LITMIR.BIZ

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her; and that was plain dumb. Given his past, that made him a danger to her. He hurt people; did not protect them. He also didn’t feel like having his heart cut and cauterised again when she learned of his inadequacies. No, thanks.

      Hang on. Had she found out? Was that why Olivia had pulled the plug on their affair? Because she’d found him to be flawed? No. She still looked at him as she always had—hot and hungry, not disgusted or aloof.

      Breathing was impossible. Not only was Olivia using up the oxygen, she was filling the resulting vacuum with the scent of flowers and fruit and everything he remembered about her. Hell, let me out of this thing. Fast. He took a step towards the doors, stopped, glanced at the control panel. They were moving between floors. Get a hold of yourself.

      Yeah, sure. This is what Olivia always did to him. Tipped him upside down with a look, sent his brain to the dump with a finger touch, and cranked up his libido so fast and high just by being in the same air as him. Exactly what was happening now. His crotch was tight, achingly tight. As was his gut. Nothing new there. Eighteen months without setting eyes on her, with only once talking on the phone about the auction, and he was back to square one. Back to lusting after her. Unbelievable. How could a grown man with a successful career as an orthopaedic surgeon, presumably an intelligent and sane man dedicated to remaining uninvolved with women, lose all control because of this one?

      Olivia Coates-Clark. She was why he felt three sheets to the wind—and he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all week. He’d been too busy with scheduled surgeries and two emergencies involving major operations to have any time to enjoy a drink and take in the ever-changing view from his apartment living room. But within minutes of being with CC he felt as though he’d downed a whole bottle of whiskey. This was shaping up to be a big night in a way he didn’t need.

      A phone buzzed discreetly. As nothing vibrated on his hip it had to be Olivia’s. He listened with interest as she answered, totally unabashed about eavesdropping.

      ‘Olivia Coates-Clark speaking.’ Her gaze scanned the ceiling as she listened to her caller. Then, ‘Thank you so much. Your efforts are really appreciated.’ Her finger flicked across the screen and the phone was shoved back into her pocket. ‘One problem sorted.’ She smiled directly at him.

      ‘Had a few?’ he asked, trying to ignore the jolt of need banging into his groin as his gaze locked on those lush lips.

      ‘I guess it would be too much to expect arranging something as big as this has become to go off without some hitches. It hasn’t been too bad, though.’ Had she just crossed her fingers?

      ‘Whose idea was it to raise money for Andy Brookes? Yours?’

      Olivia nodded, and her copper-blonde hair brushed her cheek, adding further to his physical discomfort. ‘I’ll put my hand up, but from the moment I started talking to surgeons at Auckland Surgical Hospital it went viral. Everyone wants to be a part of supporting Andy. I imagine tonight’s going to raise a fair whack of dosh. People have been unbelievably generous with offering art, holidays, and other amazing things to auction.’ She smiled again, her mouth curving softly, reminding him of how he used to like lying beside her in his bed, watching her as she dozed after sex. All sweet and cute, and vastly different from the tigress who could sex him into oblivion. ‘Thank you for your generous gift,’ she was saying.

      He’d put in a weekend for a family of four on his luxury yacht, with all the bells and whistles, and he’d be at the helm. ‘Andy was the most popular guy in our senior registrar years. He never failed to help someone out when they were down.’

      ‘You forget the practical jokes.’ Again she smiled, making those full lips impossible to ignore.

      So he didn’t; studied them instead. Covered in a deep pink sheen, he could almost feel them on his skin as she kissed his neck just below his ear, or touched his chest, his belly, his … He groaned inwardly and leaned away from her, concentrating on having a polite conversation with his ex-lover. ‘I have vivid memories of some of the things Andy did to various people.’ He sighed as he tried to ease his need. Memories. There were far too many of Olivia stacked up in his mind. He should’ve heeded them and replied no to the invitation to join his colleagues tonight. He could’ve said he was doing the laundry or cleaning his car. But he’d wanted—make that needed—to get her out of his system once and for all, and had thought joining her tonight would be the ticket. Now he’d like nothing more than the gala to be over so he could head across the road to his quiet, cold apartment and forget Olivia.

      ‘Have you met Andy’s wife?’

      ‘Kitty was at a conference with Andy that we attended in Christchurch last year.’ The conference you were supposed to speak at and cancelled the day after you walked out of my life.

      Olivia must’ve recalled that too because a shadow fell over those big eyes, darkening the hyacinth blue shade to the colour of ashes. Why did he always think of flowers when he was around her?

      ‘I had an emergency. At home.’ She spoke softly, warily.

      ‘You lived on your own.’ She didn’t have kids. Not that he knew of. Hell, he didn’t even know if she had siblings.

      ‘My mother was unwell.’ She straightened her already straight spine and said, ‘Andy was going places back then. Hard to believe he’s now facing the fight of his life to remain alive, instead of continuing his work with paraplegics.’

      What had been the problem with her mother? If he asked he doubted she’d tell him, and if she did then he’d know things about her that would make him feel connected with her. The last thing he wanted. Feeling responsible for her was not on his agenda. So, ‘Andy’s got a chance if he has the radical treatment they’re offering him in California.’

      ‘It must be hard for Kitty too.’

      ‘Unimaginable.’ Zac took a step closer to CC, ready to hug away that sadness glittering out at him. Sadness for their friend? Or her mother? Something had disturbed her cool facade.

      Zac understood confronting situations that threatened to destroy a person. He’d been eighteen when the accident had happened that had left his brother, Mark, a paraplegic. Two years older than Mark, he was supposed to have been the sensible one. Try being sensible with an out-of-control, aggressive younger brother intent on riling him beyond reason. Nearly twenty years later the guilt could still swamp Zac, despite Mark having got on with his life, albeit a different one from what he’d intended before the accident.

      The guilt was crippling. Being ostracised by his family because he’d been driving the car when it had slammed over the wall into the sea was as gutting. That’s what put the shields over his heart. If his parents couldn’t love him, who could? If he wasn’t to be trusted to be responsible then he had no right to think any woman would be safe with him. Or any children he might have. So he had to keep from letting anyone near enough to undermine his determination to remain single, even when it went against all he believed in.

      Olivia shuffled sideways, putting space between them. ‘Here’s hoping we raise a fortune tonight.’

      Zac swallowed his disappointment, tried to find it in himself to be grateful Olivia had the sense to keep their relationship on an impersonal footing. It didn’t come easily. He’d prefer to hug her, which wouldn’t have helped either of them get past this tension that had gripped them from the instant he’d sauntered into the hotel. He wanted her, and suspected—no, he knew—she wanted him just as much. The one thing they’d been very good at had been reading each other’s sexual needs. There hadn’t been much else. Shallow maybe, but that’s how they’d liked it. Their lives had been busy enough with work and study. Their careers had been taking off, leaving little time for much else.

      But right now hugging Olivia would be wonderful. Why? He had no idea, but being this close to her he felt alive in a way he hadn’t for months. Eighteen months, to be exact. This feeling wasn’t about sex—though no denying he’d struggle to refuse if it was offered—but more about friendship and closeness. No, not closeness. That would be dangerous. He hauled the armour back in place over his

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