Second Chance Lane (Brockenridge #2) - Nicola Marsh Page 0,15
back door, even strangers.
He crossed the cool slate floor and flung open the door.
To find Tash on the other side.
Tash blinked. Once. Twice. As though the innocuous reaction could erase the man before her. But he wasn’t a mirage. He was all too real, sporting the same shell-shocked expression she must be. A chill swept over her body, a ripple of ice that spread from her head downwards, invading every cell and rendering her mute.
This couldn’t be happening. In what warped, twisted world did the man she’d deceived more than thirteen years ago, the man who travelled the world, the man who was recognisable anywhere, the man who’d fathered her child, show up out of the blue as her neighbour?
She had no idea how long they stood there, gaping at each other like a couple of morons, but when her brain eventually kicked into gear and worked in sync with her mouth, she managed a lame, ‘Kody?’
Stupid, asking a question she knew the answer to. Of course this was Kody. She’d know him anywhere. The same shaggy dark hair the colour of hot chocolate, the same dark eyes bordering on ebony, the same mouth that could coax the most wonderful responses out of her. Other than fine lines fanning from the corners of his eyes and deeper grooves bracketing his mouth, he looked the same. Sexier, if that were possible.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
His frigid tone exacerbated her chills. No inflection. No warmth. Like he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She supposed she deserved it considering how she’d treated him during their last conversation, the night she’d driven him away deliberately. His tone may be frigid but his eyes—they roved over her, hungry, greedy, remembering …
‘Can we talk?’
His lips compressed into a thin line but he flung the door open wider and walked away, leaving her with an impressive view of faded denim moulding a taut butt and navy cotton highlighting the shift of muscles in his back. Tash stood rooted to the spot, enjoying the view. It had been way too long since she’d had sex. She couldn’t remember the last time. Three years ago? Four? A pharmaceutical salesman had been passing through town and stayed at the roadhouse for a night. He’d been one of those slick suit types, full of charm and smooth lines. The antithesis of Kody. Isla had been at a sleepover, the guy had said all the right things and Tash had allowed herself to be swept away for a night.
‘I haven’t got all day.’
Kody’s rebuke startled Tash into moving inside, a blush burning her cheeks as she realised he must’ve caught her ogling. She closed the door and followed him into a large, modern kitchen, where the ingredients for his dinner lay on the island bench. Chicken salad, the way she’d shown him to prepare it.
A wave of disabling nostalgia consumed her and she blindly reached for something to lean against. Unfortunately, that happened to be Kody, as he moved swiftly to her side.
‘Don’t you dare bloody faint on me,’ he muttered, leading her to a chair at the oak dining table in the corner. ‘Sit. Breathe.’
Feeling increasingly stupid, Tash sat and took several steadying breaths. Only then did she risk looking at him, propped against the island bench, looking like a model channelling sexy rock star on holiday.
‘What are you doing here?’
His upper lip curled in a sneer, like she had no right to ask him anything. ‘Taking a break, not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Out here? Why aren’t you sunning yourself in St Moritz or Barbados or Bora Bora?’
‘Because being stuck in the arse end of the earth ensures anonymity.’
She stifled a guffaw. She’d been guilty of labelling Brockenridge the same when she’d wanted to escape it after high school and her parents had insisted she could do nursing at a country hospital rather than at university in Melbourne. They hadn’t been impressed. Maybe that had been the beginning of the end for them. Then again, her parents had never understood their only child; partially her fault for being too agreeable.
‘The fame getting to you?’
Something dark and painful shifted in his eyes. ‘You still don’t watch the news?’
He’d teased her about her lack of current affairs knowledge when they’d been dating. She hated the news, every boring, depressing second. Yet the fact he remembered something so small about her sparked something deep inside, a memory of shared intimacy.