I have to admit, after her lectures over the phone regarding this whole land debacle, a small part of me did this to make her proud, just as much as my son.
Chapter Three
MERRY
Istretch in bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets crisp against my skin even after a night’s sleep. Light pours through the French doors that overlook the pool, enticing me out of bed.
Padding across the cool marble floor, I open the double doors, letting the sun warm my face. The smell of bacon floats on the breeze from the main house on the other side of the pool.
My stomach rumbles as I inhale, filling my lungs as if I can already taste it. Alex must be cooking up a storm in there, though I don’t remember him being much of a cook when we were married.
“Sleep well?” Alex rises from the pool like an Olympian Greek god with his hair slicked back, rivulets of water running over his toned body as he climbs out in one slick move.
My eyes rake over his chiselled abs, as if sculptured by Michelangelo himself. I’m sure he asked me a question, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you what it was.
He takes the few steps towards me, his bare feet leaving wet footprints along the paving, his shorts dripping water onto his muscular thighs.
His finger reaches up to my chin and lifts it, closing my gaping mouth. “How was your first night?”
“Spectacular.” Though I’m not talking about my night; my mind’s still fixated on his body.
A shiver travels the length of my spine, and suddenly I’m aware of my nipples standing to attention under my nightshirt.
Oh crap. I’m in my nightshirt, which is basically a t-shirt that barely covers my thighs. I cross my legs, remembering how I ditched the bottoms in the night because it was too warm.
My ex-husband’s eyes travel down, darkening as they meander over every curve of my body, then zero in on my breasts. “Smash the patriarchy?”
“Huh?” I tug at the hem, willing the fabric to stretch over my dimply thighs.
He points to the faded slogan on my t-shirt. “I can’t believe you still have that old thing.”
Glancing down at the faded graphic, a memory of us invades my mind. It must have been twenty years ago. I’d just got home from a rally, Finn was at a friend’s house, and Alex flew in from the States after being away on business. All I remember is him running his hands underneath the t-shirt, caressing my bare skin as his lips devoured my mouth.
I wonder if he’s remembering it too, the way his lips curl into a smile. I tug at the neck as if fanning myself, my cheeks incredibly hot.
“You okay?”
“Don't mind me. I'm just having a tropical.”
His brow furrows.
“A hot flush.”
“Oh.” He rocks back on his heels with a smirk. “Do I still have that effect on you?”
I glare at him. Even though he's right, I'm not about to admit it. “No, but the menopause does.”
“Right.” His shoulders drop along with his smirk. “Breakfast should be ready now. Come over to the house.” He takes a few steps towards a sun lounger and collects a towel.
“Wait. If you’re here. Who’s cooking breakfast?” I point a finger between him and the big house.
“That’s Blanche, my housekeeper. She wanted to cook an English breakfast for you.”
I vaguely remember Finn talking about Blanche. She was practically his nanny when he came to visit. I shouldn’t be surprised Alex still has a housekeeper. With my busy schedule, I employ a cleaner. “Let me get changed and I’ll be right over.”
“You look fine as you are.” With the towel, he rubs his short hair, mostly grey at the sides, his eyes still taking in all my curves as if committing them to memory.
“I’m not meeting your housekeeper, braless.” My arms fold across my chest, trying to hide how low my breasts hang without a bra.
