The Ex Factor

by Anne Oliver

  ‘Why not?’ he couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘I work full-time and then some. The kids need me. I don’t have any time for…anything else.’

  A lie. He watched the slim, stiff length of her. Even though he knew she’d felt that same passion he had moments ago, for some reason she didn’t want to renew their relationship. Neither do you. You’ve been flying solo over three continents and doing fine. Why dig up the past now?

  Except… He was a geologist—he liked digging. And he’d seen the truth in her eyes; it wasn’t work that was stopping her. He needed to know why she’d refused him. And he’d always loved a challenge.

  * * *

  To avoid Luke’s penetrating gaze she could feel boring holes in her back, Melanie pinned her gaze on the view outside. She barely noticed the first rays of thin sunlight spark off the wet leaves, barely heard the kookaburra’s happy laugh.

  She couldn’t renew her relationship with Luke—because he wouldn’t want one when she told him the whole story. Nor did they stand a chance at anything deeper than what they’d had. Luke was for fun times. Nothing more.

  The man whose gaze had shifted from her back and was currently massaging the exposed length of her naked legs. If they hadn’t been recently waxed the hairs would have been standing on end. She remained still, heard the slide of skin on fabric and the faint chink as he picked up the glass, the audible swallow, the plunk as he set it down.

  She turned. ‘I’ll make breakfast as soon as I’m dressed.’ She fought the female reaction as his eye massage continued. Only now it was her nipples rising under the intensity. ‘The limo will be here to pick you up at ten.’

  He lifted his eyes to hers. ‘That’s three hours away—cancel it. I’ll drive back with you.’

  She shook her head. She didn’t need the extra distraction. ‘I’ve got to clean up. I was going to come back later and do it, this way it’s saved me a trip. You don’t need to hang around and wait.’ And watch.

  ‘It’s not going to take three hours to clean up. We can explore the property before we go.’

  ‘In those shoes?’

  He glanced at his damp but expensive leather shoes by the fireplace. ‘I’ve got two more pairs at home. Come on, a quick jog. Guaranteed to warm you up.’

  As if she needed warming up! ‘I’m on duty at three-fifteen. And when I’m finished I’m going to crash for twelve hours or so, before I get up and do it all over again.’

  ‘Don’t you get time off for good behaviour?’

  ‘Tuesday.’ Bad move, telling him, she realised. ‘I’m meeting some colleagues to decide how best to use the money we raised.’ She just hadn’t advised those colleagues yet. ‘Excuse me, I’m going to dress.’ As she escaped into the bedroom, leaving him to do the same, she heard him mutter something about a cold shower.

  In the end, Melanie cancelled the limo because Luke threatened to follow her all the way back to Sydney to make sure her car didn’t get bogged and it saved some money that she could put towards the Rainbow Road.

  Conversation was kept to a minimum thanks to the dangerous road conditions and the ominous sound of the car’s engine and the fact that Luke looked as if he was still suffering the side-effects of alcohol and lack of sleep.

  Sitting in still-damp clothes probably didn’t help. Nor did the knowledge that the fire hadn’t been the only heat source that had warmed things up last night.

  It simmered in the air between them, reminding her of how good he looked in firelight with the flames reflecting in his dark eyes, the burnished glow of his skin.

  Hot.

  She shoved up her sleeves, drew in a breath of overheated air and switched on the ancient demister. Her steamy thoughts were fogging up the windscreen.

  They cooled, however, when she turned into his parents’ street. She remembered. The fireside love-ins, the shared showers slippery with soap and sex. Luke’s big mahogany bed and Egyptian sheets…

  By the time she pulled up outside the elegant two-storey home with its circular drive and landscaped gardens, the steam had turned to a ball of ice in her stomach.

  It didn’t budge when his gaze searched her face—was he actually thinking of asking her in? No. She breathed a sigh of relief when he reached down for his briefcase.

  He turned to her as he opened the door. ‘Thanks for everything.’

  Hard to miss the subtle message there. Hard to meet his eyes and not react to the intensity.

  ‘Thank you. The kids appreciate your generous donation.’

  ‘See you,’ he said. Husky, low.

  Goose-bumps prickled her skin. Yeah, he’d seen her private striptease, no doubt about it.

  He ducked his head as he unfolded himself and climbed out. A man in overalls, the gardener or hired help of some sort, poked his head around the side of the house, waved and disappeared back to whatever menial task he’d been assigned.

  This place proclaimed more wealth, status and power than she’d see in her lifetime. A timely reminder of why Melanie wouldn’t be seeing Luke bare-chested, bronzed and beautiful in firelight again.

  Luke didn’t look back as he headed up the path. He heard Melanie’s car putter down the street and shook his head. Then stopped by the fountain and stared at his parents’ house, its ornate woodwork and shutters gleaming in the wintry sun.

  The house where he’d made love with Melanie. His already hardened body heated and he shifted inside his still-damp trousers to ease the pinch.

  As he let himself in he smelled the familiar old waxed wood and slightly musty odour he’d never noticed until he’d been away. He went straight to the study and switched on the computer.

  He wasn’t staying in this house any longer than he could help it. Not with memories of Melanie in every room, on every surface. An apartment of his own made sense—a sound investment whichever path he decided on—and he’d have his privacy.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I HAVE something to tell you.’ Melanie kept her voice casual as she folded the last of the baby clothes Carissa had been airing. She carefully tucked them into the cute little chest of drawers before turning to her sister.

  Carissa didn’t look up. Melanie doubted she heard. Eight months pregnant, she was engrossed in the tiny stitches on the cot quilt she was trying to sew. Even squinty-eyed as she carefully manipulated the fabric, she looked a picture of domestic bliss. A woman in love, about to have a baby.

  Everything Melanie wasn’t and didn’t have. Didn’t want. That was what she’d told herself over and over for the past few years. But her words rang hollow, clawing at her heart, and a lump rose to her throat as she watched.

  ‘What do you think—the lemon or the lilac?’ Carissa held up a couple of patches.

  ‘Lilac,’ Mel said automatically.

  ‘For once I agree with you.’ That settled, humming along to her favourite Chopin CD playing softly in the background, Carissa aligned the fabric and tied a knot in her thread.

  ‘Carrie.’ She drew in a steadying breath. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘What? Sorry.’ Carissa looked up, then frowned. Instantly contrite, she set her sewing aside, turned off the portable stereo she took with her wherever she went in her belief that the music soothed the tiny life inside her.

  Melanie, on the other hand, could have done with one of Ben’s big bad bass tracks right now. Something to blow the cobwebs away.

  ‘What is it, Mel?’

  ‘Luke’s back.’

  Two little words that changed everything. Even if it was too late for them, Luke’s arrival, his intrusion into her life, meant that a life she’d rebuilt piece by piece over the past few years had suddenly come unglued. And last night…

  Carissa’s blue-eyed gaze turned dark with concern. ‘How do you know? Have you seen him?’

  Oh, yeah. ‘I’ve seen him.’ A huskiness crept into her voice. ‘Quite a bit of him, actually.’ Her mind seemed to insist on rehashing that first morning in her bedroom.

  Carissa frowned.
‘What do you mean by that?’

  She explained—the Adam connection, how he’d stayed the night.

  ‘In your bed? Oh, Mel, I’m sorry.’ Steepling her hands beneath her chin, she studied Melanie a moment. ‘I am sorry, aren’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Melanie picked up a couple of patches, put them down, then plonked herself on the floor at Carissa’s feet. ‘He’s still the most gorgeous hunk of man I ever laid eyes on. And he looks at me—like he used to.’

  ‘Well…’ Carissa’s brows puckered in thought. ‘I suppose that’s good…isn’t it?’

  ‘Same answer—I don’t know. The overnight guest who won your getaway house?’ Melanie nodded as Carissa’s eyes widened. ‘He came alone. Wouldn’t let me drive back in the storm. At least it gave us time to talk.’

  Carissa leaned over, reached for Melanie’s hand. ‘Did you tell him?’ she asked, so softly that Melanie’s eyes filled with tears.

  She dashed them away, but inside she cried with long-held anguish. She couldn’t tell him now, not when they’d just met up again. Some time soon, she thought, but not yet.

  Melanie shook her head, but she couldn’t meet Carissa’s eyes. Too much pain in the room. A pregnant woman shouldn’t be thinking sad thoughts. Her own negative vibes could be bad for Carissa and the baby. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve—’

  ‘It’s okay; tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘I’m thinking he might have taken me to Queensland with him if I hadn’t opened my big mouth and got in first.’ Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘I’ll never know if he’d have chosen me over the other women in his life. The woman his parents approved of. If he was telling the truth. It was just supposed to be…fun.’ And fun had cost her, big time.

  ‘What about your letter—did you ask him about it?’

  ‘He never got it.’

  Carissa squeezed the hand she held. ‘At least you know now, after all this time. You can move on from there.’

  Move on? Luke might not know about the letter, but now she had other questions. Had his parents opened it to check its contents before forwarding it? Had it gone missing in transit? Melanie had no way of knowing.

  ‘Apart from the hunk factor, is he still the same guy you remember?’ Carissa asked.

  Melanie’s mind spun back to this morning, on the sofa. Almost without thought, she licked her lips, remembering his scent, his taste. The sparks. ‘Well, his mouth hasn’t lost its skill.’

  ‘He kissed you?’

  ‘How do you know I wasn’t talking about his conversational skills?’ Mel muttered as Carissa abruptly released her hand and—not so abruptly—pushed out of her chair.

  ‘This calls for serious coffee and cake. I know,’ she said with a wave as she headed to the newly renovated kitchen. ‘Coffee for you, juice for me.’

  A few moments later Mel poured the liquid refreshments while Carissa cut the fresh-baked lamington bar Ben had dropped off earlier in the day.

  ‘So talk,’ Carissa said, licking chocolate icing off her fingers as she sank onto a kitchen chair.

  Her sister might be acting the casual hostess, but Melanie knew Carissa was dead serious, prepared to browbeat if necessary. And she’d learned this tactic from Melanie herself.

  Melanie forked up a mouthful of lamington, chewed. Carissa’s eyes didn’t leave hers. ‘I’ve moved on with my life,’ Melanie said finally. ‘I have work. Long hours, exhausting hours. I don’t have time for an intense relationship.’ And anything with Luke would be intense. Overwhelming. All-consuming. ‘He might go back overseas, take up something somewhere else. What’s the point?’

  ‘And he might not. The point is, whether he’s here for a day or a year, you have a history together, Mel. An unfinished history. You need to write an end to it. Don’t rush into anything with him again before you figure out what you’re going to do,’ Carissa said.

  Meaning The Kiss. The kiss that had wiped her mind of everything except how much she’d missed it. ‘You think something like a simple little kiss is rushing it?’

  ‘No.’ Carissa tapped a finger on the table, her eyes steady and strong on hers. ‘But I suspect it wasn’t anything like simple. Or little either.’

  ‘Hah, look who’s talking—Miss Spontaneity herself.’ And Ms Perceptive too.

  ‘Only because you put the idea in my head.’ A sentimental smile curved Carissa’s lips, and Mel knew Carrie was remembering her first sexual adventure, which had resulted in her current state of wedded bliss.

  ‘No, I ain’t rushing,’ Melanie assured her. ‘I’m staying right away until I’ve gotten used to the idea that I’m going to be crossing paths with him in the foreseeable future—being Adam’s friend’s makes that a distinct probability.’

  ‘That’ll be a change for our life-of-the-party-working-her-way-through-men-like-a-box-of-chocolates gal.’

  ‘Nothing’s changed. I love chocolates. Specially the hard ones.’ Deliberately she brightened her voice and forced a smile. ‘But that’s one dark and tempting I’ll be avoiding.’

  Melanie took great pains to hide the fact that her relationships stopped at the bedroom door. For the first time she considered that perhaps she was trying to hide the reality from herself.

  Carissa’s eyes turned serious again. ‘Not for ever, though. There’s always the possibility he’ll find out, perhaps before you’re prepared to tell him.’

  * * *

  ‘Got plans for the evening?’ Adam’s voice on the other end of the phone was a welcome distraction.

  ‘Hey, Adam.’ Pushing back from his father’s desk, Luke rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d tallied so many numbers today his eyes were crossing. ‘No. What do you have in mind?’

  ‘There’s a poker game tonight. One of the regulars is down with the flu, we need another player. Eight p.m. Interested?’

  ‘Sure.’ He paused as a possible complication occurred to him. Melanie. ‘Your place?’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘No.’ But he felt the spike of anticipation drill through his body. He’d kept himself busy inspecting apartments for the past few days, not allowing himself to think about Melanie. Naked in the firelight. Her healing hands. The taste of that one and only kiss—a mistake on his part.

  But whether she was home or not wasn’t going to influence his decision. ‘Count me in.’

  * * *

  Melanie had managed slow for a week. One long calorie-laden week of asking herself, ‘What the hell am I doing?’ Worse, ‘What the hell is he doing?’

  Her roster meant she hadn’t seen much of Adam, thank God—no easy way to explain she’d had a relationship with his friend and not betray how she felt: bewildered. In limbo. Alive. Confused.

  Before Melanie reached her front door she could hear the sound of male voices inside. Adam’s monthly poker game with his workmates, she remembered with a sigh. And last month she’d promised to make her hot chocolate sauce over ice-cream dessert in return for Adam doing her share of the chores last weekend.

  So much for curling up in bed with a book after work.

  She pulled her face into some semblance of a smile as she turned her key in the lock and pushed the door open. ‘Hi.’

  Four faces turned with a chorus of, ‘Hi, Mel.’

  One voice echoed in her ears, one pair of eyes lingered. A deep voice that seemed to eat her up inside, hungry eyes that lingered far too long.

  Her smile remained in place but her pulse leapt. Get used to it. You’re going to see him in your apartment. No big deal. Except that on more than one occasion she’d made her hot chocolate sauce with Luke, and, well… ‘Luke.’ She firmed her voice. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’ He picked up a card, slotted it into his poker hand. ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Busy. Adam, about the sau—’

  ‘Melanie, if you’re thinking of backing out, forget it. A deal’s a deal.’ He winked at the guys. ‘Didn’t you admire the way I polished the bath for you? You said it fe
lt like—’

  ‘Okay.’ She almost snapped. Dropping her coat on the couch, she headed for the kitchen. She didn’t want four guys imagining her slipping into the bath. Not even one. Especially not one.

  Five minutes later Melanie had her ingredients assembled, but her mind wasn’t on the task. ‘Make a paste with cocoa and boiling water,’ she chanted to focus herself. ‘Add butter…’

  She knew the moment Luke stood at the kitchen door. The sensation coasted up her spine and lingered on her neck. ‘Come on in, it’s safe.’ She didn’t turn around. Her brain had curdled. For goodness’ sake. ‘What’s next?’

  ‘The sugar and golden syrup.’ His voice sounded as rich and syrupy as the words and to her dismay she found she wanted to suck the sweetness from his lips the way she used to. Instead she dumped and stirred.

  ‘Adam sent me in for beer.’ She heard the fridge open, the clink of bottles. ‘I suspect it was more for the purpose of seeing you,’ he said with a wry tone.

  She turned. His eyes were smiling in a casual, non-threatening way and she smiled back as the tension she’d felt eased into something approaching familiarity. ‘I suspect you’re right. Can you get the ice cream out while you’re there? This is nearly ready.’ The rich and sweet chocolate aroma swirled up to fill her nostrils.

  He took out the carton, set it on the table, found five bowls in the cupboard. ‘Adam says you’re a wizard at this dessert. He’s right.’

  She didn’t miss the nuance in the last two words. He leaned a hip against the bench top and watched her work as if he’d never seen her make it before. As if he didn’t remember how smoothly it blended with ice-cream…and skin.

  ‘Not bad for someone who doesn’t like cooking,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t mind cooking for special occasions, it’s the mundane routine of coming up with a different meal every day that I dislike.’ She lifted the spoon, met his gaze. ‘Want a taste?’