In Bed with Her Ex

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘Right, because if he could be tempted you wouldn’t still be proud of him,’ Freya said.

  ‘Right. You’re so clever. I really wish you were my sister.’

  ‘If we play our cards right, I soon will be. Tempting is out. Compulsion is in. You’ve got to grab him by the scruff of the neck and not give him any choice. Now, listen carefully. This is what we’re going to do …’

  A few weeks later Vera glanced up as her employer hurried in. His face was tense and troubled, as always these days. But she thought that might be about to change.

  ‘You have a visitor,’ she said. ‘Someone has just bought some shares in this place and says they need to see you urgently.’ She nodded in the direction of her office door. ‘In there.’

  Frowning, he went in and stopped on the threshold. ‘Hello,’ said Cassie.

  He drew a long breath, fighting for the control that he would need at this moment more than any other. ‘What … Vera said … shareholder …’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve bought shares in La Couronne and I thought I should tell you soon.’

  ‘But … it must have cost you a fortune. How did you—?’

  ‘Raise the cash? From Freya. She’s made me a big loan, which I shall pay off from the money I’ll make from the hotel.’

  ‘But surely she can’t have loaned you enough to—’

  ‘No, I have another source of income. That time we visited Jake, he sneakily returned my ring to me, the one he gave me just before we married. I found it in my bag afterwards, and now I’ve sold it, and I’ve invested the money in you.

  ‘It’s only for a short while. I don’t want to keep anything of his permanently. His ring sold for nearly half a million. As soon as I can afford it I’ll give an equal amount to charity. By then, Jake will have served his purpose.’

  ‘Bringing you back to me,’ he murmured.

  ‘Exactly. Jake separated us, and now Jake has helped us find each other again.’

  ‘He’d hate that,’ Marcel said with relish.

  ‘Yes, that’s the thought I enjoy most. My other source of income is this.’

  She opened a magazine, displaying Cassie, centrefold. She was stretched out, in a tiny bikini, looking directly into the camera with eyes that were almost as seductive as her barely clothed body.

  ‘Take a good look,’ she purred.

  ‘I don’t need to. I have my own copy. I’m amazed. I thought Mrs Henshaw had taken over.’

  ‘So do the people I deal with, until they learn their mistake. It’s Cassie who poses but Mrs Henshaw who draws up Cassie’s contracts. They’re the best of friends now.’

  ‘I’m glad to know that,’ he said carefully. ‘It could make life … a lot easier.’

  ‘It certainly does. Cassie’s going to have to flaunt herself for quite a while yet, to help pay off Mrs Henshaw’s debts, so the two of them decided to live together in harmony. Take one, you get the other.’ She slipped her arms about his neck. ‘I hope that’s all right with you.’

  It was hard to speak, but he managed to say, ‘You once told me to get out of your life, and stay out.’

  ‘That was then, this is now.’

  He was suddenly tense. ‘Cassie, my love, don’t do this unless you mean it with all your heart. I couldn’t endure to lose you again. I must be sure—to know that you’re sure. I was torn from you once, and the last time I left you because it was the right thing to do. I thought it would help me keep your love, even if we could only love from a distance.’

  ‘Yes, I understood that. I thought you were wonderful, even though losing you again broke my heart.’

  ‘But—you said it yourself. That was then, this is now.’ He met her eyes and spoke softly. ‘Another parting would kill me.’

  ‘There will be no other parting,’ she vowed. ‘I’m as sure as you want me to be, but sure in a way you don’t know about yet. Things have changed. It’s probably your influence. I’m not afraid of your controlling side because I’ve got one too. You brought it out in me and now it’s out it’s out for good.

  ‘You need to know this. I’m in charge. From now on we’re going to do things my way.’ She laid her lips softly against his. ‘Understand?’

  ‘Understand.’

  She could feel temptation trembling through him, making him draw back after a moment.

  ‘You know that we’ll fight,’ he said.

  ‘Of course we will. We’ll have terrible fights, call each other all sorts of names, dig up our memories and use them to hurt each other. Sometimes we’ll even hate each other. But we’ll do it equally.’

  ‘Oh, really? Well, let me tell you, conquering Cassie is a pleasure, but conquering Mrs Henshaw—that’s something I’m really looking forward to.’

  She smiled, nodding towards the door of the little bedroom.

  ‘Better get started then. I don’t know what you’re waiting for.’

  He lifted her high and headed for the door. ‘Who’s waiting?’ he said.

  Read on for a sneak preview of Carol Marinelli’s

  PUTTING ALICE BACK TOGETHER!

  Hugh hired bikes!

  You know that saying: ‘It’s like riding a bike, you never forget’?

  I’d never learnt in the first place.

  I never got past training wheels.

  ‘You’ve got limited upper-body strength?’ He stopped and looked at me.

  I had been explaining to him as I wobbled along and tried to stay up that I really had no centre of balance. I mean really had no centre of balance. And when we decided, fairly quickly, that a bike ride along the Yarra perhaps, after all, wasn’t the best activity (he’d kept insisting I’d be fine once I was on, that you never forget), I threw in too my other disability. I told him about my limited upper-body strength, just in case he took me to an indoor rock-climbing centre next. I’d honestly forgotten he was a doctor, and he seemed worried, like I’d had a mini-stroke in the past or had mild cerebral palsy or something.

  ‘God, Alice, I’m sorry—you should have said. What happened?’

  And then I had had to tell him that it was a self-diagnosis.

  ‘Well, I could never get up the ropes at the gym at school.’ We were pushing our bikes back. ‘I can’t blow-dry the back of my hair …’ He started laughing.

  Not like Lisa who was laughing at me—he was just laughing and so was I. We got a full refund because we’d only been on our bikes ten minutes, but I hadn’t failed. If anything, we were getting on better.

  And better.

  We went to St Kilda to the lovely bitty shops and I found these miniature Russian dolls. They were tiny, made of tin or something, the biggest no bigger than my thumbnail. Every time we opened them, there was another tiny one, and then another, all reds and yellows and greens.

  They were divine.

  We were facing each other, looking down at the palm of my hand, and our heads touched.

  If I put my hand up now, I can feel where our heads touched.

  I remember that moment.

  I remember it a lot.

  Our heads connected for a second and it was alchemic; it was as if our minds kissed hello.

  I just have to touch my head, just there at the very spot and I can, whenever I want to, relive that moment.

  So many times I do.

  ‘Get them.’ Hugh said, and I would have, except that little bit of tin cost more than a hundred dollars and, though that usually wouldn’t have stopped me, I wasn’t about to have my card declined in front of him.

  I put them back.

  ‘Nope.’ I gave him a smile. ‘Gotta stop the impulse spending.’

  We had lunch.

  Out on the pavement and I can’t remember what we ate, I just remember being happy. Actually, I can remember: I had Caesar salad because it was the lowest carb thing I could find. We drank water and I do remember not giving it a thought.

  I was just thirsty.

  And happy.

  He went to the loo and I chatted to a gir
l at the next table, just chatted away. Hugh was gone for ages and I was glad I hadn’t demanded Dan from the universe, because I would have been worried about how long he was taking.

  Do I go on about the universe too much? I don’t know, but what I do know is that something was looking out for me, helping me to be my best, not to **** this up as I usually do. You see, we walked on the beach, we went for another coffee and by that time it was evening and we went home and he gave me a present.

  Those Russian dolls.

  I held them in my palm, and it was the nicest thing he could have done for me.

  They are absolutely my favourite thing and I’ve just stopped to look at them now. I’ve just stopped to take them apart and then put them all back together again and I can still feel the wonder I felt on that day.

  He was the only man who had bought something for me, I mean something truly special. Something beautiful, something thoughtful, something just for me.

  © Carol Marinelli 2012

  Available at millsandboon.co.uk

  Mardie and the City Surgeon

  Marion Lennox

  MARION LENNOX has written more than a hundred romances and is published in over a hundred countries and thirty languages. Her multiple awards include the prestigious US RITA® (twice) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for ‘a body of work which makes us laugh and teaches us about love’.

  Marion adores her family, her kayak, her dog and lying on the beach with a book someone else has written. Heaven!

  To John and Joy, for giving life to my books as well as saving calves at midnight.

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT WAS a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed. An eerie howl echoed mournfully through the big old house.

  The lights went out.

  She had to stop watching Gothic horror movies, Mardie Rainey decided, as she told Bounce to cut it out with the howling and groped to the sideboard for candles. She especially had to stop watching horror movies on nights when a storm was threatening to crash through her roof.

  Bounce, her twelve-month-old border collie, was terrified. Mardie was more irritated than spooked. The vampire had been sinking his fangs when the power went off. Now she’d never learn what happened to the fluff-for-brains heroine who would have been a lot more interesting with fang marks.

  What a night. The wind was hitting the chimney with such force it was cutting off the draw, causing smoke to belch into the room. She was down to a few candles and a flashlight.

  There was a leak in the corner of the room. She’d put a bucket underneath. Without the sound of the television, the steady plinking was likely to drive her crazy.

  She should go to bed.

  A crash, outside. A big one.

  Bounce stared at the darkened window and whimpered. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  ‘It’ll be one of the gums in the driveway,’ she told him, feeling sad. She loved those trees. ‘That’s for tomorrow and the chainsaw.’

  There wasn’t a lot she could do about it now.

  Bounce was still whimpering.

  She took his collar and headed for the bedroom. ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she told him. ‘We don’t have trees close enough to hurt the house. Lightning and thunder are all flashy show, and I warned you about watching vampires.’

  Bounce whimpered again and pressed closer. So much for guard dogs.

  Normally he slept in the kitchen. Not tonight.

  It really was a scary night.

  Maybe she did need vampire protection, she conceded as she headed for bed. Bounce might be a wuss but the only alternative was garlic. A girl couldn’t sleep with garlic.

  ‘Bed’s safe,’ she told him. ‘The sheep are in the bottom paddock and that’s protected. The house is solid. Everything’s fine. At least we’re not out in the weather. I pity anyone who is.’

  Blake Maddock, specialist eye surgeon, should have stayed the night in Banksia Bay, but he wanted to be back in Sydney. Or better still, he wanted to be back in Africa.

  He’d wanted to leave Banksia Bay the minute he’d discovered Mardie wasn’t there.

  What sort of stupid impulse had led him to attend his high school reunion? Wanting to see Mardie? That had been a dumb, sentimental impulse, nothing more. As for the rest, he’d turned his back on this place fifteen years ago. Why come back now?

  Nothing had changed.

  Or … it had a little, he conceded as he drove cautiously through the rain-filled night. But not much. There’d been births, deaths and marriages, but the town was just as small. People talked fishing and farming. People asked where he was living now, but weren’t really interested in his answer. People asked did he miss Banksia Bay.

  Not so much. He’d left fifteen years ago and never looked back.

  Three miles out of town was his old home—his great-aunt’s house. He’d been sent here when he was seven, to forget Robbie.

  Ten years ago, sorting his great-aunt’s estate, he’d found a letter his father had written to her after Robbie’s death.

  We don’t know where else to turn. His mother never warmed to the twins, to boys. Now … They were identical, and every time she looks at him she feels ill. She’s drinking too much. Her friends are shunning her. We need to get the boy away. If we can tell people he’s gone to relatives in Australia so he won’t be continually reminded of his brother, the pressure will ease. Can we send him to you, for however long it takes until his mother wants to see him again?

  And underneath was the offer of a transfer of a truly astonishing parcel of shares of the family company.

  How much had his parents wanted to get rid of him?

  He knew now, how much.

  So a bereft seven-year-old had been sent to the other side of the world, to a reclusive great-aunt who’d run away herself, years before, after a failed romance. Who’d been kind according to her definition of the word, but who’d lived in the shadow of her own tragic love affair and never spoke about Robbie.

  No one spoke about Robbie. No one here knew.

  ‘Don’t tell people about your brother,’ his father had told him as he saw him onto a plane. ‘Least said, soonest mended. I know it wasn’t all your fault—your brother was equally responsible. Your mother will accept that in time. Meanwhile, get on with your life.’

  His life as a kid no one wanted. His life in Banksia Bay.

  It was dumb to have come tonight, he conceded. This had been his place to hide, to be hidden, and he had no need of that now.

  And Mardie hadn’t even attended.

  Mardie had been in the year below him at school. His one true thing.

  He remembered the first day he’d attended Banksia Bay School, dropped off by his silent great-aunt, feeling terrified. He remembered Mardie, marching up to him, littler than he was, all cheeky grin and freckles.

  ‘What’s your name? Did you bring lunch? I have sardine sandwiches and chocolate cake; do you want to share?’

  How corny was it that he remembered exactly what she’d said, all those years ago?

  It was corny and it was dumb. It was also dumb to think he might see her tonight. He hadn’t thought it through.

  He wasn’t actually in a frame of mind where he could think anything through. He’d flown in from Africa exhausted. Dengue fever had left him flat and lethargic. It was four more weeks at least before he could return to work, he’d been told.

  What work?

  Bleak thoughts were all over the place. He’d stayed at his great-aunt’s apartment in Sydney, the place she’d kept for shopping. He’d kept it because it was convenient, somewhere to store his scant belongings. It was the only place he could vaguely call home. Listlessly he’d checked mail that hadn’t been redirected since he’d been ill, and found the invitation to the Banksia Bay reunion.

  And he’d thought of Mardie. Again.

  For some unknown reason, during this last illness Mardie had strayed into his thoughts, over and over.

  Why? She’d
have forgotten him, surely, or he’d be a distant memory, a blur. Theirs had been a childhood friendship, turning into a teenage romance. She’d be well over it. But … he wouldn’t mind seeing her.

  Could he drive to Banksia Bay and back in a night?

  The question hung, persisted, wouldn’t listen to a sensible no.

  He’d decided years ago that Banksia Bay, the place where his parents had abandoned him, the place where he’d been sent to forget, was a memory he needed to move on from. But now, with his career uncertain, his focus blurred by illness, the reasons for that decision seemed less clear.

  And his memory of Mardie was suddenly right back in focus.

  Two hours there, four hours for dinner, two hours back. Okay, he’d be tired, but he didn’t want to stay in Banksia Bay. Doable.

  So he’d put on his dinner suit, driven from Sydney, sat through interminable speeches, too much back-slapping and too many questions. All on the one theme. ‘Isn’t it wonderful that you’re a doctor—have you ever thought about coming home?’

  This wasn’t home. It was the place he’d been dumped after Robbie.

  And of course Mardie wasn’t at the dinner. He hadn’t realised it was a reunion for just the one class.

  He’d left as soon as he could. He should have gone straight back to Sydney.

  But the thought of Mardie was still there. He’d come all this way …

  Could he casually drop in at ten at night?

  Um … maybe not.

  The trees on the roadside were groaning under the strain of gale-force winds. The windscreen was being slapped with horizontal sleet.

  Mardie’s farm was right here. If it was daylight he would be able to see it.

  Why did he want to see her?

  She’d been a kid when he left Banksia Bay. Sixteen to his seventeen. She was probably married with six kids by now.

  The impossibility of dropping in was becoming more and more apparent. On a moonlit night, maybe. If he’d rung ahead, maybe. He knew her phone number—he’d had it in his head for twenty years. As he’d left the reunion he’d thought he’d see if her lights were on and then he’d ring, and if she answered, he’d take it from there.