Louisa George - Backstage with Her Ex

Whereas Cassie—she’d always been happy-go-lucky, life’s too short sort. Far too scatty for his liking. And serious Suzy, the eldest, had just put her head down and worked hard to protect them all. Three girls hit in different ways by one tragedy.

Then it occurred to him that the gents’-toilet fiasco would have pretty much killed Sasha. Her plans gone awry, then finding herself in his car. All out of her control. She liked to play safe.

And he didn’t.

She looked so enthusiastic about her files he decided to indulge her. What did a few more minutes matter? ‘Okay, sweet thing, hit me with it. And if I nod off, then, literally, hit me with it.’

An eyebrow peaked. ‘Aww, your poor addled rock-star brain can’t handle a few simple facts and figures?’

‘Hey, I can handle anything you throw at me. Numbers, forecasts, projections. Do your worst.’ He stretched his arms out and clicked his fingers. ‘Bring it on.’

‘You know your problem? You’re all talk.’

‘What, and no action? That’s a dangerous gauntlet you’re throwing at me. You’d want to be very careful.’ He held her gaze, wondering what she’d do if he just leaned in and covered that mouth with his. Would she drop the brisk schoolteacher act? Would she kiss him back?

The vibe tugged and tightened.

‘Just an observation.’ She swallowed. ‘And, according to Cassie, careful is my middle name. Now listen.’ Laughing nervously, she kicked off her shoes, shuffled up against the arm of the couch and faced him, fingertips running over the lines of ink. Making a good pretence that the heat in the room hadn’t just hit scorching point. ‘We have to cover the cost of train fares, hotels, my supply-teacher salary for a couple of days...I’ve broken it down into individual child cost, just for ease, so each one has a personal target to aim for...’

All he could see was page after page of graphs and squiggly lines. Her voice rose and fell in her schoolteacher voice as, head dipped, she focused on every darned detail.

But it gave him a chance to watch her, the tight swallow at her throat as she spoke, the tap of her toes. His gaze tiptoed up her legs, to the folds in her skirt, the tight cinch of her waist. He remembered how his hands had fitted around that waist ten years ago. Looked as if that couldn’t happen now—but he liked her filled out a little.

His foolish heart tripped as his eyes travelled up the swell of her breast to her neck, the curve of her lips. And he realised she was frowning.

‘Nathan? I said, are we done?’

Before he could stop himself he reached out and tilted her chin so he could see her eyes again. The heat there lit a fire in his gut and he was hit with a sudden need to know if her lips tasted just the way he remembered. ‘Hell, Sasha, I don’t know. Are we?’

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