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.’
