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The Ex Factor
Anne Oliver


Melanie Sawyer's intense affair with Luke Delaney was fuelled by an all-consuming desire. Both knew it couldn't last–she was a waitress, he was the son of a millionaire. Feeling out of her depth, Mel ended it–but was left with an enduring reminder of Luke….When Mel meets her ex again, he still has the X factor, and the red-hot passion between them reignites. As they spend time getting to know each other again–intimately–they realize the chemistry between them is too powerful to resist. But once Mel's secret comes out, will Luke be able to trust her?







Seduced into her ex’s bed...

Melanie Sawyer’s intense affair with Luke Delaney was fuelled by an all-consuming desire. Both knew it couldn’t last—she was a waitress, he was the son of a millionaire. Feeling out of her depth, Mel ended it—but was left with an enduring reminder of Luke....

When Mel meets her ex again, he still has the X factor, and the red-hot passion between them reignites. As they spend time getting to know each other again—intimately—they realize the chemistry between them is too powerful to resist. But once Mel’s secret comes out, will Luke be able to trust her?


Luke closed the inches between them and laid his lips on Mel’s, igniting sparks, heat, the quick flare of lust, the slower burn of something remembered, something deeper.

A few stunned seconds passed, then her mouth went pliant beneath his. He felt the faint shiver run through her body and his own jerked in response. Oh, yeah, they still had it. That same recognition, that same magnetic attraction that had drawn him across the crowded function center the instant he’d laid eyes on her at his father’s cocktail party.

Then he felt her hand against his chest, heard the muffled sound in her throat. His primitive instincts howled in protest as he pulled back to search her eyes. Enough time to see the light of passion fade to that wariness again.

“I’m different now, Luke. We both are.”

“You never know—that might work for us. It was working fine a moment ago.”

For another moment she met his gaze, with an honest and open longing that echoed deep in his gut, then as if she’d flicked a switch her expression changed.

Unseen shadows prowled the space that had been humming with promise. She hugged her arms and turned away. “I don’t think so.”


When not teaching or writing, ANNE OLIVER loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favorite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago, she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time-travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege…and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at anne@anne-oliver.com.

Other titles by Anne Oliver available in ebook format:

Harlequin Presents® Extra

184—THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT A REBEL...

160—HER NOT-SO-SECRET DIARY

139—WHEN HE WAS BAD…


The Ex Factor

Anne Oliver




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


When I was writing One Night Before Marriage, Melanie began demanding her own story. So here it is.

This book is dedicated to my children, Matthew and Rachel, who told me to

“get a life” when they saw me spending my weekends at the computer.

Thanks, guys, for putting up with me all those early years. I love you both.

Thanks to Trish Morey

for her encouragement when things got sticky, and especially to Meg Sleightholme

for her invaluable advice.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#uddc8427b-89cd-5322-90bb-07b205a7c8ac)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4b49914c-548e-5ddb-835a-12d9dbfe44b3)

CHAPTER THREE (#ub275512f-6b0e-5f09-a495-7fcbc31cbf8c)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u51641dbe-5054-5a7e-845d-574698f6e7a6)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

THE man in her bed had a body built for giving pleasure, chiselled and polished to sinful perfection.

Melanie Sawyer hadn’t sinned, perfect or otherwise, in far too long.

So she absorbed the gilded sheen of his skin in the early morning light, traced the wide plane of his back and the long furrow of his spine with hungry eyes. And down, to where the curve of a taut backside disappeared beneath her fluffy pink and tangerine throwover.

It wasn’t only her eyes that were hungry. Her lips tingled and her fingers itched to explore the textures of skin and hair. That neat little earlobe, the sharp wedge of shoulder blade. But she only watched, entranced, not moving in case she woke him and spoiled the moment.

He murmured something in his sleep and rubbed his cheek against her pillow, the rasp of stubble sharp against crisp cotton. Her breath caught at the intimacy of his naked flesh sliding over her linen. He faced away from her so she couldn’t see his features, but his dark hair was thick and tousled and utterly touchable.

A shame he wasn’t awake.

A shame she wasn’t in bed with him.

Adam’s guy friends had slept over before. But not this particular one. And not in her bed.

With her gaze glued to the delicious sight, she unwound her scarf and set it on her suitcase beside her. Undid the top button of her suddenly too-tight sweater. Was the rest of him naked under that sheet? God, she hoped so. The thought made her blood pump faster, thicker, warming places that hadn’t been warmed in a while. A long while. It had been five years since she’d had the pleasure of up close and horizontal.

She was a nurse, she’d seen more than her fair share of naked men, but the fact that this one was snuggled up with her pillow like temptation personified…well, her expectations were high.

Who was this guy anyway?

She glanced over her shoulder at the living-room destruction for any sign of a wallet or ID. Nope. Just a pile of action DVDs amongst greasy take-away containers and beer bottles—the drawback to having a male flatmate, she supposed, although, to be fair to Adam, she had come home from the conference a day earlier than expected.

A low rough-throated rumble from across the room rolled through her senses, drawing her attention back to her bed and its current occupant. With unapologetic interest—and, yeah, anticipation—she leaned against the doorjamb and watched him come to. Watched the sinewy forearms twist as his long fingers bunched and flexed around her pillow. Then he stretched, a lethargic shift and tensing of bone and muscle and golden skin, and rolled onto his back.

Everything inside her froze and fractured.

Luke Delaney.

No! Luke was an engineering geologist in Central Australia somewhere, not here in Sydney.

She saw the same shock register in his too-familiar mocha eyes as they locked gazes and she struggled to draw air. His lazy leonine posture vanished as he pushed up to a sitting position and ran a hand over his eyes as if he, too, was having trouble processing the information.

In that instant subtle changes snapped through her stunned brain. His body had grown firmer and more muscled over the past five years. His hair was shorter. The lines fanning out from his eyes were deeper. But his gorgeous mouth was the same. Full with a tiny upward tilt at one corner, as if he were about to smile.

But he didn’t smile. He swore—a soft short word beneath his breath before he said, ‘Melanie.’

His voice reverberated through her bones, deeper, richer than she remembered—and she remembered very well. His velvet whispers in her ear, against her throat, on her breast. The way he murmured her name as he slid inside her.

He scrubbed at his face, then began shifting to the edge of the bed. ‘When Adam said “Melanie”… Hell. I’m sorry. I should’ve grabbed the couch, but Adam said—’

‘Stop!’ She threw up a hand, hating the desperation she heard in her voice. Was he naked under there? God, she hoped not.

Once she’d have torn back the sheet herself and gloried in his hot, hard masculinity. Her horrified gaze shot back to his face. A more weathered face, but no less handsome. His complexion was a darker sun-stroked colour, but she felt none of that warm familiarity as he studied her through dark, impassive eyes.

One large bronzed hand curled around the edge of the sheet. ‘It’s okay, Mel,’ he said at last. ‘I’m decent.’

That was a matter for debate, she thought as he rose, giving her an eyeful of muscular torso covered only by a pair of black briefs, which did little to hide his impressive morning bulge…

Oh, dear God. She turned away, her face hot as wicked thoughts seared through her brain. At least he was out of her bed. ‘When you’re ready…’ When you’re covered.

She turned and headed back to the living room, grabbed the coffee plunger with its inch of black sludge and carried it to the kitchen. Some sort of conversation was inevitable and she needed a shot or three of caffeine first.

Where was Adam when she needed a buffer? His car was in the underground park next to hers, his bedroom door was shut. She drew in a breath as she dumped coffee into the plunger and savoured its steadying aroma.

She should’ve stayed in Canberra. Come home tonight like everyone else. Perhaps she’d have avoided this now inevitable reunion. The memories reared up and the secret she’d thought she’d buried turned over in her breast and throbbed to life again.

* * *

Luke continued to stare at the empty doorway after she’d gone. Melanie. His Melanie. Her imprint was still seared onto his eyeballs. Curves and colours—tight yellow sweater, a purple skirt above a tantalising flash of leg, knee-high furry beige boots tied up with laces… So Technicolor, so vibrant. So Mel.

Still the most beguiling woman he’d ever met.

And he’d spent the night in her bed.

His fingers clenched at his sides, tension gripped his gut. One look was all he needed to get the adrenaline pumping, his body tensing in anticipation. He remembered how it had been between them—hot, urgent, a fast-track ride to paradise. He’d always wondered how he’d react if he saw her again. Whether the old desires and needs lived up to the memory.

Now he knew, and the knowledge did nothing to reassure him. He forced his hands to uncurl, fought the impulse to leap up and follow the tempting sway of her hips beneath that skirt, the subtle fragrance of roses and vanilla she’d left drifting in the air.

Living with Adam Trent, for Pete’s sake. He sucked in a breath. Adam had told him he shared with a nurse, but this nurse? He tried unsuccessfully to reconcile the Melanie he remembered with one in a starched white uniform and crêpe-soled shoes.

Which didn’t tell him squat about her personal life, Luke thought, grabbing his jeans from the floor. A glance around her room gave no hint. Only a tiny framed snapshot he’d not noticed on her dressing table last night—Mel and her sister, Carissa.

He studied it a moment. Yeah, still those same sultry lips and dark hair he’d fantasised about too often for his peace of mind. No men, then—at least none that rated a pictorial reminder. Relief pumped through Luke, instantly recognised and denied.

Whoa. He shook his head to clear the residual haze that had surrounded him since he’d woken to find that familiar pair of exotic grey eyes watching him. Her love life was none of his business. Her life was none of his business. Not since they’d gone their separate ways.

A glimmer of the emotion that had always accompanied her image spun through him like old gold. Part of him wanted to get the hell out, go home, crawl into bed again—his own bed—and put this whole morning into some sort of perspective. Another part wanted to stay, to rework that final scene from five years ago into something different, something that might have lasted.

But she hadn’t wanted long-term.

He pulled on yesterday’s sweater, and made a quick trip to the adjoining bathroom. The reflection in the mirror as he splashed his face with cold water reminded him he wasn’t the guy Mel knew anymore either. What would they make of each other now? The band around his gut tightened and he leaned over the basin to eyeball himself. You don’t want to know.

But one step into the living room, he came to a halt. She was holding a pot of steaming coffee, her buttercup top a stunning foil for the long sweep of coal-black hair, looking as fresh as an early spring daffodil. Quite simply, she took his breath away.

The colour in her cheeks flared a fragile peach as she met his gaze across the room. He’d seen the four seasons in those eyes and for a heartbeat he thought he saw a glint of summer joy behind the clouded depths before they dulled to a neutral stare.

Those eyes had haunted his dreams.

He couldn’t linger because she tore her gaze away and crossed to the coffee-table. Her body still had the same concise curves and long, lean lines, the same tilt to her head that set her hair swinging as she set the coffee and mugs down. If she’d changed physically in any way it was only to radiate that inner beauty women seemed to gain as they matured.

His heart stalled in his chest and he had to swallow to ease the dry knot in his throat.

‘Coffee?’ Her eyes flicked down as she poured him a mug.

‘Thanks.’ Something strong and wet at least—

‘You still take sugar?’

‘Yes.’

As he crossed the room to join her she leaned over to pour her own mug. The seductive curves of her breasts pressed intimately against her sweater as she straightened. Sensation burned in his blood, a punch of heat that left him breathless.

‘So…’ She lifted her mug, wrapped white-knuckled fingers around it and sank onto a faded brown couch as far away from him as she could get. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Catching up with Adam.’ Gripping his own cup of the fortifying liquid, he remained standing. ‘Adam’s an old high-school buddy. We had a few drinks, he offered me a bed, said his flatmate wasn’t due back till later today.’

‘Oh.’

Was that disappointment or relief he heard in her voice? He told himself it didn’t matter. One social coffee, a few moments of civilised conversation and he was out of here. ‘I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you.’

She lifted a shoulder. ‘I…didn’t know you were back in Sydney,’ she murmured, then frowned into her mug.

‘Because we never kept in contact.’ The room fell silent as memories flickered like shadows between them. He shook them away. No trips down memory lane. No questions, no blame. Leaning over to set his spoon on the tray with a decisive clink, he said, ‘You came home early, then. A conference, wasn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘My room-mate was a chronic snorer. I couldn’t stand it another minute so at three a.m. I packed up and drove home.’

And not quite straight into his arms. ‘Strange how fate works.’

An almost-smile touched her lips. ‘You sound like Carissa.’

‘And how is she?’

‘Happily married and very pregnant.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ He paused a beat before asking, ‘And you?’

Her eyes flashed, a lightning bolt that hit him dead centre. ‘Single. And still loving it.’

So why the hard-edged animosity in her voice? As if she was trying to convince herself? He acknowledged the strike with a nod and waited for her to ask about him, swallowed a fleeting disappointment when she didn’t.

Instead, she said, ‘How are your parents enjoying having you back?’

Her tone had an underlying bitterness to it, a puzzle since she’d only met his father once and his parents had been overseas when they’d dated. ‘They don’t know yet. Dad’s not been well so they’ve gone to Stradbroke Island for a couple of weeks to soak up some sun. I’m in that big old house on my own.’

He could see it in her eyes—The house my mother cleaned twice a week. He had a sudden flashback of the first time he’d met Melanie at her parents’ funeral. He’d offered his condolences to both sisters on behalf of his parents who’d elected Luke to represent them, but it had been Melanie who’d caught his interest.

Barely a respectable two months’ grieving period later and a few days before his parents had left for Europe he’d finagled it with the catering firm so she worked one of his father’s business functions. The Bohemian waitress looking for excitement and new experiences. Oh, yeah, they’d found that all right, but the relationship had ended three months later.

‘What made you choose nursing?’ He dumped an extra spoonful of sugar into his mug to sweeten the suddenly sour taste in his mouth. ‘I’d’ve thought it would be the last thing you’d choose. You couldn’t even stand the sight of blood.’

Or vomit, for that matter. His stomach spasmed at the mere thought of Luna Park’s high-rolling ride she’d talked him into. Now those golden days of fun and laughter and love in the summer sun seemed like another lifetime.

Her eyes flicked away as if she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She rose and walked to the window. ‘It was something I needed—need—to do.’

If he hadn’t known better he’d have said she looked fragile. ‘What happened?’

‘Life happened.’ She massaged the heel of her hand over her heart. ‘It was time to get serious.’

‘Serious?’ Mel didn’t do serious. He’d realised that on their last night as lovers. His fingers tightened on his mug as the blow-by-blow scene roared to life behind his eyes. He’d been the idiot who’d thought it could be something more.

Melanie flinched at the sarcasm in Luke’s voice then made the mistake of turning. He was one dangerous step away, six feet plus of emotionally charged man.

‘Yes, serious,’ she fired back, her spine stiffening at his scepticism. But she couldn’t blame him—she’d been a different person when they’d met. Their relationship had been hot and intense…and temporary. A firecracker destined to die.

A fling.

What else could it be? A waitress and a rich man’s son? Never mind that she’d done something with her life since. ‘It’s in the past, Luke, leave it there.’

‘You’re happy, then? Life’s good?’

‘Never been better.’ She meant it. She was doing what she loved: helping sick kids. It was enough.

It had to be enough.

At the sound of a door opening they both turned as a bleary-eyed Adam appeared. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ he said. At least he had the discretion not to mention the tone of those voices. ‘I hear you two have…ah…introduced yourselves.’

‘Morning, Adam.’ Melanie stared at her flatmate. He’d mentioned Luke, but she hadn’t realised he’d meant Luke Delaney.

‘I was just leaving.’ Luke set his still-half-full mug on the table, nodded to Adam. ‘It was good to catch up.’

‘Stay for breakfast,’ Adam said. ‘Mel makes the best pancakes and maple syrup this side of the Pacific.’

Drizzled with maple syrup… Her toes curled inside her boots at a particularly erotic memory. Head down, she busied herself tidying the coffee-table.

‘I’m sure she does,’ Melanie heard Luke say before she could refuse, jangling keys as he fished them from his pocket. ‘I’ve got to run.’

‘I think these are yours,’ she said, glancing at the DVDs as she picked them up and held them out for him at arm’s length. ‘I guess it gets lonely…wherever you are.’

His fingers slid against hers as he took them from her with that almost-smile on his lips. Oh, that familiar heat, that slow burn snaked its way through skin and bone to wrap cunningly around her heart’s memory.

‘You never did ask where that was,’ he murmured.

No, but it was already too much that she knew where he’d been last night.

He leaned close so only she could hear, his breath hot against her cheek, eyes smouldering with a lambent heat that burned her from the inside out. ‘The sex was great though, wasn’t it?’

She gasped inwardly at his words, not mocking but sincere, brutally honest in fact. And gulped as the old familiar ache clenched deep in her belly.

His gaze lingered on her lips a moment and she swore she felt his touch. Then he straightened, waved a casual farewell to Adam. ‘See you later.’

Rubbing her arms against the rawness of newly awakened emotions, Mel watched the door close behind him. Until Adam’s whistle between his teeth startled the wits out of her.

‘Is there an electrical storm in here or what? I could literally see the sparks. Sorry if I overstepped the line with the bed. I didn’t think you’d be back so early.’ His eyes narrowed and she fought the urge to look away. ‘Nor did I expect you to be so…uptight—if that’s the right word. You okay?’

Mel poured herself another fortifying coffee. ‘I’m fine, and anyway it’s too late now, the damage is done.’

‘What damage?’

She rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘The sheets, Adam.’

‘The sheets?’ He ran a hand through bed-spiked hair. ‘I was going to make sure the bed was tidy so you didn’t notice.’

‘You didn’t think I’d notice a man had slept in my bed?’

‘To be honest, no.’ A grin tilted the corner of his mouth. ‘Luke’s okay, Mel.’ Adam sprawled out on the sofa and dipped a spoon into last night’s Chinese. ‘And he’s made a fortune overseas.’ He pointed his spoon at her. ‘Most women would find that a plus.’

Overseas? What about the job in Queensland? she wanted to ask—but, of course, she couldn’t. Not without going into the sordid details of their history and she really couldn’t face that right now. Easier to pretend she’d never met him. ‘Doing…what?’ she prompted, keeping her tone casual.

‘He’s an engineering geologist,’ he said between spoonfuls. ‘Working alongside civil engineers, designing bridges et cetera et cetera. He’s been involved in a huge development in Dubai.’ A mischievous glint winked in his blue eyes. ‘Ah…that auction you girls are planning…’

Huh? The silent auction where everyone was paired off with a member of the opposite sex for the evening? ‘No!’ With her luck she’d draw his number. Oh, no. No way.

‘I can vouch for him, Mel. He’s single, no risk and good company. The guy could use some female companionship while he’s here. It’s for charity and he’s got money to burn.’

While he’s here? Temporarily, then. Thank God. She shrugged, picked up a DVD cover and pretended to check out the blurb. ‘He may look—’ like every woman’s fantasy ‘—okay, but, from a female perspective, he needs more than just a honed body and a sexy smile.’

But they could have used the money. Unlike the others, her prize didn’t include her—it was strictly a BYO partner deal. So why was she so against Adam’s idea? Because she didn’t want to think of Luke paired off with any of her colleagues. She’d hear about it and even after all this time she didn’t know if she could deal with that.

‘It’s too late,’ she said, rubbing her arms with the chill that had suddenly wrapped around her. ‘The bids closed yesterday.’

But Adam merely grinned as he stacked the empty containers. She frowned as apprehension shivered over her skin. When Adam grinned that way and didn’t offer up some comeback line, it usually meant he knew something she didn’t. Anyway you looked at it, it spelled trouble.


CHAPTER TWO

THAT night Melanie couldn’t sleep. Probably because she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change the sheets. Stupid. Even worse, she’d left off her night-shirt and slipped naked into bed.

She breathed in the lingering scent of Luke’s hair on her pillow. Luke had slept here; his hot skin had rubbed over this very spot. Had he been restless too? Had he tossed and turned, maybe subconsciously remembering her scent?

The sheet’s texture abraded the sensitive parts of her body. The suddenly overly sensitive parts of her body. She felt like a ripe peach—one fingertip on the right spot and she’d explode right out of her over-tight skin.

Sighing, she moved to a cooler patch of the bed in an effort to ease the aching fullness and tried to concentrate on the soothing patter of light rain against the window. Luke had always been able to turn her on with just a look.

It took a very good man to make that happen, in her opinion, even if she’d only ever had two other men before him to make a comparison. And Luke had been very good at his work. Dear Lord, she huffed, plumping her pillow for the umpteenth time. He’d woken the dormant nymphomaniac in her.

She hadn’t been with a man since Luke. She’d come close on more than one occasion—after all, she’d told herself she needed to move on with her life, but in those three short months Luke had changed her. In so many ways.

But then she’d never been involved with anyone like Luke, who was older and more worldly…and rich. What did she know about wealth? Even now she couldn’t balance her own cheque book.

He’d wanted her for sex. Hadn’t he all but told her that this morning? And she wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d been only too willing to oblige. But when it came to anything more serious, he’d made no secret about wanting a family. On the other hand, Melanie felt too young to settle down and wanted so much more than to settle in the suburbs with a couple of kids and play at being a rich man’s wife.

Not that he’d have ever asked her. She knew the kind of women Luke preferred for that role. As a functions waitress, she’d seen him with elegant females in formal classic attire before he’d ever noticed her. Well-bred women who’d give him equally well-bred children.

She’d told herself it didn’t hurt, it didn’t matter, that their lives were never going to mesh, why not just enjoy the ride for as long as it lasted? But it did hurt, she’d discovered on that final night.

It had been hot, she remembered, with the window open and the air alive with summer sounds and scents. Luke had rolled off her, leaving her sweat-damp skin cooling in the night air.

He’d blown out a satisfied breath. ‘That was—’

‘Yes. It was.’ She closed her eyes a moment to savour the last time she’d feel his body against hers. ‘But now I guess it’s over, huh?’ Words she’d thought would be easy caught in her throat, which suddenly seemed unbearably tight.

She felt him tense beside her. ‘Over? Why?’

‘No promises on either side, Luke. Wasn’t that what you wanted? Just hot, uncomplicated sex.’

‘Uncomplicated?’ His voice rasped against her ear. ‘You’re the most complicated woman I know.’ He frowned as he rose from the bed, a bronzed god. An angry god. Angry because she’d found out what he’d conveniently kept from her the whole time they’d been together? ‘What’s wrong?’

She sat up, dragging the sheet with her. ‘I worked a ladies’ luncheon today. Apparently your wedding’s going to be the social event of the season—’

His eyes glinted with something like menace. ‘Care to fill me in on who the bride is?’ His voice was controlled but the muscle tick in his rigid jaw told another story.

‘That girl, Eleanor with the fancy surname—they had a photo of the two of you together.’

‘McDonald-Smythe. Hearsay, Mel.’ The bed dipped as he sat down beside her and cupped her elbows. ‘Don’t you know how the upper class loves to spread gossip and lies?’

‘You want to talk about lies?’ She tried to shake him off but his grip was relentless. ‘Why did they have a picture of the two of you at the Melbourne Cup?’

He closed his eyes briefly. To remember or think up an excuse?

‘That was November,’ he said. ‘You and I’d gotten together—what—a week earlier? You knew I flew to Melbourne for the day. I met up with a lot of people, I didn’t think you needed a detailed inventory.’

No. But there had been other times in those three short months when he’d gone interstate for job interviews, or off somewhere on business. He’d never asked her to accompany him.

It simply highlighted what had been clear from the outset. ‘A waitress isn’t in your family’s grand plan for you.’ She jerked free of his hands and this time he let her go.

He looked away, obviously aware of the truth in her statement but refusing to acknowledge what was expected of him. ‘What about my plans?’ His face darkened, the veins in his neck stood out like ropes. ‘As it happens I’ve been offered a geological position in central Queensland. And I’m taking it.’

In the beat of angry silence that followed she held her breath. He inhaled, as if to add something, then paused. Why didn’t he just say it? she screamed silently. It’s been fun but now it’s over.

She gritted her teeth. That was how it was supposed to have been for both of them. So why did it feel so bad?

‘Well, then, that’s good timing.’ She heard the unnaturally high tone in her voice as she reached for her clothes. She might think the bottom had fallen out of her inexperienced little world, but it hadn’t—she wouldn’t let it. ‘I heard there are jobs going up north at a new resort.’ She didn’t look at him but hardened and cemented her resolve. Better to leave than be left. Deep down she knew she’d never fit into his life. She couldn’t compete with the rich women who surrounded him.

‘Is that what you want, Mel?’ she heard him say behind her.

‘It’s time to move on,’ she said, turning towards him but not looking at him, hiding behind an over-bright smile and careless shrug. ‘The thing is, I’ve realised we’re too different to make anything more of what we have. We had some great times but it was never going to be permanent between us, Luke.’

‘You really believe that, then?’ He shook his head. ‘Either I’ve misjudged you or you’re one hell of a liar…’

In her own bed, Melanie shook off the images she’d never been able to erase and stared at her ceiling in the dimness. Five years on, she realised perhaps she’d been the liar after all. She’d left Sydney the next day with a vow never to let a man get to her on that level again.

But now that man was back.

* * *

Late the following afternoon, Luke negotiated the Lincoln-green Ferrari he’d hired through Sydney’s traffic as if he’d never left. A dream run after some of the overcrowded cities he’d lived in.

Which gave him time to think about his father’s phone call that morning.

He flipped his indicator and changed lanes. Scowled. When Dad had mentioned ‘getting down to business’ he hadn’t meant the string of restaurants he’d turned into a series of successful franchises over the years. He’d meant the business of Luke getting married and giving him a grandson.

Still, Dad had finally accepted the fact that Luke had made his own wealth and didn’t want to inherit his fortune. Now he wanted to force it onto some poor kid who wasn’t even born yet.

Dad was a stubborn man, and Mum—he shook his head—she went along with whatever Dad decided. As much as he loved her, he didn’t think he could stand such a docile wife.

Which of course segued straight to Melanie—the antithesis of docile. She’d have given him more of an adventure than a marriage. What would his parents have made of her? he wondered, a wry grin tilting the corner of his mouth. The way she dressed, her take on upper-crust society and its conventions.

She’d lured him into having sex in the ornamental fountain on the front lawn one hot night. His grin softened at the memory. He’d never looked at the water feature in quite the same way again, and poor Mum; she’d never got to the bottom of what—or who—had messed with her water lilies.

Damn. He slammed a hand on the steering wheel and hit the accelerator, overtook a Porsche, slowed to an immediate crawl at the next intersection. Five years ago and the memory still made him hard. At least Adam’s suggestion that they go for drinks might take the heat out of his frustration.

Seeing Melanie again had brought the past back. With his degree fresh under his belt, Luke had accepted his first job in the outback at age twenty-two. Five years ago he’d been back in Sydney on the lookout for something more challenging than the eight years he’d put into a Western Australian mining operation. Then he’d met Melanie.

He’d done the unthinkable and fallen for her—so different from the women he’d always been attracted to—and when he’d won the position in Queensland he’d intended asking her to take a chance and go with him. But she’d had her own plans, on a different road—plans that didn’t include a husband and kids. Plans she hadn’t bothered to fill him in on.

He’d been burned good. He didn’t intend for it to happen again.

He pulled up in front of Adam’s apartment.

‘Hey,’ Adam said, climbing in with a neon-green feather boa around his neck. ‘Mind if we swing past the hospital on the way? Mel promised to lend this to a friend for a fancy-dress party and forgot to take it this morning. I told her we’d bring it by.’

Luke must have grimaced or something because when he glanced Adam’s way, he was watching him. ‘Problem?’

‘No worries,’ Luke said finally. He could smell Melanie’s perfume on those feathers, as if she were in the car with them.

‘What is it with you two?’ Adam asked.

‘We knew each other a few years back.’ Luke checked his mirror, then eased into the traffic. ‘It was kind of intense.’

‘So that’s why she was so moody this morning.’ Adam leaned over to check out the stereo. ‘This is one fine car.’

‘Sure is.’ Luke squinted into the afternoon sun-glare and concentrated on not thinking about how Melanie might have looked this morning. And not imagining how Melanie would look wearing nothing but that feather boa.

Five minutes later he pulled into the hospital’s car park.

They slid out at the same time, Adam heading at a brisk pace for the hospital entrance, Luke content to cool his heels near the car. He didn’t want to get involved in a conversation with Melanie. He didn’t want to get involved, period.

His engineering contract had ended so he’d decided to catch up with his parents and friends, but on the eve of his departure from Dubai he’d been offered a partnership in a unique business opportunity. He was still considering. Returning overseas wouldn’t go down well with his parents so as far as they were concerned he was settling in Sydney for good. Only Adam knew about the offer.

An impressive rounded bottom caught his eye in the next row of cars. Its owner was currently leaning into the engine of her car.

Tight black pants clung to long thighs and well-defined calf muscles. The quiet hum of lust in his veins was disturbed by a loud curse as the woman straightened, stamping a booted foot on the concrete.

Even as he said, ‘Car trouble?’ he recognised that voice, that thick rope of black hair over her shoulder. But anticipation forced the air out of his lungs, squeezing his chest and thickening his blood.

She whipped around, a flurry of colour and movement. ‘Luke!’ The multi-hued striped jumper suited her personality, suited the sparks that lit her eyes as their gazes connected. ‘I was expecting Mikey.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Any minute now.’

‘What’s the problem?’ And who the hell was Mikey?

She shook her head as she rubbed her arms against the chill wind. ‘Stupid thing won’t start again. I think it’s the battery.’ Eyes wary, she waved him away when he would have stepped closer. ‘It’s okay, Mikey knows my car. He’s my mechanic.’

So he knew her car. How well did Mikey-the-mechanic know Melanie? Judging by the sorry state of said vehicle, it would appear Mikey knew her quite well.

Luke turned his face into the wind and told himself he didn’t need the distraction of Melanie in his life. He needed a home-and-hearth woman who’d give him those grandchildren his parents were always on about. Some day.

‘You came with Adam, I assume? Did he bring my boa?’

Melanie’s question forced him to turn back. He slid her a glance and his heart stalled at the sight. In that split second his hopes of finding a home-and-hearth type that packed half the punch Melanie did bottomed out. ‘Yeah. He’s just up ahead…’ He pulled out his mobile, informed Adam, disconnected.

A moment later as he watched Adam approach, Luke fought a brief irrational stab of jealousy. Adam knew Melanie now, better than he did. He knew her idiosyncrasies, the scent she left in the bathroom after her shower. It was Adam who saw her mussed and sleepy-eyed first thing in the morning.

‘Thanks,’ she said as Adam draped the green feathers around her neck.

‘Well.’ Adam looked from Luke to Mel and back. ‘You two want to—’

‘I’m waiting for Mikey,’ Mel said, a wealth of defiance in her tone as she flicked at the boa. ‘Ah, there he is.’ She waved the feathers to a yellow van cruising the parking lot. ‘You two go ahead. I’ll be fine.’

‘You want to come for a drink too, Mel, when you get your car running?’ Adam asked.

‘Not tonight.’

Luke watched her eyes flicker with some emotion he couldn’t identify, heard the hesitation and the tightness in her voice. ‘Let me guess,’ he drawled, holding those eyes. ‘You have to wash your hair.’

‘I have an appointment.’ She didn’t flinch or look away and was it his imagination or did her grey eyes turn sultry? ‘I’m booked in for a massage and leg wax at six-thirty.’

Too much information. Too late, Luke recognised the danger and struggled to get past the image of her lying on a white couch, slippery, naked. With a strand of green feathers. Fingers of heat scored his skin. He shifted his stance to accommodate the building tension. He really, really didn’t need to go any further down that track. ‘Okay, then…’

He trailed off as he watched the sandy-haired Mikey climb out of his van and approach Melanie, a battery under one beefy arm and a swagger and a smile that didn’t fool anyone.

Then he saw her smile back and his confidence in Mel’s ability to see through men like that deflated like a lead balloon. ‘If you need any help…’ He directed his offer to no one in particular and set a beeline for his car. ‘Call us. Where shall we go?’ he asked Adam.

Adam turned to Luke, his shrewd blue eyes assessing. ‘Somewhere quiet and comfortable where you can fill me in on your acquaintance with Melanie Sawyer.’

* * *

‘Okay, girls, let’s see what we’ve got.’ Melanie tipped the contents of the shoebox onto the table and pushed up her sleeves. She and two colleagues were down to sorting prizes and matching numbers in the hospital employees’ cafeteria.

‘This silent auction was a great idea, Mel.’ Sophie spread out the cards with the donated prizes written on them.

‘You bet,’ Marie agreed with enthusiasm. ‘We’re going to raise some money for the Rainbow Road and have ourselves a good time.’

‘Hopefully,’ Sophie, ever the voice of caution, said.

‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Mel looked at Sophie, the youngest and newest member of the fund-raising group. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? If things don’t work out you end up home alone at ten p.m. on a Saturday night. Not too late to dial up pizza, open a bottle of wine and watch a DVD.’ Like Luke, she thought, remembering the spark between them as she’d passed him his DVDs.

Instantly she was back in the past with Luke’s mouth moving over her body, her hands in the silky strands of his hair as he took her higher, higher…

Her pulse took off God knew where and she must have taken after it, because when she finally focused on her surroundings her friends were watching her curiously.

She cleared her suddenly dry throat and said, ‘The best part about being alone is you get to choose the movie.’

Marie shook her head. ‘Sounds like a waste of a good Saturday night.’

‘Not at all.’ Not when you’ve got nothing better to do. Mel forced herself to straighten into business mode. ‘We’ve sorted the prizes in order of value. We’ve got several full body massages and dinners, lots of dinners-and-movies. Now we’re down to the serious prizes. A sunrise hot air balloon ride and champagne breakfast, tickets for a guided tour to the top of the Harbour Bridge followed by dinner at Doyles Seafood Palace—if you’ve still got an appetite, that is.’

‘And your donation, Mel. A chauffeured limo to Ben and Carissa Jamieson’s new hideaway in the Blue Mountains,’ Marie read from the prize description. ‘Romantic overnight for two, catered meals, all mod cons in a bush setting.’ Marie’s eyes flicked to Melanie. ‘The sad thing is, come Saturday night you’ll be the only one not enjoying yourself.’

‘Who says I haven’t got a hot date lined up already? Can we move along here?’ she said, feeling a little of that heat creep up her neck at the lie. ‘Some of us have to work in the morning.’

Bending her head to the task at hand, she concentrated on not feeling Marie’s speculative eyes on her. ‘The guys have been given a number and have written their bid alongside.’ She spread the bids on the table. ‘We order the numbers according to their bids, from highest to lowest, then match them to the prizes. No one knows their partner till Saturday night…oh, my God.’ Melanie stared at the zeros on number twenty-seven.

‘Ten thousand dollars,’ Marie read out over her shoulder. ‘Wow! Guess he takes your prize, huh, Mel?’ She did the eyebrow thing again. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to include yourself in the deal? Snag yourself a rich stranger for the evening, like Carissa?’

‘Quite sure.’ Melanie did a mental head shake. Who could afford that kind of money on hospital wages? Except…some bids came from outside, from family and friends… Luke’s got money to burn. Melanie’s pulse did a quick one-two.

No, she assured herself. It was too late for Luke’s bid. And Adam wouldn’t meddle in the Rainbow Road’s business. Would he?


CHAPTER THREE

BEN and Carissa’s very new and private city escape might be only a couple of hours’ drive from Sydney but it wasn’t exactly Highway One. Mel frowned as she steered her car through the dense eucalypt forest and hoped its out-of-tune engine wouldn’t give her any grief on the way home.

She glanced at the low scudding clouds then pumped up the heater and focused on beating the imminent cloudburst, wondering if the track Ben had generously called a road would still be there in three hours’ time when her guest and his partner for the evening arrived.

Her very rich or very charitable guest. Who was he? She shook off the shiver that coasted down her spine. She’d do the meet-and-greet thing to ensure they had everything they needed for a perfect intimate evening before she left, and find out then.

Finally the track opened up into a cleared block. The recently constructed retreat stood on a rise, its full-length windows on three sides looked out onto bushland and the nearby mountains. But with the sky darkening every wintry minute, Melanie didn’t pause to admire the view.

With her cartons of supplies precariously balanced and tucked beneath her chin, she made it to the door as the first needles of rain pricked at her face.

As she stepped inside her gaze took in the welcoming surroundings. Burgundy rugs covered the honeyed wooden floor, bold wall hangings lent warmth to the room. There was a stone fireplace with kindling and a beautiful baby grand piano by the window, waiting for Ben to compose.

Bedroom ready, she noted on her quick tour of inspection. There was a sumptuous bathroom and a separate spa and sauna.

Her first job was to light the fire and add some much-needed warmth. She lit the kindling, waited a moment, then added a couple of logs and watched as the flames sputtered and caught, filling the room with the scent of eucalypts.

Not knowing her guests’ preferences, she’d prepared a choice of prawn cocktail or pumpkin soup, a gourmet beef casserole with green side salad and fresh home-baked bread, and individual sticky date puddings or strawberries with cream for dessert. Not bad for someone who hated cooking.

She slid the casserole into the oven to heat slowly, set the table with ruby-red candles and put a matching bottle of wine on the kitchen bench. Checked her watch for the umpteenth time. A couple of hours to kill before her guests were due to arrive.

There was no TV. Not a book in sight. Pacing in front of the windows and clicking her nails, she shook her head at the wind-tossed trees. She had to do something. Anything to soothe the tension that had grabbed her with iron fists the moment she’d recognised Luke—had it only been two days?—and hadn’t let go.

A soak in that to-die-for bathroom? She could manage that and still have time on her hands.

Five minutes later she put on a favourite rock CD she’d found in Ben’s collection and cranked the volume up. Then she immersed herself up to the neck in hot fragrant bubble bath.

Outside the rain drummed on the roof. The wind had picked up—she could hear the trees, the splash of water against the frosted window. If it got any heavier she might be the only one here for the evening. Not a bad prospect—a glass of red, a toasty fire…

When the water began to cool, the thought of that fire’s warmth held instant appeal, so, wrapping a towel around herself, she took her clothes to the living room to dress.

Early dusk shrouded the view outside, but the fire-glow was enough to see by. She opened the towel and sighed as her damp bath-softened skin welcomed the heat. Pure bliss.

She let the towel slide slowly from her fingers, down her body as she closed her eyes and absorbed the sensation. Turning, she let the flames’ heat warm her back while she rolled her head in time to the beat of the music. Tugging her hair free, she tossed it over her shoulder as she belted out the lyrics.

Hardly aware at first, she began to move her hands. Over her collar-bones, down her sides to the curve of her waist, the firmness of her abdomen. She barely noticed the funky rhythm any more. It had been a long time since hands other than her own had touched her naked skin.

Luke’s hands.

She slid her palms over her breasts, felt them grow heavy as her nipples tightened. Her flesh swelled and moistened, her blood thickened and the sweet pull of arousal tugged at her womanhood.

She could’ve got lucky tonight. She had no doubt whatsoever that the man who’d paid ten thousand dollars would’ve come to the party and eased the ache.

If she’d opted to be his partner.

Why couldn’t she take her own advice and have a fling as she’d told Carissa to do? She had a drawerful of sexy underwear at home, something pretty to wear beneath that no-nonsense uniform she wore every day. The only guy who ever saw it was Adam when she did her laundry and he didn’t count.

She turned and saw her reflection in the glass window. Her hands dropped to her sides. What a sad sight you are, girl. And what are you doing? Even if it was teeming with rain and there was no one living within a seven-kilometre radius and a car’s lights would alert her to any arrivals…

A sudden shivery thrill rippled through her, as if someone had traced a fingernail down her body from neck to navel to… Hands rising automatically to shield herself, she peered into the gloom. Nothing but rain. She’d been without a lover in too long, that was all, and seeing Luke again had reawakened those lustful thoughts.

She shook the feeling away and turned back to the fire, reached for her bra and panties that no one ever saw. She had a meal to check on, wine to uncork, a welcome smile to cultivate.

* * *

He was going to freeze his balls off out here. Probably a good thing, considering the naked woman on the other side of the glass was Melanie.

Shaking the moisture from his face, Luke hunched his shoulders inside his rain-soaked jumper as he stood several feet away in the sheltering dark of the dripping eucalypts. He could still feel the residual gut-punch that had knocked him off-centre when he’d seen her enter the living room, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

He’d taken that in his stride—it had, after all, been a big towel. Heat still prickled his skin and sweat tracked a path down his spine even as the rain soaked through his shirt and sweater. Then, by God, she’d had to go and drop the damn thing. Not drop exactly, more of a slide, like a gloved hand over porcelain.

But unlike any normal healthy male who hadn’t had a woman in a while, he didn’t watch. Nope. He didn’t notice the way her breasts with their wine-dark nipples swayed in time with the music as she moved. He didn’t see the tiny birthmark on her left buttock. He knew nothing about the way her hands moved over satin-smooth skin.

Hell.

He fisted his hands inside the pockets of his tailor-made woollen trousers and glared up at the sky, letting the rain pelt his face. Anything to cool the beat of his blood and block the image that continued to dance behind his eyes.

He could hardly knock now and alert Melanie to the fact that he’d seen her naked and—he did a quick check—yep, she still was.

Never mind that he’d been standing here for five minutes hammering on the door before she’d appeared—a futile effort over that rock concert going on in there. And that he was probably going to catch pneumonia.

His hopes for a home-cooked meal and quiet evening of solitude going over his father’s business accounts—well, it wasn’t going to happen. Not after the temperature-elevating sight he’d witnessed. He scowled into the trees. Why had he let Adam talk him into this? Because a week ago he hadn’t known Melanie was his flatmate, that was why.

He shouldn’t have sent the limo away before he’d got inside. He should’ve brought an umbrella. And a spare pair of trousers. He should not have come an hour early.

Progress, he noted, glancing back over his shoulder. Finally. He breathed only marginally easier when he saw her reaching for her underwear. Her purple barely there underwear. The sight as she slid those panties up her thighs only added fuel to the fire in his blood.

When he looked again she was dressed and preparing something at the kitchen workbench, her hair a flow of ebony gleaming under the down-lights. For the first time he noticed the aromatic scent of something hot and spicy—red meat, onions, a hint of garlic.

He shook the water from his hair, sluiced it from his face with a hand and picked up his bag. Time to let her in on the surprise.

* * *

Melanie frowned at the door. Was that a knock? It was possible with the wind and music that she hadn’t heard the limo pull up, but no lights had beamed through the windows, no doors had slammed shut. It looked dark and lonely and wild out there.

There it was again. A definite knock. More insistent. And no wonder—it was pouring.

She turned off the stereo on her way, slicked her hair over her shoulder and, keeping the security chain on, she cracked open the door. The light shone on the figure of a big man glistening with water.

‘Good evening.’ Luke’s voice.

Luke’s face.

Luke’s eyes fixed on hers, and looking…hot.

For a stunned second she couldn’t move. Some part of her brain registered that he wasn’t damp—he was soaked, and that there was no limo in sight. Desperation had her hoping for a reasonable explanation that didn’t include him winning her prize.

But no. Shock waves of chills and heat chased through her body while he produced a card with a water-smudged number twenty-seven and held it out to her. ‘Seems I won this retreat for the evening.’

Adam, I’m going to kill you. ‘How did you get here?’ A tight, breathless moan rose up her throat.

He jerked a thumb at the track. ‘I let the ride go. Ah…I was… I’m a little early. Sorry.’

Which meant… Her whole body quivered with that implication as her eyes darted to his. ‘How much too early?’

His eyes glistened with arousal…but it could have been a trick of the firelight or water dripping from his lashes, carving waterfalls in the creases bracketing his nose and mouth. Couldn’t it?

Fat chance. She’d been caught out.

Oh, cripes, just let the man in. Her numb fingers slipped on the metal, rattling the chain as she slid it off and pulled the door wide.

She stood aside, wincing as his shoes made squelchy noises on the floor. Their gazes remained locked as he toed them off. His expression was too carefully schooled to be anything but contrived. He’d obviously been stumbling around in the dark for the past…how long? On further consideration she decided she didn’t want to know.

Her eyes left his to take a slow and thorough inventory of the damage. ‘You need to get out of those wet things. You do have a change of clothes…don’t you?’ In that slim business case? He’d brought a business case to a romantic rendezvous? Except that he’d come alone, a fact that was only now seeping through the brain fog.

‘I’m afraid not.’ Grim-faced, he raked a hand through his hair, scattering droplets.

‘There’s a clothes dryer, they’ll be dry in no—’

‘Forget it, it’s wool and an old favourite.’

When she looked up he’d already hauled the steel blue jumper and shirt over his head, leaving his chest gleaming in the foyer’s down-lights. Rugged, bronzed, slick with water.

She glanced behind her. ‘There’s a towel around here somewhere…’ Anything to cover that glorious nakedness.

‘Got it.’

On the floor behind the couch, out of sight and right where she’d left it. Of course, he already knew that. Her face burned anew. Not that she had any hang-ups about nudity, but remembering the little fantasy she’d been playing in her mind and knowing the object of that fantasy had been watching…

‘And the trousers?’ She let her gaze move over the dark fabric, and imagined how it would feel, how he would feel beneath her hand now, five years on. Tried not to think about other times when she’d done just that.

‘Wool too. Dry-clean only.’

His voice, thick and strained, brought her eyes back to his. It could have been because he was wet and cold and wishing he were somewhere else, but—dear heaven—she’d seen more than enough down there.

‘The bathroom.’ She pointed the way. ‘There are a couple of robes behind the door, then bring your wet clothes back here and put them in front of the fire.’

Her pulse roared like thunder in her ears. No, not her pulse, she realised, when she saw him glance outside on his way to the bathroom. An approaching storm front.

‘Great,’ she muttered as unease added to the volatile mix of emotions churning through her. Driving home in this weather on an unfamiliar road—track, she amended—was going to be an adventure she wasn’t looking forward to.

But she had a job to finish before she could escape. Stir the casserole, butter the rolls, get a grip.

The sound of the water running in the shower had her hands pausing on the expensive bottle of wine she’d uncorked. She would not think of all that golden skin and wet, gleaming muscle. Those large hands, soap, steam and warm, slippery moisture.

She concentrated instead on filling the crystal wineglass without spilling it. If she hadn’t faced the prospect of the long ride ahead she’d have poured herself one. Instead she breathed in the full-bodied aroma and took a generous sip from Luke’s glass, set it down and finished dinner preparations as the storm rumbled closer.

She didn’t put on the romantic piano CD or light the candles as she’d intended. Obviously they were going to be wasted on Luke and they certainly didn’t need any reminders of the past.

Which had her wondering why he hadn’t married one of those beautiful women she’d seen him with and had those children he’d always wanted.

His father had made it quite clear that was what he expected when he’d answered the one and only phone call she’d ever made to Luke, a month after they’d parted ways.

Luke’s mobile number had no longer worked, and, desperate to contact him, she’d phoned his parents’ home. She’d been so relieved when his father had answered her long-distance call from Coffs Harbour.

‘Melanie?’ he said in a voice so like Luke’s, her heart turned over in her chest. Then a silence so long she thought they’d been disconnected. ‘Ah, the waitress.’

The scorn in his voice lanced through her like a skewer through a cocktail kebab. ‘Please, I need to contact him; it’s very important.’

‘With girls like you it always is.’ She heard the unmistakable annoyance, the scepticism in his voice.

Melanie hugged her arms and stared at the black windows, remembering in horrible detail her fear, the overwhelming sense of aloneness, the frustration of being stopped at the gate, so to speak. So close yet so far.

‘I need to speak to Luke,’ she repeated.

‘He’s not interested in any further contact with you. Why don’t you save yourself the trouble and just let it go?’

So with no alternative, she had. A few months later she’d resigned herself to never seeing Luke again, a year later her application into the Bachelor of Nursing course had been accepted and she’d started over with a new career and a new outlook on life.

But like the storm, those dark memories had encroached on the room, sucking away the warmth of the fire. A flash of lightning lit up the scene as Luke entered the living room in the thick bathrobe with his wet clothes in his hands.

His overpowering, masculine energy, like a magnetic field, radiated across the room, dragging the breath clean out of her lungs. What she could see of his skin beneath the smattering of springy chest hair gleamed bronze and inviting against the snowy white towelling, a temptation that had her hands curling in reflex.

No. She forced her hands to straighten, smoothed her damp palms over her jeans. She wasn’t going down that track again.

Their eyes met while her heart drummed like the rain on the roof. Dark eyes, dark gaze. But for a beat of time, a warmer hot chocolate gaze that melted her from the inside out, thawing the chill of the past few moments. The way he’d looked at her so many times before.

But his father’s words rang in her ears, as loud and clear as the day he’d said them. The waitress. She might have pulled herself up a ways, but she was, and always would be, the hired help’s daughter.

Apart from the sex, she wasn’t in his league. It made it easier to turn away, to gather up her belongings in the living room. To ignore the sensation of Luke’s eyes burning through her as she shrugged into her coat while he leaned against the back of the couch.

She pulled her keys out of her pocket. ‘The dinner’s ready when you are. I’ve left a menu on the bench, the makings for breakfast are in the fridge, so I’ll be…’ She trailed off under his harsh gaze.

‘You’re not thinking of driving in this, are you?’

As if to punctuate his words, lightning stabbed through the window, followed immediately by a crack that shook the house on its foundations.

She matched his glare with one of her own. ‘I can’t stay here.’ With you naked under that robe. With five years of loneliness and frustration chipping away at my will-power. She turned away and began walking towards the door. ‘I have to get home.’

‘I saw the state of the track and that was a good hour ago,’ he said, and she felt the air move as he dumped his clothes on the couch. ‘No streetlights till you hit sealed road, maybe not even then. No one to lend a hand if you get bogged.’

She swung back to face him. ‘I’ve got my mobile phone.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mel. Surely we can manage to share a meal and a fire without…’

Tearing each other’s clothes off? Ah, yes, exactly what he’d been going to say, Mel thought, watching the tell-tale line of colour etch his cheekbones, feeling the flare of response smouldering in her own traitorous body.

She let out a slow breath. ‘Okay.’

It wasn’t one of Carissa’s ‘signs’—it wasn’t—but she could do this; they could do this. Two intelligent, civilised adults could share an evening, no problem. If she didn’t dim the lights and use the candles, if she stuck to the rock CD or no music at all—if she didn’t look at him—they’d do fine.

She could retire to the second bedroom after tea, catch up on some much needed rest, and in the morning this whole getaway retreat thing would be over and the Rainbow Road would be ten thousand dollars richer.


CHAPTER FOUR

‘WILL anyone worry if you don’t come home tonight?’

His voice took on a low, husky sound and all manner of scenarios involving her and Luke and why she wouldn’t be home tonight danced into Melanie’s mind. She slammed a mental lid on that Pandora’s box and shook her head.

‘No. I stay over at Carissa’s sometimes. Adam and I don’t keep tabs on each other.’ She gestured at the bench. ‘Your dinner. I’ll let you get on with it.’

‘Alone?’

The breath caught in her throat as the unspoken message in his smoky voice shivered through her, as the lambent heat in his eyes sent her pulse sky-rocketing. ‘You obviously intended solitude,’ she pointed out.

‘When circumstances change—’ he shrugged ‘—hardly seems fair that the cook goes hungry after all the trouble she went to.’

Circumstances had changed all right. Which was why she was stuck here for now, alone with Luke Delaney.

Resigned, and, yes, hungry, she slipped her keys back in her pocket, shrugged off her coat and moved to the small kitchen area off the living room. ‘Why don’t you try the wine while I get the seafood? We can eat by the fire, it’s warmer there.’

And she didn’t need to face Luke in a robe across the intimate table setting with its scented candles and vase of violets. She took the cocktails out of the fridge and set them on the bench.

‘Here you go.’ The husky sound of his voice made her jump.

She hadn’t heard Luke come up behind her and jerked around, almost knocking the two wineglasses from his hands.

It was easier—but safer—to look straight ahead at the large, blunt fingers curled around the delicate crystal stem…and on that soft V of the robe…than to tip her head back and meet his eyes.

He smelled of soap and new fabric and if she leaned closer her lips would meet warm, masculine skin just above that V. She remembered in full detail the exact spot where her lips touched his body when they stood toe to toe. Thigh to thigh. Breast to chest.

Oh, boy. Not so safe after all.

She tried to ignore her body’s toe-curling, lip-tingling response and took the glass with a murmured, ‘Thank you,’ and stepped back.

Except that now she could see the masculine texture of his jaw, the fullness of his lips and the dark stillness in his eyes, like a deep river with hidden depths and mysteries.

She took a sip to moisten her suddenly parched throat and watched him do the same. Watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Oh, stop. Watching, staring, admiring. Remembering.

‘Why don’t you—’ get out of my space, you’re crowding me ‘—go make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring the food.’

Her fingers tightened around the glass. The storm’s ferocity matched the beat of her heart, the stunning impact of his gaze while he took another gulp.

‘Give me your glass, then.’ He took it from her numb fingers, then turned and carried both glasses to the living area while she remained on the other side of the bench.

‘Prawn cocktails coming right up.’ She huffed out a breath, angry that her voice sounded breathless and weak. ‘Steady,’ she ordered herself quietly. ‘No more confined spaces.’

When she moved to the living area he was crouched in front of the fire, feeding it another log. She took the opportunity to put their prawns on the coffee-table and sink onto the safety of an armchair.

There’d been nights like these when they’d shared their passion in front of an open fire in Luke’s parents’ house on cool summer evenings. Grossly unnecessary in mid-January, but oh-so-romantic. He was remembering too—she knew by the silence, so tense she swore she could hear it snapping over the drumming of the rain.

Big mistake. The fireplace wasn’t any safer than the table setting.

Then the lights flicked once and went out. Blackness and tension suddenly filled the room, relieved only by the flames. She held her breath as Luke stood and turned to her, eyes glittering in the reflected glow.

‘Well, I guess that takes care of any paperwork I planned to do.’

‘I wonder how long it will be?’ Mel shivered. It felt even more isolated, more confining, more dangerous now. The world had shrunk to the ruddy sphere of firelight and she leaned instinctively towards it. Towards Luke.

‘Could be hours.’ He reached for one of the silver compotes and sat down on the leather couch across from her.

When she just stared at him, amazed at his casual attitude, he shrugged. ‘Might as well eat.’

Melanie tried, but her stomach was too tight with nerves to swallow more than the first couple of mouthfuls. Luke on the other hand suffered no such problem.

Twenty minutes later he’d finished a healthy serving of her casserole and started on the sticky date pudding. Apart from brief comments about the food, when the rain might ease, whether they had enough wood inside to last, hardly a word passed between them.

Yet Melanie could feel the tension. It hummed in the air, louder than the rain’s rhythm on the roof, the hiss of the fire, more powerful than the wind whipping around the windows.

‘So what papers were you going to work on?’ she asked. Anything to drown that lack of normal human conversation.

‘Just some of Dad’s finances. I promised I’d take a look. Thought I might as well start tonight.’

‘You’re staying a while, then? In Sydney?’

‘Yes.’ He stopped scraping the bottom of his dessert bowl to look at her. ‘It’s a big city, Mel.’

‘Not so big. You’re Adam’s friend.’

‘Our paths don’t have to cross. Unless you want them to.’ He set the bowl on the coffee-table and watched her as long, tension-filled seconds ticked by.

Waiting for a response? Her heart stalled, then kaboomed once.

‘We’re adults,’ he said, when she didn’t answer. ‘We can bury the past and try to get along.’

‘Do we really ever bury the past?’

He scrubbed at his jaw. ‘Not all, I guess. For example…’

He rose in one quick agile movement that had Melanie scooting upright, pulse stepping up a notch, hands gripping the chair.

But he didn’t come near her. He retrieved his briefcase from the near the door, padded back to the fire and unsnapped it, pulled out a packet of marshmallows resting on his notes.

‘I was going to toast these tonight. Seeing you again the other day reminded me I hadn’t enjoyed them in too long.’ He studied her a moment and she knew he knew she was remembering. ‘I wanted to see if they still taste the same.’

For a moment she could almost taste them on her tongue, could almost taste him—warm and deliciously tempting.

‘How about it? We’ll need a couple of thin branches, won’t take a moment…’

‘No!’ Her instant jolt of reaction was premature. A quick trip outside would give her a few moments alone. Time to cool the slow-combustion energy building between them. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said, and pushed up. ‘You get that robe wet and…’ Well, they both knew what that meant…

She took her coat from the hat-stand by the door and let herself outside. The rain had paused briefly but the gums dripped, the air was redolent with eucalyptus and wet earth, cooling her heated skin, but not cold enough to cool the hot pulse of blood in her veins.

Was she seriously entertaining the prospect of sharing something as cosy as a fire and toasted marshmallows with Luke Delaney? For one insane moment Melanie fingered the car keys in her pocket and considered getting into her car and driving as fast and as far away as she could. Away from temptation, away from the memories.

Not so insane, she thought, more like self-protection.

She should lock herself in the other bedroom and pull the covers over her head and stay there till morning. Except that was the coward’s way out and she liked to think she was no coward. And an insistent part of her brain nagged her to find out more about what he’d been doing since they parted.

Luke snatched the decision from her when the door opened and he peered out into the darkness, his body silhouetted against the glow inside.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.’ She grabbed a branch, shook off the moisture and hurried to the door. ‘Strip this and I’ll make hot chocolate.’

‘I’ll make the drinks. You’ve done a first-rate job of the meal, now it’s my turn.’

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?

She picked up her mug, wrapped her stiff fingers around it and tried to sip the chocolate, but there was a lump in her throat and it wasn’t the marshmallow. It was resentment, hard and bitter and impossible to swallow.

Ignoring his own mug, Luke drank the rest of his wine, poured himself another. Mel started to warn him he’d pay for it in the morning but instantly bit down on her words. If he wanted to get quietly drunk that was his business. Cripes, she was almost tempted to join him, but someone needed to be alert if the storm did any more damage.

So she leaned back and let her lips caress the china. What would Carissa make of all this? Oh, she knew already what her stepsister would say and she was sick of hearing about signs and fate and soul mates. Which was why she hadn’t told Carissa about Luke’s return yet.




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