The Ex Factor

But unlike any normal healthy male who hadn’t had a woman in a while, he didn’t watch. Nope. He didn’t notice the way her breasts with their wine-dark nipples swayed in time with the music as she moved. He didn’t see the tiny birthmark on her left buttock. He knew nothing about the way her hands moved over satin-smooth skin.

Hell.

He fisted his hands inside the pockets of his tailor-made woollen trousers and glared up at the sky, letting the rain pelt his face. Anything to cool the beat of his blood and block the image that continued to dance behind his eyes.

He could hardly knock now and alert Melanie to the fact that he’d seen her naked and—he did a quick check—yep, she still was.

Never mind that he’d been standing here for five minutes hammering on the door before she’d appeared—a futile effort over that rock concert going on in there. And that he was probably going to catch pneumonia.

His hopes for a home-cooked meal and quiet evening of solitude going over his father’s business accounts—well, it wasn’t going to happen. Not after the temperature-elevating sight he’d witnessed. He scowled into the trees. Why had he let Adam talk him into this? Because a week ago he hadn’t known Melanie was his flatmate, that was why.

He shouldn’t have sent the limo away before he’d got inside. He should’ve brought an umbrella. And a spare pair of trousers. He should not have come an hour early.

Progress, he noted, glancing back over his shoulder. Finally. He breathed only marginally easier when he saw her reaching for her underwear. Her purple barely there underwear. The sight as she slid those panties up her thighs only added fuel to the fire in his blood.

When he looked again she was dressed and preparing something at the kitchen workbench, her hair a flow of ebony gleaming under the down-lights. For the first time he noticed the aromatic scent of something hot and spicy—red meat, onions, a hint of garlic.

He shook the water from his hair, sluiced it from his face with a hand and picked up his bag. Time to let her in on the surprise.

* * *

Melanie frowned at the door. Was that a knock? It was possible with the wind and music that she hadn’t heard the limo pull up, but no lights had beamed through the windows, no doors had slammed shut. It looked dark and lonely and wild out there.

There it was again. A definite knock. More insistent. And no wonder—it was pouring.

She turned off the stereo on her way, slicked her hair over her shoulder and, keeping the security chain on, she cracked open the door. The light shone on the figure of a big man glistening with water.

‘Good evening.’ Luke’s voice.

Luke’s face.

Luke’s eyes fixed on hers, and looking…hot.

For a stunned second she couldn’t move. Some part of her brain registered that he wasn’t damp—he was soaked, and that there was no limo in sight. Desperation had her hoping for a reasonable explanation that didn’t include him winning her prize.

But no. Shock waves of chills and heat chased through her body while he produced a card with a water-smudged number twenty-seven and held it out to her. ‘Seems I won this retreat for the evening.’

Adam, I’m going to kill you. ‘How did you get here?’ A tight, breathless moan rose up her throat.

He jerked a thumb at the track. ‘I let the ride go. Ah…I was… I’m a little early. Sorry.’

Which meant… Her whole body quivered with that implication as her eyes darted to his. ‘How much too early?’

His eyes glistened with arousal…but it could have been a trick of the firelight or water dripping from his lashes, carving waterfalls in the creases bracketing his nose and mouth. Couldn’t it?

Fat chance. She’d been caught out.

Oh, cripes, just let the man in. Her numb fingers slipped on the metal, rattling the chain as she slid it off and pulled the door wide.

She stood aside, wincing as his shoes made squelchy noises on the floor. Their gazes remained locked as he toed them off. His expression was too carefully schooled to be anything but contrived. He’d obviously been stumbling around in the dark for the past…how long? On further consideration she decided she didn’t want to know.

Her eyes left his to take a slow and thorough inventory of the damage. ‘You need to get out of those wet things. You do have a change of clothes…don’t you?’ In that slim business case? He’d brought a business case to a romantic rendezvous? Except that he’d come alone, a fact that was only now seeping through the brain fog.

‘I’m afraid not.’ Grim-faced, he raked a hand through his hair, scattering droplets.

‘There’s a clothes dryer, they’ll be dry in no—’

‘Forget it, it’s wool and an old favourite.’

When she looked up he’d already hauled the steel blue jumper and shirt over his head, leaving his chest gleaming in the foyer’s down-lights. Rugged, bronzed, slick with water.

She glanced behind her. ‘There’s a towel around here somewhere…’ Anything to cover that glorious nakedness.

‘Got it.’

On the floor behind the couch, out of sight and right where she’d left it. Of course, he already knew that. Her face burned anew. Not that she had any hang-ups about nudity, but remembering the little fantasy she’d been playing in her mind and knowing the object of that fantasy had been watching…

‘And the trousers?’ She let her gaze move over the dark fabric, and imagined how it would feel, how he would feel beneath her hand now, five years on. Tried not to think about other times when she’d done just that.

‘Wool too. Dry-clean only.’

His voice, thick and strained, brought her eyes back to his. It could have been because he was wet and cold and wishing he were somewhere else, but—dear heaven—she’d seen more than enough down there.

‘The bathroom.’ She pointed the way. ‘There are a couple of robes behind the door, then bring your wet clothes back here and put them in front of the fire.’

Her pulse roared like thunder in her ears. No, not her pulse, she realised, when she saw him glance outside on his way to the bathroom. An approaching storm front.

‘Great,’ she muttered as unease added to the volatile mix of emotions churning through her. Driving home in this weather on an unfamiliar road—track, she amended—was going to be an adventure she wasn’t looking forward to.

But she had a job to finish before she could escape. Stir the casserole, butter the rolls, get a grip.

The sound of the water running in the shower had her hands pausing on the expensive bottle of wine she’d uncorked. She would not think of all that golden skin and wet, gleaming muscle. Those large hands, soap, steam and warm, slippery moisture.

She concentrated instead on filling the crystal wineglass without spilling it. If she hadn’t faced the prospect of the long ride ahead she’d have poured herself one. Instead she breathed in the full-bodied aroma and took a generous sip from Luke’s glass, set it down and finished dinner preparations as the storm rumbled closer.

She didn’t put on the romantic piano CD or light the candles as she’d intended. Obviously they were going to be wasted on Luke and they certainly didn’t need any reminders of the past.

Which had her wondering why he hadn’t married one of those beautiful women she’d seen him with and had those children he’d always wanted.

His father had made it quite clear that was what he expected when he’d answered the one and only phone call she’d ever made to Luke, a month after they’d parted ways.

Luke’s mobile number had no longer worked, and, desperate to contact him, she’d phoned his parents’ home. She’d been so relieved when his father had answered her long-distance call from Coffs Harbour.

‘Melanie?’ he said in a voice so like Luke’s, her heart turned over in her chest. Then a silence so long she thought they’d been disconnected. ‘Ah, the waitress.’

The scorn in his voice lanced through her like a skewer through a cocktail kebab. ‘Please, I need to contact him; it’s very important.’

‘With girls like you it always is.’ She heard the unmistakable annoyance, the scepticism in his voice.

Melanie hugged her arms and stared at the black windows, remembering in horrible detail her fear, the overwhelming sense of aloneness, the frustration of being stopped at the gate, so to speak. So close yet so far.

‘I need to speak to Luke,’ she repeated.

‘He’s not interested in any further contact with you. Why don’t you save yourself the trouble and just let it go?’

So with no alternative, she had. A few months later she’d resigned herself to never seeing Luke again, a year later her application into the Bachelor of Nursing course had been accepted and she’d started over with a new career and a new outlook on life.

But like the storm, those dark memories had encroached on the room, sucking away the warmth of the fire. A flash of lightning lit up the scene as Luke entered the living room in the thick bathrobe with his wet clothes in his hands.

His overpowering, masculine energy, like a magnetic field, radiated across the room, dragging the breath clean out of her lungs. What she could see of his skin beneath the smattering of springy chest hair gleamed bronze and inviting against the snowy white towelling, a temptation that had her hands curling in reflex.

No. She forced her hands to straighten, smoothed her damp palms over her jeans. She wasn’t going down that track again.

Their eyes met while her heart drummed like the rain on the roof. Dark eyes, dark gaze. But for a beat of time, a warmer hot chocolate gaze that melted her from the inside out, thawing the chill of the past few moments. The way he’d looked at her so many times before.

But his father’s words rang in her ears, as loud and clear as the day he’d said them. The waitress. She might have pulled herself up a ways, but she was, and always would be, the hired help’s daughter.

Apart from the sex, she wasn’t in his league. It made it easier to turn away, to gather up her belongings in the living room. To ignore the sensation of Luke’s eyes burning through her as she shrugged into her coat while he leaned against the back of the couch.

She pulled her keys out of her pocket. ‘The dinner’s ready when you are. I’ve left a menu on the bench, the makings for breakfast are in the fridge, so I’ll be…’ She trailed off under his harsh gaze.

‘You’re not thinking of driving in this, are you?’

As if to punctuate his words, lightning stabbed through the window, followed immediately by a crack that shook the house on its foundations.

She matched his glare with one of her own. ‘I can’t stay here.’ With you naked under that robe. With five years of loneliness and frustration chipping away at my will-power. She turned away and began walking towards the door. ‘I have to get home.’

‘I saw the state of the track and that was a good hour ago,’ he said, and she felt the air move as he dumped his clothes on the couch. ‘No streetlights till you hit sealed road, maybe not even then. No one to lend a hand if you get bogged.’

She swung back to face him. ‘I’ve got my mobile phone.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mel. Surely we can manage to share a meal and a fire without…’

Tearing each other’s clothes off? Ah, yes, exactly what he’d been going to say, Mel thought, watching the tell-tale line of colour etch his cheekbones, feeling the flare of response smouldering in her own traitorous body.

She let out a slow breath. ‘Okay.’

It wasn’t one of Carissa’s ‘signs’—it wasn’t—but she could do this; they could do this. Two intelligent, civilised adults could share an evening, no problem. If she didn’t dim the lights and use the candles, if she stuck to the rock CD or no music at all—if she didn’t look at him—they’d do fine.

She could retire to the second bedroom after tea, catch up on some much needed rest, and in the morning this whole getaway retreat thing would be over and the Rainbow Road would be ten thousand dollars richer.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WILL anyone worry if you don’t come home tonight?’

His voice took on a low, husky sound and all manner of scenarios involving her and Luke and why she wouldn’t be home tonight danced into Melanie’s mind. She slammed a mental lid on that Pandora’s box and shook her head.

‘No. I stay over at Carissa’s sometimes. Adam and I don’t keep tabs on each other.’ She gestured at the bench. ‘Your dinner. I’ll let you get on with it.’

‘Alone?’

The breath caught in her throat as the unspoken message in his smoky voice shivered through her, as the lambent heat in his eyes sent her pulse sky-rocketing. ‘You obviously intended solitude,’ she pointed out.

‘When circumstances change—’ he shrugged ‘—hardly seems fair that the cook goes hungry after all the trouble she went to.’

Circumstances had changed all right. Which was why she was stuck here for now, alone with Luke Delaney.

Resigned, and, yes, hungry, she slipped her keys back in her pocket, shrugged off her coat and moved to the small kitchen area off the living room. ‘Why don’t you try the wine while I get the seafood? We can eat by the fire, it’s warmer there.’

And she didn’t need to face Luke in a robe across the intimate table setting with its scented candles and vase of violets. She took the cocktails out of the fridge and set them on the bench.

‘Here you go.’ The husky sound of his voice made her jump.

She hadn’t heard Luke come up behind her and jerked around, almost knocking the two wineglasses from his hands.

It was easier—but safer—to look straight ahead at the large, blunt fingers curled around the delicate crystal stem…and on that soft V of the robe…than to tip her head back and meet his eyes.

He smelled of soap and new fabric and if she leaned closer her lips would meet warm, masculine skin just above that V. She remembered in full detail the exact spot where her lips touched his body when they stood toe to toe. Thigh to thigh. Breast to chest.

Oh, boy. Not so safe after all.

She tried to ignore her body’s toe-curling, lip-tingling response and took the glass with a murmured, ‘Thank you,’ and stepped back.

Except that now she could see the masculine texture of his jaw, the fullness of his lips and the dark stillness in his eyes, like a deep river with hidden depths and mysteries.

She took a sip to moisten her suddenly parched throat and watched him do the same. Watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Oh, stop. Watching, staring, admiring. Remembering.

‘Why don’t you—’ get out of my space, you’re crowding me ‘—go make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring the food.’

Her fingers tightened around the glass. The storm’s ferocity matched the beat of her heart, the stunning impact of his gaze while he took another gulp.

‘Give me your glass, then.’ He took it from her numb fingers, then turned and carried both glasses to the living area while she remained on the other side of the bench.

‘Prawn cocktails coming right up.’ She huffed out a breath, angry that her voice sounded breathless and weak. ‘Steady,’ she ordered herself quietly. ‘No more confined spaces.’

When she moved to the living area he was crouched in front of the fire, feeding it another log. She took the opportunity to put their prawns on the coffee-table and sink onto the safety of an armchair.

There’d been nights like these when they’d shared their passion in front of an open fire in Luke’s parents’ house on cool summer evenings. Grossly unnecessary in mid-January, but oh-so-romantic. He was remembering too—she knew by the silence, so tense she swore she could hear it snapping over the drumming of the rain.

Big mistake. The fireplace wasn’t any safer than the table setting.

Then the lights flicked once and went out. Blackness and tension suddenly filled the room, relieved only by the flames. She held her breath as Luke stood and turned to her, eyes glittering in the reflected glow.

‘Well, I guess that takes care of any paperwork I planned to do.’

‘I wonder how long it will be?’ Mel shivered. It felt even more isolated, more confining, more dangerous now. The world had shrunk to the ruddy sphere of firelight and she leaned instinctively towards it. Towards Luke.

‘Could be hours.’ He reached for one of the silver compotes and sat down on the leather couch across from her.

When she just stared at him, amazed at his casual attitude, he shrugged. ‘Might as well eat.’

Melanie tried, but her stomach was too tight with nerves to swallow more than the first couple of mouthfuls. Luke on the other hand suffered no such problem.

Twenty minutes later he’d finished a healthy serving of her casserole and started on the sticky date pudding. Apart from brief comments about the food, when the rain might ease, whether they had enough wood inside to last, hardly a word passed between them.

Yet Melanie could feel the tension. It hummed in the air, louder than the rain’s rhythm on the roof, the hiss of the fire, more powerful than the wind whipping around the windows.

‘So what papers were you going to work on?’ she asked. Anything to drown that lack of normal human conversation.

‘Just some of Dad’s finances. I promised I’d take a look. Thought I might as well start tonight.’

‘You’re staying a while, then? In Sydney?’

‘Yes.’ He stopped scraping the bottom of his dessert bowl to look at her. ‘It’s a big city, Mel.’

‘Not so big. You’re Adam’s friend.’

‘Our paths don’t have to cross. Unless you want them to.’ He set the bowl on the coffee-table and watched her as long, tension-filled seconds ticked by.

Waiting for a response? Her heart stalled, then kaboomed once.

‘We’re adults,’ he said, when she didn’t answer. ‘We can bury the past and try to get along.’

‘Do we really ever bury the past?’

He scrubbed at his jaw. ‘Not all, I guess. For example…’

He rose in one quick agile movement that had Melanie scooting upright, pulse stepping up a notch, hands gripping the chair.

But he didn’t come near her. He retrieved his briefcase from the near the door, padded back to the fire and unsnapped it, pulled out a packet of marshmallows resting on his notes.

‘I was going to toast these tonight. Seeing you again the other day reminded me I hadn’t enjoyed them in too long.’ He studied her a moment and she knew he knew she was remembering. ‘I wanted to see if they still taste the same.’

For a moment she could almost taste them on her tongue, could almost taste him—warm and deliciously tempting.

‘How about it? We’ll need a couple of thin branches, won’t take a moment…’

‘No!’ Her instant jolt of reaction was premature. A quick trip outside would give her a few moments alone. Time to cool the slow-combustion energy building between them. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said, and pushed up. ‘You get that robe wet and…’ Well, they both knew what that meant…

She took her coat from the hat-stand by the door and let herself outside. The rain had paused briefly but the gums dripped, the air was redolent with eucalyptus and wet earth, cooling her heated skin, but not cold enough to cool the hot pulse of blood in her veins.

Was she seriously entertaining the prospect of sharing something as cosy as a fire and toasted marshmallows with Luke Delaney? For one insane moment Melanie fingered the car keys in her pocket and considered getting into her car and driving as fast and as far away as she could. Away from temptation, away from the memories.

Not so insane, she thought, more like self-protection.

She should lock herself in the other bedroom and pull the covers over her head and stay there till morning. Except that was the coward’s way out and she liked to think she was no coward. And an insistent part of her brain nagged her to find out more about what he’d been doing since they parted.

Luke snatched the decision from her when the door opened and he peered out into the darkness, his body silhouetted against the glow inside.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.’ She grabbed a branch, shook off the moisture and hurried to the door. ‘Strip this and I’ll make hot chocolate.’

‘I’ll make the drinks. You’ve done a first-rate job of the meal, now it’s my turn.’

He didn’t look at the branch she held. He was looking at her scooped neckline. An entirely different kind of strip teased its way through her senses. But it must have been her imagination. When his eyes finally lifted to hers they were dark and calm, not the eyes of a man entertaining thoughts of heat and hands and naked bodies.

She nodded as a remnant of that hot flash seeped into her blood. ‘Okay, kitchen’s all yours.’

His size and proximity to the door didn’t make it easy to get back inside. She had to slip past him, her shoulder brushing the firm muscles beneath his robe. Even with two layers of clothing between them deadly temptation snaked through her body as she carried the branch and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, feeding it damp leaves that released a curl of spitting eucalyptus-fragrant smoke.

When he returned a few minutes later, mugs in hand, the whole room smelled of the Aussie outdoors. He set the mugs on the table and dropped a marshmallow in each while she threaded two marshmallows onto the stick the way they used to. She handed him the branch, refusing to look at the melted chocolate heat in his eyes. Preferring the much safer chocolate in the mug as she took it from the table.

‘What have you been doing for the past few years?’ she asked, desperately searching for something to say. ‘I hear you’ve been quite successful.’

His expression turned enigmatic. ‘Depends on what you mean by success. If you’re referring to my work, then, yes, I’ve done okay.’

‘Adam told me you were in Dubai. That’s a long way from home.’

He shrugged. ‘What’s home when you have no ties?’

‘What about your parents? They’re not ties?’

‘Of course they are, but if Dad had his way I’d be a partner in his business, married and giving him grandkids by now.’

He turned and shrugged a smile. For a heartbeat she saw the ghosts of lost dreams, like silent shadows reflected by the fire.

‘The world’s my workplace now,’ he continued. ‘I’m good at what I do—engineering geologists are always in demand, especially in the developing world.’

‘I thought you took that job in Queensland…?’ The one you left me behind for.

He nodded. ‘The best decision I ever made. It opened doors. If I hadn’t taken that job when I did, I wouldn’t be where I am today career-wise.’

‘I’m glad, Luke.’

If his father had put her in touch with him, if she’d told him the truth, maybe he’d never have gone overseas. In a way it had been worth the angst, the pain, to know he’d made it.

But regret lodged tight in her chest for what she’d given up. Perhaps the wine had made her maudlin, bringing those old memories to the surface again.

‘Yeah. Well.’ He rotated the branch with its two pink marshmallows in a loose grip as he gazed into the fire. ‘Guess we both got what we wanted.’

Everything inside Melanie rebelled at his throw-away line. She opened her mouth, then pressed her lips together tight against the urge to deny it, but some sound must have escaped because he slid her a glance, one eyebrow raised.

‘You did get what you wanted, didn’t you, Mel?’

She bit the inside of her mouth. Told herself it didn’t matter what he thought. She knew the truth, she’d tried to do the right thing, and that was enough.

‘How was the trip up north?’ His eyes returned to the fire as he rotated the branch with maddening care. ‘Hot days, balmy tropical nights…’

Desperate days, lonely nights. She screwed her eyelids shut to stop the sting of tears. His assumption was way off base. An image flashed before her—Luke and her making love, their limbs twined together, mouths feasting, hearts in sync. Damned if she was going to let him think she jumped into bed with the next available guy to come along.