Anne Oliver - The Ex Factor

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.’