Her Ex, Her Future?: One Night with Her Ex / Seven Nights with Her Ex / Backstage with Her Ex

Her Ex, Her Future?

One Night with Her Ex

Lucy King

Seven Nights with Her Ex

Louisa Heaton

Backstage with Her Ex

Louisa George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

One Night with Her Ex

About the Author

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Seven Nights with Her Ex

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Backstage with Her Ex

Back Cover Text

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Copyright

One Night with Her Ex

Lucy King

LUCY KING spent her formative years lost in the world of Mills & Boon romance when she really ought to have been paying attention to her teachers. Up against sparkling heroines, gorgeous heroes and the magic of falling in love, trigonometry and absolute ablatives didn’t stand a chance.

But as she couldn’t live in a dream world for ever she eventually acquired a degree in languages and an eclectic collection of jobs. A stroll to the River Thames one Saturday morning led her to her very own hero. The minute she laid eyes on the hunky rower getting out of a boat, clad only in Lycra and carrying a three-metre oar as if it was a toothpick, she knew she’d met the man she was going to marry. Luckily the rower thought the same.

She will always be grateful to whatever it was that made her stop dithering and actually sit down to type ‘Chapter One’, because dreaming up her own sparkling heroines and gorgeous heroes is pretty much her idea of the perfect job.

Originally a Londoner, Lucy now lives in Spain, where she spends much of her time reading, failing to finish cryptic crosswords, and trying to convince herself that lying on the beach really is the best way to work.

Visit her at www.lucykingbooks.com

To the challenging, tough, frustrating, wonderful, crazy thing that is marriage.

ONE

Right. That was it. Enough was enough.

As the last of Big Ben’s twelve bongs echoed through the night and the sky began to explode with fireworks, Kit Buchanan knocked back the inch of whisky that was left in his glass and glowered at the dazzling display erupting over the Thames beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse suite.

Forget the work he’d lined up to do this evening; he hadn’t touched it anyway. Forget the fact that it was the middle of the night and freezing cold; what with the burning sensation of the alcohol and the relentlessness of the thoughts drumming through his head he felt as if he were on fire.

And forget the fact that he was about to embark on a course of action that probably required a good deal more consideration than the ten minutes he’d just given it.

He needed to sort out the mess he was in. Now.

For five years he’d been suffering. Five long, torturous, frustrating-as-hell years, and he’d finally had it. He was through with the lingering guilt, the excruciating tension and the crippling anxiety, all of which vibrated through him pretty much constantly and all of which he’d had to live with for far too long. He’d had enough of beating himself around the head with more self-recrimination and regret than any man needed to experience in one lifetime.

And he was sick of having no option but to split up with the women he dated.

The last one, Carla, whom he’d been seeing for a month and with whom he’d broken up just a few hours ago, he’d liked more than usual. He wouldn’t have minded seeing a bit more of her, seeing where the relationship might head.

But that was pretty impossible given the problem he suffered, wasn’t it?

It really couldn’t go on.

Kit slammed the glass down on his desk and made a quick call to commandeer one of his hotel’s limousines. Then he grabbed his coat and strode towards the lift. He punched the little round button and waited, bristling with impatience as his mind churned with details of the trouble he had with sex.

For the first couple of years following his divorce he hadn’t been too bothered by his inability to function in bed. He’d told himself that after what he’d done he’d deserved it, and would willingly take the punishment. He’d assured himself that it wouldn’t last for ever, and that as he wasn’t a hormone-ridden, sex-obsessed teenager he could live with it.

But depressingly—and worryingly—it had lasted, and when matters hadn’t improved a year or two later he’d begun to get a bit concerned.

And while pride and the potential for total humiliation had stopped him from doing anything about it initially, eventually he’d gritted his teeth and summoned up the courage to make an appointment with his doctor.

Which hadn’t helped in the slightest.

The doctor had told him that there was nothing physically wrong with him and had suggested that perhaps his problem was psychological. He’d recommended a course of therapy, which had been pointless largely because Kit hadn’t been able to bring himself to be entirely open and honest with the therapist about his relationship with Lily or the circumstances surrounding their divorce.

After that he’d tried almost every option that was left, astounding himself with the lengths he’d been willing to go to to find a cure. He’d read books, scoured the Internet and acquainted himself with homeopathy. Plumbing the depths of desperation, he’d even given hypnosis a shot.

But he needn’t have bothered with any of it because nothing he’d tried had worked, and it had been driving him nuts.

This evening, after he’d said a regret-laden goodbye to Carla, he’d racked his brains for any course of action he might have missed, anything that might help, and it had suddenly struck him that there was something he hadn’t tried.

It wasn’t guaranteed to succeed, he thought, his jaw tight and a deep frown etched on his forehead as the lift doors opened with a sibilant swoosh and he strode inside, and God knew it wasn’t in the slightest bit appealing, but if the only avenue left open to him was to head straight to what the therapist had suggested might be the source of his problem—namely his ex-wife—and to see if talking might work where everything else had failed, then that was what he’d do, because frankly he couldn’t stand this affliction any longer.

* * *

‘You’re engaged?’

Lily leaned against the kitchen counter for support and wondered what more the evening held in store for her in the shock-to-the-system stakes, because if there was anything else waiting in the wings she was off to bed the minute she hung up.

‘That’s right,’ replied her sister, her voice holding a thread of excitement and happiness that should have been infectious but for Lily, who held the institute of marriage in deep mistrust, wasn’t.

‘Who to?’

‘What do you mean, who to?’ said Zoe, her laugh of disbelief echoing down the line. ‘Dan, of course.’

‘But I thought you’d split up.’ With the hand that wasn’t holding her mobile to her ear, Lily emptied the remains of the champagne bottle into her glass, and took a much-needed gulp.

‘We had.’

‘Didn’t you say you were over for good?’

‘I did. And I genuinely thought we were.’

Lily lowered her glass and frowned as she tried to make sense of what her sister was saying. ‘So what happened?’

‘Tonight happened,’ said Zoe with an uncharacteristic dreamy sort of sigh. ‘He came to find me.’

‘Where are you?’ Judging from the thumping music in the background it sounded as if Zoe was out, somewhere busy, which in itself was unusual given she spent practically every evening in cuddling up to her computer.

‘I’m at a party.’

‘A party?’ Lily echoed, faintly reeling all over again because while going out in the first place was rare her socially inept sister had always considered attending parties a fate worse than death.

‘I know,’ said Zoe, her delight clear in her voice. ‘Can you believe it? I can’t. But anyway Dan showed up about an hour ago, rescued me from an overenthusiastic dance partner and then basically told me he realised what a jerk he’d been and apologised in the loveliest way imaginable. It was very masterful. Very romantic.’

There was a pause while Zoe presumably drifted off into a blissful memory of the moment before dragging herself back to the conversation. ‘Then he proposed,’ she added dreamily, ‘and I said yes.’

Just like that? A few softly spoken magical words and Zoe had fallen headlong into Dan’s arms? That didn’t sound like her ever logical sister any more than dreamy romance did, yet there was no denying that it appeared that that was exactly what had happened.

Hmm, thought Lily, an odd ribbon of apprehension rippling through her. Tonight was turning out to be unexpectedly and oddly unsettling. ‘But didn’t you say over Christmas that you wouldn’t take Dan back even if he were the last man on earth and he came crawling on his knees?’ she asked.

‘Did I?’

‘You did.’

‘Oh, well, that was then,’ said Zoe lightly, as if the fortnight of tears and misery Lily had just mopped up had never happened, as if she hadn’t swung between despair and fury like some kind of demented pendulum, as if she hadn’t given her surprisingly large repertoire of four-letter words an extensive airing. ‘But now it’s all fine and we’re engaged. Isn’t it great?’

Lily took another gulp of champagne and thought that she wasn’t so sure it was all that great. She’d been there, done that, and while she might not be the older of the two she was definitely the wiser when it came to marriage. In her brief but turbulent experience it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, as she’d spent the last half an hour only too vividly and infuriatingly remembering. ‘But you’ve only known him, what? A couple of months?’

‘Three.’

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?’

‘You were married within six,’ Zoe pointed out.

‘And look what happened there,’ said Lily darkly. A mere two years after they’d met and embarked on a whirlwind romance she and Kit had divorced. She’d married in haste and had ended up very much repenting at leisure. Not that she thought much about it these days. Normally.

‘Dan isn’t Kit,’ said Zoe, beginning to sound a little defensive.

‘I should hope not.’

‘And I’m not you.’

‘That’s true,’ Lily said, suppressing a sigh. ‘You’re a lot more level-headed and mature than I ever was. And older. But are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Zoe with a quiet, firm certainty that Lily had never heard from her before. ‘He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me so be happy for me, Lil,’ she added. ‘Please?’

The plea was so soft, so sincere, so beseeching that Lily felt a sudden and unexpected wave of guilt and remorse sweeping through her. What was she doing? She was ruining what was the happiest night of her sister’s life, and why? Because, unsettled by the last half an hour, she was only thinking about herself and her experience. What kind of sister was she?

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Lily closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

Just because she and Kit had made a mess of things didn’t mean that Zoe and Dan would. Maybe her sister’s would be one of the marriages that lasted. Dan was great, Zoe was great, so maybe they’d be fine. It happened, she’d heard.

And just because her night had nosedived and she’d been unexpectedly hit by a deluge of memories about what had been right about her own marriage and then a double whammy of regret and self-recrimination over what had gone wrong, that didn’t give her the right to dampen Zoe’s happiness.

Determinedly pushing her cynicism aside Lily pulled herself together. ‘I am happy for you,’ she said, pasting a smile on her face that she made sure her voice reflected.

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ she said even more firmly. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t more enthusiastic earlier. It was unexpected and I was just a bit surprised, that’s all. Congratulations. I hope—no, I know—you’ll both be very happy.’

‘Thanks and we will.’

Lily heard the elation and the hope in her sister’s voice and felt her heart squeeze. ‘I think I might be the teensiest bit jealous,’ she said. Because she could remember how Zoe was feeling all too well. The giddy happiness. The permanent grin. The excitement about the future...

‘Are you all right, Lil?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, to her irritation her voice cracking a little.

Down the line came a sharp intake of breath and the sound of the heel of a hand hitting a forehead. ‘Oh, crap. Tonight’s your anniversary, isn’t it?’

What would have been her seventh. Not that she’d been counting. Until the clock had struck midnight and she’d been reminded of it at the most inconvenient moment imaginable. ‘It is, but it doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it does,’ said Zoe. ‘God, I’m sorry. And here’s me banging on about Dan and getting engaged and stuff. I really am quite spectacularly insensitive. I should have thought.’

Lily shrugged as if it didn’t bother her in the slightest. Which it didn’t. Generally. ‘Forget it.’

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘Nope.’

‘Sure?’

‘Quite.’ She didn’t want to even think about it, let alone talk about it, although that was proving annoyingly difficult to achieve this evening.

‘OK, well, call me if you do. Any time. Really.’

Lily knew she meant it. Zoe had been a rock following the divorce, and looking back Lily didn’t know how she would have got through it without her. ‘Thanks. I will.’

‘Look, I’d better go. It’s late and you have an early flight.’

‘It is and I do.’ A smile spread across her face at the thought of the week’s holiday she’d booked following the week of work she had to do first. It would be the first holiday she’d had in ages and she couldn’t wait. ‘And shouldn’t you be snuggling up to Dan instead of calling me?’

‘Plenty of time for that later, I hope. Anyway, he’s gone to get our coats and I wanted you to be the first to know.’

Lily’s smile deepened. ‘Thanks. You do realise that the second I get back I’ll be grilling you for details?’

‘You might regret saying that.’

‘Never. I want to hear every single—’

The ring that reverberated through the silence of the house cut off her sentence and made her jump.

‘What’s that?’ asked Zoe.

‘Someone at the door,’ she said, her smile fading and her heart sinking a little at the thought of who it might be. ‘I should go.’

‘Are you sure you ought to be answering it this late?’ said Zoe, sounding like the older sister she was. ‘I mean, I know there are first-footers and whatnot around, but you are on your own and it is well past midnight.’

‘Don’t worry, it’ll probably be Nick,’ said Lily, despondently pushing herself off the counter and heading into the hall. ‘He left his scarf.’ She’d texted him to say she’d put it in the post, but maybe, despite the disastrous outcome of the evening, he didn’t want to have to wait that long and had decided returning to pick it up was a risk worth taking.

‘Who’s Nick?’

At the interest in Zoe’s voice, Lily inwardly cringed because Nick was history, that was what he was. Unfortunately.

Earlier, however, he’d been the guy she’d invited over for dinner. Nick was an interesting, intelligent, entertaining, good-looking man who made her laugh, and even though they’d only been on three dates she’d been ready to take things to the next level. Had wanted to take things to the next level, because from what she knew about him so far he seemed pretty much perfect: in addition to his favourable personality and looks, he didn’t want children, he didn’t make her pulse race and didn’t appear to have any problem with communicating.

In her book those last few qualities especially made him an ideal future partner, hence the invitation to spend New Year’s Eve with her.

The early part of the evening had gone swimmingly, and exactly according to plan. Nick had turned up on the dot of nine bearing a bottle of champagne and a warm smile that had turned even warmer when Lily had presented him with a deliberately lavish designed-to-seduce menu of four courses, vintage champagne and handmade chocolates.

Over the table and the next couple of hours they’d chatted easily and flirted outrageously, and things had been looking promising. Then they’d moved to the sofa in her sitting room to have coffee and chocolates in front of the roaring fire and at midnight he’d leaned forwards to kiss her.

And that was when everything had gone wrong.

The clock had been striking twelve and as Nick had drawn closer and closer she’d been suddenly and totally unexpectedly hit by a snapshot of her wedding day.

She hadn’t thought about it for years, but around the sixth chime the image of her and Kit wrapped in each other’s arms on the dance floor and kissing as they wished each other a happy new year was there flashing in her head as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

The image had been deeply unwelcome—and not only because it couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient moment—and she’d tried to blink it away. So much so that Nick had eventually pulled back a fraction and asked her if she had something in her eye.

At that she’d stopped blinking, which hadn’t been working anyway, and instead had told herself to ignore the memory and keep her focus one hundred per cent on the man next to her, who was leaning in once again for a kiss.

She’d studied his eyes wondering exactly what shade of green they could be described as, run her hands through his fair hair and then lowered her gaze to his mouth, but that hadn’t worked either because within seconds she’d found herself imagining she was looking into the dark chocolate-brown eyes of her ex-husband, running her hands through his thick dark hair and kissing his mouth.

Then a bolt of desire had shot through her, her bones had begun to dissolve and her stomach had started to melt while her heart rate doubled.

Deeply unsettled by her body’s behaviour, because first she was pretty sure the desire had nothing to do with Nick and second she’d spent the last five years deliberately avoiding that sort of head-screwing stuff and thus was not happy to feel it now, she hadn’t been able to help jerking back a moment before Nick’s lips touched hers.

Clearly and justifiably surprised, he’d sat back and frowned and asked what was up. She’d been so confused and disturbed by what was going on that Lily hadn’t been able to do more than mutter an apology and something about having an early start.

Nick had said that in that case he ought to be making a move, and it was hard to say who was more startled when she jumped to her feet and thrust his coat into his hand practically before he’d finished speaking.

He’d left, sans the scarf, which in her haste to bustle him out had been overlooked, and she hadn’t been expecting to see him again. Now it seemed she would, and what a way to round off New Year’s Eve that was going to be.

‘Never mind,’ she muttered, because there was no point in Zoe being interested in who Nick was when she’d so well and truly screwed this evening and a potentially perfectly decent relationship up.

Zoe huffed. ‘Never mind? That’s all I’m getting?’

‘Yup.’

‘Hmm. Sounds like my engagement isn’t the only thing we’ll be having a chat about when you get back.’

Lily murmured something non-committal.

‘OK,’ said Zoe. ‘Well, have a good flight and keep me posted about how it goes.’

‘I will. I’ll call you when I get there. And congratulations again, Zoe. I’m happy for you. I really am.’

‘Thank you. Goodnight.’

‘’Night.’

Lily hung up and with a sigh dropped her phone on the table beside the spot where Nick’s scarf lay folded, waiting to be stuffed into an envelope and put in the post. She plucked it off the table and through the frosted glass panels of her front door gloomily eyed the dark shape of a man.

Damn, she’d had such high hopes for him. Why, tonight of all nights, had the memories of Kit and their marriage managed to break through the impenetrable—she’d thought—barriers she’d erected? She’d done a pretty good job over the years of not thinking about her marriage, so why now could she think about little else?

Was it because this was the first year she’d actually spent the anniversary alone with a man instead of flinging herself around a dance floor in the company of dozens? Was it because she was stone-cold sober instead of rip-roaringly drunk?

And why hadn’t she been able to suppress the memories and feelings even once Nick had gone? Why had they stormed round her head as if on some interminable flipping loop: images of Kit kissing her at the altar, feeding her wedding cake and holding her close as they danced; memories of the way she’d felt that day, how deliriously happy she’d been in the months that had followed and then how badly everything had imploded.

As a fresh wave of emotion rolled over her, her head swam and her throat closed over and she filled with an ache so strong her knees nearly gave way.

Well, if this was what New Year’s Eve on her own or in the company of only one other was like she was never doing it again. Next year it would be hundreds of revellers and margaritas all the way.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Lily told herself to get a grip. All she had to do was open the door and hand over the scarf with, perhaps, an apology and the hint of an explanation.

Then she could take herself off to bed, bury herself under her duvet and hope that unconsciousness would take over until her alarm went off and she could busy herself with getting ready for the flight and work.

Simple.

Bracing herself, she pulled her shoulders back. She undid the latch and wrapped her fingers round the door handle. Then she pasted a smile on her face, turned the handle and opened the door wide.

She looked up.

And froze.

The greeting that hovered on her lips died. The apology she’d planned fled. Her smile vanished and her brain and body went into shock because the man standing on her doorstep, stamping his feet against the cold and blowing on his hands, wasn’t Nick. It wasn’t a first-footer.