balcony and the panoramic view of the tiny town that lay out before them. ‘Chardonnay would be lovely.’
‘Coming right up.’
He tipped a finger to his head in a salute before padding back into the kitchen, his bare feet making a soft padding sound against the old wooden boards.
Sighing, she leaned against the balcony, propped on her elbows, wondering if there was such a thing as happily ever after.
Was she crazy thinking about giving their marriage a second chance after what she’d been through first time around? Considering what she’d have to tell him if she was mad enough to give in to him?
What she did know was the heady attraction zinging between them since the first moment they’d met hadn’t waned. If anything it had intensified, the underlying heat needing little to burst into a raging conflagration of yearning and passion.
Not that he was pushing her, oh, no, far from it. Blane was categorically the nicest guy she’d ever met. Not to mention handsome in a rough-around-the-edges way she adored, funny, smart, thoughtful…throw in courteous, respectful, add some newly acquired chef skills to the list, and she knew she was in serious trouble.
Saying she had no interest in resurrecting their marriage was a crock, and she knew it.
To make matters worse, she’d agreed to spend the night. Not a big deal in itself, considering they’d been living together for the last month but, somehow, being housemates where they were both so busy with their respective businesses they rarely saw each other was completely different to this.
A weekend away, he’d said after she’d laughed off his fumigating excuse, time out from her busy schedule to kick back with no strings attached, and she’d foolishly agreed.
It had all seemed so simple saying yes over an espresso at the end of a long, tiring day when her body ached, her mind fogged and her soul exhausted, his offer just the thing for a workaholic who hadn’t had a day off in over a year.
However, now they were here at his mate’s holiday house after an incredibly fun afternoon at the beach, reality hit.
They’d be in each other’s company twenty-four/seven, without the excuse of work or meetings or late-night trading to hide behind. Not that she’d been avoiding him exactly; business at the Niche had been off the scale. She’d had regular meetings with the new project manager at her apartment to ensure everything ran smoothly and on time, and some of her staff had come down with a flu bug, and she’d had to do some serious juggling.
However, it had been late at night, when she’d all but fallen into bed, that she’d been all too aware of him sleeping across the hall from her, so close…so tantalisingly close…
Now here she was, sharing meals with him, sharing memories, those precious snapshots imprinted on her brain to be flicked through at will, and the self-imposed barriers she’d erected between them would come crashing down. Then what?
She didn’t stand a chance of holding him off.
‘Right, here you go, one chilled Chardonnay and a seafood platter for two.’
‘Thanks.’
She took the ice-cold glass from him and gulped the wine, the refreshing bite of the Hunter Valley grapes loosening her throat which had constricted at the thought of taking a risk of this magnitude.
With impeccable manners as always, he drew out a chair for her. ‘You better take it easy with that stuff. If my memory serves correct, you had two sips of champers on our honeymoon night and it went straight to your head.’
‘I didn’t hear you complaining.’
They locked gazes, hot, smouldering, instantly transported back to a time when they’d been ecstatically happy and totally free of responsibility, a time when it had just been the two of them so wrapped up in each other they’d been ready to tackle the world head on.
But that time had passed, the opportunity for the Blane and Cam team lost.
Or was it?
He cleared his throat and took the seat opposite. ‘You got that right. Those were special times, huh?’
‘The best.’
The words popped out before she could think, and she grabbed her fork and speared a piece of grilled calamari, concentrating on filling her plate with the deliciously aromatic garlic prawns, salmon fillet and scallops he’d barbecued to perfection, anything to avoid blurting out any more home truths.
‘Do you miss them as much as I do?’
She couldn’t lie to him, couldn’t hold him back for ever, and she nodded, forking a ring of butter-soft calamari into her mouth, savouring the fresh sea taste with a burst of lemon, using the scrumptious food as an excuse not to speak and betray the lump of emotion lodged in her throat.
‘We could have those times again, you know.’ He reached across and captured her hand, his long, warm fingers curling around hers like the most natural, comforting thing in the world. ‘I think you want it as much as I do.’
This was why she shouldn’t have come this weekend. A bit of light-hearted flirting she could handle, it was this revealing-your-soul thing she sucked at. And boy, would he get the shock of a lifetime when she bared her soul.
Swallowing, she washed the yummy seafood down with a sip of wine, much slower this time. ‘Honestly? I don’t know what I want.’
He withdrew his hand, and she raised her eyes, disheartened by the hint of wariness in his. ‘That’s okay. I didn’t mean to get all heavy on you. This weekend’s meant to be about relaxation, remember?’
The tension between them dissolved as he helped himself to seafood, but she could tell she’d hurt him. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to be honest, and while they were growing closer every day, she still couldn’t throw all her reservations away in one go.
‘Relaxation. Right, got it,’ she said, picking up her fork and twirling it between her fingers, emotions tumbling through her in a confusing torrent: fear and hope waging a fierce battle as she struggled to come to a decision. Married or not, for there would be no middle ground. She couldn’t go on being friends with her husband for ever, and she didn’t expect him to sit around and wait indefinitely.
She had to make a choice, and soon, for both their sakes.
Reaching for his wine glass, he raised it in her direction. ‘I propose a toast. To focusing on this weekend and making it a new and exciting time to remember.’
She’d drink to that, and she picked up her glass and clinked it against his. ‘To new and exciting times ahead.’
But excitement wore off. The gloss of getting reacquainted would soon fade and pale in the face of making tough decisions, the type of life-changing decisions affecting both of them once she told him the truth.
She would have to tell him about her infertility if they were to take a second chance on their marriage; there would be no holding back despite the sick, hollow ache deep in her soul every time she thought about what she’d been through and how it affected her future…their future.
Excitement
