“Not friendly? He’s a great cat.”
Dylan followed her into the room. “Hey, Morris,” he called.
As if to disprove her, the cat came slinking out from under the bed with a loud meow of welcome. Not for her. Morris headed straight for Dylan, winding himself around Dylan’s tanned, leanly muscled legs.
Dylan leaned down to pat the cat. “They’ve left you in the care of this pink woman have they, mate?” Morris purred rapturously as he stroked along the length of his body and ruffled the fur under his chin.
“Huh. I’m the one who feeds you, you ungrateful kitty,” Carly retorted. Could the “pink woman” be jealous of a cat?
Dylan’s hands. Large, tanned with long, strong fingers—and so familiar. She trembled as she remembered how they’d felt on her body. He was her first lover. At nineteen, she’d been the last virgin standing in her group of friends. She’d been holding out for the special man she knew she’d meet some day. Then she’d seen Dylan on the first night he’d started work in her parents’ restaurant and known he was the one. Twenty years old, tall and broad shouldered, looking incredibly handsome even in the black pants and white shirt of a waiter. Attraction had been instant, overwhelming. Thankfully he’d felt the same. They’d been inseparable from the get go.
What had gone so wrong that she’d left him?
She cleared her throat. “It’s sweltering in here. How about that swim?”
Dylan gave Morris a final pat and stood up. Carly felt an insane desire to touch him, just to make sure he was real. But she kept her hands firmly by her side. Dylan gave off a definite no-touching vibe. “Let’s go,” he said.
“I’ll pick up my swimsuit and towel from the car.”
“Where is it parked? I came through the side gate.”
“Out front in the street,” she said, heading for the stairs.
When they got outside, she didn’t blame him for laughing at the bright pink mini van emblazoned with the “Fifi’s Felines” logo. Although he didn’t need to be quite so overwhelmed by mirth.
“I wondered if you’d got yourself some wheels,” he said. “Quite a change from that hot little Alfa Romeo your parents bought you for your twenty-first.”
He remembered. How much else did he remember—or had chosen to forget?
“They kept the car for me for when I decided to come back home.”
There was a long pause before he spoke. “Will you ever come home?” he asked, without meeting her eyes.
Carly shrugged, tried to appear nonchalant. “One day,” she said. “Not right now. I’m on the short list for my dream job in one of London’s most fashionable restaurants. I’ve got all fingers and toes crossed. It would really make my name if I got it.”
“Good luck with it,” he said abruptly as he turned on his heel.
She followed him through the security gate and up the steps to the door of his house. He ushered her in ahead of him.
Carly looked around her with something resembling awe. All open space, polished timber floors, sleek lines and modern furniture in neutral tones, the house was designed to showcase the million-dollar water view. The kitchen was top-of-the-line marble and stainless steel. It all looked ultra stylish—and very, very expensive. Even the Christmas tree in the corner looked like it had been decorated for a magazine shoot.
“Dylan, this house is awesome. And the view is breathtaking—Balmoral Beach and all the way to the ocean. I could look at it all day.”
“Thank you,” he said, looking pleased. “I can’t claim credit for it. Thanks go to the architect and the interior designer.”
“So you had the house built for you?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The person who built it went bankrupt. He had to sell.”
“And you got it at a bargain price because he was desperate?”
It took a certain kind of ruthlessness to take advantage of another’s misfortune. Dylan was not yet thirty, yet Felicity had told Carly she’d heard he was a millionaire. What had he done to get there so quickly? He’d always wanted to do well, that’s why he’d pushed himself with all that study in finance and law, all those unpaid jobs. But one of the things she’d loved about him had been his compassion and his generous heart. Like the way he’d looked after his brother who had a mild disability. Had that all gone to make way for the new, tough millionaire Dylan?
“There’s no need to look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Condemning me. You purse your lips in a particular way when you disapprove of something.”
“No I don’t…I wasn’t…” she said, flailing.
“I might not have seen you for four years, Carly, but I knew you very well before that. Some things don’t change.”
But things did change. Back then they’d been everything to each other. Now, they were virtually strangers both scarred by their breakup. She was the woman he could never forgive for breaking his heart. He was the man who had shocked her with the ruthless way he had cut her so completely out of his life.
And yet… He seemed to remember a lot about her for a man who had led her to think he hated her.
“Do I really purse my lips? That doesn’t sound very appealing.”
“Yes, you do. And…well, it’s not unappealing. It’s kinda cute.”
Was he unbending, just a little?
“I’m glad to hear that.” She pursed her lips in an exaggerated manner. “Is this what I do?”
“Of course not.” He rolled his eyes heavenward.
“Hah!” she said. “That’s what you do when you’re being condescending.”
“I was not being condescending,” he said. “I was—” His face darkened. “Look, Carly, don’t judge me. Nothing in this area comes as a bargain. I knew the guy. He got a fair market price and was able to keep the sale private which saved him a heap of humiliation. I was saved the hassle of having to buy at auction. It was a win-win.”
“I’m really glad to hear that Dylan,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it if—”
“If what?”
“If you’d become like some of those ruthless guys you used to work with. I didn’t like them.”
“No fear of that,” he said. “I didn’t like them either. You can make money without losing all moral compass.”
Still the same Dylan she’d loved.
She closed her eyes against the wave of regret that threatened to overwhelm her. Of all the streets and cats in Mosman, she had to have been next door when Dylan did his Neighborhood Watch thing. She wished she hadn’t encountered him. Because she didn’t want to stir up impossible yearnings for someone she could never have.
Another thought struck her. This was a big house. A big family house.
She looked up at Dylan. “Do you live alone here? Or…or are there a wife and kids stashed upstairs?”
He frowned. “Of course there aren’t. Would I invite you in for a swim if I was married?”
She shrugged. “I’m just an old friend…” She let the words trail away. Why did she feel so exultant that he wasn’t married?
“You were never ‘just a friend’ and you know it.” Those blue eyes seemed to drill into her face.
“Maybe,” she said.
“From the moment we met we—” He cursed, words she’d never heard him use. “Damn it, Carly, I don’t want to go over the past. That’s done with.”
“Are you single?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Not that it makes any difference to me,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“Me neither,” she lied.
CHAPTER THREE
By the time Carly emerged from the house, Dylan was already in the pool and had swum a few laps. Which was just as well—chest deep in water he could hide his immediate physical reaction to the sight of his ex-girlfriend in a bikini.
The three orange triangles did more to draw
attention to her fabulous body than to cover it. She was sexier than ever. From nowhere came a fierce surge of possessiveness he had to fight to suppress. He’d claimed her when he’d first met her clearing tables in De Luca’s restaurant. But Carly hadn’t been his for a long time. He steeled himself and forced away memories of her with no clothes at all, passionate and generous and loving.
She waved as she headed toward him. At five-foot-five to his six-one, she seemed petite. But her neat frame packed some enticing curves, high firm breasts, narrow waist flaring into rounded hips. He had always been amazed how she stayed so slim when she was so passionate about food.
“What a fabulous pool,” she said. “Lucky you.”
The wet-edge pool was at the front of the house, high walls making it private. Looking from the deck it seemed to merge with the blue of the harbor beyond. “The pool was one of the reasons I bought the house,” he said.
Carly dropped the towel she was carrying on a deckchair and came to the edge of the pool. “Is it deep enough to dive?”
“At that end, yes,” he said, determined not to show how affected he was by the sight of her in that bikini.
“I’m so hot, I can’t wait to get in the water.” She was hot all right.
She prepared for a dive—but instead hit the water in an awkward belly flop.
“Ouch,” he said. Landing flat on top of the water would hurt.
She surfaced near him, pushed her hair from her face and laughed—that familiar husky laugh. Water clung to her smooth olive skin in tiny droplets that sparkled in the late afternoon sun. “That was less than graceful, wasn’t it? I’m out of practice. In the council pool where I swim in London there’s no diving, no jumping in, all sorts of rules.”
“No rules in this pool,” he said, forcing his eyes above her neck and away from the swell of her breasts over the top of her bikini. “You can do whatever you want.”
“Really?”
“Swim, dive, duck—whatever,” he said.
“Kiss you?” she said, lips slightly parted, invitation in her eyes.
He froze, shocked. After all the pain and the hurt and the anger, he still wanted her. But how could he reply to that?
He didn’t get the chance to even think about it. Her eyes widened with alarm and she snatched her hand to her mouth. “I don’t know where that came from. Forget I said it. Please.” He didn’t know if it was those drops of water from the pool that glistened on her face or sudden tears.
She turned and swam away from him, her mortification visible in every stroke.
But her words could not be unsaid. All he could think about was her lovely, generous mouth. There was nothing more he wanted than to kiss her. More than kiss her. But the barriers he had put up against the pain she had caused him came crashing back into place. There could be no kissing. No tearing open of the scars of old wounds.
He swam after her, stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Slowly she turned to face him. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I didn’t mean…I don’t know why…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It was hardly an insult. It’s not as if I…as if we, haven’t…haven’t…kissed each other before.” Damn. Now he was the one to say something inappropriate.
She smiled a watery smile. “Shall we put it down to force of habit? We…we used to kiss each other a lot and…and this…seeing you, I mean…was so unexpected.”
“It was a shock to see you again, out of the blue when—”
“I never in a million years thought I would see you again. Not after…after you made it so clear I was out of your life for ever.”
“I…I didn’t want to see you again,” he said, finding it hard to get the words out. “But now I—”
“I tried so hard to apologize, to explain, but you blocked me every way. I…I knew how much I’d hurt you and I didn’t mean to, really I didn’t. Losing you hurt me too, even though it was my own fault.”
For the first time, the thought crossed Dylan’s mind that their breakup couldn’t have been all her fault. There must have been something shaky about their relationship for her to fall such easy prey to the Frenchman. But he needed to think more about that before he could say it. “Carly, you know I—”
Her green-flecked eyes were huge as she implored him. “I know you won’t forgive me, but can you accept my apology for the way I behaved?”
Carly had always been proud. He knew what an effort her words must have taken her. He was four years older than when she’d left him. Four years wiser? He hoped so. Martial arts had taught him the powerful connection between body and mind. Holding a grudge for too long could not be good—for him or for her. That was not to say he was ready to forgive. But he could take a step towards it. After all, she would soon be going back to her life in England. It was unlikely he would see her again.
“Apology accepted,” he said gruffly.
“Thank you,” she said. The simplicity of her reply, the relief behind it, did more to please him than any amount of effusiveness. He nodded his acknowledgment.
She tilted her head thoughtfully to one side. “I know you said we had never been just friends,” she said. “And I guess we could never really be friends, not after what we…what we were to each other. But for today, can we think of each other as old friends? For Christmas?”
Carly as just a friend? Not if she were back in Sydney for good. But when she would soon be back in London? It could work. “Why not?” he said.
She offered him a wet hand. “Shake on it?”
He hesitated. Touching her after all this time was a big deal, even a simple handshake. But as she kept her hand extended, hurt clouded her eyes. For all the pain she’d caused him, he’d never been able to bear the thought of her in pain. He gripped her much smaller hand in a firm, business-like shake. Tried not to think of the strangeness of shaking hands in a swimming pool, each of them just scraps of Lycra away from nakedness. “It’s a deal,” he said. And felt relieved.
He had tried to hate her. He really had. But he had never managed it.
“That’s sorted then and I’m glad,” she said. “Now I’m going to swim. Coming from winter in the UK, this is such a treat.” She looked around her and sighed. “It’s great to be home.”
Dylan plunged under the water to stop himself from saying anything he would regret. Like that it was great to have her home. Without any conscious action on his part, he found they synchronized their swimming, each lapping and turning at the same time. Smiling when they caught each other’s eye. But being very careful not to touch—not even a nudging of shoulders or a brushing of thighs.
He felt some of the tension that had gripped him since he’d encountered her on the stairs next door start to dissipate. Despite all those long-ago resolves he was glad she was here. Closure. That’s what he’d needed. That’s what her unexpected presence might finally bring.
It started to get dark and still Carly swam, slowly and leisurely, in Dylan’s luxurious salt-water pool. She wanted to prolong this peaceful time with him, this illusory temporary friendship. But when the sensor lights automatically switched on in the pool and the garden she knew it was time to stop. Time to say goodbye.
“I’d forgotten how quickly day turns into night in Sydney,” she said. “No long twilights like I’ve gotten used to in the UK.”
He glanced down at the waterproof watch strapped to his wrist. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” Because he was enjoying himself so much in her company?
She waded to the steps out of the water. Dylan hauled himself effortlessly out over the edge of the pool. Those powerful muscles weren’t just for show.
Carly grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself, tucking it firmly into her bikini top. Dylan didn’t bother with his towel. He seemed totally unselfconscious in just his brief swim shorts. No wonder. He’d always had a good body and now his fitness had stepped up a level. He was hot. She wasn’t ashamed of how she looked in a bikini. However, she felt happier covered up after her blunder
in the pool. How had that happened? She cringed at the thought of her blatant invitation.
There had been a heart-wrenching moment when he’d looked so handsome with his hair slicked close to his head, his eyes reflecting the blue of the water, she’d been overwhelmed by how much she had missed him. Her head had been filled with thoughts of how much she’d like to kiss him, but she hadn’t realised she’d actually blurted it out until she’d seen the look of barely disguised horror on his face. She’d lost all kissing rights four years ago—and he’d made sure she knew it.
“It’s nearly dark, I must be going,” she said.
“Are you spending Christmas Eve with your Italian relatives?” he asked.
He remembered that annual ritual too. Surprising for a man who had wiped her so completely out of his existence. Her family had attempted to keep in touch with him but he’d blocked them as effectively as he’d blocked her.
She shook her head. “I didn’t tell them I was coming home for Christmas. It might have ruined the surprise for my parents.”
“Surely they’d welcome you with open arms?”
“I’m sure they would,” she said. “But I don’t want to go by myself. It’s not the same since Nonna Carlotta passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I always liked your grandmother.” Nonna had liked him too. Had told Carly in no uncertain terms she’d been a fool to throw over such a good man.
“Thank you. Apparently she went quickly and peacefully.” Missing the chance to say goodbye was one of the times Carly had regretted living overseas.
Dylan paused. “I’d forgotten your full name is Carlotta,” he said.
Carly pulled a face. “I’d rather you kept that forgotten, please.” It was the traditional way for the first-born child in an Italian family to be named after the father’s parents. But she’d always been Carly.
“I like it,” he said. “Carlotta.” He drew out the name, sounding the R in the Italian way. She remembered her father had taught Dylan some Italian.
“Well, I don’t like it any better now than I did four years ago,” she said. “I think of it as my Nonna’s name, not mine, and it makes me tearful when I hear it. I miss her.”
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