Australian Nights

December 2020

Longing for Summer

January 2021

Her Outback Fling

February 2021

Heat of the Night

March 2021

The Marriage Conquest

April 2021

Sun, Sea, Seduction

May 2021

Waves of Desire

About the Author

MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on, because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a ‘very special doctor’, she has also written under the name Trisha David. She’s now stepped back from her ‘other’ career teaching statistics. Finally, she’s figured out what’s important and discovered the joys of baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time! Marion is an international award-winning author.

The Summer They Never Forgot

Kandy Shepherd

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-472-04770-0

THE SUMMER THEY NEVER FORGOT

© 2011 Marion Lennox

Published in Great Britain 2021

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

ON SANDY ADAMS’S thirtieth birthday—which was also the day the man she’d lived with for two years was getting married to another woman—she decided to run away.

No. Not run away. Find a new perspective.

Yes, that sounded good. Positive. Affirming. Challenging.

No way would she give even a second’s thought to any more heartbreak.

She’d taken the first step by driving the heck out of Sydney and heading south—her ultimate destination: Melbourne, a thousand kilometres away. On a whim, she’d chosen to take the slower, scenic route to Melbourne on the old Princes Highway. There was time, and it went through areas she thought were among the most beautiful in the state of New South Wales.

Alone and loving it, she repeated to herself as she drove.

Say it enough times and she might even start to believe it.

Somewhere between the seaside town of Kiama and the quaint village of Berry, with home two hours behind her, she pulled her lime-green Beetle off onto a safe lay-by. But she only allowed herself a moment to stretch out her cramped muscles and admire the rolling green hills and breathtaking blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean before she got back in the car. The February heat made it too hot to stay outside for too long.

From her handbag she pulled out her new notebook, a birthday present from her five-year-old niece. There was a pink fairy on the cover and the glitter from its wings had already shed all through Sandy’s bag. It came with a shocking-pink pen. She nibbled on the pen for a long moment.

Then, with a flourish, she headed up the page ‘Thirtieth Birthday Resolutions’ and started to scribble in pink ink.

1. Get as far away from Sydney as possible while remaining in realms of civilisation and within reach of a good latte.

2. Find new job where can be own boss.

She underscored the words ‘own boss’ three times, so hard she nearly tore the paper.

3. Find kind, interesting man with no hang-ups who loves me the way I am and who wants to get married and have lots of kids.

She crossed out ‘lots of kids’ and wrote instead ‘three kids’—then added, ‘two girls and a boy’. When it came to writing down goals there was no harm in being specific. So she also added, ‘Man who in no way resembles That-Jerk-Jason’.

She went over the word ‘jerk’ twice and finished with the date and an extravagant flourish. Done.

She liked making lists. She felt they gave her some degree of control over a life that had gone unexpectedly pear-shaped. But three goals were probably all she could cope with right now. The resolutions could be revisited once she’d got to her destination.

She put the notebook back into her bag and slid the car back onto the highway.

An hour or so later farmland had made way for bushland and the sides of the road were lined with eucalypt forest. Her shoulders ached from driving and thoughts of a break for something to eat were at the front of her mind. When she saw the signpost to Dolphin Bay it took only a second for her to decide to throw the car into a left turn.

It was a purely reflex action. She’d planned to stop at one of the beachside towns along the way for lunch and a swim. But she hadn’t given sleepy Dolphin Bay a thought for years. She’d adored the south coast when she was a kid—had spent two idyllic summer holidays at different resort towns with her family, revelling in the freedom of being let off the leash of the rigorous study schedule her father had set her during the school year. But one summer the family had stayed in Dolphin Bay for the first time and everything had changed.

At the age of eighteen, she’d fallen in love with Ben. Tall, blond, surfer dude Ben, with the lazy smile and the muscles to die for. He’d been exciting, forbidden and fun. At the same time he’d been a real friend: supportive, encouraging—all the things she’d never dreamed a boy could be.

Then there’d been the kisses. The passionate, exciting, first-love kisses that had surprised her for years afterwards by sneaking into her dreams.

Sandy took her foot off the accelerator pedal and prepared to brake and turn back. She’d closed the door on so many of the bittersweet memories of that summer. Was it wise to nudge it open again by even a fraction?

But how could it hurt to drop in to Dolphin Bay for lunch? It was her birthday, after all, and she couldn’t remember the last proper meal she’d eaten. She might even book into Morgan’s Guesthouse and stay the night.

She put her foot back to the accelerator, too excited at the thought of seeing Dolphin Bay again to delay any further.

As she cruised into the main street that ran between the rows of shops and the waterfront, excitement melted down in a cold rush of disappointment. She’d made a big mistake. The classic mistake of expecting things to stay the same. She hadn’t been to Dolphin Bay for twelve years. And now she scarcely recognised it.

Determined not to give in to any kind of let-down feelings, she parked not far from the wasn’t-there-last-time information kiosk, got out, locked the car and walked around, trying to orientate herself.

The southern end of the bay was enclosed by old-fashioned rock sea walls to form a small, safe harbour. It seemed much the same, with a mix of pleasure boats and fishing vessels bobbing on the water. The typically Australian old pub, with its iron lace balconies was the same too.

But gone was the beaten-up old jetty. It had been replaced by a sleek new pier and a marina, a fishing charter business, and a whale-and dolphin-watching centre topped with a large fibreglass dolphin with an inane painted grin that, in spite of her shock, made her smile. Adjoining was a row of upmarket shops and galleries. The fish and chip shop, where she’d squabbled with her sister over the last chip eaten straight from the vinegar-soaked paper, had been pulled down to make way for a trendy café. The dusty general store was now a fashionable boutique.

And, even though it was February and the school holidays were over, there were people strolling, browsing, licking on ice cream cones—more people than she could remember ever seeing in Dolphin Bay.

For a moment disappointment almost won. But she laughed out loud when she noticed the rubbish bins that sat out on the footpath. Each was in the shape of a dolphin with its mouth wide open.

They were absolute kitsch, but she fell in love with them all over again. Surreptitiously, she patted one on its fibreglass snout. ‘Delighted you’re still here,’ she whispered.

Then, when she looked more closely around her, she noticed that in spite of the new sophistication every business still sported a dolphin motif in some form or another, from a discreet sticker to a carved wooden awning.

And she’d bet Morgan’s Guesthouse at the northern end of the bay wouldn’t have changed. The rambling weatherboard building, dating from the 1920s, would certainly have some sort of a heritage preservation order on it. It was part of the history of the town.

In her mind’s eye she could see the guesthouse the way it had been that magic summer. The shuttered windows, the banks of blue and purple hydrangeas her mother had loved, the old sand tennis court where she’d played hit-and-giggle games with Ben. She hoped it hadn’t changed too much.

As she approached the tourist information kiosk to ask for directions on how to get there she hesitated. Why did she need the guesthouse to be the same?

Did it have something to do with those rapidly returning memories of Ben Morgan? Ben, nineteen to her eighteen, the surfer hunk all the girls had had wild crushes on.

Around from the bay, accessed via a boardwalk, was a magnificent surf beach. When Ben had ridden his board, harnessing the power of the waves like some suntanned young god, there had always been a giggling gaggle of admiring girls on the sand.

She’d never been one of them. No, she’d stood on the sidelines, never daring to dream he’d see her as anything but a guest staying for two weeks with her family at his parents’ guesthouse.

But, to her amazement and joy, he’d chosen her. And then the sun had really started to shine that long-ago summer.

‘Morgan’s Guesthouse?’ said the woman manning the information kiosk. ‘Sorry, love, I’ve never heard of it.’

‘The old wooden building at the northern end of the bay,’ Sandy prompted.

‘There’s only the Hotel Harbourside there,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a modern place—been there as long as I’ve been in town.’

Sandy thanked her and walked away, a little confused.

But she gasped when she saw the stark, modern structure of the luxury hotel that had replaced the charming old weatherboard guesthouse. Its roofline paid some kind of homage to the old-fashioned peaked roof that had stood there the last time she had visited Dolphin Bay, but the concrete and steel of its construction did not. The hotel took up the footprint of the original building and gardens, and rose several floors higher.

Hotel Harbourside? She’d call it Hotel Hideous.

She took a deep, calming breath. Then forced herself to think positive. The new hotel might lack the appeal of the old guesthouse but she’d bet it would be air conditioned and would almost certainly have a decent restaurant. Just the place for a solo thirtieth birthday lunch.

And as she stood on the steps that led from the beach to the hotel and closed her eyes, breathed in the salty air, felt the heat shimmering from the sand, listened to the sound of the water lapping at the edge of the breakwater, she could almost imagine everything was the same as it had been.

Almost.

The interior of the restaurant was all glass, steel and smart design. What a difference from the old guesthouse dining room, with its mismatched wooden chairs, well-worn old table and stacks of board games for ruthlessly played after-dinner tournaments. But the windows that looked out over the bay framed a view that was much the same as it had always been—although now a fleet of dolphin-watching boats plied its tourist trade across the horizon.

She found a table in the corner furthest from the bar and sat down. She took off her hat and squashed it in her bag but kept her sunglasses on. Behind them she felt safer. Protected. Less vulnerable, she had to admit to herself.

She refused to allow even a smidgeon of self-pity to intrude as she celebrated her thirtieth birthday all by herself whilst at the same time her ex Jason was preparing to walk down the aisle.

Casting her eye over the menu, Sandy was startled by a burst of masculine laughter over the chatter from the bar. As that sound soared back into her memory her heart gave an excited leap of recognition. No other man’s laughter could sound like that.

Rich. Warm. Unforgettable.

Ben.

He hadn’t been at the bar when she’d walked in. She’d swear to it. Unless he’d changed beyond all recognition.

She was afraid to look up. Afraid of being disappointed. Afraid of what she might say, do, to the first man to have broken her heart.

Would she go up and say hello? Or put her hat back on and try to slink out without him seeing her?

Despite her fears, she took off her sunglasses with fingers that weren’t quite steady and slowly raised her head.

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the blood drain from her face. He stood with his profile towards her, but it was definitely Ben Morgan: broad-shouldered, towering above the other men in the bar, talking animatedly with a group of people.

From what she could see from this distance he was as handsome as the day they’d said goodbye. His hair was shorter. He wore tailored shorts and a polo-style shirt instead of the Hawaiian print board shorts and singlet he’d favoured when he was nineteen. He was more muscular. Definitely more grown up.

But he was still Ben.

He said something to the guy standing near him, laughed again at his response. Now, as then, he held the attention of everyone around him.

Did he feel her gaze fixed on him?

Something must have made him turn. As their eyes connected, he froze mid-laugh. Nothing about his expression indicated that he recognised her.

For a long, long moment it seemed as if everyone and everything else in the room fell away. The sound of plates clattering, glasses clinking, and the hum of chatter seemed muted. She realised she was holding her breath.

Ben turned back to the man he’d been talking to, said something, then turned to face her again. This time he smiled, acknowledging her, and she let out her breath in a slow sigh.

He made his way to her table with assured, athletic strides. She watched, mesmerised, taking in the changes wrought by twelve years. The broad-shouldered, tightly muscled body, with not a trace of his teenage gangliness. The solid strength of him. The transformation from boy to man. Oh, yes, the teenage Ben was now very definitely a man.

And hotter than ever.

All her senses screamed that recognition.

He’d reached her before she had a chance to get up from her chair.

‘Sandy?’

The voice she hadn’t heard for so long was as deep and husky as she remembered. He’d had a man’s voice even at nineteen. Though only a year older than her, he’d seemed light years ahead in maturity.

Words of greeting she knew she should utter were wedged in her throat. She coughed. Panicked that she couldn’t even manage a hello.

His words filled the void. ‘Or are you Alexandra these days?’

He remembered that. Her father had insisted she be called by her full name of Alexandra. But Alexandra was too much of a mouthful, Ben had decided. He’d called her by the name she preferred. From that summer on she’d been Sandy. Except, of course, to her father and mother.

‘Who’s Alexandra?’ she said now, pretending to look around for someone else.

He laughed with what seemed like genuine pleasure to see her. Suddenly she felt her nervousness, her self-consciousness, drop down a notch or two.

She scrambled up from her chair. The small round table was a barrier between her and the man who’d been everything to her twelve years ago. The man she’d thought she’d never see again.

‘It’s good to see you, Ben,’ she said, her voice still more choked than she would have liked it to be.

His face was the same—strong-jawed and handsome—and his eyes were still as blue as the summer sky at noon. Close-cropped dark blond hair replaced the sun-bleached surfer tangle that so long ago she’d thought was the ultimate in cool. There were creases around his eyes that hadn’t been there when he was nineteen. And there was a tiny white crescent of a scar on his top lip she didn’t remember. But she could still see the boy in the man.

‘It’s good to see you, too,’ he said, in that so-deep-it-bordered-on-gruff voice. ‘I recognised you straight away.’

‘Me too. I mean, I recognised you too.’

What did he see as he looked at her? What outward signs had the last years of living life full steam ahead left on her?

‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he said.

‘So have you,’ she said, and he smiled.

Automatically her hand went up to touch her head. Of course he would notice. Her brown hair had swung below her waist when she’d last seen him, and she remembered how he’d made her swear never, ever to change it. Now it was cut in a chic, city-smart bob and tastefully highlighted.

‘But otherwise you haven’t changed,’ he added in that husky voice. ‘Just grown up.’

‘It’s kind of you to say that,’ she said. But she knew how much she’d changed from that girl that summer.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Please. I was just having a drink...’

She sat back down and Ben sat in the chair opposite her. His strong, tanned legs were so close they nudged hers as he settled into place. She didn’t draw her legs back. The slight pressure of his skin on her skin, although momentary, sent waves of awareness coursing through her. She swallowed hard.

She’d used to think Ben Morgan was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. The twelve intervening years had done nothing to change her opinion. No sophisticated city guy had ever matched up to him. Not even Jason.

She’d left the menu open on the table before her. ‘I see you’ve decided on dessert before your main meal,’ Ben said, with that lazy smile which hadn’t changed at all.

‘I was checking out the salads, actually,’ she lied.

‘Really?’ he said, the smile still in his voice, and the one word said everything.

He’d caught her out. Was teasing her. Like he’d used to do. With no brothers, an all-girls school and zero dating experience, she hadn’t been used to boys. Never hurtful or mean, his happy-go-lucky ways had helped get her over that oversensitivity. It was just one of the ways he’d helped her grow up.

‘You’re right,’ she said, relaxing into a smile. ‘Old habits die hard. The raspberry brownie with chocolate fudge sauce does appeal.’ The birthday cake you had when you weren’t having a birthday cake. But she wouldn’t admit to that.

‘That brownie is so good you’ll want to order two servings,’ he said.

Like you used to.

The unspoken words hung between them. Their eyes met for a moment too long to be comfortable. She was the first to look away.

Ben signalled the waiter. As he waved, Sandy had to suppress a gasp at the ugly raised scars that distorted the palms of his hands. What had happened? A fishing accident?

Quickly she averted her eyes so he wouldn’t notice her shock. Or see the questions she didn’t dare ask.

Not now. Not yet.

She rushed to fill the silence that had fallen over their table. ‘It’s been a—’

He finished the sentence for her. ‘Long time?’

‘Yes,’ was all she was able to get out. ‘I was only thinking about you a minute ago and wondering...’

She felt the colour rise up her throat to stain her cheeks. As she’d walked away from the information kiosk and towards the hotel hadn’t she been remembering how Ben had kissed her all those years ago, as they’d lain entwined on the sand in the shadows at the back of the Morgan family’s boat shed? Remembering the promises they’d made to each other between those breathless kisses? Promises she’d really, truly believed.

She felt again as gauche and awkward as she had the night she’d first danced with him, at a bushfire brigade fundraiser dance at the surf club a lifetime ago. Unable to believe that Ben Morgan had actually singled her out from the summer people who’d invaded the locals’ dance.

After their second dance together he’d asked her if she had a boyfriend back home. When she’d shaken her head, he’d smiled.

‘Good,’ he’d said. ‘Then I don’t have to go up to Sydney and fight him for you.’

She’d been so thrilled she’d actually felt dizzy.

The waiter arrived at their table.

‘Can I get you another drink?’ Ben asked.

‘Um, diet cola, please.’

What was wrong with her? Why was she so jittery and on edge?

As a teenager she’d always felt relaxed with Ben, able to be herself. She’d gone home to Sydney a different person from the one who had arrived for that two-week holiday in Dolphin Bay.

She had to stop being so uptight. This was the same Ben. Older, but still Ben. He seemed the same laid-back guy he’d been as her teenage heartthrob. Except—she suppressed a shudder—for the horrendous scarring on his hands.

‘Would you believe this is the first time I’ve been back this way since that summer?’ she said, looking straight into his eyes. She’d used to tell him that eyes so blue were wasted on a man and beg him to swap them for her ordinary hazel-brownish ones.

‘It’s certainly the first time I’ve seen you here,’ he said easily.

Was he, too, remembering those laughing intimacies they’d once shared? Those long discussions of what they’d do with their lives, full of hopes and dreams and youthful optimism? Their resolve not to let the distance between Dolphin Bay and Sydney stop them from seeing each other again?

If he was, he certainly didn’t show it. ‘So what brings you back?’ he asked.

It seemed a polite, uninterested question—the kind a long-ago acquaintance might ask a scarcely remembered stranger who’d blown unexpectedly into town.

‘The sun, the surf and the dolphins?’ she said, determined to match his tone.

He smiled. ‘The surf’s as good as it always was, and the dolphins are still here. But there must be something else to bring a city girl like you to this particular backwater.’

‘B...backwater? I wouldn’t call it that,’ she stuttered. ‘I’m sorry if you think I—’ The gleam in his blue eyes told her he wasn’t serious. She recovered herself. ‘I’m on my way from Sydney through to Melbourne. I saw the turn to this wonderful non-backwater town and here I am. On impulse.’

‘It’s nice you decided to drop in.’ His words were casual, just the right thing to say. Almost too casual. ‘So, how do you find the place?’

She’d never had to lie with Ben. Still, she was in the habit of being tactful. And this was Ben’s hometown.

‘I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to see those dolphin rubbish bins still there.’

Ben laughed, his strong, even teeth very white against his tan.

That laugh. It still had the power to warm her. Her heart did a curious flipping over thing as she remembered all the laughter they’d shared that long-ago summer. No wonder she’d recognised it instantly.

‘Those hellish things,’ he said. ‘There’s always someone on the progress association who wants to rip them out, but they’re always shouted down.’

‘Thank heaven for that,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be Dolphin Bay without them.’

‘People have even started a rumour that if the dolphins are removed it will be the end of Dolphin Bay.’

She giggled. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘The rubbish bins go and as punishment we’ll be struck by a tsunami. Or some other calamity.’

He rolled his eyes. Just like he’d used to do. That hidden part of her heart marked ‘first love’ reacted with a painful lurch. She averted her gaze from his mouth and that intriguing, sexy little scar.

She remembered the hours of surfing with him, playing tennis on that old court out at the back of the guesthouse. The fun. The laughter. Those passionate, heartfelt kisses. Oh, those kisses—his mouth hard and warm and exciting on hers, his tongue exploring, teasing. Her body straining to his...

The memories gave her the courage to ask the question. It was now or never. ‘Ben. It was a long time ago. But...but why didn’t you write like you said you would?’

For a long moment he didn’t answer and she tensed. Then he shrugged. ‘I never was much for letters. After you didn’t answer the first two I didn’t bother again.’

An edge to his voice hinted that his words weren’t as carefree as they seemed. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You wrote me two letters?’

‘The day after you went home. Then the week after that. Like I promised to.’

Her mouth went suddenly dry. ‘I never got a letter. Never. Or a phone call. I always wondered why...’

No way would she admit how, day after day, she’d hung around the letterbox, hoping against hope that he’d write. Her strict upbringing had meant she was very short on dating experience and vulnerable to doubt.

‘Don’t chase after boys,’ her mother had told her, over and over again. ‘Men are hunters. If he’s interested he’ll come after you. If he doesn’t you’ll only make a fool of yourself by throwing yourself at him.’

But in spite of her mother’s advice she’d tried to phone Ben. Three times she’d braved a phone call to the guesthouse but had hung up without identifying herself when his father had answered. On the third time his father had told her not to ring again. Had he thought she was a nuisance caller? Or realised it was her and didn’t want her bothering his son? Her eighteen-year-old self had assumed the latter.

It had been humiliating. Too humiliating to admit it even now to Ben.

‘Your dad probably got to my letters before you could,’ said Ben. ‘He never approved of me.’

‘That’s not true,’ Sandy stated half-heartedly, knowing she wouldn’t put it past her controlling, righteous father to have intercepted any communication from Ben. In fact she and Ben had decided it was best he not phone her because of her father’s disapproval of the relationship.

‘He’s just a small-town Lothario, Alexandra.’ Her father’s long-ago words echoed in her head. Hardly. Ben had treated her with the utmost respect. Unlike the private school sons of his friends her father had tried to foist on her.

‘Your dad wanted more for you than a small-town fisherman.’ Ben’s blue eyes were shrewd and piercing. ‘And you probably came to agree with him.’

Sandy dropped her gaze and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Over and over her father had told her to forget about Ben. He wasn’t suitable. They came from different worlds. Where was the future for a girl who had academic talents like hers with a boy who’d finished high school but had no intention of going any further?

Underneath it all had been the unspoken message: He’s not good enough for you.

She’d never believed that—not for a second. But she had come to believe there was no future for them.

Inconsolable after their summer together, she’d sobbed into her pillow at night when Ben hadn’t written. Scribbled endless notes to him she’d never had the courage to send.

But he hadn’t got in touch and she’d forced herself to forget him. To get over something that obviously hadn’t meant anything to him.

‘Men make promises they never intend to keep, Alexandra.’ How many times had her mother told her that?

Then, once she’d started university in Sydney, Dolphin Bay and Ben Morgan had seemed far away and less and less important. Her father was right—a surfer boyfriend wouldn’t have fitted in with her new crowd anyway, she’d told herself. Then there’d been other boys. Other kisses. And she’d been too grown up for family holidays at Dolphin Bay or anywhere else.

Still, there remained a place in her heart that had always stayed a little raw, that hurt if she pulled out her memories and prodded at them.

But Ben had written to her.

She swirled the ice cubes round and round in her glass, still unable to meet his eyes, not wanting him to guess how disconcerted she felt. How the knowledge he hadn’t abandoned her teenage self took the sting from her memories.

‘It was a long time ago...’ she repeated, her voice tapering away. ‘Things change.’

‘Yep. Twelve years tends to do that.’

She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her, him, or the town. She seized on the more neutral option.

‘Yes.’ She looked around her, waved a hand to encompass the stark fashionable furnishings. ‘Like this hotel.’

‘What about this hotel?’

‘It’s very smart, but not very sympathetic, is it?’

‘I kinda like it myself,’ he said, and took a drink from his beer.

‘You’re not upset at what the developers did on the site of your family’s beautiful guesthouse?’

‘Like you said. Things change. The guesthouse has...has gone forever.’

He paused and she got the impression he had to control his voice.

‘But this hotel and all the new developments around it have brought jobs for a lot of people. Some say it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to the place.’

‘Do you?’

Sandy willed him to say no, wanting Ben to be the same carefree boy who’d lived for the next good wave, the next catch from the fishing boats he’d shared with his father, but knew somehow from the expression on his face that he wouldn’t.

But still his reply came as a surprise. ‘I own this hotel, Sandy.’

‘You...you do?’

‘Yep. Unsympathetic design and all.’

She clapped her hand to her mouth but she couldn’t take back the words. ‘I’m...I’m so sorry I insulted it.’

‘No offence taken on behalf of the award-winning architect.’

‘Really? It’s won awards?’

‘A stack of ’em.’

She noted the convivial atmosphere at the bar, the rapidly filling tables. ‘It’s very smart, of course. And I’m sure it’s very successful. It’s just...the old place was so charming. Your mother was so proud of it.’

‘My parents left the guesthouse long ago. Glad to say goodbye to the erratic plumbing and the creaking floorboards. They built themselves a comfortable new house up on the headland when I took over.’

Whoa. Surprise on surprise. She knew lots must have changed in twelve years, but this? ‘You took over the running of the guesthouse?’ Somehow, she couldn’t see Ben in that role. She thought of him always as outdoors, an action man—not indoors, pandering to the whims of guests.

‘My wife did.’

His wife.

The words stabbed into Sandy’s heart.

His wife.

If she hadn’t already been sitting down she would have had to. Stupidly, she hadn’t considered—not for one minute—that Ben would be married.

She shot a quick glance at his left hand. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but then plenty of married men didn’t. She’d learned that lesson since she’d been single again.

‘Of course. Of course you would have married,’ she babbled, forcing her mouth into the semblance of a smile.

She clutched her glass so tightly she feared it would shatter. Frantically she tried to mould her expression into something normal, show a polite interest in an old friend’s new life.

‘Did you...did you marry someone from around here?’

‘Jodi Hart.’

Immediately Sandy remembered her. Jodi, with her quiet manner and gentle heart-shaped face. ‘She was lovely,’ she said, meaning every word while trying not to let an unwarranted jealousy flame into life.

‘Yes,’ Ben said, and a muscle pulled at the side of his mouth, giving it a weary twist.

His face seemed suddenly drawn under the bronze of his tan. She was aware of lines etched around his features. She hadn’t noticed them in the first flush of surprise at their meeting. Maybe their marriage wasn’t happy.

Ben drummed his fingers on the surface of the table. Again her eyes were drawn to the scars on his hands. Horrible, angry ridges that made her wince at the sight of them.

‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Did you marry?’

Sandy shook her head. ‘Me? Marry? No. My partner...he...he didn’t believe in marriage.’

Her voice sounded brittle to her own ears. How she’d always hated that ambiguous term partner.

‘“Just a piece of paper,” he used to say.’ She forced a laugh and hoped it concealed any trace of heartbreak. ‘Sure made it easy when we split up. No messy divorce or anything.’

No way would she admit how distraught she’d been. How angry and hurt and humiliated.

His jaw clenched. ‘I’m sorry. Did—?’

She put her hand up to stop his words. ‘Thank you. But there’s no point in talking about it.’ She made herself smile. ‘Water under the bridge, you know.’

It was six months since she’d last seen Jason. And that had only been to pay him for his half of the sofa they’d bought together.

Ben looked at her as if he were searching her face for something. His gaze was so intense she began to feel uncomfortable. When—at last—he spoke, his words were slow and considered.

‘Water under the bridge. You’re right.’

‘Yes,’ she said, not sure what to say next.

After another long, awkward pause, he glanced at his watch. ‘It’s been great to see you, Sandy. But I have a meeting to get to.’ He pushed back his chair and got up.

‘Of course.’ She wanted to put out a hand to stop him. There was more she wanted to ask him. Memories she wanted to share. But there was no reason for him to stay. No reason for him to know it was her birthday and how much she would enjoy his company for lunch.

He was married.

Married men did not share intimate lunches alone with former girlfriends, even if their last kiss had been twelve years ago.

She got up, too, resisting the urge to sigh. ‘It was wonderful to catch up after all these years. Please...please give my regards to Jodi.’

He nodded, not meeting her eyes. Then indicated the menu. ‘Lunch is on the house. I’ll tell the desk you’re my guest.’

‘You really don’t have to, Ben.’

‘Please. I insist. For...for old times’ sake.’

She hesitated. Then smiled tentatively. ‘Okay. Thank you. I’m being nostalgic but they were good old times, weren’t they? I have only happy memories of Dolphin Bay.’ Of the time we spent together.

She couldn’t kiss him goodbye. Instead she offered her hand for him to shake.

He paused for a second, then took it in his warm grip, igniting memories of the feel of his hands on her body, the caresses that had never gone further than she’d wanted. But back then she hadn’t felt the hard ridges of those awful scars. And now she had no right to recall such intimate memories.

Ben was married.

‘I’m sorry I was rude about your hotel,’ she said, very seriously. Then she injected a teasing tone into her voice. ‘But I’ll probably never stop wondering why you destroyed the guesthouse. And those magnificent gum trees—there’s not one left. Remember the swing that—?’

Ben let go her hand. ‘Sandy. It was just a building.’

Too late she realised it wasn’t any of her business to go on about the guesthouse just because she was disappointed it had been demolished.

‘Ben, I—’

He cut across her. ‘It’s fine. That was the past, and it’s where it should be. But it really has been great seeing you again...enjoy your lunch. Goodbye, Sandy.’

‘Good-goodbye, Ben,’ she managed to stutter out, stunned by his abrupt farewell, by the feeling that he wasn’t being completely honest with her.

Without another word he turned from her, strode to the exit, nodded towards the people at the bar, and closed the door behind him. She gripped the edge of the table, swept by a wave of disappointment so intense she felt she was drowning in it.

What had she said? Had she crossed a line without knowing it? And why did she feel emptier than when she’d first arrived back in Dolphin Bay? Because when she’d written her birthday resolutions hadn’t she had Ben Morgan in mind? When she’d described a kind man, free of hang-ups and deadly ambition, hadn’t she been remembering him? Remembering how his straightforward approach to life had helped her grow up that summer? Grow up enough to defy her father and set her own course.

She was forced to admit to herself it wasn’t the pier or the guesthouse she’d wanted to be the same in Dolphin Bay. It was the man who represented the antithesis of the cruel, city-smart man who had hurt her so badly.

In her self-centred fantasy she hadn’t given a thought to Ben being married—just to him always being here, stuck in a time warp.

A waitress appeared to clear her glass away, but then paused and looked at her. Sandy wished she’d put her sunglasses back on. Her hurt, her disappointment, her anger at herself, must be etched on her face.

The waitress was a woman of about her own age, with a pretty freckled face and curly auburn hair pulled back tightly. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I know you,’ she said suddenly. ‘Sandy, right? Years ago you came down from Sydney to stay at Morgan’s Guesthouse.’

‘That’s right,’ Sandy said, taken aback at being recognised.

‘I’m Kate Parker,’ the woman said, ‘but I don’t suppose you remember me.’

Sandy dredged through her memories. ‘Yes, I do.’ She forced a smile. ‘You were the best dancer I’d ever seen. My sister and I desperately tried to copy you, but we could never be as good.’

‘Thanks,’ Kate replied, looking pleased at the compliment. She looked towards the door Ben had exited through. ‘You dated Ben, didn’t you? Poor guy. He’s had it tough.’

‘Tough?’

‘You don’t know?’ The other woman’s voice was almost accusing.

How would she know what had gone on in Ben Morgan’s life in the twelve years since she’d last seen him?

‘Lost his wife and child when the old guesthouse burned down,’ Kate continued. ‘Jodi died trying to rescue their little boy. Ben was devastated. Went away for a long time—did very well for himself. When he came back he built this hotel as modern and as different from the old place as could be. Couldn’t bear the memories...’

Kate Parker chattered on, but Sandy didn’t wait to hear any more. She pushed her chair back so fast it fell over and clattered onto the ground. She didn’t stop to pull it up.

She ran out of the bar, through the door and towards the steps to the shoreline, heart pumping, face flushed, praying frantically to the god of second chances.

Ben.

She just had to find Ben.

CHAPTER TWO

TAKING THE STEPS two at a time, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste, Sandy ran onto the whiter-than-white sand of Dolphin Bay.

Ben was way ahead of her. Tall and broad-shouldered, he strode along towards the rocks, defying the wind that had sprung up while she was in the hotel and was now whipping the water to a frosting of whitecaps.

She had to catch up with him. Explain. Apologise. Tell him how dreadfully sorry she was about Jodi and his son. Tell him... Oh, so much she wanted to tell him. Needed to tell him. But the deep, fine sand was heavy around her feet, slowing her so she felt she was making no progress at all.

‘Ben!’ she shouted, but the wind just snatched the words out of her mouth and he didn’t turn around.

She fumbled with her sandals and yanked them off, the better to run after him.

‘Ben!’ she called again, her voice hoarse, the salt wind whipping her hair around her face and stinging her eyes.

At last he stopped. Slowly, warily, he turned to face her. It seemed an age until she’d struggled through the sand to reach him. He stood unmoving, his face rigid, his eyes guarded. How hadn’t she seen it before?

‘Ben,’ she whispered, scarcely able to get the word out. ‘I’m sorry... I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’

His eyes searched her face. ‘You know?’

She nodded. ‘Kate told me. She thought I already knew. I don’t know what to say.’

Ben looked down at Sandy’s face, at her cheeks flushed pink, her brown hair all tangled and blown around her face. Her eyes were huge with distress, her mouth oddly stained bright pink in the centre. She didn’t look much older than the girl he’d loved all those years ago.

The girl he’d recognised as soon as she’d come into the hotel restaurant. Recognised and—just for one wild, unguarded second before he pummelled the thought back down to the depths of his wounded heart—let himself exult that she had come back. His first love. The girl he had never forgotten. Had never expected to see again.

For just those few minutes when they’d chatted he’d donned the mask of the carefree boy he’d been when they’d last met.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again, her voice barely audible through the wind.

‘You couldn’t have known,’ he said.

Silence fell between them for a long moment and he found he could not stop himself from searching her face. Looking for change. He wanted there to be no sign of the passing years on her, though he was aware of how much he had changed himself.

Then she spoke. ‘When did...?’

‘Five years ago,’ he said gruffly.

He didn’t want to talk to Sandy about what the locals called ‘his tragedy’. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore full-stop—but particularly not to Sandy, who’d once been so special to him.

Sandy Adams belonged in his past. Firmly in his past. Water under the bridge, as she’d so aptly said.

She bit down on her lower lip. ‘I can’t imagine how you must feel—’

‘No, you can’t,’ he said, more abruptly than he’d intended, and was ashamed at the flash of hurt that tightened her face. ‘No one could. But I’ve put it behind me...’

Her eyes—warm, compassionate—told him she knew he was lying. How could he ever put that terrible day of helpless rage and despair behind him? The empty, guilt-ridden days that had followed it? The years of punishing himself, of not allowing himself to feel again?

‘Your hands,’ she said softly. ‘Is that how you hurt them?’

He nodded, finding words with difficulty. ‘The metal door handles were burning hot when I tried to open them.’

Fearsome images came back—the heat, the smoke, the door that would not give despite his weight behind it, his voice raw from screaming Jodi’s and Liam’s names.

He couldn’t stop the shudder that racked his frame. ‘I don’t talk about it.’

Mutely, she nodded, and her eyes dropped from his face. But not before he read the sorrow for him there.

Once again he felt ashamed of his harshness towards her. But that was him these days. Ben Morgan: thirty-one going on ninety.

His carefree self of that long-ago summer had been forged into someone tougher, harder, colder. Someone who would not allow emotion or softness in his life. Even the memories of a holiday romance. For with love came the agony of loss, and he could never risk that again.

She looked up at him. ‘If...if there’s anything I can do to help, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’

Again he nodded, but knew in his heart it was an empty gesture. Sandy was just passing through, and he was grateful. He didn’t want to revisit times past.

He’d only loved two women—his wife, Jodi, and, before her, Sandy. It was too dangerous to have his first love around, reminding him of what he’d vowed never to feel again. He’d resigned himself to a life alone.

‘You’ve booked in to the hotel?’ he asked.

‘Not yet, but I will.’

‘For how long?’

Visibly, her face relaxed. She was obviously relieved at the change of subject. He remembered she’d never been very good at hiding her emotions.

‘Just tonight,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way to Melbourne for an interview about a franchise opportunity.’

‘Why Melbourne?’ That was a hell of a long way from Dolphin Bay—as he knew from his years at university there.

‘Why not?’ she countered.

He turned and started walking towards the rocks again. Automatically she fell into step behind him. He waited.

Yes. He wasn’t imagining it. It was happening.

After every three of his long strides she had to skip for a bit to keep up with him. Just like she had twelve years ago. And she didn’t even seem to be aware that she was doing it.

‘You’re happy to leave Sydney?’

‘There’s nothing for me in Sydney now,’ she replied.

Her voice was light, matter-of-fact, but he didn’t miss the underlying note of bitterness.

He stopped. Went to halt her with a hand on her arm and thought better of it. No matter. She automatically stopped with him, in tune with the rhythm of his pace.

‘Nothing?’ he asked.

Not meeting his gaze, swinging her sandals by her side, she shrugged. ‘Well, my sister Lizzie and my niece Amy. But...no one else.’

‘Your parents?’

Her mouth twisted in spite of her effort to smile. ‘They’re not together any more. Turns out Dad had been cheating on my mother for years. The first Mum heard about it was when his mistress contacted her, soon after we got home from Dolphin Bay that summer. He and Mum patched it up that time. And the next. Finally he left her for his receptionist. She’s two years older than I am.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

But he was not surprised. He’d never liked the self-righteous Dr Randall Adams. Had hated the way he’d tried to control every aspect of Sandy’s life. He wasn’t surprised the older man had intercepted his long-ago letters. He’d made it very clear he had considered a fisherman not good enough for a doctor’s daughter.

‘That must have been difficult for you,’ he said.

Sandy pushed her windblown hair back from her face in a gesture he remembered. ‘I’m okay about it. Now. And Mum’s remarried to a very nice man and living in Queensland.’

During that summer he’d used to tease her about her optimism. ‘You should be called Sunny, not Sandy,’ he’d say as he kissed the tip of her sunburned nose. ‘You never let anything get you down.’

It seemed she hadn’t changed—in that regard anyway. But when he looked closely at her face he could see a tightness around her mouth, a wariness in her eyes he didn’t recall.

Maybe things weren’t always so sunny for her these days. Perhaps her cup-half-full mentality had been challenged by life’s storm clouds in the twelve years since he’d last seen her.

Suddenly she glanced at her watch. She couldn’t smother her gasp. The colour drained from her face.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked immediately.

‘Nothing,’ she said, tight lipped.

Nothing. Why did women always say that when something was clearly wrong?

‘Then why did you stare at your watch like it was about to explode? Is it connected to a bomb somewhere?’

That brought a twitch to her lips. ‘I wish.’

She lifted her eyes from the watch. Her gaze was steady. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but right at this very moment Jason—my...my former boyfriend, partner, live-in lover or whatever you like to call him—is getting married.’

Sandy with a live-in boyfriend? She’d said she’d had a partner but had it been that serious? The knowledge hit him in the gut. Painfully. Unexpectedly. Stupidly.

What he and Sandy had had together was a teen romance. Kid stuff. They’d both moved on. He’d married Jodi. Of course Sandy would have had another man in her life.

But he had to clear his throat to reply. ‘And that’s bad or good?’

She laughed. But the laugh didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Well, good for him. Good for her, I guess. I’m still not sure how I feel about coming home one day to find his possessions gone and a note telling me he’d moved in with her.’

‘You’re kidding me, right?’ Ben growled. How could someone treat his Sandy like that. His Sandy. That was a slip. She hadn’t been his for a long, long time.

‘I’m afraid not. It was...humiliating to say the least.’ Her tone sounded forced, light. ‘But, hey, it makes for a great story.’

A great story? Yeah, right.

There went sunny Sandy again, laughing off something that must still cause her pain.

‘Sounds to me like you’re better off without him.’

‘The further I get from him the more I can see that,’ she said. But she didn’t sound convinced.

‘As far away as Melbourne?’ he asked, finding the thought of her so far away unsettling.

‘I’m not running away,’ she said firmly. Too firmly. ‘I need change. A new job, a new—’

‘Your job? What is that?’ he asked, realising how little he knew about her now. ‘Did you study law like your father wanted?’

‘No, I didn’t. Don’t look so surprised—it was because of you.’

‘Me?’ No wonder her father had hated him.

‘You urged me to follow my dreams—like you were following yours. I thought about that a lot when I got back home. And my dream wasn’t to be a solicitor.’ She shuddered. ‘I couldn’t think of anything less me.’

He’d studied law as part of his degree and liked it. But he wasn’t as creative as he remembered Sandy being. ‘But you studied for years so you’d get a place in law.’

‘Law at Sydney University.’ She pronounced the words as though they were spelled in capital letters. ‘That was my father’s ambition for me. He’d given up his plans for me to be a doctor when I didn’t cut it in chemistry.’

‘You didn’t get enough marks in the Higher School Certificate for law?’

‘I got the marks, all right. Not long after we got back to Sydney the results came out. I was in the honour roll in the newspaper. You should have heard my father boasting to anyone who’d listen to him.’

‘I’ll bet he did.’ Ben had no respect for the guy. He was a bully and a snob. But he had reason to be grateful to him. Not for ruining things with him and Sandy. But for putting the bomb under him he’d needed to get off his teenage butt and make himself worthy of a girl like Sandy.

‘At the last minute I switched to a communications degree. At what my father considered a lesser university.’

‘He must have hit the roof.’

Sandy’s mouth tightened to a thin line. ‘As he’d just been outed as an adulterer he didn’t have a leg to stand on about doing the right thing for the family.’

Ben smiled. It sounded as if Sandy had got a whole lot feistier when it came to standing up to her father. ‘So what career did you end up in?’

‘I’m in advertising.’ She quickly corrected herself. ‘I was in advertising. An account executive.’

On occasion he dealt with an advertising agency to help promote his hotel. The account executives were slick, efficient, and tough as old boots. Not at all the way he thought of Sandy. ‘Sounds impressive.’

‘It was.’

‘Was?’

‘Long story,’ she said, and started to walk towards the rocks again.

‘I’m listening,’ he said, falling into step beside her.

The wind had dropped and now the air around them seemed unnaturally still. Seagulls screeched raucously. He looked through narrowed eyes to the horizon, where grey clouds were banking up ominously.

Sandy followed his gaze. She wrinkled her cute up-tilted nose. ‘Storm brewing,’ she said. ‘I wonder—’

‘Don’t change the subject by talking about the weather,’ he said, stopping himself from adding, I remember how you always did that.

He shouldn’t have let himself get reeled in to such a nostalgic conversation. There was no point in dredging up those old memories. Not when their lives were now set on such different paths. And his path was one he needed—wanted—to tread unencumbered. He could not survive more loss. And the best way to avoid loss was to avoid the kind of attachment that could tear a man apart.

He wanted to spend his life alone. Though the word ‘alone’ seemed today to have a desolate echo to it.

She shrugged. ‘Okay. Back to my story. Jason and I were both working at the same agency when we met. The boss didn’t think it was a good idea when we started dating...’

‘So you had to go? Not him?’

She pulled a face. ‘We...ell. I convinced myself I’d been there long enough.’

‘So you went elsewhere? Another agency?’

She nodded. ‘And then the economy hit a blip, advertising revenues suffered, and last one in was first one out.’

‘That must have been tough.’

‘Yeah. It was. But, hey, one door closes and another one opens, right? I got freelance work at different agencies and learned a whole lot of stuff I might never have known otherwise.’

Yep, that was the old Sandy all right—never one to allow adversity to cloud her spirit.

She took a deep breath. He noticed how her breasts rose under her tight-fitting top. She’d filled out—womanly curves softened the angles of her teenage body. Her face was subtly different too, her cheekbones more defined, her mouth fuller.

He wouldn’t have thought it possible but she was even more beautiful than she’d been when she was eighteen.

He wrenched his gaze away, cleared his throat. ‘So you’re looking at a franchise?’

Her eyes sparkled and her voice rose with excitement. ‘My chance to be my own boss, run my own show. It’s this awesome candle store. A former client of mine started it.’

‘You were in advertising and now you want to sell candles? Aren’t there enough candle stores in this world?’

‘These aren’t ordinary candles, Ben. The store is a raging success in Sydney. Now they’re looking to open up in other towns. They’re interviewing for a Melbourne franchise and I put my hand up.’

She paused.

‘I want to do something different. Something of my own. Something challenging.’

She looked so earnest, so determined, that he couldn’t help a teasing note from entering his voice. ‘So it’s candles? I don’t see the challenge there.’

‘Don’t you?’ she asked. ‘There’s a scented candle for every mood, you know—to relax, to stimulate, to seduce—’

She stopped on the last word, and the colour deepened in her cheeks, flushed the creamy skin of her neck. Her eyelashes fluttered nervously and she couldn’t meet his gaze.

‘Well, you get the story. I wrote the copy for the client. There’s not much I don’t know about the merits of those candles.’ She was almost gabbling now to cover her embarrassment.

To seduce.

When he’d been nineteen, seducing Sandy had been all he’d thought about. Until he’d fallen in love with her. Then respecting her innocence had become more important than his own desires. The number of cold showers he’d been forced to take...

Thunder rumbled ominously over the water. ‘C’mon,’ he said gruffly, ‘we’d better turn back.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Though I suppose it’s too late now for my birthday lunch...’ She hesitated. ‘Please—forget I just said that, will you?’

‘It’s your birthday today?’

She shrugged dismissively. ‘Yes. It’s nothing special.’

He thought back. ‘It’s your thirtieth birthday.’

And she was celebrating alone?

‘Eek,’ she said in an exaggerated tone. ‘Please don’t remind me of my advancing years.’

‘February—of course. How could I forget?’ he said slowly.

‘You remember my birthday?’

‘I’d be lying if I said I recalled the exact date. But I remember it was in February because you were always pointing out how compatible our star signs were. Remember you used to check our horoscopes in your father’s newspaper every day and—?’

He checked himself. Mentally he slammed his hand against his forehead. He’d been so determined not to indulge in reminiscence about that summer and now he’d gone and started it himself.

She didn’t seem to notice his sudden reticence. ‘Yes, I remember. You’re Leo and I’m Pisces,’ she chattered on. ‘And you always gave me a hard time about it. Said astrology was complete hokum and the people at the newspaper just made the horoscopes up.’

‘I still think that and—’ He stopped as a loud clap of thunder drowned out his voice. Big, cold drops of water started pelting his head.

Sandy laughed. ‘The heavens are angry at you for mocking them.’

‘Sure,’ he said, but found himself unable to resist a smile at her whimsy. ‘And if you don’t want to get drenched we’ve got to make a run for it.’

‘Race you!’ she challenged, still laughing, and took off, her slim, tanned legs flashing ahead of him.

He caught up with her in just a few strides.

‘Not fair,’ she said, panting a little. ‘Your legs are longer than mine.’

He slowed his pace just enough so she wouldn’t think he was purposely letting her win.

She glanced up at him as they ran side by side, her eyes lively with laughter, fat drops of water dampening her hair and rolling down her flushed cheeks. The sight of her vivacity ignited something deep inside him—something long dormant, like a piece of machinery, seized and unwanted, suddenly grinding slowly to life.

‘I gave you a head start,’ he managed to choke out in reply to her complaint.

But he didn’t get a chance to say anything else for, waiting at the top of the stairs to the hotel, wringing her hands anxiously together, stood Kate Parker.

‘Oh, Ben, thank heaven. I didn’t know where you were. Your aunt Ida has had a fall and hurt her pelvis, but she won’t let the ambulance take her to hospital until she’s spoken to you.’

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