“So David. What do you do for a living?” A loud Australian voice boomed over the din.

He turned to Gary, grateful he could leave his memories. He was glad of the reprieve. It was well-worn, solid ground without a spec of emotion. The conversation flowed and he lost time enjoying himself. Marlowe’s family were warm, considerate. People that made you feel right at home. He noted every one of Marlowe's family spoke to him and seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say.

“Pav. Pav. Pav. Pav.” The children chanted from the end of the table after the mains had been reduced to empty plates. David wasn’t surprised. Marlowe had cooked it, and it had been delicious.

Marlowe laughed, “Okay. I’ll go get it. You’d think you’d be too full to eat it after gutsing everything else.”

“I always have room for your desserts, Marlowe,” someone piped up, making everyone else laugh. There was obviously a history here. David looked at all the faces with interest.

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Marlowe stood, “Okay you lot. If I’m getting the Pav, you’re cleaning up. Come on, we need fresh plates.” Groaning, several of Marlowe’s brothers stood up and started stacking plates.

“They only do that because they’re led by their stomachs,” Marlowe said.

“They certainly don’t do it at home,” Shirley said.

“I’ve trained my son’s well,” Janice said.

“Mum. Get real. I grew up with them. They are the laziest men around. They just want to be fed,” Marlowe said.

One of the brothers held his hand over his heart with a mock look of shock on his face, “You wound me, sis.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Joseph was always the first to leave the kitchen claiming he had soooo much to do that he couldn’t possibly help out with the dishes,” another brother, Dan said.

“I’d have thought men had moved past being trained for food. Looks like I was wrong,” Marlowe laughed.

“Marlowe didn’t cook Pav back then,” Joseph said. There were murmurs of ‘no, she didn’t’ and ‘Marlowe’s Pav totally rocks’ before she flung her hands up in the air and groaned.

“Can anyone tell me what on earth this ‘Pav’ actually is?” David asked.

The room erupted in loud laughter.

Marlowe gave him a plate stacked with a huge slab of soft meringue on the inside and cooked, crumbling and delicious on the outside. Strawberries, kiwi fruit, slices of banana, passion fruit pulp and whipped cream was artfully stacked on the top. “This is my Pav. Come on, we’ll go somewhere quiet, eat this and before I slip into a sugar coma, we’ll go over the costs.”

“How much sugar is in this thing?” David looked at the white, spongy thing dubiously. It wasn’t exactly a cake, or a sponge, or anything he’d seen before. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Marlowe laughed, the musical sound punched him right in the heart. “It’s an Aussie dessert. We eat it all the time.”

“You still think of yourself as Australian even after living here for so many years?” David said.

“I’m both. Aussie and a red, white and blue gal. The thing you gotta remember is you can take the girl out of Melbourne, but you can’t take the Aussie out of a girl. No matter how long she’s lived in another country. I’ve been living here half my life, so it’s kind of a draw.” Marlowe cut a slab, dropped it on a plate and handed one to him and another for herself. She led him into the quieter lounge.

David tasted the dessert. Sugary sweet goodness melted into his mouth, “This is sooo good.”

“Told you,” Marlowe said.

“No wonder your brothers fought to clean up for a slice. I’d do the same thing too.” He settled next to her on the couch. Marlowe opened the laptop on the coffee table in front of them and started it up.

“Never met a man I couldn’t swindle with a slice of my dessert,” Marlowe said.

David watched her lips sweep over the spoon as she ate the delicious dessert. Her tongue darted out and licked a white glob from the corner of her mouth.

Such a kissable mouth. Those full, soft, dusky lips.

Without knowing how he got there, he’d slid across the couch, one arm on the backrest, the other lightly on her thigh. She stilled, a spoon in one hand, the plate in the other, surprised, but not pulling back.

He leaned closer, her warm breath caressed his cheek. Cinnamon with an aroma of the desert. So desirable. He couldn’t help himself. Didn’t want to stop. He pressed his lips to hers. They cushioned his perfectly. So soft. So pliable.

Her lips parted and he slipped his lips along hers, before massaging her mouth with his own. A breathy sigh escaped her and she leaned into the kiss, positioning her head so that her lips slanted against his. The move increased the pressure, and, with another suckle of his lips, he plunged his tongue inside her warm mouth.

Her tongue swept with a sensuous glide. His hand moved up her firm thigh to her waist, capturing her and tugging her towards him. He splayed his fingers of his other hand at her nape, her silky hair draped over the back of his hand, the touch sensuous.

He lost himself in her taste, her touch, her response. He’d nearly forgotten about the costings he was here to do. Nearly forgot about his own dark, lonely upbringing. Nearly forgot his promise not to treat a woman or child the way his father treated him.

His promise.

Marlowe.

She deserved better than he could ever give her.

What. In. Hell. Was. He. Doing.

He broke their kiss, flinching back, running his fingers through his hair. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, her plump mouth open, lips glistening with their kiss. So undeniably sexy, hot and so, so desirable.

He stood, his legs jerking straight and shuffled around the coffee table. “I’ve got to go.”

“What on earth just happened?” Marlowe said, her voice was slightly husky.

“I kissed you, Marlowe!” The front door was just out in the hall. Right next to the Christmas tree that looked far too happy for the torture he was going through. Escape was a tangible urge.

“I know you kissed me. It was…it was pretty good!”

He frowned, “Only pretty good?” He’d thought it was mind-blowing.

She shook her head, as though trying to understand why he acted like he was. That made two of them. “Why are you looking at me like you want to run a mile in the other direction after we just kissed like that?”

“I’m sorry, Marlowe. That shouldn’t have happened. I mean, I wanted it to happen when it happened. I meant it to happen. But it can’t happen. I can’t ever be what you’d ever need. Best to cut things short and leave it where it is,” David said.

“But nothing happened. Well, something did, but not for long. Not long enough,” Marlowe said. Confusion and sadness washed her face and his gut lurched as though he’d drunk three bottles of whiskey and spun fifty full circles until he didn’t know which way was up or down.

He studied her, knowing it was the last time he’d see her like this. The next time she’d be protected by an emotional shell he wouldn’t break through. Good. It was better that way. “No. And it never can. I won’t ever do that to you. Not you, Marlowe.”

“Do what, David?” Marlowe said.

“I can’t. I just…won’t.” He strode to the door and the freedom beyond. Only it didn’t feel like freedom. It felt as though the world was weighing on his chest and he couldn’t catch a breath.

“David. Come and talk to me. If you leave now, you’ll never be free from whatever it is torturing you,” Marlowe said.

David rested his hand on the doorknob for a moment, before turning it and swinging the door open. “At least I won’t bring you down with me.”