An Ex to Remember
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Jessica Lemmon
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HarlequinOne
At the bar of the Silver Saddle, Vic Grandin tipped a fresh bottle of ice-cold beer to his lips and let out a sigh. Tonight at the family ranch he’d gotten into it with his oldest sister, Chelsea, over—what else—who was going to be in charge of the place once Dad retired.
Butting heads with Chelsea over him being the “chosen one” was nothing new. She and Vic were oil and water and had been since the day he’d been born. His four-years-older sister was a force to be reckoned with, and it just so happened he was the reckoning who’d come to set her straight.
Dad had chosen to put Vic in charge. It’d been decreed from the day Victor Jr. and Bethany Grandin learned they were having a baby boy. Their only boy, as it turned out. Vic had three other siblings—all sisters—but none of them had given him the hell Chelsea had.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, figuring he wasn’t going to come to a solution tonight any more than he’d skip the TCC charity pool party tomorrow. He hadn’t been in a partying mood lately, but he was resigned to going. Attending the Texas Cattleman’s Club parties was tradition in Royal, Texas. In other words: mandatory for all members.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He could try his luck tomorrow and talk a curvy, bikini-clad woman into warming his sheets for the night. He’d been no stranger to strangers in his bed for the last decade or so. Why change now?
But a quiet voice inside warned that a hookup would be less satisfying than it sounded. He’d been on a sort of sexual hiatus for just that reason. Lately the company of a good woman—even for a night—had made him feel empty. A tough sell for a man who’d been seeking the rest of himself for as long as he could remember.
Before he could remind himself to snap out of his shitty mood, a musical voice wafted along the shining bar top, over his left shoulder, and dripped like honey into his ear canal. Beer bottle hovering in midair, he paused, allowing the sound to coat his body in a familiar, aching warmth. He knew that voice. The soft, kind quality of it when she was being polite, or the tremor of hurt it held whenever she was angry.
Aubrey Collins had never truly been capable of meanness. During their long-deceased relationship, meanness had been reserved for him.
He turned his head after bracing himself for seeing her, but the sight of her still sent him into a spiraling, sputtering tailspin. Her profile—the cute nose, full pouty lips and long, carelessly styled auburn hair—served as reminders of all he’d lost. Those features were virtually the same as the day she’d thrown his engagement ring at him and told him under no uncertain terms to go fuck himself.
“Evening, Ms. Collins,” he drawled, unwilling to let her flee the premises without first acknowledging his presence. He guessed their interaction wouldn’t end well, and he’d likely feel like shit on the drive home as he remembered the hand he’d had in turning his starry-eyed good girl into a jaded, bitter woman.
Since Vic was no stranger to bad ideas with worse consequences, he wouldn’t let her leave without talking to him. She’d either ignored him or avoided him over the years, but there’d been no missing hearing her ask for her take-out order a moment ago. He figured he had a few minutes, tops, to converse with his ex.
She faced him, smooth, fiery red hair sliding over one delicate shoulder. A shoulder covered with the capped sleeve of a floral dress. She looked every ounce the girl next door, but he knew beneath that tasteful frock lay a seductress who’d let loose with him more times than he could count. Now she was closer in proximity to him than she’d been in years, her green eyes flashing a warning not unlike the shake of a rattlesnake’s tail. He wasn’t scared. She couldn’t hurt him any more after rejecting him so thoroughly years ago.
“Mr. Grandin.” A regal eyebrow arched over grass-green eyes. They weren’t piercing or sharp, but gentle. It was a dichotomy he hadn’t expected when they’d met as teenagers, much like her red hair didn’t equal a hot temper. Though with him, she had managed to argue damn well. And hold a damn good grudge.
He spun the beer bottle in his hand and tried for small talk. “What brings you out tonight?”
“Takeout. I had a craving for dessert, and no one does cannoli better than Bo.”
Cannoli. She loved the dessert, with its cinnamony shell and sweet ricotta filling. Bo went the extra mile and topped it with fresh whipped cream, house-made chocolate sauce and a cherry, which was likely why Aubrey had come here to buy the confection. Or it could be that it was nearing nine at night and the bakeries around town were closed.
“I hear you’re announcing the chili cook-off winners tomorrow,” he said, opting to stick to what little they had in common. Sadly, their attendance at the event was about all they had left.
She turned her body toward him, curves subtle but visible in the simple dress. Short cowboy boots were on her feet, which made him remember how they used to ride together on his horse whenever she visited the ranch. The wind would blow her hair, and his senses would be filled with the soft fragrance of wildflowers and Aubrey. She was standing two seats down from him, but the electricity that had always zapped between them hummed in the air all the same. He’d felt that way the first day he’d laid eyes on her. She’d been a high school freshman and he was a sophomore with no idea how fucking lucky he was about to be. His luck would eventually run out, and faster than he would have liked.
“Announcing the winner is an honor bestowed upon teacher of the year, you know.” She feigned vanity as she flipped her hair. Hair that had tickled his cheek when he’d first kissed her, and later, his chest—and lower—when he’d talked her into doing a host of bad-girl things with him. She’d turned him into a shuddering, brainless mess back in the day. He’d bet she still could.
Damn memories. What he wouldn’t give to lose every last one of them where she was concerned. The great ones only reminded him of worse ones. What was the point?
“I heard. Congratulations.” He hated the bend of their bland conversation, but he was out of time. Her name had been called by a hostess, who came from the direction of the kitchen carrying Aubrey’s to-go order.
“Thank you. It included an honorary TCC membership for the remainder of the year, so looks like we’ll be seeing each other around.”
He ignored the skipped beat of his heart. Would she show up with a date to future TCC engagements? He didn’t know if he could tolerate seeing her with another man.
Her smile for the hostess was genial as she took the paper bag by the handles. She offered him the same smile and paired it with a generic “Good to see you.” Like she was talking to a mailman or a clerk rather than the man she used to love with her entire being. He refused to let this opportunity pass without doing something. Anything.
“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? You can eat your cannoli here.” He had no idea where that ill-fated suggestion had come from, but he doubled down, pulling out the high-backed stool next to his at the bar. “I promise I’ll be nice.”
Fingers looped around the paper bag’s handles, she let out a disbelieving laugh. “Nice is not a description of Vic Grandin one hears very often.”
“No, I s’pose not. Come on.” He slapped the seat for emphasis. “One drink.”
She was thinking about it. He could tell by the way she tipped her head and pursed those luscious lips. Lips he suddenly needed on his more than another sip of beer. If he could talk her into staying for a drink, maybe he could talk her into more. What’d be the harm in one kiss?
She glanced at the exit, as if calculating how long it’d take for her to sprint to her vehicle, before looking back at him. She shook her head, and that’s when he knew he’d convinced her. She held up her index finger. “One.”
His heart leaped like he’d scored the winning touchdown in the big game. He couldn’t stop his grin as he ordered her a chardonnay from the bartender.
“Actually, I’ll have a martini. On the rocks, extra dry. Two olives.” She turned keen eyes on his as she pulled a plastic container from the bag. “Seems you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“Seems so.” Vic blew a laugh from his lips and watched the bartender make a drink he’d never in his life seen Aubrey order. When she pried off the lid to her dessert, he leaned close, catching a whiff of her clean-cotton scent. “Are you gonna share that with me or what?”
“Or what,” she replied, her smile painted on. At least that’s what her smile felt like. Like she’d slapped on a faux joker’s grin from cheek to cheek. She’d had a long week, and all she’d wanted tonight was to sit down with a bottle of wine and her favorite movie. First, she’d eaten dinner—a salmon Caesar salad she’d made herself—but by the time she’d reached for the wine, the idea of a cannoli from the Silver Saddle had introduced itself into her mind and refused to leave.
Now she was here, a martini she didn’t want in front of her, and she was eating dessert with a man she didn’t particularly like. She used to love him, but that’d been a long time ago.
She sipped the bitter drink and licked her lips, vowing to choke it down for the sake of her pride. Vic wasn’t allowed to presume what she needed or wanted out of life. Not anymore. She was no longer the innocent sixteen-year-old who’d been enamored with him, or the eighteen-and-a-half-year-old who’d practically begged him to take her virginity. Hell, she wasn’t even the twenty-year-old who’d bounced her engagement ring off his chest after a horrible argument.
She was thirty now, an adult. Teacher of the year. Honorary TCC member. Single, sure, but no longer ignorant of the ways of the world. And she had a PhD in Vic Grandin. She knew beneath that charm there was a man who relished having control. A man who believed he was God’s gift to everyone.
But. She’d grown up and understood that punishing him with the cold-shoulder treatment wasn’t helping her evolve as a person. She saw him around Royal often—how could she not when the Grandin family roots ran four generations deep into their ranch land? She’d see him at the TCC pool party tomorrow, and again next month at the Halloween masquerade, and, oh, don’t forget the Christmas festivities. Perhaps she should have refused the offer of membership...
As unpalatable as the idea of forced conversations with him was, she was done keeping to herself. She had a life, too. Accepting the offer to announce the chili cook-off winners was only the beginning of her being out and about more. She and Vic might as well call a truce. She took another drink of her disgusting martini, narrowly avoiding a shudder.
“Since when do you drink martinis?” he asked, sounding unsure.
“A while now,” she lied. “I see you haven’t veered from the same red-labeled beer you were drinking when you were underage.”
“Don’t fix what’s not broken.” He sucked on the beer bottle, his throat moving as he swallowed. She took a good look at him up close. From dark wavy hair she knew was soft to the touch to espresso-brown eyes she’d sworn she’d glimpsed her future in. His solid build had filled out some, but his jeans and flannel shirt and the boots hooked on the rung of the chair hadn’t changed a bit. She shouldn’t admire him but couldn’t help herself. This was Royal. She could throw a rock and hit a guy wearing a flannel and boots, but Vic looked better than any Texan had a right to. Especially given how well she knew him.
They drank and chatted about his parents and hers, his family’s ranch and what it was like for her to teach high schoolers. Maybe it was the martini loosening her limbs, but she found herself relaxing into the conversation. Leaning on one elbow, she finally surrendered the dessert container to him.
“Really?” His smile was one of delight, sending a strange jolt of awareness through her. From her chest to her belly to parts too long neglected to acknowledge.
While she hadn’t been much of a partygoer over the years, she had kept busy with work. Her passion for teaching followed her home like a stray puppy, one she welcomed and nurtured. That meant a lot of nights spent planning and grading, but her students were worth it. They, and her career, had become Aubrey’s whole life. Which meant dating had taken a back seat. She’d made some effort to date over the last ten years she and Vic had been apart, but not as much as he had. Nowhere near as much as he had.
“Hurry before I change my mind.” She offered him her spoon.
“I haven’t eaten one of these in ages.”
He polished off the remaining cannoli in two bites, licking a dollop of whipped cream from the spoon. Watching his tongue swipe the sweet cream from his upper lip shook her good sense from her head like a cup full of dice. She remembered how he’d lain waste to her with that tantalizing mouth...when he hadn’t been bossing her around with it.
He plucked the cherry from the container, still dripping with chocolate sauce, ate it, and then dangled the empty stem between them. Narrowing one eye, he asked, “Think I can still do it?”
“With the practice you’ve had over the last ten years?” She folded her arms and tried to appear not to care that he’d been with other women since her. She shouldn’t care. “I bet you can do it with your eyes closed.”
“I’ll take that bet.” He closed his eyes, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, and popped the stem into his mouth. As he worked his jaw, she took advantage of the moment and soaked him in. His handsome face, the bad-boy scruff that had been absent when he’d dated her and the divot in his chin she’d always found unforgivably sexy.
He opened his eyes and caught her staring, his schoolboy grin as mischievous as the day he’d asked her out after class that first time. Then he produced the cherry stem between his teeth. He’d tied it in a knot with his tongue, which ushered in more memories of how good he’d been with that part of his anatomy when they’d been together.
He held the knotted stem between his index finger and thumb and fixed his gaze on hers. “Wanna do something crazy?”
Too late.
“Like what?” she heard herself ask. There was a rogue part of her chanting, “Do it, do it!” Entertaining that voice was as ill-advised as having a drink with Vic in the first place. That’s it. No more martinis.
“Like relive our past. The good part. The best part.”
She was already shaking her head.
“Hear me out, Aubrey with the auburn hair.” He grinned. She couldn’t help smiling at the nickname he’d sung loudly and obnoxiously whenever he’d passed her in the hallway on her way to Advanced English. His voice low and husky, he rumbled, “Spend the night with me. No talk about the past or the future. We’ll do what we’re best at doing, feel that sweet, sweet release we’re both aching for, and in the morning you can pretend it never happened. What d’ya say?”
“I say you’re crazy,” she breathed while a visual of him kissing her deeply, his hand beneath her bra, danced merrily in her brain. The worst part was that she wasn’t half as offended as she should be.
“Yeah, I am. But who cares?”
Why, oh, why was she considering his offer? She’d be insane to hop into bed with him again—certifiable. He somehow read her expression—or maybe her thoughts—and gave her the nudge that would seal her fate. After checking if anyone in the mostly empty bar was listening—they weren’t—he leaned close and dipped his voice into seductive territory.
“Remember how good we were together, Aub? I’ll deliver, mark my words. I’ll make it so good, you’ll forget your own name.”
She had to chuckle at his audacity, even as desire slid honey-smooth through her veins. It’d been a long time since anyone had delivered on half that promise. She knew from experience Vic’s suggestive tone wasn’t for show. Ten years hadn’t dulled the white-hot memories from when they were naked together.
“And then we go back to normal like nothing happened?” She put her hand to her throat and toyed with her necklace, hardly able to believe her own ears.
“Hand to God.” He raised a palm. “We’ll never speak of it again.”
