by Anne Oliver
A playful grin tipped up one corner of her mouth as she lifted the pineapple. ‘I knew that—Cheddar cheese and Vegemite. This is good, Luke,’ she said between tiny licks and bites that had him imagining her putting those caramel-glossed lips and teeth to another kind of good…
‘Want a bit?’ She licked her lips again. ‘How about some of that cream on it?’ And without waiting for a reply, she leaned in again and scooped up a dollop.
Ah, hell. The thought of taking her fingers in his mouth, tasting her on the fruit, slid through his mind, warm and syrupy and delicious. Everything inside him heated, pleaded, and he licked lips that had suddenly turned dry.
She must have seen the image too because she suddenly went very still beside the open refrigerator door, the cream-topped pineapple poised in front of her.
He almost groaned. The erotic foreplay of finger food—Mel and he could’ve written a book about it. The memories of their love feasts spiced the air between them, sending hot darts of need to his nerve endings.
Without taking her eyes off his, she approached him until he could see the charcoal ring around her irises. His gaze dipped to a freckle below her full bottom lip. He could smell her, a sensual fragrance you didn’t find in a bottle.
As she lifted the morsel he opened his mouth, letting her fingers graze his lips. He leaned in as the sweet flavours of fruit and cream slid over his tongue.
He wanted the more tempting flavour of Melanie but she pulled back, smiling temptation’s smile and licking the stickiness from her fingers. ‘No sex—your rule, remember?’
‘Food isn’t sex,’ he growled, but he knew better, and, from Mel’s raised eyebrows and cheeky expression, so did she.
He stalked to the fridge and pulled out the prepared meal. ‘Okay, let’s eat—the traditional way.’
Traditional? Luke chewed on a spring roll but he barely tasted it. How could eating while watching Melanie dip and swirl her own spring roll in sauce then slowly raise it to her lips and almost caress it before she bit off a mouthful be termed traditional? Did she have to make everything an exercise in eroticism?
But he managed to get through the meal. He even remembered to light the candle and pour the wine, and managed to make some sort of conversation, although he couldn’t recall what he said if his life depended on it.
But he could remember what Melanie ate, how she ate, how she made love to the stem of her wine glass with those long slender fingers. How she watched his mouth as he chewed.
She was baiting him.
As soon as she’d patted her mouth, folded her cloth napkin and placed it to one side, he rose and stalked to the living room. Anything to get the blood that had pooled in his groin moving again.
He watched the rain blow over the harbour. Listened to the beat of his pulse over the sound as it drummed against his picture windows. He’d miscalculated. Badly.
The prickle on the back of his neck should have been a warning. He turned, bumping into lush, feminine curves.
‘Great meal,’ she said, looking up at him with sultry eyes. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Her scent and her body heat were twining their way through his senses. His pulse stepped up a notch but his blood remained below his belt. She might be wearing a shapeless windcheater, but he knew what she looked like underneath all that jersey. How she’d feel if he slipped his hands underneath…
His plan went into meltdown. His brain went into meltdown, because when he ordered his legs to move his body simply bent from the waist and his mouth opened and fused to hers.
Her slick caramel-coated tongue darted out to meet his. His hands rose to set her away, but they merely curled around her arms and held on. Not in the plan!
Somehow, he managed to lift his head. A shred of sanity returned, reminding him that this whole no-sex deal had been his idea. His rule. And he was the one breaking it. He dragged in oxygen, short, sharp bursts that rasped over his dry throat.
Melanie stared up at him with dazed, passion-filled eyes, her own heavy breathing drawing attention to her kiss-moist lips, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. ‘What do we do now, Mr Plan Ahead?’
He locked his jaw, grabbed her hand and started walking. ‘Get your coat.’ He tugged her to the front door, snatching up a couple of umbrellas in the foyer. ‘We’re driving to the nearest beach and then we’re going to take that long wet midnight walk in the rain that you love so much.’
* * *
‘You want me to come to your welcome home party?’ Melanie stared at him, the last bite of her chocolate éclair poised halfway to her pursed lips.
Luke had had a feeling she’d be less than enthusiastic, which was why he’d brought the Bribe—a selection of Mel’s favourite French pastries from the local patisserie. ‘It goes without saying. Of course I want you there.’
‘At your parents’ house.’ Still watching him with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look on her face, she popped the rest of the treat into her mouth.
‘That’s the plan.’ He’d waited until two p.m., knowing she’d put in a hard day’s night at work, and had hoped for a more positive response. He wanted her to meet his parents so he could prove they weren’t the ogres she obviously thought them to be. More, he wanted his parents to meet Melanie.
‘And of course I want you to come. My parents are expecting you. All the family friends will be there.’
Pushing away from the table without a word, she crossed to the tiered clothes airer and picked up a towel, smoothing it with quick strokes and folding it into three.
Not a promising start.
‘You accepted for me already, then?’ She turned to him, the towel clasped against her breast. To the hired help’s daughter rubbing shoulders with his friends.
He could almost hear her unspoken words. He met her eyes, an indignant steel-grey, and clenched his jaw against his own rising exasperation. ‘I’m asking you to come. My parents are who they are. They’re a part of who I am, Melanie.’
But he wanted her acceptance—he hadn’t realised until this moment how badly. ‘You’re a part of my life,’ he said, softening his voice. He took the windcheater she’d picked up and dropped it on the sofa. Placed his hands on her stiff shoulders, looked into her eyes, willing her to believe him. ‘A good part. And I want you there. Is that clear enough?’
She blinked at him, the steel in her eyes melting, but wariness creeping in to take its place. ‘I don’t know how to—’ she gave a royal wave ‘—play the part.’
He squeezed her shoulders, tipped up her chin. ‘You don’t have to play at anything. Just be yourself. I can take you shopping, buy you a dress…’ Shopping? Was he mad? For female clothing, no less. Underwear, no problem, he could deal with that, but a dress? Had he ever seen Melanie in a dress?
‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ Her voice rose a notch as she stepped back.
‘I thought you might like something new.’
‘I’m perfectly fine with what I’ve got. Thank you.’
‘Good. Great.’ He shrugged, shoving his useless hands in his pockets. This was trickier ground to negotiate than that excavation pit that had gone wrong last year.
She let out a resigned sigh. ‘Um…so, what is the dress code for something like this? Formal? Casual?’
He hadn’t given it a thought. Didn’t women know instinctively what to wear? ‘Whatever you feel comfortable in. Perhaps you could leave the fur boots and sheepskin jacket at home…’
‘Give me some credit, Luke.’ Her mouth curved ever so slightly. ‘And I’m sure I can borrow a tiara from someone. I lost mine at the last ball I attended.’
He leaned forward so her mouth was a tempting nip away. So he could smell her skin, the chocolate on her breath. ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary.’
Slowly, gently, he put his lips against hers and she yielded with a ‘mmm’ that hummed against his mouth and curled with a quiet warmth around his heart. A few nights ago he’d learned the uncomfortable way that sex wasn’t the only thing
keeping them together.
The following night they’d more than made up for it.
His hands rose to frame her jaw, his fingers tracing the dew-soft skin while he held her face still for his kiss. Licking the stickiness from her lips until she opened for him and let him into her moist, sweet mouth. While he watched her eyes change from the glint of polished pewter to the soft grey of summer mist.
He eased back a fraction, away from that lazy-lipped temptation to murmur, ‘I’d really like to see you in a dress.’ Something floaty, off-the-shoulder, so he could glide his fingers over her smooth skin. ‘And some sexy stiletto shoes like you wore to the pub.’ So he could admire the shape of her calves. ‘But the decision’s yours. You’ll look good in whatever.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said in a husky, sleepy voice that whispered over his chin and reminded him of lazy mornings in bed when she’d whispered those words. Her soft eyes held a glint of wickedness. ‘What colour underwear should I wear, do you think?’
He smiled, remembering her seductive selection. ‘Surprise me.’
The glint sharpened. ‘I think I can manage that.’
His smile broadened. Melanie could always be counted on to surprise him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALL too soon the car Luke had hired to collect Melanie pulled to a smooth stop in the Delaneys’ curved driveway. She rubbed sweaty palms together and watched the middle-aged couple caught in the car’s headlights, squinting for a closer look at what the woman was wearing beneath her coat.
Melanie had decided on gypsy—full amethyst crushed-velvet skirt with matching clingy three-quarter sleeved sweater and a lacy turquoise and lavender top that tied between her breasts. She’d even used tongs to give her hair a flyaway look.
‘Here we are, Ms Sawyer,’ the driver said, stepping out and coming around to open her door.
‘Thanks.’ Melanie smiled at the guy as she climbed out, half tempted to ask him to take her home again.
She’d kept him waiting while she’d changed outfits three times and now the party seemed to be in full swing. Not swing, exactly—formal classical music drifted across the formal lawn with its formal fountain… Heat crept up her neck. Oh, yeah, that fountain.
Her only escape departed with a quiet engine hum, leaving her with no alternative but to face the inevitable. Her black stilettos clicked over the paving as she made her way towards the massive front door with its stained-glass roses. She’d had sex with Luke up against that door. Was there any place here that didn’t remind her of those days?
But that had been when Luke was living alone. The music had been loud and hot, the sex sizzling. Apprehension twisted her insides into tight little knots. What did she have in common with these other people? Why had she agreed to come?
Before she could think about changing her mind and ringing for a taxi, the front door opened and Luke appeared, his large body lit by the foyer’s sparkling chandelier.
At the bottom of the steps she lifted a hand and watched, her heart squeezing tight, a lump rising in her throat while he took the steps two at a time to meet her. He was wearing dark trousers, and his cream shirt accentuated his tanned skin, his smile bright against the darkness as he approached.
He was why she’d come. He was the only reason.
She pressed a fist against the pain in her chest as he drew near enough for her to see the clear and honest pleasure in his eyes at seeing her.
‘Hi. Thank God you’re here to keep me company.’ He grabbed her fingers as he leaned down for a quick meeting of lips, smelling faintly of beer and something forest-fresh and fancy. ‘Your hand’s freezing—come on inside.’ Keeping her hand in his, he tucked it beneath his arm and led her up the steps. Even with her hand in Luke’s solid grip, her legs trembled, her insides quivered.
Elizabeth Delaney stood in the foyer, a pretty blonde woman in an elegant sky-blue silk top and slim-fitting black trousers, perfectly coiffed and made-up.
She smiled at Melanie, as openly and honestly as Luke as he squeezed her hand. ‘Mum, I’d like you to meet Melanie Sawyer. Mel, this is Mum.’
‘Good evening, Mrs Delaney.’
‘Good evening, Melanie, and call me Elizabeth. I’m so pleased you were able to come.’
‘Not as pleased as me,’ Luke said, giving Melanie’s hand another squeeze.
‘It’s lovely to meet you. We rarely meet any of Luke’s girlfriends.’
Girlfriends. Plural. Melanie thought of the man by her side. Yes, Luke would have had plenty of girlfriends. And she reminded herself that was all she was.
They’d shared something special over the past few weeks—at least it had been to her, even if she’d tried to pretend it was casual—but they’d shared other nights in the past. Wonderful, passionate nights when she’d naïvely thought in a secret corner of her heart their relationship could have been more.
‘Have you known Luke long?’ His mother’s words brought her back to the present.
‘We met five years ago, the last time he was in Sydney. I was serving at your husband’s cocktail party.’
Luke slung an arm around Melanie. ‘We’re getting reacquainted.’
‘You kept in touch these past few years, then?’ Elizabeth frowned at her son. ‘Shame on you, Luke, you never mentioned Melanie in your correspondence.’
Melanie’s heart took a dive. Of course he’d never mentioned her, she’d been a fling. ‘No,’ she said, keeping her voice light. ‘We didn’t correspond. We bumped into each other again by chance.’
‘Fate,’ Luke said, his dark gaze drifting over her, but then with an ‘excuse me a moment,’ he moved away when a distinguished-looking man waved at him.
Left alone with his mother, Melanie pasted on a smile, forced herself to make conversation. ‘Luke’s been busy, hasn’t he? You must be very proud.’
‘Oh, yes, we are.’ Elizabeth’s gaze hovered on her son before returning to Melanie. ‘I’m afraid these occasions aren’t much to his liking, but his father insisted on welcoming him back.’
‘You’ll be happy to have him home.’
‘Yes, but since he’s found his own place we haven’t seen as much of him as we’d have liked.’ She studied Melanie a moment before Luke joined them again. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to keep him occupied this evening,’ Elizabeth said.
‘I’m sure she will.’
At his husky tone, Melanie glanced up at Luke. The spark in his eyes gave Melanie all kinds of possible scenarios for doing just that.
‘Get your friend a drink, Luke, and mingle,’ she told him.
Luke snagged two champagnes from a passing waiter, handed her one. ‘To you.’ He clinked his glass to hers. ‘You look sensational.’
‘Thanks.’ She took a tiny sip to moisten her dry mouth.
Then he leaned nearer and whispered in her ear, ‘Makes me wonder what lingerie you’re wearing underneath.’
Anticipation fizzed through her blood but she forced all thoughts of his hands on her lingerie away. ‘Later. Where’s your dad?’
She needn’t have asked, because, like Luke, he stood out in the crowd, formally attired in black trousers, white shirt and striped tie. He stood by the fireplace, conversing with an elderly man whose back was towards her. Colin had obviously seen them come in and was watching them. Or more specifically, her.
‘Over here,’ said Luke. With a light hand on her back, he steered her through the guests.
Head up, smile. Make an effort. This is Luke’s dad.
When they reached his side, Colin inclined his head and extended his hand as Luke introduced her. ‘Call me Colin. We’ve met before, haven’t we? Good evening, Melanie.’ His handshake was firm and mercifully brief.
‘Good evening, Colin.’
He turned to the distinguished-looking man to his left and in a superior voice, said, ‘You won’t have met Sir Gerald Doyle—’
But the man was already enfolding Melanie in his arms. ‘Melanie, it’s good to see you.’<
br />
‘Hello, Gerry, how are you?’
‘Super. I’m even back playing tennis again.’ His eyes twinkled at her as he stepped back, still gripping her hand.
‘And how’s Minette?’ she asked, ultra-aware of Colin’s surprised gaze on her.
‘She’s well, thank you. She’s in Melbourne at present, visiting our son and his wife and our new granddaughter.’
‘That’ll make number three, won’t it?’
‘Indeed. Colin, this girl’s an angel,’ he went on, finally releasing her. ‘When I had my heart attack last year she was on duty in Emergency. She helped save my life. Took a special interest in me and Minette when I was recovering.’ He nodded at Luke. ‘You’re a lucky man.’
‘I think so,’ Luke said. Melanie felt his proprietary arm around her shoulders, almost as if Luke acknowledged Gerry’s assumption that they were a couple. A more permanent couple.
‘Nursing’s a hard job,’ Colin conceded with a grudging nod. ‘You’ve obviously found your calling.’
Melanie’s chin lifted, accepting the somewhat backhanded compliment with as much graciousness as she could muster. ‘Yes. I have.’
‘We’d better move on,’ Luke said. ‘Mum told us to mingle.’
‘Lovely to see you again, Melanie. Minette’ll be sorry she missed you.’
She smiled at the man she’d become firm friends with. ‘Tell her I said hello and I’ll call her soon.’
‘I didn’t think I’d see Gerry here,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink as they moved away.
‘Told you you’d fit right in.’
But Melanie didn’t meet anyone else she knew. She recognised a few faces from the society pages as Luke introduced her to the seemingly endless parade of people.
Her fingers were stiff from clenching the glass, her cheeks ached from smiling, her feet throbbed from standing too long in too-high shoes. She found herself with a group of older women when Luke excused himself to speak with the wait staff about supper. Her brain reeled with names and faces and overheard gossip she wasn’t privy to, including a Botox disaster, two affairs and a marriage break-up.
