Scrutinising the relationship (for want of a better word) from this fresh perspective, Chloe knew that it was more than just physical—at least for her—and it was certainly more than fangirling. That moment they’d shared at the fair with the Capels, that had changed their flirtation into something more substantial. She’d seen then, and many times since, what was in his heart. He was a good person—kind, intelligent, thoughtful. She didn’t need Susan extolling his virtues to see all that.

She realised, as she sat in a luxurious suite in inner London, wearing only a fluffy bathrobe and under the scrutiny of Archer’s ex-girlfriend, that she was falling for him. She was falling hard for Archer Tate, the man she’d been papped with. It certainly complicated things, but in a way, it also fuelled her. She was not walking away from this without telling Archer how she felt.

“You’re welcome to stay until Archer gets back, but that won’t be for a few hours. In the meantime, I’m going back to my bath. Stay or don’t stay, I don’t care. But it’s clear that you and he need to talk.” If only for him to tell you it’s truly over, she thought.

Chloe stood and left the room, slipping off her robe once more and stepping into the now-tepid bath. She lifted the tap to draw more hot water and just as she reclined, she heard the door to the suite open then shut.

She let out a ragged sigh, releasing all the tension her body had been holding. Just the thought of losing Archer, even after this brief time together, made her feel nauseous. So much for a relaxing morning alone.

Chapter 22

Jules

“Are you sure about this?” Jules scrutinised Matt’s face, which was creased with worry.

“Uh, yep.” He was standing alongside a black and white mare that seemed to be getting antsier by the minute.

Jules, not wholly convinced, placed her left foot in the stirrup and effortlessly hoisted herself onto her ginger-coloured mare, settling into the leather saddle. “Because you don’t look sure.”

Matt glanced from her back to the horse, his frown intensifying.

“Matty, mate, you all good?” Matt’s friend and owner of the stables, Jase, held the reins of Matt’s horse, petting her gently along the length of her nose and shushing her in a low tone.

“We don’t have to go, Matt, if you’re worried,” offered Jules. Her own horse, Gingernut, stamped a foot and nodded her head as though she agreed.

Matt scratched the back of his head, his hand colliding with his riding helmet, tipping the brim over his eyes. He righted it. “Ah, bugger it. Jase, gimme a hand, mate?”

Jase laid a hand on horse’s front flank and leant into her, and she stilled. “Good girl, Oreo. There’s a good girl.” Turning to Matt, he said, “Okay, just like what Jules did. Left foot into the stirrup, then throw your leg over.”

Jase snorted at his own joke, one that went over Jules’s head, but was clearly something lewd. Aussies, she thought, laughing to herself. Maybe it was some sort of slang for sex—which she and Matt had not had. Not yet, anyway. He’d been a total gentleman the night before, putting a pause on proceedings at the clothes-still-mostly-on stage of their make-out session.