the weekend celebration for her parents’ anniversary, she couldn’t deny they’d picked an amazing place to have it at. Granted, it was in the small town of Wilderness, six hours away from her home of Cape Town. But the cliff overlooked the most gorgeous beach, with a path a few metres away from her leading down. It was almost worth it.

Summer walked until she could see the white-brown beach sand. It called out to her, the crash of the waves on the shore chiming in. She wished she could answer. Wished she could strip off the dress she’d chosen to wear to the celebration she wanted nothing to do with and walk into the ocean.

She settled for dragging in a full breath of the salty air.

‘Daydreaming of running away?’ a voice came from behind her.

The goosebumps were because of the sea breeze, Summer told herself, before straightening her shoulders and turning.

‘Wyatt,’ she said steadily, as if her insides didn’t feel as though they were disintegrating at the sight of him. ‘How pleasant to see you again.’

Those sensual lips curved into a smile that seemed decidedly feline.

‘Pleasant?’ he repeated, cocking his head.

She tried not to notice how the wind was mussing his hair. Or that the top button of his shirt was open, revealing tantalising brown skin that sent an irrational image of her licking it flashing through her mind.

‘Not quite the word I would use,’ he continued. She stared at him for a second before remembering she needed to have a sassy response.

‘Okay,’ she said, trying to recover when she thought there might have been a saltiness on her tongue from the skin she’d licked in her imagination, ‘how about it’s a surprise to see you again?’

‘But it’s not a surprise,’ he replied quite logically, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘We knew this was coming.’

‘Unfortunately,’ she muttered.

He quirked a brow, then chuckled softly to himself. ‘You couldn’t get out of it.’

‘I—’ She broke off before she could give herself away. ‘I didn’t try,’ she lied.

Again that not quite genuine smile returned to his lips. ‘I’m disappointed. I thought an occasion that would force you to see your ex-husband for the first time in two years would at least warrant an escape attempt.’

‘It’s my parents’ thirtieth anniversary,’ she said, repeating what her twin sister, Autumn, had told Summer when she’d complained about having to attend.

‘It’s been eight years,’ Autumn had said. ‘We’ve moved on.’

Autumn’s voice had softened, which had been the worst part for Summer. Not that she couldn’t skip the weekend celebration. Not because of the reasons she wanted to escape it. It was the sympathy. With Autumn, when they dared speak about their family dynamics at all, it was always the sympathy.

But Summer’s feelings about her family, her parents, didn’t warrant sympathy. They were valid. Autumn just didn’t know the entire truth of it. Eight years later, Summer still couldn’t share that truth. Not with her sister, and not with the man she’d once loved.

A familiar resentment bubbled inside her.

Summer released a shaky breath and met Wyatt’s eyes. She did a quick intake of air at the intensity as their gazes clashed. It felt as if that air had stumbled on its way to her lungs. Tension crackled around them; she was almost positive she felt the ground shift beneath her.

No. This wasn’t a natural disaster. Rather, it was a natural effect of seeing the man she’d walked away from two years before. An after-effect, she corrected, of the passion that had resulted in a hunger that had never quite been sated between them. It didn’t matter how hard they’d tried. Or how often.

‘Did you try?’ she asked, desperate to distract herself. ‘To get out of this?’

‘No,’ he said simply.

Automatically, her insides twisted and turned. Reminded her of how she’d felt all throughout their short marriage.

She knew what that simple ‘no’ meant. It spoke of Wyatt’s loyalty to Summer’s father. Trevor Bishop had chosen Wyatt to be his protégé while Wyatt had still been in university. Without any reason to, Wyatt had claimed when he’d told her the story, and despite his less than stellar academic record. But Trevor had seen something in Wyatt. He’d trained that something until it had become the discipline Wyatt was now known for. Once Wyatt and Summer had started dating, Trevor had begun to nurture it.

Summer had listened to Wyatt’s recollection of it when they’d started dating. Had smiled and asked questions even though it had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She should have known right then and there that there could be no future for them. Wyatt clearly idealised Trevor. But it had been too late when Summer realised Wyatt didn’t only idealise him; he wanted to be like him. Wyatt wanted to be like Trevor and follow in his footsteps.

She couldn’t tell Wyatt why that was a problem. Oh, she’d planned to. But she’d been caught up in the whirlwind of falling in love, and, honestly, was it so wrong that she didn’t want her father to ruin that, too?

She should have let him though. Then she might not have found herself on her honeymoon, listening to Wyatt recount his experiences with his own parents, realising once again she’d have to lie for her father.

She might have still been married, too.

* * *

Wyatt didn’t believe in fate. At least he hadn’t, until he’d met Trevor Bishop.

The foundation for that belief had been laid when he’d actually attended the university class Trevor had been guest lecturing at. At that point, Wyatt’s attendance record had been similar to his academic record: he’d done the bare minimum to pass.

Wyatt thought about that version of himself in a very distant way. He knew it was him, but he couldn’t relate to that boy any more. The boy who’d been full of hurt and anger at parents who’d abandoned him. The boy who’d had no purpose. Perhaps that was why meeting Trevor Bishop that day had been so significant. If he hadn’t, that boy would have become a hurt and angry man.

That was not the man Wyatt was today.

Or so he’d thought until now, seeing his ex-wife for the first time since they’d signed their divorce papers.

Her arms were at her sides, her hands curled into fists, her expression painfully tight. All signs she didn’t want to be there. Proof she’d been lying when she said she hadn’t tried to get out of this event, too. She hated being there. The only reason he could think of as to why was him.

Hurt curled in his belly; anger simmered in his veins.

It made no sense then that his eyes had immediately been drawn to her when he’d arrived minutes earlier. Or that he’d followed her outside, away from the crowd of people who would have protected him from the pain, the anger.

Yet there he was, desperately pretending seeing her again didn’t stir up emotions he’d rather not feel.

‘Why would I try to get out of this?’ he asked, his voice deliberately pleasant. She’d started it, hadn’t she? ‘It’s an all-expenses-paid vacation to a beautiful lodge along the beach of one of South Africa’s most beautiful places.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she replied dryly. ‘I’d forgotten about your meagre wealth.’ Her eyebrow lifted. ‘I’d forgotten how poorly travelled you are.’

He resisted the smile, though he accepted the jibe. She was right. He didn’t need anyone to pay for anything for him these days. It was a stark contrast to his childhood. To the days after his father had left and his mother had drunk herself into oblivion. When he’d had to steal his schoolmates’ lunches for food or wear his father’s clothes when his had grown too small.

That kid could never have imagined having the money Wyatt had today. Nor would he have imagined the trips Wyatt now took as the right-hand man of the CEO of Bishop Enterprises. He flew all over the world to secure deals for the import/export company.

His life had changed dramatically. All because fate had urged him to attend class on the day Trevor Bishop had been there.

Then again, fate had brought him Summer, too. Look how that had turned out.

‘Let’s put it down to the respect I have for my ex-father-in-law, then, shall we?’

‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘Let’s.’

Her eyes met his, and he thought he saw a flash of vulnerability there. It quickly slipped behind a cool expression, which he was grateful for. A long time ago he’d cared about what was behind that cool expression. Hell, he’d thought he’d seen exactly what was behind that cool expression.

Because it was almost identical to the expressions he’d worn. The ones that said, I’m pretending, but you’ll never know why. Or, I’m hiding something, and you’ll never know what.

Back then he’d thought he knew why Summer was pretending. What she was hiding. She was the strong and powerful heiress of the Bishop empire; she had to act that way. She was hiding that she didn’t want to.

Except now he wasn’t so sure he’d known anything about her after all. Or was he just sour that she knew enough about him to think he wasn’t worth the woman behind the mask any more?

Whatever it was, when she deemed him worthy to see the real her, it made him lose his ability to reason. He’d proposed spontaneously; married her within weeks of that proposal.

He should have signed the divorce papers at the same time and saved himself some trouble.

‘Where is Autumn?’ he asked, trying to get his mind off the memories. ‘I thought she’d be here.’

Not that he noticed anyone after he saw Summer.

‘She will be.’ Summer clenched her jaw, then relaxed it. Forcibly, he thought. ‘She’s putting the final touches on a cake for a wedding tomorrow. Then she’ll have to get it to the actual wedding, so she’ll only be here on Sunday. Conveniently,’ she added, distinctly softer than her other words.

For some reason, it amused him.

‘Pity.’

‘It is.’ She narrowed her eyes.

‘What?’

‘You’re using that dry tone that tells me you’re making fun of me.’

‘I’d never make fun of you.’

‘You did it again.’

‘Summer, I’m not responsible for the way you interpret my tone.’

He smiled easily at her, mostly because he knew she’d find it irritating. He really missed irritating her.

‘As obstinate as ever, I see.’

‘As sensitive as ever, I see.’

‘I am not—’ Summer broke off when his smile widened. ‘I should have tried harder to get out of this.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, not acknowledging her confirmation that she had tried to skip the event. ‘It would have saved you a lot of trouble.’

Her expression went blank, her eyes shifting to the doors of the dining hall they’d come out of before resting on him again.

‘Did you come out here specifically to annoy me, Wyatt?’

Since he couldn’t tell her the real reasons he’d followed her—he didn’t fully know what they were—Wyatt said, ‘I did. I’m happy to see I’m succeeding.’

She shook her head and looked up, and for the first time he noticed her hair wasn’t loose. Usually, she wore her curls wild and free; today, her hair was tied back into a stern bun. Sleek, sure, but tamed to within an inch of its life. It bothered him.

Or maybe what bothered him was the hunger that was restless in his body. As if his cells had been starved and were now being offered a feast. Which was, he supposed, not untrue. For two years, his eyes had been starved of the beauty of her face. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to sate their hunger, despite the anger; despite the hurt.

So he allowed them to sweep over the oval slope of her brown eyes; the curve of her cheekbones; the dusting of freckles on the skin of her cheeks. He let them check whether the slight scar at her temple was still there, and if her lips were still pink and full and perfect for kissing.

He stopped himself then, because thinking about kissing and Summer at the same time was taking it too far. The prickling of his body told him so, as did the way those pink, full lips of hers parted. Which made him realise his eyes had dropped to her lips and had stayed there. That he was now showing her his hunger; revealing to her his feasting.

Though he warned himself not to, his eyes lifted to hers, and their gazes locked. A stampede could have passed them, the animals hurling themselves off the edge of the cliff, and he wouldn’t have noticed. He would have just kept looking into Summer’s eyes. He would have kept trying to see if his tainted past had been worth sacrificing that pull between them, especially when it still seemed to be alive and kicking.

He stepped back at the unexpected thought. When he realised it took him closer to the cliff, he took a step to the side. In his current state, being close to anything that might put him at risk of falling wasn’t a good idea.

So run away from Summer, then, a voice in his head told him.

He swallowed.

CHAPTER TWO

SUMMER’S LEGS HAD gone unsteady under her. She desperately wanted to walk away from Wyatt; she couldn’t. Because she was worried her legs wouldn’t carry her away, yes, but also because it was more than just her legs that were unsteady.

It was her mind. It was offering her memories of that short period when they’d been happy together. When his snark had attracted her almost as much as it had annoyed her. When she’d been able to enjoy the breadth of his shoulders, the short curls of his hair, his unreasonably handsome face.

Her heart was unsteady, too. It was complaining about being put under this much pressure, torn between being happy to see him and aching at what seeing him reminded her of.

Heartache. Loss. Failure.

Loneliness.

She resented the feelings almost as much as she resented Wyatt’s admiration for her father. She still didn’t know how he could admire the man who’d broken his family with his infidelity. Who’d broken her heart by telling her to keep it a secret from her sister and mother…

Because Wyatt doesn’t know.

Oh, yes. That was how.

‘I should get back,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Me, too.’

They both turned, and their shoulders touched. Her head turned so sharply for her to glare at the offending part of her body she was afraid she’d damaged her neck. But she didn’t spend much time thinking about it. She was too busy looking at her traitorous shoulder.

How had they got so close they could touch like this anyway?

Not liking that she hadn’t noticed it, she took a deliberate step to the side at the same time he did. Her head lifted from her shoulder to his face; she narrowed her eyes. It was fine that she didn’t want to touch him, but how dared he not want to touch her? It didn’t matter what his reasons were—and she refused to think about her own—it was offensive.

‘You can’t kill me with a glare,’ he told her calmly, as if he were completely unaware of what had happened.

‘Doesn’t mean I can’t try,’ she replied sweetly, walking ahead of him before he could respond.

Except that the move wasn’t quite as impactful as she’d hoped it would be. Her heels sank into the grass. Because she’d been storming off—quite appropriately—she hadn’t been prepared to get stuck. Momentum pushed her forward and for the longest seconds of her life, Summer thought she was going to fall on her face. In front of her ex-husband. And a bunch of her parents’ wealthy friends she didn’t think much of.

Which didn’t mean she wanted them to see her fall.

Instead of falling, though, she was pulled back up against a hard body. Her mind needed a moment to recover, so it took longer than she would have liked to realise the body was behind her, not in front. It took even longer to realise that she recognised the feel of that body against her.

No, no, no, no, no.

Wyatt had not saved her from falling. He was not standing behind her, his hard, delicious body pressed against hers, his arm around her.

She was not remembering how many times he’d seduced her from this very position. Sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her against him, dipping his head to the nape of her neck, brushing his lips over the sensitive spot he knew was there.

She was not thinking about how she would lean her head back to give him better access. Or how she’d let out a sound that had been somewhere between a purr and a moan when he obliged her. When he’d started seducing her more earnestly, his hand would move from her waist over her breast, linger there while teasing the sensitive spot in her neck. She’d push back onto his—

Two seconds later she’d stepped out of her shoes and was facing him.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her face burning. She couldn’t command the embarrassment back now, though a part of her tried. She hoped he’d think it was because of her almost-fall rather than her overactive imagination.

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before bending down and removing her shoes from the ground. He placed them in front of her, looking up at her expectantly. She blinked. Then realised he wanted her to step back into them and felt the faint call of hysteria.

That was what this intense desire to laugh was, wasn’t it? And did he really think she wanted to touch him again after what her mind had put her through minutes before?

Oh, wait, she thought. He didn’t know what she was thinking. She also couldn’t keep acting like a lovestruck teenager. She was feeling attraction. She was attracted to him. Had been the moment she’d seen him at her father’s Christmas party three years before; would still be now, two years after their divorce. Attraction didn’t simply go away because they were no longer together. In fact, it had probably grown because she knew what it was like to be with him.

Yes, that was the perfectly logical explanation for why she was so overwhelmed by how sexy he was. Simple, biological attraction.

She took a breath and slid one foot into her shoe. When she was unable to think of a way to avoid it, she rested her hand on his shoulder and stepped into her other shoe. He waited to see if she was steady, then rose. Slowly, languidly, as if giving her a chance to grow accustomed to his new position.

He was still much taller than her; his shoulders broad, his torso and hips narrow, held up by powerful legs.

And suddenly simple biological attraction didn’t seem like the truth.

He lowered his head, meeting her eyes lazily.

‘Put your weight on the balls of your feet,’ he told her, before walking away.

She didn’t walk after him. Instead, she took a moment to regroup. She had known this would be hard. She had known seeing him would be hard.

Seeing him at a celebration for an occasion she didn’t quite believe in? Hard. Seeing him around her father? Hard.

But she hadn’t expected this. This attraction that awoke every part of her body. Or the sharp quips or any discussion, really. She’d thought she’d avoid him. Avoidance was the perfect solution to any problem, she found.

Up until the moment when she was forced to face what she was avoiding.

Like how steady her parents were even though her father had had an affair; and how unsteady she still felt because of it. She was still an outsider to her family. To their unit: her mother, her father, Autumn. She’d been outside that unit for years. But she hadn’t put herself there.

She couldn’t tell her mother or Autumn that. Not when they’d moved on and their family had recovered from her father’s affair. She couldn’t tell Wyatt either. He looked at their family with the kind of awe that came from not having a supportive one as a child. He looked to her father as the gold standard. Of being a businessman, a husband, a father. Unfortunately, he didn’t know that Trevor had put the first before the last two.

Or that he had done the same, and she’d ended up feeling like an outsider to their marriage, too.

She took a breath. Thought happy thoughts. Strangely, those thoughts were still of the times when she didn’t have to pretend to be a part of her family. They’d spent summers travelling the world; had almost daily family dinners. Her father’s phone had been glued to his hand the entire time, but at least he’d been there.

He’d been more involved when she’d expressed interest in the company though. She’d spent weeks following her father around the Bishop Enterprises building when she was younger. She’d looked at how Trevor had turned the business her grandfather had started into an empire, and she’d been proud. So proud she’d wanted to be a part of it.

Until she’d found out he’d cheated on her mother and it had all felt like a lie.

She shifted gears, but what was left in her bank of happy memories was of her and Wyatt. Of the dates where she’d fallen in love with his kindness, his wit. Where he’d listened to her, really listened, and she’d felt understood for the first time since…since her father had told her she couldn’t speak honestly to the two people she loved most.

As she thought it, it felt as if tar had been smeared all over her happy memories. They felt icky now. Messy. Shameful. No one could blame her for avoiding things when thinking about them turned out like this.

Not that she’d care if they did. Her plan was to stay on the outskirts of her parents’ celebrations as far as she could anyway. She’d wait until Autumn arrived and use her sister as a shield. Against Wyatt, too, she thought, reminding herself to stay away from him.

She turned then, putting her weight on the balls of her feet as instructed, and walked towards the patio. As soon as she got there, her parents’ guests started walking through the doors. She quickly stepped aside, keeping out of the way as she took in the scene.

The guests had blankets and picnic baskets, and were walking onto the grass in groups. Some of them nodded a head at her in greeting; she offered them one back. They spread out their blankets and began to relax on the grass, clearly preparing to watch the sun set.

She couldn’t fault the actual activity. Watching the sunset on a cliff overlooking an ocean was pretty great. Romantic, too, which she supposed her parents had intended. The weather was warm in that careless way summer had. The waiters were moving around taking drink orders so the warmth would soon be combatted by icy cocktails and cold beers.

‘The blankets and baskets are inside,’ Lynette Bishop told her, stopping in front of Summer.

‘Okay,’ Summer replied slowly, looking past her mother to where her father stood in the doorway with Wyatt. Both their stances were casual; they were obviously comfortable with each other. Resentment pushed up in her throat, and she told herself to shake it off. Deliberately, she looked back at her mother.

‘I think I’m going to go back to the cabin, Mom,’ she said with forced calm. ‘It’s been a difficult week and—’

‘I’m sure it has been,’ Lynette interrupted. ‘Running your own business must be so exhausting,’ she continued, as if she hadn’t spent her entire life running the Bishop social empire, which was pretty much its own business, ‘which means you have to find time to relax.’

‘I know.’ She smiled. ‘Like going to bed early so I can get some sleep.’

‘Or taking a blanket and watching the sun set with your parents, whom you love.’

Lynette’s smile was equal parts sweet, equal parts threatening. As if she were not only daring Summer to go back to the cabin, but daring Summer to contradict her statement, too.

But Summer had no desire to give in to her mother’s dares. The first had been her taking a chance anyway; the second wouldn’t be true. She did love her parents, which was why all of what they’d gone through—and what she, alone, was still going through—was so hard. Besides, she was there, after all.

She sighed. ‘If I stay, I’m not sitting with you and Dad. I’d prefer not to embarrass myself like that.’

Lynette gave a light laugh. ‘You will stay, but that’s perfectly acceptable.’ Her face changed slightly. ‘Would you prefer sitting with Wyatt?’

‘Mother.’

‘You’re not looking forward to the reconciliation?’

‘I didn’t look forward to it, no. Since we already had it, I can say that I was right not to.’

Her mother didn’t say anything for a moment. Summer wondered whether it was because Lynette wanted to encourage her to sit with Wyatt. Her parents had always liked him. Which made sense, considering Wyatt so badly wanted them to like him.

It wasn’t that Wyatt pretended around them, but rather that he wasn’t entirely the man she’d fallen for when they were all together. She’d tried to avoid spending time with her parents during her marriage because of it. It hadn’t helped. Wyatt had turned into that man anyway.

‘Fine, dear,’ her mother told her with a pat on the shoulder. ‘You can sit by yourself. I just want you here with us.’

Summer nodded, swallowing her sigh. This added to her problem. Her mother was the same person she’d been before the affair. It hadn’t changed her, finding out. Not for the first time, Summer wondered if that would stay the same if her mother found out Summer had known before Lynette had.

Not wanting to think about it, Summer walked past Lynette to get a blanket and basket, hesitating when she reached her father and Wyatt.

What was the protocol with this? Did she ignore them, or did she join in the conversation?

Because neither appealed to her, she offered them both a smile—small, polite, like the one she would have given to two strangers—and passed them. A hand closed around her arm before she could let out the breath she was holding.

‘Are you looking for a blanket?’ Wyatt asked her.

Her head lifted, though she wanted to stare at the hand that was sending uncomfortable shots of electricity through her body. Staring might make him stop touching her. She resisted, looking from her father, who was watching them with interest, back to Wyatt instead.

‘Yes. I was told they’re in here.’

‘They were.’ He lifted a hand, which held a blanket. ‘This is the last one.’

There was a beat when she wondered what he expected her to say. Okay? Thank you for telling me? Can we share?

When all of them rang true, Summer let out a little breath.

‘Okay. Thank you for telling me. Can we share?’

There was another beat, but this time it was long and awkward, making her stomach turn.

‘Of course we can share, Summer,’ Wyatt said slowly, politely, and she gave him a bland stare.

When she looked at her father now, he seemed almost amused. Which annoyed her, though she wouldn’t show it.

Avoid, avoid, avoid.

‘I’ll leave you two to it, then,’ Trevor said, giving them both a nod before walking out to join Lynette. Summer stared after him while the ball of tension in her stomach that was always there when she was around her father unravelled. She took a deep breath.

‘That was weird,’ Wyatt commented before she could say anything.

‘What?’

‘You were being weird just now.’

‘I’m sorry, this is the first time I’ve had to interact with an ex-husband,’ she said flatly.

His expression tightened, but he continued. ‘I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about you and your father.’

Her heart immediately thudded in her chest, but she tried for an easy smile. ‘Not sure what you mean, Montgomery.’

He blinked. She didn’t need that to tell her she’d taken him by surprise though. She’d only ever called him by his surname when things had been good between them. When things had been easy. It hadn’t been her intention, but she hoped it would be enough to distract him.

‘I’ll get us a basket,’ she said, and headed to where the wait staff were standing.

She smiled at the waiter who handed her the wicker basket, then did a mental shoulder roll before heading back to Wyatt. She couldn’t let him suspect anything was wrong. She’d hidden the turmoil between her and her father for the entire year she and Wyatt had been together. She hadn’t let him see how his desire to be like her father had affected her either.

She wouldn’t reveal it now. Which would be an effort, considering the anniversary—the vow renewal—was challenging for her.

But she would play the part. She wouldn’t let Wyatt suspect she was keeping secrets. She wouldn’t let her mother and Autumn suspect it either. She’d just let them all think she was being her usual surly self. And everyone could go on pretending everything was fine.

She swallowed down the wave of nausea.

When Wyatt reached out for the basket, she handed it to him, then took the blanket instead. In silence, they made their way to the grass. There was only one spot free, a little to the side of the cliff, where they wouldn’t have a perfect view of the sunset. But the spot offered them a different view. Of the large green trees on the hills a short distance away; the houses amongst the trees; the ocean crashing against the rocky bases of the hills. Not seeing the sunset didn’t seem so bad, considering.

She spread out the blanket in front of them, looked down. Realised she wasn’t entirely sure how to sit. All her options seem to involve inelegance or flashing some poor unexpected guest.

‘Need help?’

Her body tensed at the prospect of his touch, but she managed to arrange her expression into a careful smile.

‘Yes, please.’

Wyatt held her hand as she settled onto the blanket, legs to the side, one angled over the other. Before he sat down, a waiter approached him with two glasses of what she thought was lemonade. She couldn’t be sure since the ice filled the glass just as much as the liquid did. He handed her one of the glasses, then lowered his body onto the blanket.

‘What is this?’

‘Lemonade,’ he confirmed. ‘I ordered it when you went to fetch the basket.’

‘Quick work,’ she commented. ‘Thanks.’

It was all either of them said for the longest time.

‘How badly do you wish someone else had got the last blanket?’

‘On a scale from one to ten?’ she asked thinly. ‘An eleven.’

‘Ten being how badly you wanted it to be me then?’

She glanced over at him. His mouth curved. She let out a breath.

‘You’re being a lot less prickly than earlier.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

She didn’t even blink. ‘Sure you don’t.’

Something flickered in his eyes. ‘I thought it might be easier if I were nicer to you.’

‘No, you don’t,’ she replied. ‘You don’t believe in being nice for the sake of easy.’

The edges of his mouth turned down. ‘True,’ he said softly. The tone of it brushed over her skin. ‘Fine, then. Your father asked me to be.’

CHAPTER THREE

HE HADN’T MEANT to tell her that, and, somehow, he’d made it sound worse than it had been.

Which he knew based on the way the air around them was now standing to attention.

‘Is that what you two were talking about just now?’ she asked stiffly.

‘Yes.’

‘He asked you to be nice to me.’

It wasn’t a question, and it sounded as if she was speaking to herself more than she was to him.

‘Well,’ Wyatt said, ‘he said that he knew this was tough on the both of us. And he…suggested that it might make things easier if I cut you some slack.’

She made an impatient sound deep in her throat. ‘Is that why you were being so polite earlier?’

‘Yes.’

‘Just because my father asked?’ Her voice sounded strangled.

He shrugged. ‘It made sense.’

‘Because I’m the big bad wolf,’ she muttered.

The anger he thought he’d set aside—much as he had the attraction—stirred. ‘I think the person who asks for a divorce is generally the big bad wolf in the tale.’

‘Not the person who signs the divorce papers without a fight?’ she retorted, but quickly shook her head before he could reply. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.’

He didn’t believe her.

‘I wasn’t talking about you anyway,’ she continued. Closed her eyes. Opened them. ‘And you’re right. It does make sense.’ There was a pause. ‘How about this view?’

He didn’t reply. Was afraid if he did, they’d find themselves doing a post-mortem of their marriage. He’d decided—one desperate, torturous night two years ago—that the best thing he could do for himself was to forget that Summer Bishop existed. It had been hard to do considering the building he worked in bore her name, but he’d been determined.

For the most part, he’d succeeded. He’d buried himself in his work. Deeper, he qualified, since he hadn’t stopped digging since Trevor had given him his first job opportunity. Trevor had shown him work was the kind of investment Wyatt could make without regret.

It had been the first of many lessons Trevor had taught him. Wyatt had paid attention to all of them. Who could blame him? Trevor had a life Wyatt hadn’t dared to dream of when he’d been a child. Stability, security. Love, happiness. When Wyatt had realised it was possible, he’d been determined to do whatever it took to try and get it. The professional and financial success he’d managed; the personal success, not so much.

He wasn’t sure why he’d thought things would be different with Summer. He’d had a string of short-lived relationships before her. A long-term relationship was bound not to work. Especially not with her.

It hadn’t mattered that he’d thought she was a perfect match for him. Or that their life together had had the potential to inspire others—just as Trevor and Lynette’s had inspired him. He and Summer weren’t…suited. She’d made that clear when she’d asked for the divorce. When she’d said she wanted to focus on her business; that she didn’t have time for their marriage.

A lie, he’d known immediately. What she hadn’t had time for was him.

What else was new?

He shook the sinister question out of his head. He’d learnt his lesson. He wouldn’t rise to her bait about how he hadn’t fought for their marriage. She’d decided he wasn’t good enough to be her husband. How was he supposed to fight that?

He did linger on her comment about her father though. It spoke to that thing he’d picked up between Summer and Trevor earlier. That…vibe. He wasn’t sure how they were connected; he only knew they were.

‘When people say silly things about Africa, I wish I could show them this,’ she said suddenly, and he looked over. Her face had lost some of its earlier tension, making it seem softer.

Soft Summer made him think of Vulnerable Summer. Behind-the-Mask Summer. The effect of that was immediate. Potent.

He cleared his throat. ‘You mean, you’d rather show them this than the picture of your pet lion?’

Her lips curved. ‘Exactly. I’d prefer not to exploit Nala like that.’

Wyatt chuckled, and wondered if he should be allowing himself to enjoy her. She’d hurt him. This was the first time since he’d truly come to terms with the fact that she had—since signing the divorce papers—that he was seeing her. He shouldn’t even be wondering about enjoying her. He should be tempering the anger; taming the hurt.

And yet he still found himself enjoying her.

‘I’m sure Nala appreciates it.’

‘I don’t do it for the fame, Montgomery. It’s the right thing to do.’

She lifted her glass and took a slow sip of her lemonade. His lips twitched. Heaven only knew why. He shouldn’t be attracted to her sense of humour. He shouldn’t be watching her tongue slip between her lips as it checked for leftover lemonade. That moment earlier should have been enough warning about his attraction to her. When he’d felt her body against his after he’d caught her, her butt pressing into an area that had immediately awakened, as if it had been in a deep slumber since her.

He’d told himself the fact that he’d had no sexual interest in anyone since his divorce was normal. He’d never been through a divorce before to know for sure, but it seemed logical. Of course not wanting to risk his heart in another relationship seemed logical.

Until he’d realised he’d never risked his heart in any of his relationships before Summer. He’d had a distinct sexual interest in the women he’d dated before her though.

Then he’d seen Summer again and his body had responded to her as if she were the prince in a fairy tale; he, the princess put under a spell that only she could break.

He was immediately disgusted with himself for the fanciful notion. The anger he’d been struggling to keep a grip on was suddenly firm in his hands, too. She was making him feel this way. Even though she’d left him as everyone else in his life had, he was allowing her to make him feel this way. Which made him just as angry at himself as he was at her.

He was angry that she made his body betray him. That for the second time that day, she’d called him by his surname. He was angry that he missed that. And that even though he’d missed it, he still didn’t want her to use it.

It was something intimate. Something people who were close to one another did. He and Summer weren’t close any more; they no longer shared intimacies. She had no right to use it in the same way she had when they’d still been married.

His anger had nothing to do with the fact that no one else in his life called him that now. It had nothing to do with the hurt he felt at that fact; or the longing; or the inevitable resentment. He still had Trevor. So what if their relationship wasn’t a surname-calling one? Relationships didn’t only look one way. Being close to someone didn’t only look one way.

This was the worst part about seeing Summer again, he thought. Contemplations on things he’d gleefully ignored most of his life. She did this to him. She made him think about his feelings. Sure, feelings were natural—but they were feelings, and he had no patience for them. Not when he knew he shouldn’t entertain them.

Not entertaining them had got him through a father who’d left when he was ten. It had helped him survive a mother who’d almost died from alcohol poisoning when he was fourteen. It had kept him sane when he’d been bounced between his mother’s house and foster care until he was eighteen. It had kept him from hitting rock bottom when he’d returned from his first term at university to find out his mother was selling the family house and was nowhere to be found.

‘I can hear you stewing,’ she commented into the silence that had grown tense as he’d been thinking.

‘I’m not stewing.’

‘You don’t have to stay here, you know,’ she replied, ignoring his denial. ‘I do, because my mother asked me to, and, obligation.’

‘You don’t think your father was asking the same of me when he told me to cut you some slack?’

‘No,’ she said simply. ‘Though if he was, you’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’ve been perfectly cordial to me.’ There was a brief pause. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him that if you like.’

‘Why does this sound like a bribe?’ he asked, feeling more sullen than angry. ‘I leave, you get to spend time alone and you tell your father I’ve been nice.’

She snorted. ‘No one said anything about nice.’ She tilted her head towards him, though her eyes were still on the view ahead of them. ‘Cordial. Or polite, though they mean the same thing. That’s my final offer.’

He didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either. He supposed that gave her an answer.

She sighed. ‘So, you’re going to be stubborn.’

‘I’m not going to leave the first event at your parents’ anniversary celebration because you asked me to.’

‘Especially not if you think my father would disapprove.’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’

Her eyes slid over to his, and there was a sadness there he’d seen come and go during their short relationship. His last memory of it had been outside the lawyer’s office after they’d signed the divorce papers.

‘Everything,’ she answered softly. ‘It has everything to do with it.’ There was a pause. ‘But if you feel like you have to stay for his sake, I won’t stop you.’

‘Thanks,’ he answered dryly, though he was still thinking about what her answer meant.

‘We don’t have to talk though.’ She looked out into the distance again. ‘In fact, I’d prefer it if we don’t. We can just pretend that we did.’

‘You were the one who heard my stewing,’ he muttered.

‘Pretend I didn’t interrupt you.’

And he did. For all of a minute.

‘What did you mean by that?’ he asked. ‘“It has everything to do with it”,’ he repeated, when he saw she didn’t understand.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘That would cause unnecessary drama.’

‘So it does matter.’

‘Let me rephrase this,’ she said, turning towards him now. He didn’t think she realised it, but in that movement, she’d cut off the world around them. ‘It’s too late to matter.’

He frowned. ‘This cryptic thing doesn’t work for you, Summer.’

‘I don’t particularly enjoy it either.’

She shifted again, her body seemingly relaxed as she set one hand on the ground behind her. The other still held her half-full lemonade. He’d forgotten about his. He took a sip, barely tasting it.

‘We’re being watched,’ she said, a pleasant expression on her face. ‘So I’m going to drink the rest of my lemonade, order another, and check the picnic basket so it doesn’t look like we’re arguing.’

‘We aren’t,’ he said, for his benefit and hers. She gave him a look, but proceeded to finish her drink.

It made sense that they were being watched. And it explained why Summer had taken on a relaxed stance when he knew she felt anything but relaxed. He followed her lead, not wanting to give anyone something to talk about. Though he knew that their presence there together would already be cause for discussion.

Summer had stopped attending Bishop events after their divorce. It had been gossiped about endlessly for months after. There was a period when Wyatt couldn’t join a group of people without them falling silent; the universal sign that he’d been the topic of conversation.

It had bothered him. He knew she struggled with maintaining her Summer Bishop persona. Cool, infallible heiress. It had been the first thing that had bonded them. He’d found her crying on the steps of her parents’ Christmas party; when she’d joined the party though, there’d been no sign of it.

He knew what it was like to have to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. His mother had made sure of it when she’d told him to keep her alcoholism a secret.

If Summer wasn’t attending Bishop events, it must have meant that she could no longer continue with the façade. He wouldn’t have been concerned about it had he not known she’d created the façade for the sake of her family, too. To support the idea of the Bishop unit, which was part of what made them so powerful.

He hated to think he’d somehow damaged that. Her ability to pretend or her relationship with her family. When he’d summoned the courage to ask Trevor about it, Trevor had gone quiet. Then he’d said it wasn’t Wyatt’s fault.

Wyatt didn’t quite believe that. But if it was his fault, maybe he could do something about it now…

‘You know,’ he started easily. He didn’t want to scare her off or alert her to how much what he was about to say smarted. ‘Part of the reason I’m surprised you’re here is because you haven’t attended a single event since the divorce.’

Her eyes flickered up to his. There was something there before her expression became unreadable. She calmly opened the basket and pulled out the bottle of champagne that had been carefully laid over clear boxes of cheeses, breads, and fresh fruits.

She popped it open, seemingly forgetting that she’d told him she would be ordering another lemonade. She poured herself a generous glass. Then she leaned back, lifting the liquid to her lips as if his question hadn’t affected her in the least.

Well. He supposed he hadn’t damaged the mask then.

‘I didn’t realise you’d noticed.’

‘It wasn’t subtle.’

Cool it, he warned himself when his voice took on a hard edge.

‘I was tired of being subtle.’

‘The mystery still doesn’t suit you.’

‘Luckily what suits me is none of your business.’

Their gazes locked. All the muscles in his body tightened.

The anger was there now. He didn’t have to long for it, or wonder where it had gone to. But it didn’t cool down the attraction that had flared the moment they looked at each other.

Oh, who was he kidding? The attraction was always there. Through dating and through marriage and even through divorce. And now. Now when she made him think and feel when he would rather not.

His eyes slipped from hers almost of their own accord, lifting to the severity of the hairstyle that had once been a wild, lazy afro halo around her face when they’d been together. Being tied so tightly at the nape of her neck accentuated her already prominent cheekbones. It gave her a more drastic beauty rather than the easy beauty of her other hairstyle.

His gaze lowered to her dress. It was lace, with sleeves that went just past her elbows and a skirt that ended just past her knees. Perfectly appropriate for the occasion, which he knew would be why she chose it.

It wasn’t for the reason that occurred to him now: so he could enjoy the way its material skimmed the curve of her breasts, the slope of her waist, the rounding of her hips.

He could still feel the softness of her body under his fingers; could still see her brown skin stretched over it. He remembered how he would run his fingers over the arches of her body. Remembered how he would trace the stretch marks, the indents at her hips, her stomach, her butt. How he’d follow his fingers’ path with his lips, how they’d—

He took a deep breath, rearranging his body so that he sat up straight, as if somehow the stern position would help him regain control of his mind. His body. His emotions. And then his eyes met hers, and he saw an answering heat there.

‘Sure, Bishop,’ he murmured softly. ‘Let’s keep telling ourselves we’re none of the other’s business, shall we?’

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