The Ex Factor. Anne Oliver
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He didn’t look at the branch she held. He was looking at her scooped neckline. An entirely different kind of strip teased its way through her senses. But it must have been her imagination. When his eyes finally lifted to hers they were dark and calm, not the eyes of a man entertaining thoughts of heat and hands and naked bodies.
She nodded as a remnant of that hot flash seeped into her blood. ‘Okay, kitchen’s all yours.’
His size and proximity to the door didn’t make it easy to get back inside. She had to slip past him, her shoulder brushing the firm muscles beneath his robe. Even with two layers of clothing between them deadly temptation snaked through her body as she carried the branch and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, feeding it damp leaves that released a curl of spitting eucalyptus-fragrant smoke.
When he returned a few minutes later, mugs in hand, the whole room smelled of the Aussie outdoors. He set the mugs on the table and dropped a marshmallow in each while she threaded two marshmallows onto the stick the way they used to. She handed him the branch, refusing to look at the melted chocolate heat in his eyes. Preferring the much safer chocolate in the mug as she took it from the table.
‘What have you been doing for the past few years?’ she asked, desperately searching for something to say. ‘I hear you’ve been quite successful.’
His expression turned enigmatic. ‘Depends on what you mean by success. If you’re referring to my work, then, yes, I’ve done okay.’
‘Adam told me you were in Dubai. That’s a long way from home.’
He shrugged. ‘What’s home when you have no ties?’
‘What about your parents? They’re not ties?’
‘Of course they are, but if Dad had his way I’d be a partner in his business, married and giving him grandkids by now.’
He turned and shrugged a smile. For a heartbeat she saw the ghosts of lost dreams, like silent shadows reflected by the fire.
‘The world’s my workplace now,’ he continued. ‘I’m good at what I do—engineering geologists are always in demand, especially in the developing world.’
‘I thought you took that job in Queensland…?’ The one you left me behind for.
He nodded. ‘The best decision I ever made. It opened doors. If I hadn’t taken that job when I did, I wouldn’t be where I am today career-wise.’
‘I’m glad, Luke.’
If his father had put her in touch with him, if she’d told him the truth, maybe he’d never have gone overseas. In a way it had been worth the angst, the pain, to know he’d made it.
But regret lodged tight in her chest for what she’d given up. Perhaps the wine had made her maudlin, bringing those old memories to the surface again.
‘Yeah. Well.’ He rotated the branch with its two pink marshmallows in a loose grip as he gazed into the fire. ‘Guess we both got what we wanted.’
Everything inside Melanie rebelled at his throw-away line. She opened her mouth, then pressed her lips together tight against the urge to deny it, but some sound must have escaped because he slid her a glance, one eyebrow raised.
‘You did get what you wanted, didn’t you, Mel?’
She bit the inside of her mouth. Told herself it didn’t matter what he thought. She knew the truth, she’d tried to do the right thing, and that was enough.
‘How was the trip up north?’ His eyes returned to the fire as he rotated the branch with maddening care. ‘Hot days, balmy tropical nights…’
Desperate days, lonely nights. She screwed her eyelids shut to stop the sting of tears. His assumption was way off base. An image flashed before her—Luke and her making love, their limbs twined together, mouths feasting, hearts in sync. Damned if she was going to let him think she jumped into bed with the next available guy to come along.
‘Stop right there!’ She slammed a fist into the couch.
She saw his hand still, tighten, his posture stiffen. Smelled the scent of burning sugar as the marshmallow turned black. Like what was left of their relationship.
‘Things didn’t pan out the way you wanted?’ His sarcastic tone blew through her like the storm-lashed evening as he tossed the smouldering branch into the fire.
In the silence that followed, she heard a shower of sparks in the fireplace, the spit of rain against the window as the storm picked up again. Finally he turned, the fire reflecting in his sharp brown eyes as he watched her. Accusing? Assessing? Condemning?
Yet he was the one with the sexual magnetism and the wealth and power to make sure it happened with any woman he fancied. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t been with a woman in five years.’ She watched the flicker of admission in those eyes and wanted to cry. Hugging her arms against the stab of jealousy, she met his gaze. ‘I wrote to you.’
The instant the words were out, her heart tumbled inside her ribcage and she cursed her too-hasty tongue. Now she watched for a reaction. Any reaction that would tell her whether he received it—a business-sized envelope, name typed, no return info on the back.
She felt the immediate change in the atmosphere, the abrupt shift in tension as Luke straightened, the creases between his brows deepening. Watching her differently now through narrowed eyes. ‘When?’
‘A few weeks later. I sent it to your parents’ address.’
His eyes flickered once before he blanked all expression. ‘I never got it.’
Because they never forwarded it. ‘I always wondered.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I never got a—’
‘Why did you write?’
She looked into the eyes of the man who’d changed her life for ever. ‘Because your mobile phone number didn’t work, my emails bounced back. It was my last hope.’
His expression sharpened further, his lips pulling tight as he worked through her words. ‘Last hope?’ His voice was harsh, derisive. ‘If it had been that important you could’ve tried the next logical step of contacting my parents by phone.’
Oh, how she burned to tell him, but what good would it do now? He was obviously back here to reconnect with them and no way did she want to sabotage that. She’d have given anything to have her own parents back; their deaths had rocked her world. No, she simply couldn’t do it.
Anyway, who would he believe—a five-minute lover or his father? No contest. So she gave him a deliberately vague shrug. ‘I…wanted to make sure it was over between us.’
‘I thought you made yourself perfectly clear on that last night.’
Her body suddenly felt drained and limp and she had to stop herself from reaching out to touch him, to absorb some of his strength, to tell him. ‘I took your non-reply as your answer.’
His jaw clenched, he closed his eyes briefly. ‘I’m sorry.’ He reached for the barely touched bottle of wine still on the table from dinner and poured himself a full glass. ‘I stepped straight into a promotion and was overseas a month after I’d started in Queensland. I changed my phone number and my email address.’
And didn’t give me another thought. ‘Yeah, well, it’s all rain down the drain now.’
She watched him raise the crystal, sparking in the firelight, its ruby liquid caress his upper lip a moment before he drank.
She heard him swallow, felt her own throat tighten in response. If she leaned closer…would that potent blend of heat and wine and Luke still taste the same? Still lead her down that same dizzy, out-of-control course? Or, in this case, to that warm and tempting king size bed a few quick steps from here?