How to Get Over Your Ex

by Nikki Logan

  ‘Why? You think I’m going to judge you?’

  ‘I think it might end up in the radio show.’

  His face changed, then, in an instant. Back to London Zander. ‘Right.’

  ‘Zander...’ Her eyes fell shut to block out his offence, but she forced them open again. ‘I could barely admit to Dan why I’d done it. I can’t tell the whole country.’

  I can’t tell you. Not without having to ask herself why Zander’s good impression mattered more to her than Dan’s.

  He stared. ‘Off the record.’

  She dropped her eyes and plucked at the long blades of the estuary bank. ‘Do you know what I do for a job?’

  ‘You study seeds.’

  ‘I X-ray seeds. Day in, day out, to find the ones that are incompetent. The ones that aren’t viable. The ones that aren’t normal. It makes a person quite proficient at spotting the signs of irregularities in others. Or in yourself.’

  He stayed silent. Waited for her to connect the dots.

  ‘Everyone I know has paired off. Started families. I felt like I was falling behind.’

  There was no judgement, just curiosity. ‘Is it a race?’

  ‘No.’ She had years of optimum childrearing ahead of her.

  ‘But?’

  She lifted her eyes. But the clock was ticking. ‘It’s hard, being with them and not being able to contribute, to understand. They all have that shared experience in common. They’ve become so much closer.’

  ‘You were going to get married and have kids just to ensure you could contribute to conversation? That seems extreme.’

  Put like that it sounded as ridiculous as it probably was. ‘I want what they have.’

  ‘School debt and early grey hair?’

  She went to stand. ‘I shouldn’t expect you to understand. You have so much—’

  His fingers caught her wildly flapping ones. Tugged her back down. ‘George, sorry. Go on. What do they have that you want so much?’

  She stared at where his long fingers held hers. Not releasing them. ‘Everything. The package. A man and children to love them. A nice house in the country. Security and someone to celebrate joys with. To be wanted enough for someone to give up their freedom for.’ All the things she didn’t have growing up. ‘Someone to fill all the holes inside me.’

  ‘So Daniel was your gap-filler?’

  She stared. Swallowed. Dropped her head with shame. ‘Poor Dan. That’s awful.’

  ‘Give yourself a break. Everyone fills their gaps with something.’

  ‘What fills yours?’

  His answer was immediate. ‘Work. Running.’

  The only two things he did. They couldn’t both be gap fillers, surely? ‘What are you filling?’

  He stared. ‘A whole lot of empty.’

  Wow. That was quite a mouthful. There was nothing to say to that. They just stared at each other as the sun fully set. Its sinking took with it some of the magic of the cusp of night and day, breaking the spell she’d been under.

  How else could she excuse her revelations of the last few minutes?

  She let her eyes refocus over his shoulder.

  ‘It’s gone,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’ll be back tomorrow.’

  She nodded. But still they didn’t move.

  ‘Why are we here, Zander?’ she breathed into the fading light.

  He stared at her in the rapidly cooling, darkening evening. ‘Because you followed me up here?’

  Half of her was terrified he’d just shrug and blame tradition. That this thing between them wasn’t mutual. But she wasn’t about to be put off so easily. ‘Here, by the twinkling water as the sun sets.’

  ‘Do you want to leave?’ he murmured, eyes locked on hers.

  She should. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to feel?’

  Her lungs locked up. Suddenly the grass and cows and water around them seemed to grow as if the two of them had just hauled themselves over the top of a beanstalk, forcing them closer together and making the scant distance separating them into something negligible.

  Her pulse began to hammer in earnest.

  Zander raised his hand and slipped it behind her head, lowering his forehead to rest on hers. His heat radiated outwards. His eyes drifted shut.

  She hesitated for only a moment, then turned her face to rub her jaw along his, twisting inwards, seeking out the lips that hunted for hers. The full lips she’d been wanting to taste since she’d seen them stained with bolognese sauce and a smile in the restaurant kitchen.

  Was that how long she’d been wanting it for?

  Her breath came heavy and fast and mingled with his. Then she turned inwards, drawn by the plaintive breath that was her name on his lips. Their mouths touched. Sensation sparked between them and birthed a flame, hot and raw. Zander pressed their lips more firmly together, leaned into her. Curled his fingers into the hair at her nape. Georgia pressed a hand to the damp, cool earth and used it to lever herself closer to him, to hold the connection fast. To explore and taste and experience. His breath became hers. Her breath sustained them both. She kissed him harder. Greedy for his taste.

  Desire raged up around them as though the setting sun had boiled the waters of the firth and they’d spilled over to the banks where they lay.

  And, yes, it was lay. Somehow, between one desperate breath and the next, they’d sunk down to the grass and Zander twisted half over her. She couldn’t remember getting there. Her entire consciousness was consumed with the press of his mouth against hers and the weight of his body on hers. He leaned on his elbows, both hands free to tangle in her hair, his mouth free to roam wherever it pleased.

  And, boy, did it please.

  Her head spun, her chest squeezed, her insides squirmed. Every cell in her body cried out to just merge with his. As though they recognised their chemical equal.

  It wasn’t until his thigh slid down between hers that reality intruded.

  For both of them.

  She twisted her face away from his and sucked in a breath of fresh coastal air. Sweeter and colder than anything they got in London. It helped to clear her muddled head, just a little.

  Zander lifted his lips and stared down at her. Speechless.

  ‘Um...’ What more could she say?

  Where the hell had that come from?

  One minute they were talking and the next she was crawling down his throat, hungry for more of the best kiss she’d ever had.

  He pressed back up, grinding closer where it really counted and sending a new wave of heat to her cheeks. He twisted sideways and his heavy, sexy weight lifted off her.

  She missed him instantly.

  She sat up and blew air slowly through swollen lips.

  ‘Georgia, I—’ He cut himself off to clear his throat.

  She couldn’t bear to hear him apologise, or declare it a mistake or express remorse. Not for a kiss like that. Not him. So she jumped in before he could start again, laughing lightly. Faking heavily. ‘Chalk it up to your post-race high? All those conquering impulses?’

  He’d conquered her all right—like a Viking. And that thought triggered a rush of new images and sensations. God, how she’d love to just lie back and concede defeat.

  Weighing up his choices showed in his face, even in the dim light. ‘We could say that.’

  She took a breath.

  ‘Or we could acknowledge the chemistry that’s been between us since we met.’

  Acknowledge it sounded a lot like forgiving it. Releasing it.

  Ignoring it.

  ‘Since we met?’ Though she still remembered the spark as he’d handed her the coat out at Wakehurst.

  ‘It had to come to a head at some time.’

  ‘You ignored me for so many weeks.’

  ‘I was trying to ignore it. Not you. Our relationship was a professional one.’

  Past tense? ‘And now?’

  ‘Now it’s going to be even harder keeping things professional.’

  �
�Back in London?’ Back in the real world. Where adrenaline-fuelled kisses and dramatic sunsets didn’t happen.

  ‘It would be inappropriate for me to start something with you.’

  ‘Inappropriate?’ She sat up and tucked her knees to her chest. How politically correct.

  He followed her upright. ‘I’m the manager of the station running your promotion. I sign the cheques that pay for your classes.’

  And would do for months yet.

  ‘And it’s not fair to you, either. You’re not equipped for something like this.’

  She sat back, hard. Shook her head. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Something happening between us.’

  Not everyone’s cut out for seduction, he’d joked back at spy school, though maybe it hadn’t been entirely a joke. She had failed abysmally at flirting her way to information from a stranger in class, though Zander’s eyes had remained glued to her the whole time. But that was...you know...a stranger. And this was Zander.

  Totally different situation.

  Though maybe not for him. How cruel to kiss her half to death, to make her feel so desirable, and then to back-pedal so very obviously.

  He rambled on. ‘This was—’

  Fantastic? Overdue?

  ‘—an aberration.’

  Pain sliced through her. Could he have found an uglier way of saying it was a mistake? She stared across at Scotland, and would have given anything to spontaneously teleport over to the far bank.

  ‘I should have had more control,’ he said. ‘This is my fault.’

  Oh, please. ‘I came up here willingly.’

  ‘Not expecting that, I’m sure.’

  No. Definitely not expecting that. She just wanted to get to know him a little bit. But she’d discovered a whole other Zander hidden inside the first one. ‘So now what? We just go back to how it was?’

  He looked at her.

  Did he need it spelled out? ‘You ignoring me?’

  ‘I won’t ignore you, George. I couldn’t, now.’

  George. The same nickname her friends used for her. The irony bit hard. ‘So then business as usual?’

  Silence was nod enough.

  She pushed to her feet. ‘OK, then. Well, my first order of business is to get back to London before dawn.’

  ‘I’m staying at the Arms. Maybe they’ll have a second room?’

  Was he joking? Stay anywhere near him and not want to be with him? While he found her so...ill-equipped?

  ‘I have a prep session for the personal makeover tomorrow morning. Measuring and stuff.’ Never mind that she’d never felt less like doing anything. Despite—apparently—needing all the help she could get. She grasped her excuses as she found them.

  ‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ Zander said.

  For a guy who had protested so vehemently about her catching the underground home after a couple of wines, he was sure very willing to let her drive a deadly weapon half way across the country with still-scattered wits.

  Maybe he wanted her gone as much as she needed to be there?

  They walked, in silence, back up the road to her vehicle. The rapid journey from body-against-body and lips-against-lips to this awful, careful distance was jarring, but the cold night breeze helped her to blow the final wisps of desire from her mind like fog from shore.

  It was for the better. Almost certainly.

  She turned and faced him, a bright smile on her face. ‘See you Wednesday night, then?’

  Salsa class.

  She held her breath. If he was going to pull out of his pledge to go with her, now was the moment it would happen.

  He stared down at her, leaned forward as if to kiss her again, but pulled on the handle of the car door behind her instead. ‘See you Wednesday.’

  Him being chivalrous with the door went exactly no way to making her feel any better about what an ass he’d just been back on the bank of the firth. She grunted her thanks, slipped into her front seat, and slammed the door shut on his parting words.

  Drive safely.

  SEVEN

  The best run of his life turned into the worst night of his life.

  Not the evening—the evening touched on one of the most special moments he’d ever had. But the night, after Georgia drove off so quickly down Bowness’s quiet main street... He barely slept that night despite his exhaustion and even Sunday was pretty much a write-off.

  He spent the whole time trying to offload the kiss he had stolen from her like a fence trying to move appropriated diamonds. Failing abysmally.

  After all these months—even after the stern talking to he’d given himself after getting all touchy feely with her at spy school—why had he let himself slip to quite that degree?

  Kissing her. Touching her.

  Torturing himself with what he couldn’t have.

  There were endless numbers of women back in London that he could kiss. And touch. And sleep with if he wanted. Bold, casual, riskless women. Georgia Stone was not one of them. She wasn’t made of the same stuff as any of them. She wasn’t bold or casual. And Lord knew not without risk.

  But then she’d walked into his world, the only woman—the only person—ever to watch him race, to wait with a cold drink and a proud smile at the finish line, and he’d let himself buy into the fantasy. Just for a moment. Then one fantasy had led to another until they were lying in the long, cool grass, tongues and feet tangling.

  He’d let himself slip further than any time since Lara.

  Worse, to trust. And he didn’t do trust.

  Ever.

  He’d finally tumbled into an exhausted sleep Sunday night, but his mood was no better today.

  As evidenced by the way his staff were tiptoeing around him extra carefully. Even Casey, who usually only gave the most cursory of knocks before walking into his office, actually stood, waiting, until he gave her permission to enter.

  ‘Zander,’ she started, lips tight. She looked as if she’d rather be calling him Mr Rush.

  ‘What is it, Casey?’

  ‘I wanted to...’ She changed tack. ‘Georgia just emailed these instructions, and I thought I’d better run them past you.’

  That got his attention. Not just because the sentence had the word Georgia in it, but because his assistant and their resident scientist were thick as thieves, so Casey ratting her out meant something big was going on.

  She stood across the desk from him. ‘She’s made some changes to the programme.’

  No big news—Georgia changed things around regularly. He was getting used to it. He stared and waited for more from Casey.

  ‘Big changes.’ She held out a sheaf of papers.

  ‘How big?’ But as he ran his eyes over them he could see instantly. ‘Ankara? Are you kidding me?’ He eyeballed his assistant. She took half a step back. ‘Ibiza’s already booked isn’t it?’ Their flights to Spain were in a few weeks. Georgia’s big holiday. Now she wanted it to be Turkey?

  ‘Actually I can still make changes—’

  Not what he wanted to hear.

  Casey’s mouth clicked shut. She started backing out of the room. ‘I’ll leave you to read the—’

  ‘Stay!’ he barked, though deep down he regretted commanding her like a trained dog. None of this was her fault.

  All of it was his. He’d been stupid to give into his baser instincts and kiss her. As though either of them could go back from that.

  He flipped to the next page. Georgia had ditched the cocktail-making class in favour of life drawing. She’d dumped aquasphering on the Thames to go on some underground tour of old London. She’d dropped out of salsa and replaced it with belly dancing, for heaven’s sake.

  ‘I see spy lessons made the cut,’ he snorted.

  ‘Yeah, she loves those—’ Again, Casey’s jaw clicked shut. As if she suddenly realised she was siding with the enemy.

  ‘Get her on the phone for me.’

  ‘I tried, Zander. She’s not answering.’

  Right. ‘I’ll take care of i
t tonight.’ At salsa.

  Assuming she went at all.

  * * *

  ‘I wasn’t convinced you’d be here,’ he said as Georgia slipped through the dance studio door, quietly, and joined him on the benches. She smiled and nodded at some of their fellow dance regulars. Twice as big as the paltry smile she’d offered him.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if the change got approved, so I didn’t want to leave them with uneven numbers.’

  ‘What’s with the swap to belly dancing?’

  She shrugged and glanced around the room. Zander tried again. ‘I had no idea you were such a fan of all things eastern. First belly dancing, then Ankara...’

  She brought her eyes back to his. Surprised at his snark, perhaps. ‘You helped me to see that my list was built out of things I thought I should be doing more than things I actually wanted to do.’

  ‘Come on, Georgia. You actually want to belly dance?’

  She kicked her chin up. He might as well have waved a red flag. ‘It interests me. It’s beautiful.’

  Uh-huh. It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that belly dancing was a solo occupation and she wouldn’t have to touch him again. ‘And what’s in Ankara that’s of so much more interest than Ibiza?’

  Other than less alcohol, less noise, less crowds.

  ‘Cappadocia.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘A region full of amazing remnants of a Bronze-Aged civilisation. You can fly over it in balloons.’

  He just stared. ‘And that’s what you want to do?’

  Her hands crept up to her hips. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why the sudden change of heart on all your activities?’

  ‘It’s not all that sudden. I don’t want expensive makeovers or hot stone massages or guidance on how to wear clothes I’ll never be able to afford to buy.’

  The dance instructor clapped them to attention.

  ‘Is this about the cost?’ Zander whispered furiously. Hoping it really was.

  ‘This is about me. Doing things that matter to me.’

  It was her money—her year—to spend however she liked. And it was his job to make even the wackiest list sound like something all EROS’ listeners could relate to. But it was becoming increasingly important that it helped Georgia to find her way back to feeling whole. He wanted her whole.