One Night with Her Ex By Lucy King
“Can you honestly say you don’t want me?”
Lily Montgomery finds the perfect antidote to an anticlimactic New Year’s Eve: a hot, up-against-the-door one-night stand with a sexy millionaire. Trouble is, the man in question is Kit, the ex-husband she’s spent five years getting over.
For Kit Buchanan, the past few years have been hellish! He’s conquered the business world, but when it comes to the bedroom he’s had the mother of all dry spells. Clearly he needs to get Lily out of his system once and for all!
But one supercharged night later, Kit’s not so sure. After all, why move on when he’s having so much fun where he is?
SNEAK PEEK EXCERPT FROM
One Night with Her Ex
“Move, Lily.”
“No,” she said, her chin up and her eyes glinting in the soft low light of the hall. “You show up in the early hours of New Year’s Day, make a big deal about wanting to talk, and then suddenly you don’t want to talk? You’re making me worried, and I won’t let you leave when you’re in this sort of state. So come on, what gives?”
Now clearly was the time to march forward, physically lift her aside and make his escape, thought Kit with the one brain cell that was still functioning rationally.
But that would mean being near her, laying his hands on her, he reasoned with the part of his brain that was addled with lust. And once that happened he wouldn’t be lifting her out of the way, but pulling her close, backing her up against the door and divesting her of her clothing.
Shoving his hands through his hair, he cursed whatever madness had made him think that seeking his ex-wife out had been a good idea.
ONE
Right. That was it. Enough was enough.
As the last of Big Ben’s twelve bongs echoed through the night and the sky began to explode with fireworks, Kit Buchanan knocked back the inch of whisky that was left in his glass and glowered at the dazzling display erupting over the Thames beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse suite.
Forget the work he’d lined up to do this evening; he hadn’t touched it anyway. Forget the fact that it was the middle of the night and freezing cold; what with the burning sensation of the alcohol and the relentlessness of the thoughts drumming through his head he felt as if he were on fire.
And forget the fact that he was about to embark on a course of action that probably required a good deal more consideration than the ten minutes he’d just given it.
He needed to sort out the mess he was in. Now.
For five years he’d been suffering. Five long, torturous, frustrating-as-hell years, and he’d finally had it. He was through with the lingering guilt, the excruciating tension and the crippling anxiety, all of which vibrated through him pretty much constantly and all of which he’d had to live with for far too long. He’d had enough of beating himself around the head with more self-recrimination and regret than any man needed to experience in one lifetime.
And he was sick of having no option but to split up with the women he dated.
The last one, Carla, whom he’d been seeing for a month and with whom he’d broken up just a few hours ago, he’d liked more than usual. He wouldn’t have minded seeing a bit more of her, seeing where the relationship might head.
But that was pretty impossible given the problem he suffered, wasn’t it?
It really couldn’t go on.
