Her Ex, Her Future?: One Night with Her Ex / Seven Nights with Her Ex / Backstage with Her Ex. Lucy King
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He was absolutely nuts about her. She was the strongest, toughest, most beautiful woman he’d ever met and he was a fool to have ever let her go. He’d never fallen out of love with her and he was going to do everything in his power to win her back.
But he couldn’t barge in and tell her what he wanted, he thought suddenly, watching Lily drain the last of her coffee and stifle a yawn. He couldn’t carry on with the strategy he’d employed up until now. He was going to have to tread carefully. Their relationship was so fragile, their truce so new, and he could so easily screw things up with his impatience, his need to be in control and his continual drive to move things forwards.
It might be the challenge of the century but with Lily he had to switch mindsets. He had to take a back seat and wait. He had to let her come to him, and then they could begin to build their relationship from there.
So there’d be no more chasing. No more persuading her to do things she didn’t really want to do. No more doing anything that might scare her off.
Whatever happened next had to be her decision. All he could do was ensure that he did his best to help her make the one he wanted.
* * *
Despite her initial misgivings the evening really couldn’t have gone any better, thought Lily, walking beside Kit as he escorted her back to her villa, the inky darkness of the night wrapping round them like a warm, cosy blanket.
Once they’d moved on from the difficult topic of their mess of a marriage, accompanied by course after course of heavenly food and delicious wine, the banter had batted back and forth with barely a break for breath. They’d had so much to talk about, so much to find out. It had been just like old times, but somehow better.
As they’d begun to get to know the people they’d become, Lily had found herself liking Kit more and more, and beneath one lethal smile after another she’d felt herself fall deeper and deeper under his spell.
She’d known it was happening, known that she was being foolhardy and reckless in not bothering to resist, but it had been such a long time since she’d felt like this, all relaxed and languid yet buzzing at the same time, that she hadn’t been able to stop herself.
And hadn’t really wanted to because over the course of the evening the answers to the questions she’d spent this afternoon trying to figure out had become increasingly clear, and now it seemed that the night held myriad possibilities.
Possibilities that had her body thrumming with anticipation and her heart thumping crazily because dinner had cleared the air. Cleaned the slate. Had maybe, even, reset their relationship, put them back at the start and cleared the way for a stab at a second chance together, free from and prepared for all the trouble that had come their way the first time round.
The idea was kind of thrilling, she thought, going all shivery and hot inside. Exciting. And what she wanted.
What Kit wanted, however, was completely up in the air. He’d been silent and thoughtful ever since he’d offered to walk her back, and infuriatingly wasn’t giving anything away.
But if he was as achingly aware of her as she was of him then there was only one logical conclusion to tonight, and even though on some dim and distant level she knew the idea of falling into bed with him again needed way more consideration, the desire simmering inside her was too insistent to ignore.
‘You know, if I’d known how cathartic getting all that stuff off my chest was going to be, I’d have been in touch with you years ago,’ said Lily a little huskily as they strolled up the path to her villa.
‘Would you?’ he murmured.
‘Absolutely. I feel as if I’ve spent the last five years carrying this enormous kind of weight that’s suddenly gone. I feel lighter somehow. Calmer.’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘I’m glad we talked. And had the chance to catch up,’ she added with a smile.
‘So am I.’
At her door she turned to him and lifted her face, her pulse hammering so hard he must surely be able to see it. Would surely act on it.
‘So what happens now?’ she said, the anticipation and excitement zipping through her making her all trembly inside.
‘Now?’ he said, reaching out a hand and softly running his forefinger down her cheek.
She nodded and held her breath as every one of her senses focused on him and this moment.
He tilted his head, his eyes dark and unfathomable. ‘Well, sweet pea, that rather depends on you.’
‘Me?’ she echoed softly, the endearment and his touch stealing her ability to think straight.
He nodded and gave her a faint smile. ‘That’s right. So have a think about it and let me know.’
And just as she was about to ask what he meant Kit bent his head, dropped a light kiss on her cheek and then, to her utter bewilderment, turned and walked off into the night.
Lily didn’t sleep well—largely because she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning while her body hummed with frustration and unsatisfied desire and her mind churned with confusion—and when dawn broke she was still wide awake, the questions that had plagued her all through the night still rattling around her head.
What on earth was Kit playing at? she wondered, staring up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan that hung over her bed and listening to the soft whirr it made.
Last night she could have sworn he’d been as aware of her as she had of him. She’d been convinced that the practically tangible tension and attraction had been mutual. And what with the endearment, the one she hadn’t heard for years, and the touch to her cheek, a gesture so familiar and so missed it made her heart ache just to think about it now, she’d been certain he’d ask to come in for a nightcap, and equally certain that she’d say yes.
But how wrong she’d been. How disappointingly, confusingly wrong.
After the urgency of what had happened in her hall last week and the way he’d crossed half the globe to come and find her—not to mention the interest she’d thought he’d displayed over dinner—the fact that he’d suddenly backed off baffled the hell out of her. She hadn’t been expecting—or wanting—the restraint she’d got, the chaste little kiss, nor the tossing of the ball neatly into her court.
And what was that all about anyway?
What had he meant when he’d said that what happened next was up to her? Why was it up to her? And up to her how?
What was he expecting her to do? Make a move? Jump his bones or something? Well, that was never going to happen without some kind of signal from him, she thought darkly. Not now. No way. She needed to know how he felt about her before she made herself vulnerable like that again. She