Her Ex, Her Future?. Louisa George

call or something?

      Well, if he was, she thought, her indignation firing, that was just awful. If he was, she’d have liked to be able to turn back time in order to slam the door in his face when he first pitched up on her doorstep.

      ‘You want to take me to bed?’ she said, her tone as scathing as she could manage, which wasn’t very because in amongst the indignation and shock was something that felt suspiciously like hurt, although what there was to be hurt about she had no idea.

      ‘Very badly.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You have to ask?’

      ‘Clearly,’ she said dryly. ‘Are you lonely for a little company on New Year’s Eve, Kit?’

      ‘Perhaps.’

      ‘You must be pretty desperate if you’re here.’

      ‘I am.’

      ‘So what is this? Auld lang syne and the remembering of old acquaintances or something?’

      ‘I don’t know what this is,’ he muttered, shoving his hands through his hair, looking as baffled as she felt. ‘I didn’t come here to sleep with you, Lily, but nevertheless I want to.’

      ‘Well, I don’t, so dream on, darling, because it’s never going to happen.’

      He nodded. ‘Fine. Then move aside and I’ll go.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘You aren’t moving.’

      ‘I’m about to.’

      But she wasn’t. Because, to her horror, her feet refused to move.

      A burst of panic exploded inside her and she felt a cold sweat break out all over her skin.

      Why wasn’t she sending him on his way, as he’d demanded? Why wasn’t she moving aside, wrenching the door open and bundling him out? Why was she still standing here, deliberating, struggling with herself?

      Struggling with herself?

      Oh, no, she thought, her heart hammering. Why was what should be an easy decision a struggle? Why was she dithering? She wanted him to leave, didn’t she? She didn’t care why he was here, did she? She was over him. Wasn’t she?

      Kit went very still, alert, like a panther about to pounce. ‘You still feel it too, don’t you?’

      ‘Feel what?’ she said, so poleaxed by the notion that she even had to question her indifference to him after such certainty for so long that for a moment she genuinely didn’t know what he meant.

      ‘The chemistry.’

      ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, not altogether genuine now.

      ‘Yes, you do.’

      ‘I’m over you,’ she said to convince herself more than him.

      ‘Are you?’

      ‘Totally.’

      ‘Then why aren’t you moving?’

      ‘You’re in the way.’

      He took a step back, but to her alarm it didn’t make any difference to her mobility. And he knew it. She could tell by the glint in his eye, and the panic escalated to such a level that she thought the top of her head was about to blow off.

      What if she wasn’t as over him as she’d thought? What if, despite all this time, despite all the lengths she’d gone to to ensure otherwise, she wasn’t over him at all?

      Because if she was, she wouldn’t have to spend every anniversary drunk out of her mind to avoid the memories, would she?

      If she was, she wouldn’t have found it so hard to drink out of those glasses.

      If she was, she wouldn’t be so afraid of mind-blowing sex, and she wouldn’t only enter relationships with men who left her body completely unstirred.

      If she was she wouldn’t have felt so hurt at the thought Kit had just come here for sex.

      ‘Do you want to know what I think, Lily?’

      ‘No,’ she said, her voice as croaky as if she hadn’t used it for years.

      ‘I think you’re as over me as I am over you.’

      She cleared her throat and tried to pull herself back on track. ‘You can think what you like.’

      ‘Can you honestly say you don’t want me?’

      No. ‘Yes.’

      ‘I don’t believe you.’

      ‘Too bad.’

      ‘I want you.’

      ‘Well, we can’t always have what we want.’

      ‘Can’t we?’ he murmured.

      She set her jaw because whatever he wanted, whatever she might or might not want—and who knew the answer to that?—them sleeping together would be a disaster of titanic proportions and she had no intention of giving in. ‘No.’

      He moved closer, his gaze not letting her look away, and beneath its intensity she felt her resolve, her immunity to him begin to crumble. ‘Are you sure about that?’

      Her heart thundered. ‘Quite sure.’ And then at the predatory gleam in his eye, she added, ‘What?’

      ‘I’ve thought about you, you know.’

      She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less but inside she was beginning to shake. ‘Have you?’

      He nodded, his eyes glittering, and took a step forwards. ‘A lot.’

      ‘I haven’t thought about you at all.’

      ‘Really?’

      She nodded. ‘Really. Not once.’

      ‘Don’t you remember how it used to be?’

      ‘I remember how it was in the end.’

      ‘Coward.’ He reached out and touched her hair while his gaze dipped to her mouth, and despite all her protests she shivered.

      ‘Kiss me and you’ll regret it,’ she said, unfolding her arms and flexing and curling her fingers in warning, but that didn’t seem to stop him.

      He tilted his head and looked down at her, his eyes as black as night and so full of intent and desire that she could barely breathe.

      ‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take,’ he muttered, and before she could even think of protesting he slid his hand round to the back of her neck then bent his head and captured her mouth with his.

       FOUR

      Lily tried to keep her mouth closed and her eyes open, she really did, but the familiarity of Kit, the heat of his mouth, his body and his scent blew away her resistance like a dandelion on the wind, and within a second she found herself succumbing to the drugging desire that swept through her.

      Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned and his tongue thrust into her mouth with devilish intent. The heat and the spark she’d felt earlier and had ignored shot back with a rush and her knees went weak.

      Any thought of pushing him away vanished. The fingers she’d been flexing in warning now clutched at his shirt to pull him closer because despite everything they’d been through, everything she’d tried to convince herself of over the years, she’d missed him. So damned much.

      She could tell herself that she didn’t want and didn’t need that spark all she liked, but, goodness, she’d missed feeling like this. The heady, delirious rush of simple, hot desire, without any of the angst and anguish that had blighted