Читать книгу The Ex Factor - Anne Oliver, Anne Oliver - Страница 10

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.