The Ex Factor

‘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.