The guy she knew so very well. The guy who was now intimate with her body, who had made her moan and climax.
As Kat ran her eyes over the house’s familiar lines and tried not to think about that, the buggy wound its way along the driveway, until finally they stopped at the front door and Marco got out. Again, he offered his hand and she was forced to take it, although she quickly released him as soon as she stepped out.
“We need to secure the shutters before the storm hits,” he said, eyeing the sky.
Kat nodded and followed him to the long path edged with a sturdy safety railing that ran all the way around the house. As the wind slowly picked up and the trees began to sway, they both worked in silence, cranking down the storm shutters covering the multitude of windows. With the last one firmly in place, they returned to the front.
“The birds and the bats flew off a few hours ago,” Marco commented, frowning into the dark sky. “They know something’s wrong.”
A chill ran over her skin. “The Bureau of Meteorology said the main eye is bound for Cairns.”
“Yeah, they’re bracing for the worst—mobile phone towers down, power outages. The ports will be closed, too. So, not the best place to be right now. Let’s get inside.”
“I’ve got nothing to wear,” she said suddenly as she stepped in the door.
“You’ve still got some stuff from last time. And you can borrow from me if you need to.”
Walking around in Marco’s clothes, smelling his scent, knowing the exact same garments had been right up next to his skin? Just. No.
Kat said nothing as she walked into the familiar coolness of the slate foyer, down the hall to the back of the house, past the amazing indoor pool with wet bar to her right, the elegant water feature bubbling away to her left.
Finally she reached the heart of the house—the huge combined kitchen and entertainment area with comfy sofas, a wide-screen plasma TV, dining table to the side, curved walls with floor-to-ceiling windows and a fully equipped kitchen. She and his guests always spent their time here, eating and talking current affairs, the state of the world, his second home in Marseille and the ever-present topic, European football.
She went straight to the fridge, grabbed a ginger beer and then walked to the barricaded windows that normally displayed an uninterrupted one-eighty view of the Pacific Ocean.
During the day the simple beauty of searing blue sky stretched forever until it eventually dipped to kiss the dark ocean in the far distance. At night, the absolute blackness enveloped everything, the only respite the tiny mainland lights on the horizon. Except this time she was more than acutely aware of the brewing storm playing out behind the shutters, matching her churning thoughts as she heard Marco’s firm footfalls on the polished marble behind her. The vague scent of his aftershave brought back the uncomfortable memories from that one night, ten weeks ago.
“So we should be clear of the storm here,” she began, her back still to him, the cold ginger-beer bottle cradled against her warm neckline.
“Yes.” He reached for the patio door handle and swung it wide, walking out onto the lit deck. “But we’ve still got a warning and need to take all precautions.”
“Your cellar,” she said as he began to collect the deck chairs.
He nodded then grinned. “And you guys teased me for converting it.”
She pulled a chair inside the back door. “Well, to be fair, the worst you’d ever seen was a tropical rainstorm, not a cyclone.”
“Always a first time for everything.”
Those words took on a whole new meaning tonight. She watched him carry the patio chairs inside, waiting for him to break the silence as she picked at the label on her ginger-beer bottle.
He finally closed and locked the door, and after a few minutes of him shoving the chairs into a corner and saying nothing, she was about ready to break.
“Marco—”
“Kat—”
They both turned and spoke at the same time, but it was Kat who paused for him to continue. When he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, she wanted to groan out loud. She knew exactly what that hair felt like in her fingers, how soft it was, how it curled and waved with a life of its own, and how with one gentle tug at the nape she could direct his mouth to a better place on her neck....
Oh, God, I have to stop thinking about that!
When she glanced up, he was looking at her with those dark eyes, assessing her every word, movement and expression until she felt vaguely underdressed. Ridiculous, because the last thing on his mind right now was getting her naked and into bed.
What a vision that conjured up. No. No! Stop it!
Then he abruptly turned and the moment shattered.
“You need food,” he said, striding over to the kitchen and opening the fridge door. “And we need to prepare for tonight.”
Her stomach took that moment to remind her of her long-gone lunch, and with a sigh she followed him over, her mind on the immediate problem of her empty belly. “What do you have?”
He waved his hand inside the fridge. “You choose. I’m going to tape up the windows.”
* * *
Kat prepared bread rolls, cheese, cold meats and potato salad while Marco placed thick tape across all the windows. After they ate, they sat on the sofa and had coffee, the muted TV spurting out nonstop cyclone updates.
It was a familiar scenario—the coffee, the silent television, their seating positions: she at one corner, sprawled across two spots and hugging a pillow, he in the opposite corner with ankles and arms crossed. Yet the unspoken tension in the air was smoke-thick and just as hard to ignore.
This time it was Kat who broke the silence. “You know, Grace was arranging a surprise dinner for your return.”
His eyebrow went up. “Was she?”
“Yeah.”
“Right.” The slight grimace in his expression spoke volumes.
“What’s that look for?”
“What look?”
“Don’t give me that. You know the one.”
He sighed. “I don’t know why she keeps bothering. We broke up months ago.”
“I see,” Kat said slowly, pressing her lips together. Marco would never lie to her—so was it all wishful thinking on Grace’s part? She frowned. Yeah, Grace liked to talk up all her relationships—that TV exec three months ago, the Russian writer, the ex-soapie star.
Then Marco abruptly turned on the couch, giving her his full attention, and she forgot all about Grace’s love life.
“Kat, this is me here. We talk about pretty much everything—”
“Not everything.”
