by Anne Oliver
She was in a mood; she was drop-dead tired. But the extra hours she’d put in had done nothing to wipe the sensual images of Luke’s hands on her flesh, the wet tug of his lips at her breast, the incredible way her heart had hammered as they’d moved to the band’s slow beat.
She increased her pace, wishing her soft work shoes made a more satisfying noise on the concrete as she crossed the car park. Unlocking her car, she tossed her bag on the seat and turned the key. Nothing. She laid her head on the steering wheel. She wanted to cry.
A frustrating hour of waiting later, the auto service told her the car needed towing—better still she needed to buy a new one; this heap was dead.
When she finally arrived home in a cab, she found Adam and—she groaned at the bad timing—Luke in the living room watching M*A*S*H reruns. Ignoring Luke’s, ‘Hi’ and the sudden blip in her heart rate at the sound of his voice, she concentrated on steering herself towards her room.
A light hand touched her shoulder. ‘Whoa, slow down a moment. What’s wrong? You look knackered.’
‘I’ve been at the hospital for fifteen hours, my car’s dead and I will be too if I don’t get some sleep,’ she said, and kept walking.
‘Good idea, Mel,’ she heard Adam say. ‘Let yourself out, mate, when you’re ready to go,’ he told Luke.
‘No, it’s okay…’ Melanie waved a hand in her sensitive flatmate’s direction. ‘Don’t vacate the room on my account, I’m just passing through.’ Adam had never done so before when she’d had male friends over—why tonight? Or was it a prior arrangement between the two guys?
‘Thanks for the company,’ Luke said as Adam picked up the bowl of popcorn and took himself off to his room.
Luke’s hand gently squeezed the nape of her neck, stopping her mid-stride. He turned her to face him. ‘You need to sit down and unwind a bit first, have a warm drink.’
‘I don’t think so…’ She trailed off under the sensual onslaught. He was undoing the pins that held her heavy plait to her head, relieving the tension her tightly wound hair always caused. Oh, yes. Pleasure sighed through her as he released its weight, unravelling it with gentle fingers, massaging her temples.
‘We’ll sort out your car tomorrow.’
‘I told you it’s dead. Nothing to sort out.’
‘Good old Maurie’s given up on it, eh?’
‘Mikey,’ she corrected, but he already knew that, didn’t he? ‘He’s not on call twenty-four seven. I rang the auto service. They towed it away.’
He brushed his mouth across hers, once, twice. Not demanding, not expecting, just a soothing balm to her over-stressed body.
Her knees sagged; her shoulders slumped. She closed her eyes and felt the last of her mood fall away. She was quite literally dissolving in his hands.
All that remained was an overwhelming fatigue that bordered on pain. She was beyond caring whether he stayed the night or not, as long as she could sleep.
‘You want that warm drink?’ Luke murmured against her mouth. ‘Or do you want to go straight to bed?’
Her pulse spiked. What?
But he just shook his head. ‘I meant alone, Mel. You look dead on your feet.’
‘Chamomile tea,’ she said as she stepped away. ‘Too many coffees today. Third tin from the right. I’m going to have a bath.’
She clarified the ‘bed’ situation in her own mind while she turned on the taps and dumped in bubble bath. She wasn’t going to make love with Luke, but if she did she was going to be awake enough to enjoy it. Did that make sense?
Probably not. A sign that her brain was in meltdown. And he hadn’t even mentioned making love. She gathered her hair into a large clip on top of her head, then stripped off her uniform, let it drop where she stood and slipped into the waiting bath’s soothing embrace. Let her aching head rest on the padded towel and drifted…
‘Mel? Mel!’ Luke’s voice seemed to come from a long way off.
‘Huh?’ Her eyes fluttered open. Straight away she noticed the water had lost most of its warmth. Her cooling skin was a sharp contrast to the hot, dark eyes that met hers. But overlying the heat she saw concern. ‘What…?’ She made an uncoordinated attempt to sit up, splashing water over his white T-shirt, then gave up and lay back.
‘You make a habit of falling asleep in the bath?’ His worried tone changed to gruff. Thick and turned on.
‘I wasn’t asleep.’ She looked down at herself. The bubbles were all but gone, leaving her naked and wet and thoroughly exposed. Dear God.
‘I waited, I called. Take it from me, honey, you were asleep. Here,’ he muttered, and held out a towel.
She noticed he kept his gaze pinned to her face. Colour slashed his cheek-bones, she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. She had to swallow herself once, before she attempted to lever herself up.
Immediately she was enveloped in terry towelling. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, gripping the edges of the towel together, her teeth chattering as she stood on the bathmat.
‘A little after one. You need to get dried off.’
Before she could coordinate her limbs to perform the task herself he began rubbing her back through the towel. She almost purred like a cat as his knuckles worked over her spine.
Then with a rough-throated sound he took the edges of the towel in his hands and slid it from her body. He dabbed at her face, her shoulders. The simple task became slow, hot, sensual. Residual steam sheened his skin, clung to the hairs on his forearms as he wiped her throat, along her collar-bones.
‘I can do…’ She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.
He paused, the towel bunched in his fists against her décolletage, watching her with barely restrained desire in his chocolate eyes. She knew he saw the flare of her response because they heated, darkened. He dropped to one knee in front of her.
Slowly, a gentle torture, he dragged the towel lower, abrading skin that turned exquisitely responsive. Every tuft of cotton was a pinprick of pleasure as he massaged her breasts. Her nipples tingled and tightened, sending ribbons of sensation spiralling to her core.
Her head rolled back, her arms dropped to his shoulders. Helpless, she stood while her pulse hammered in her ears, beat through her veins, throbbed in that place between her thighs where she burned with need.
His breath feathered over her breasts and abdomen. Knowing he was inches from her bare skin brought a renewed flare of response.
She felt the towel leave her body. He lifted her right foot, placed it on his jeans-clad knee and dried each toe, then her calf. Repeated the procedure with the other foot. She arched her instep against the gentle coercion and moaned her enjoyment.
But it wasn’t only the hot lick of anticipation, the knowledge that she’d waited five years for this feeling again. It was Luke. The man she judged every other man against. His gentleness, his thoughtfulness. His patience.
She let her feet spread wider on the bathmat. The cotton chafed the back of her knees, and up, along the insides of her thighs. A rough caress, a sparkle of fire. She felt him pause again and looked down to meet his eyes. Intense and blazingly aroused. She tightened her fingers on his shoulders and kept her gaze locked with his.
The chafing resumed, his knuckles searing her skin as he worked higher, rubbing in long, slow passes until the fabric—and the slippery glide of one long finger—touched her woman’s flesh. Her throat felt clogged in the clammy confines of the room; her legs were trembling.
‘Luke.’ His name spilled from her lips, but it was all she could say. She was on that knife point, that razor’s edge, poised for flight.
He stopped his ministrations and she almost whimpered. ‘You okay?’ His voice was hoarse and his eyes were glazed.
‘Yeah.’
One slow rasp of the towel and her climax spun her over that edge. The room faded to white, the floor tilted and she collapsed into Luke’s arms.
A few shallow breaths later she thought she might be able to speak. ‘I think I’m dry now.
Mostly,’ she murmured.
He chuckled, but it sounded strained. ‘Let’s get you into bed, honey. You need sleep.’
She felt his muscles tighten as he rose and carried her to the bedroom. He didn’t turn on the light and she got a dim glimpse of him as he pulled down the covers and laid her on her bed.
She shivered. The sheets felt like ice against her overheated body. ‘Cold,’ she murmured.
‘Okay.’ She heard Luke close the door then felt the bed dip as he slid in beside her fully dressed. He pulled her against him so they were spooned together, her back instantly warm against his T-shirt, her bare legs against thick denim. Her bottom against the thick, hard and unmistakable ridge of his erection.
Lethargy stole through her body like a thief, robbing her of her chance to roll over and tug down that zipper digging into her spine. For the first time in five years she didn’t feel quite so alone in the world. As she fell asleep it slid through her mind that it was dangerous. She could get used to that feeling.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN Melanie surfaced from the best sleep she’d had in a long time full daylight flooded her room. She stretched lazily and snuggled backwards. When she didn’t encounter a hard, warm body she rolled over and found the space where Luke had been cold and empty.
She told herself she wasn’t disappointed, but after last night… She blocked out the images and reined in her run-ahead thoughts. Don’t get used to it, just enjoy it while it lasts.
Grabbing her tracksuit, she dressed and padded to the kitchen. The cup of chamomile tea Luke had made for her last night still sat on the table.
She brewed coffee while she thought about him and why he’d been here when she had come home. Had he come with the intention of seeing her or to catch up with Adam? Probably the latter since she’d swapped shifts when a colleague had called in sick at the last minute and Luke couldn’t have known.
Which was just fine, she told herself. Then she noticed the string of numbers scrawled in pen on the inside of her wrist. His mobile number. Her skin tightened. One of their old pastimes had involved writing messages on each other’s bodies. In all kinds of interesting places. She rushed back to her bedroom and stripped off, shivering in the cool morning air.
There, on her upper swell of her left breast. The Double Bay address of his new apartment. Heat flowed through her at the thought that he’d pulled back the covers and written on her bare flesh. That he’d looked at her naked while she’d slept on in blissful ignorance. One wasted opportunity to enjoy the sensation of his eyes on her body.
She redressed, made her way to the living room, picked up the phone and started punching in the number he’d given her, then stopped. Did he expect her to call and thank him? Just because he’d given her an incredible, mind-blowing, earth-tilting orgasm?
Oh, God. She had to sit down. She had to lean her arm on the table while she poured her coffee.
And nearly scalded herself when the phone rang. It was Luke.
‘You’re awake. How did you sleep?’
‘Probably a lot better than you,’ she said, and heard the grin in his gruff laugh.
‘Did you get the address?’
‘Yes.’ She rubbed at the spot on her breast. ‘I got it.’
‘Go to your front door.’
‘What?’
‘Just do it.’
‘Okay, I’m there.’
‘Now open it.’
She shielded her eyes with a hand as the sun’s full glare bounced off a white Holden Astra in the driveway. Crêpe-paper streamers on the antenna snapped in the breeze.
An involuntary gasp left her lungs. He hadn’t. He wouldn’t…
But he had.
He got out when he saw her, grinning like a kid at a birthday party, and dangled the car keys from a finger. She squinted, looking closer. The keys were on her pewter daisy key ring.
Very carefully, she set her coffee on the floor by the door. ‘What have you done?’
‘Bought you a car. It’s got air-con and—’ he leaned inside ‘—registration papers, new tyres—’
‘You shouldn’t have.’ A sharp pain centred in her chest. She sounded ungrateful. She didn’t want his generosity.
‘Why not?’ His grin melted away and the pain in her chest doubled. ‘You needed a damn car. I was helping a friend out, that’s all.’
Why not? Because a gift like that came with strings. Hadn’t he stipulated no strings? Sex was one thing, a new car was something else. She shook her head. ‘I don’t need your help. I’ve been doing okay by myself.’
She marched back inside on trembling legs, sank onto a kitchen chair, cradled her head in her arms on the table. His idea of helping a friend out was a world away from hers. With his wealth, it probably wasn’t such a big deal. And it didn’t have to come with strings; she wouldn’t let it.
Her anger dissipated enough to turn around and walk straight outside again. ‘Luke, I’m s…’ She trailed off when she saw she was talking to the wind.
Guilt thundering through her veins, she flew down the steps and out onto the footpath in time to see his tail-lights burning as he turned at the intersection.
Her brain in a whirl and not knowing what to do next, she hurried to the car. He’d left her keys in the ignition. A street directory was open at the Double Bay address on the passenger seat. ‘Think of everything, don’t you?’ she muttered, snatching it up.
But even if she left now she couldn’t catch him. She wasn’t familiar with the car or Double Bay. Locking the vehicle, she took her impatience inside. Okay, she needed to calm down and dress and figure out how to take back some control.
Five minutes later she pulled on her cherry-red cowl-neck jumper and skinny jeans. At the last moment she shrugged into her sheepskin jacket and stuffed her nearest available scarf in her bag. Grabbing the directory, she hurried down the steps, shook her head in disbelief again when she saw the car gleaming in the sun.
She slid behind the wheel and sat a moment. Wow. She ran a hand over the dashboard. Clear windscreen and almost-new car smell. And just a whiff of Luke’s aftershave to get her hormones in an uproar again.
Should she send him a text message to tell him she was on her way? No. An apology should be face-to-face.
Forty-five minutes later Mel parked behind a classy-looking Mercedes and stared up at the luxury apartment. One of two, state-of-the-art, huge balconies with floor-to-ceiling windows and views to die for.
Another tree-lined street that reminded her of his parents’ home. Her hand tightened on the steering wheel. She so didn’t fit in.
A cold wind with a faint tang of the sea snapped through the front of her loose-weave jumper and tugged at her hair as she climbed out. She hugged the edges of her sheepskin coat together, hyper aware of its ragged appearance as an immaculately groomed woman came out of the architectural monstrosity next door, eying her curiously.
Removing her sunglasses, Melanie returned the look, then smiled. Just because she didn’t belong, didn’t mean she lacked basic courtesy. Mrs Perfect smiled back before slipping into the Merc and driving away.
Now there was nothing for it but to walk up those stairs. All twenty or more of them. She tucked her sunglasses in her bag along with the house-warming gift she’d bought Luke on the way, slung it over her shoulder and carefully locked the car. Fiddled with the toggles on her coat.
Listened to the rapid thump of her heart in her ears telling her to turn around and go home. The man who lived in this luxury wasn’t the man she’d known.
But he’d been that familiar man with her last night. The thump in her ears escalated. And that familiar man hadn’t lost his touch.
The word was a catalyst for the sudden tingle in her nipples, the gush of heat between her thighs as she remembered the sensation of crisp towel against her flesh and the slick warmth of his finger as he’d slid it inside…
Sucking in a breath of cold air, she forced herself to concentrate on now. Now she was going to climb th
ose steps and knock on that fancy stained-glass door, hand him the keys and say her apologies.
* * *
Luke swiped a towel over his face and watched Melanie from his bedroom window. There she was, the object of his frustration—and anger, dammit—standing at the bottom of his steps looking as if she might bolt at the least opportunity. Except for the lifted chin.
In her trademark hotch-potch of colours she was a splash of summer sunshine in the middle of winter. Then he frowned. ‘Damn independent woman,’ he muttered, with a last dab over his freshly showered body.
Grabbing his jeans, he dragged them on as he padded through his apartment. He reached the front door as the bell chimed.
He opened it, then stepped away abruptly, not wanting to smell her rose and vanilla scent that wafted in on the breeze. Not wanting the reminder of how her skin had smelled last night as she slept had beside him, how soft and smooth it had felt beneath his hands. Along the front of his thighs. Against his aching erection.
She stood on the doorstep, knuckles white from gripping her jacket and making no attempt to step inside. Her defiant chin lowered as her eyes slid to his bare chest and remained there for so long he swore he could feel every hair spring to attention. Not to mention other neglected body parts.
She noticed too—he could tell by the stain of pink high on her cheeks. But she stayed where she was, on the other side of the door, and met his gaze. ‘I want to apologise.’
He thought he saw a softness flicker in her eyes but it was gone before he could blink. ‘I was rude,’ she continued, withdrawing a brown cardboard box from her bag and thrusting it at him. ‘And ungrateful.’
‘Agreed.’ But he accepted the box, then reached out and tucked her flyaway hair behind her ear.
The contact seemed to confuse her, it sure as heck confused him. Then he realised they were both angry, but somehow they both knew where the other was coming from. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, turning the box over in his hands.
‘A house-warming gift.’
He looked up, into her eyes. ‘Only accepted if you accept mine.’
