His eyes speared to hers as he straightened too, rocked back on his heels. ‘You thought I knew about Jesse?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you suggesting that I am ashamed of my son?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of making such an accusation,’ he snapped.

‘Then what’s the big deal, Simon?’

But she knew what the big deal was. She and this man had forged a connection from the moment they’d swapped day-from-hell stories. The thought of her with another man infuriated him. Just like the thought of him with another woman curved her fingers into claws.

It made no sense. It couldn’t go anywhere, but it existed.

He seized her wrist, brought his face close to hers and slugged her with a super-duper dose of his scent. She wanted to swoon.

‘If I’d known you were a mother I would never—’

He broke off, released her wrist.

‘What?’ she challenged, glancing around to make sure their exchange hadn’t given rise to any curious glances. She rubbed at her wrist, wanting to rid it of the betraying jump of desire. ‘You wouldn’t have kissed me?’

‘No. I wouldn’t have.’

Praise for Michelle Douglas

‘Michelle Douglas makes an outstanding debut

with HIS CHRISTMAS ANGEL, a complex, richly

emotional story. The characters are handled especially

well, as are the many conflicts and relationships.

This one’s a keeper.’

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

‘Packed with a smouldering tension and underlying

passion, THE LONER’S GUARDED HEART by

Michelle Douglas will leave readers wanting more…

Ms Douglas has written a story with characters that

you would swear you’ve known for years and of

a romance that brings together two souls who are

seeking the person that can make them whole…

If you are a reader who loves tender, heartfelt stories

then this book is a must-buy, because it has all these

elements and so much more.’

—Cataromance.com

Look out for more fantastic stories from Michelle coming soon in Mills & Boon ® Romance!

At the age of eight Michelle Douglas was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, ‘A writer.’ Years later she read an article about romance-writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelledouglas.com

Recent titles by this author:

HIS CHRISTMAS ANGEL

THE LONER’S GUARDED HEART

THE ARISTOCRAT AND THE SINGLE MUM

BY

MICHELLE DOUGLAS

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Bryony Green and Sally Williamson.

your editorial input made all the difference. Thank you.

CHAPTER ONE

KATE reached the last item in the file, closed her eyes, closed the file and counted to ten. Then she opened her eyes, opened the file and started again. The bell above the door jangled, telling her someone had entered the office, but she didn’t move from her crouch in front of the filing cabinet. In fact, it was hard to move at all with all the boxes piled around her.

‘Hello?’

At any other time a voice like that would’ve had her swinging around in curiosity…and anticipation. The voice was deep and masculine, with an intriguing British burr. A lot of tourists with a lot of different accents passed through this part of the world and Kate loved accents. She’d once meant to travel to some of those faraway places and immerse herself in different cultures, different languages. But that was before she’d fallen pregnant with Jesse. This particular accent, though, was her all-time favourite and could turn her insides to mush in the space of a heartbeat.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she called.

Half hidden by the desk, her customer probably couldn’t see her. And although she usually made it a point to deal with prospective customers first, she took a deep breath and carefully examined the file again, lifting out and checking each document before moving to the next one.

Darn it. It wasn’t there. Where had she put it? The accountant had wanted it last week. She’d promised to get it to him today. She slapped the side of the filing cabinet as if it were its fault. She glanced around at all the boxes and groaned.

‘Is something wrong?’

She couldn’t resist that accent any longer. ‘I’m sorry.’ She turned. ‘I…’

She blinked. Air squeezed out of her lungs. Oh, dear Lord, who cared about finding receipts for boat repairs when a man like this stood in her office?

She tried to catch her breath, but it flitted in and out of her lungs with more speed than grace, evading her every attempt to harness it. She thought she ought to stand, but the longer she stared at him the more the world tilted to one side and, as she had no desire to fall flat on her face at his feet, she decided she’d better stay right where she was. Very carefully, she lowered her knees to the ground so she knelt rather than crouched. More stability—that was what she needed. And breakfast. She absolutely, positively shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. Low blood sugar and all that.

She tried to hold back a sigh, but her mystery man had such a beautiful face to go with the beautiful British accent—not to mention a superb body—and it had been a long time since she’d beheld such a perfect example of masculine beauty that she had no hope of containing it. It came out on one long low breath. His too-short hair, as far as she could tell, was his single flaw. But it gleamed rich and dark in the half-light of her office and she could imagine its crispness against her palms with more clarity than sense.

She shook herself. ‘Hello.’ Her voice came out normal. She had no idea how. She even managed a smile.

‘Hello,’ he said again in that to-die-for accent, but he said it slowly, as if making a discovery. Then he smiled. Firm, sensual lips. Cheek creases.

The world abruptly stopped tilting and something slammed into her stomach with the impact of a missile. It felt wrong and right—both at the same time. It didn’t make sense.

The man’s eyes widened, his lips pursed for a brief moment, and she wondered if he’d felt the impact too.

Another sigh welled up inside her. And yearning. She expelled the sigh on one hard breath, but could do nothing with the yearning. She forced herself to her feet. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him—eleven a.m. The day was yet young. She had plenty of time to find receipts for boat repairs and visit her accountant. She had all the time in the world.

‘Is everything all right?’

Just in time she stopped herself from saying, It is now, because that was crazy talk. Fanciful.

She was a single mother with a child. She didn’t do fanciful.

Not any more.

Her tourist had dark eyes that crinkled at the corners. They were nice eyes and they looked at her with concern. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit distracted.’ By him. But she didn’t want him to know that.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and ordered herself to stop ogling the poor man, decided she’d buried herself in her work for far too long and that she’d better start getting out a bit more. ‘I’m just having one of those mornings, you know?’

‘Yep.’ He gave one hard nod. ‘Know exactly what you mean. Today, I can absolutely relate to that.’

Their gazes met and a surge of fellow feeling passed between them. In the dim light of her office she couldn’t work out if his eyes were brown or dark grey. She’d need to be closer to tell for sure, but they were clear and direct and she found herself liking them.

Her day suddenly started to look up. ‘How can I help you?’ She pulled the reservation book towards her.

He smiled again and her knees gave a funny little wobble. She’d bet she looked a wreck. She resisted the urge to pat down her hair and straighten her shirt.

He didn’t look a wreck. He looked impeccable in a charcoal-grey suit. Italian, she’d bet. Actually, she wouldn’t know an Italian suit if it leapt up and bit her on the nose. It could be Bond Street for all she knew.

She knew shoes though, and those shoes were definitely Italian leather.

‘I actually want to speak to your employer, Kate Petherbridge.’

Kate blinked.

‘I was here at nine o’clock this morning.’ He pointed to the glass door, which had the office hours printed across it. The previous owner’s office hours. Kate hadn’t got around to having them changed yet. ‘Nobody showed up, which at the time I thought pretty unprofessional.’

She’d moved into this office two days ago. She’d figured they’d need the extra room at home now. But there was still so much to do. Her shoulders started to sag. He smiled again. Her knees gave another funny wobble. Outside, a magpie started to warble.

‘But if you’re having one of those kinds of days then—’ he shrugged ‘—it can’t be helped.’

He glanced down at the items spread across her desk—the contents of her bag drying out after their dunking in the bay. Without warning, the strap had given way when she’d raced the passenger list down to Archie. It was her best shoulder bag too. Only quick reflexes had saved the bag, contents and all, from sinking to the bottom to lie cradled against the oyster-encrusted rocks metres below. They seemed a paltry treasure—two bank cards, her driver’s licence and medical card, a diary-cum-address book, the little paper money she’d had on her, a tab of aspirin that for some reason she hadn’t thrown away, and a couple of soggy photographs. The one of Danny and Felice before they’d set off on their honeymoon was completely ruined.

‘My bag fell in the bay.’

It was a completely ludicrous statement—self-evident—but the man opposite didn’t laugh. He nodded as if he understood.

‘That was right after I’d buried Moby—the goldfish.’ That had not been a good start to the day. It was why she’d taken her favourite shoulder bag—to try and cheer herself up.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you.’

He lifted one hand. ‘For what it’s worth, I hit a kangaroo in my hire car this morning.’

Even as she winced at the picture his words created, Kate decided then and there that their joint dispiriting tales of woe made this man a good omen. ‘How fast were you travelling?’

‘Eighty kilometres an hour.’

She winced again. Kangaroos didn’t survive eighty-kilometre-per-hour collisions.

He suddenly shook himself. He leaned forward and offered his hand. ‘I’m Simon Morton-Blake.’

Kate placed her hand inside his immediately. His long fingers curled around hers and he squeezed briefly. She squeezed back. They both smiled. His hair gleamed richer, darker. Reluctantly, or so it seemed to Kate, their hands parted company again. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m—’

The smile slid off her face. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Morton-Blake. Simon.’

What?

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why? Do you recognise it?’

Of course she recognised it, but Felice hadn’t mentioned anything about family.

‘The full title is Simon Morton-Blake, the seventh Lord of Holm—’ his lips twisted in self-derision ‘—but I don’t expect you’ve heard of that.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re a lord? Like…a real lord?’

‘I am. Are you impressed?’

He raised an eyebrow and she wasn’t sure who he was sending up—her or himself.

‘It doesn’t seem to hold much cachet in Australia,’ he commented.

‘No, I don’t suppose it does, but…’ she peered up at him ‘…do you, like, have your own castle?’ She could imagine him living in a castle. She could imagine him in a kilt.

Don’t be ridiculous! He’s English, not Scottish.

Still…she’d give a lot to see him in a kilt.

‘The estate does have a fifteenth-century manor house and quite a few sheep, but no castle, I’m afraid. Not even the ruins of a castle.’ He gave a mock grimace. ‘Have I fallen in your estimation?’

Kate laughed. Even though his name was Morton-Blake and he had to be some kind of relative of Felice’s. Even though Felice hadn’t mentioned anything about family, let alone family as distinguished as the seventh Lord of Holm.

He must be a distant cousin or something. Perhaps Felice had sent him a postcard extolling the beauties of Port Stephens—and it had many—and how much fun she was having working for Kate’s dolphin tour business.

But why hadn’t she mentioned him? Why had Felice let Danny and Kate think she had no family at all?

‘And you are?’

Kate snapped back to attention. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She drew in a breath, tried to smile. ‘I’m Kate Petherbridge.’

His face darkened and his eyebrows drew down low over his eyes as he placed his hands on her desk and leaned across it towards her. His eyes weren’t brown but a dark smoky-grey.

‘Then perhaps you can tell me where the hell my sister is?’

Very slowly, Kate sat. ‘Sister?’ Her mouth went dry. ‘Felice is your sister?’

‘Yes!’ he shouted. ‘And I want to know if she’s okay.’

She sensed the concern behind his anger. ‘Of course she is.’ She made her voice crisp and businesslike, wanting to allay his worry as quickly as she could. ‘Felice is perfectly fine and dandy.’

He closed his eyes, dragged a hand down his face and fell into the seat opposite. ‘Thank God for that.’

His lovely broad shoulders went suddenly slack and it was only then that Kate realised how tightly he’d held himself. She frowned. She knew what it was like to worry about a younger sibling.

‘I didn’t know Felice had family.’ In fact, Felice had led them to believe she was alone in the world. If Simon was a lord, what on earth did that make Felice?

And, more importantly, did Danny know?

Simon’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. ‘So that’s the game she’s playing, is it? Nevertheless, I am her brother. Are you doubting my verisimilitude?’

Kate wanted to close her eyes and wallow in that accent. She wanted to ask him to say that word again so she could watch the way his lips shaped it. She forced her spine to straighten instead. ‘Do you have any proof?’

He leaned towards her again. ‘You really don’t believe me?’

She didn’t know if he was angry or intrigued. ‘I don’t take risks with my staff’s safety, Mr Morton-Blake.’ Former staff’s safety, she amended silently. Felice wasn’t staff any more. She was family. ‘I don’t know you from Adam and I only have your word that you’re who you say you are. For all I know, you could be stalking Felice.’

He sat back and folded his arms. ‘And what if I am? What would you do?’

‘I have a black belt in judo.’ Which was the truth. ‘And a spear gun in my desk drawer.’ Which wasn’t. ‘I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.’

Her desk drawer!

She clapped a hand to her head. Then she flung the drawer open. There it sat. Right on top—the file containing all the receipts her accountant had demanded from her—receipts that would save her from being fined by the Taxation Department. She didn’t remember putting it there, but she pulled it out and kissed it all the same.

Simon had pulled back as if he expected her to draw a gun. Now his lips twitched at the corners, hinting at those cheek creases. ‘My day just got a whole lot better,’ she confided.

‘I’m glad.’

He actually sounded as if he meant it. He pulled a wallet from his inside jacket pocket and flicked through it. It gave her a chance to study him. If he lived here in Port Stephens she’d bet the sun would bleach the tips of his hair. Simon Morton-Blake might be a lord but he didn’t look as if he spent the majority of his time indoors behind a desk. If he lived around here she had a feeling he’d spend more of his time in the sun than out of it. Not that he was tanned, of course. England was only just emerging from winter. But he had a rugged outdoor aura that she recognised because she had it too.

And he had mentioned something about sheep.

He held a card out to her. ‘My international driver’s licence.’

His name—Simon Morton-Blake—stared back at her in official black and white type.

‘And a photograph of me with my sister.’

Kate took it. Felice, Simon and another couple—older—all stared out from it with a formal reserve Kate found difficult to associate with Felice. She couldn’t see anything of Felice in Simon’s face, but she could see both Simon and Felice in the older couple—their parents?

‘Our mother and father,’ he said, as if she’d asked the question out loud. ‘And no, they are no longer living.’

At least Felice hadn’t lied about that.

She handed him back the licence and the photograph, wondering at how easily he could read her face. ‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t glance back down at the photograph. He didn’t even shrug.

With both parents dead… ‘Do you have any other siblings?’

‘No.’

That made Felice his only close relative. It went some way to explaining his concern.

‘May I call you Simon?’

He smiled again. The grey of his eyes lightened. ‘Please.’

Even though she was sitting, her knees still wobbled. ‘Simon, why were you worried about Felice?’

‘I haven’t heard from her in over two months.’ He raked a hand back over his hair. ‘And her mobile isn’t working.’

‘It took a dunk in the bay,’ Kate said carefully. ‘Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged, trying to appear casual, but her mind raced. Why hadn’t Felice contacted him? Why hadn’t Felice told him about her marriage to Danny?

And what on earth was Kate supposed to do about it?

Not that Danny and Felice had told anyone about their marriage yet. They’d only told Kate because they’d wanted time off. She could understand them wanting to hug their secret close to their chests for a bit and enjoy a honeymoon idyll, but surely Felice could’ve found the time to let her only brother know?

‘If…if you knew Felice was working for me, why didn’t you give me a call or email me?’ She could’ve allayed his worry and put his mind at rest in an instant.

He lifted his chin. His eyes glittered. ‘I want to see Felice in the flesh. I want to see for myself that she’s okay and not in any trouble.’

In trouble? Felice was twenty-two. Old enough to make her own decisions. Old enough to make her own mistakes. Old enough to look after herself.

‘She’s not in any kind of trouble.’

He ignored that. ‘When can I see her?’

Kate’s office suddenly shrank. Perhaps it was all that bristling over-protectiveness emanating from the seventh Lord of Holm that had the walls closing in on her, making him loom larger in her field of vision, making her notice the shape of his lean lips. Lips pressed tightly together, but it didn’t stop her from imagining those lips on hers and…

Fresh air and food, that was what she needed, and the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. ‘C’mon.’ She rose and started for the door.

Simon followed her, watching closely as she locked the door behind them. ‘Are you going to take me to her?’ he asked, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe it would be that easy.

‘I’m taking you for coffee.’ Of course it wasn’t that easy.

‘I don’t want coffee!’

Up this close, he smelt like wood shavings and cooler climes. She held her breath and reminded herself about the warmth of the sun—it’d help melt any ridiculous fantasies. ‘But I do.’

He glared at her for a moment, then he visibly shook himself, his eyes cleared and he smiled. ‘And you don’t know me from Adam.’

She couldn’t believe how quickly he could change from indignant prickliness to this…this melt a girl with his yumminess. She couldn’t help but smile back. ‘That’s right.’

The problem was, she felt as if she did know him—a whole lot better than any Adam she’d ever met. Which was nonsense…and dangerous. It should frighten her off, but it didn’t.

Kate’s office was located in a small arcade. She led Simon down the tunnel of shop fronts to the bright February sunlight pouring in at one end, then turned right into Kelly’s café.

‘Flat white, cappuccino, latte…espresso?’ she asked.

‘Whatever.’

His voice drifted to her, slow and bemused. She glanced around and found him staring out at the view. She suppressed a grin. On a day like this, with the sun sparkling off the water in a thousand different points of light and the white hulls of the yachts at anchor in the marina gleaming, the sand golden and the sky blue, the bay looked spectacular. Couple it with the sounds of holidaymakers and the squawking of seagulls, the smell of salt and coconut oil, and most people were lost.

The seventh Lord of Holm was definitely lost.

‘Would you like something to eat? A muffin?’ Her stomach rumbled its approval. She hadn’t had time for breakfast this morning, and Kelly’s triplechoc muffins were to die for.

‘No, thank you.’ He didn’t glance away from the view.

She wasn’t eating if he wasn’t. With her luck, she’d end up with chocolate muffin all over her face and that so wasn’t the look she was after.

‘Two flat whites, please,’ she said to the waiting Kelly. ‘In mugs.’

‘Settling into your office, hon?’

‘It’s a mess.’ She fished around in her pocket for change. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever find anything ever again.’

‘And when she does,’ Simon said, snapping back around to the counter and holding out a twenty-dollar note to Kelly before Kate could free her hand from her pocket, ‘she kisses it in gratitude.’ He winked. ‘That kind of behaviour can have a strange effect on a guy. She needs to be more careful.’

Kelly laughed. So did Kate—in complete and utter surprise. Not to mention delight. ‘If I’d known the sun would have such a beneficial effect on your mood I’d have dragged you out here ten minutes ago.’ But then she had visions of kissing Simon with a whole lot more fervour than she’d kissed her missing file of receipts and she started burning up from the inside out.

‘Kelly,’ she said hastily, ‘this is Felice’s brother, Simon.’

‘Nice to meet any family of Felice’s.’ Kelly stared at him in open curiosity. ‘Felice was the hit of the summer.’ Then she winked at Kate. ‘You going to put him to work on your boat?’

Kate cocked her head to one side and pretended to consider it. ‘He’s got arms that look like they could hold a boat steady.’

‘He’s got arms that look like they could hold a whole lot more than that, hon.’

Simon laughed.

Kate’s imagination supplied her with more images than she knew what to do with. Heat blazed through her and she couldn’t think of a single comeback.

Kelly took pity on her. ‘Go and find yourselves a table. I’ll bring the coffees out when they’re ready.’

‘Thanks, Kelly.’

Kate chose a table outside in the shade with a magnificent view of the bay, but it didn’t cool the heat circling through her. She tried to remember the last time she’d been on a date.

She had to remind herself that this wasn’t a date.

Back to business. ‘Are you and Felice close?’

His smile disappeared. ‘Of course we are.’

Kate noticed his telling hesitation, the pause before the rough ‘Of course’.

His spine stiffened. ‘We’re family.’

She took in the expression on his face. Her chest expanded and her back tightened. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

His face closed up. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

She tried a different tack. ‘No offence, but I know for a fact that Felice is twenty-two. You don’t exactly look…’ She trailed off with what she hoped was delicate tact.

A glimmer of a smile appeared in the grey eyes. ‘I’m ten years older than Felice.’

Kelly set their coffees in front of them. ‘Thank you,’ Kate murmured, and although she sensed Simon was immersed in thoughts of Felice, he still roused himself to send Kelly a smile of thanks that put a spring in the other woman’s step.

It was a nice thing to do.

She had a feeling that, beneath all his bristling worry and concern, Simon Morton-Blake was a nice man.

‘Ten years is a pretty big age gap between siblings,’ she observed.

‘It is,’ he agreed.

He took a sip of his coffee. Frown lines marred the perfection of his face. He took a second sip and Kate wondered if he even tasted it. Kelly did the best coffee on the bay, but it looked as if great coffee was wasted on the seventh Lord of Holm today.

‘Felice has always been too reckless and irresponsible.’ He glanced up and speared her with his clear grey gaze. ‘What did Kelly mean when she said Felice was the hit of the summer?’

‘That she was popular, fun. That everyone liked her.’

His mouth grew grim. ‘That’s what I was afraid of.’

She wanted to ask why, but she bit her tongue. Beneath the table she selected Felice’s number on her mobile, then brought the phone to her ear. Simon’s eyes narrowed in on the phone in the space of a heartbeat. ‘She was neither reckless nor irresponsible working for me.’ Kate crossed her legs and waited for Felice to answer. ‘In fact, she was a great worker.’

He nearly dropped his coffee. ‘Felice?’

‘Hey, it’s me,’ Kate said when Felice answered.

‘Hey, what’s up?’

‘Sorry to call when—’ she shot a glance at Simon ‘—you’re holidaying, but you’ll never guess who has shown up. I have the seventh Lord of Holm sitting across from me as we speak.’

Dead silence greeted her pronouncement. It did nothing to allay her unease. ‘Felice?’

‘Simon? Simon is there?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘What have you told him?’

Felice’s shriek nearly deafened her. She wondered if Simon could hear it from the other side of the table. He moved as if he might try and take the phone from her. Kate shifted so he couldn’t. ‘Nothing. Why?’

‘You don’t understand!’

‘Obviously not.’

Simon stared at her as if he couldn’t believe she had his little sister on the other end of the line. He stared at her as if he wanted to hug her. As if he wanted to kiss her in gratitude like she’d kissed that folder. All because she’d rung his little sister. Had he thought she’d leave him to stew in all that worry and concern he’d done his best to hide but couldn’t?

‘He will ruin everything!’

For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that.

‘Please, please, please, Kate. Promise me you won’t tell him where I am.’

‘I can hardly do that when I don’t precisely know where you are myself.’

‘You can’t tell him I’ve married Danny!’

Kate bit her lip. Simon narrowed in on the action and Kate recognised the flare of desire that burst to life in his eyes. She did her best to un-bite it, but it was too late. Blood started fizzing through her veins and her mind filled with images in instant response.

Oh, stop it! He was a tourist. She didn’t mess with tourists. She shook herself and forced her mind to focus on her conversation with Felice.

‘Kate, promise me you won’t tell him I’m married.’

Oh, dear. ‘I…er…was hoping you’d do that.’ She didn’t want to be the one to tell Simon his sister had eloped. Amazingly, her voice was steady. Unlike her pulse.

‘I will. I swear I will. I’ll tell him I’m married just as soon as we get back.’

In a fortnight!

‘I can just see him.’ Scorn dripped from Felice’s voice. ‘He’ll be sitting there with a frown creasing up his forehead, his chin jutting out, and he’ll be drumming his fingers, just waiting for me to prove that I’ve done something stupid.’

Her description was so spot on that Kate had to voice her growing fear. ‘Have you?’

‘See?’ Felice shrieked her outrage. ‘He’s got to you already.’

Kate didn’t need to see Felice to know exactly how she’d just thrown her arm in the air or how she’d turned away only to swing back again. She put on her best employer’s voice. Her boss’s voice. ‘Just answer the question, Felice.’

‘God! You make a good pair, you know that?’

Kate shot Simon a grin. He didn’t smile back. Kate pointed to the phone. ‘She just said we make a good pair.’

He grinned at that.

‘He really is just right there, isn’t he?’ Felice said.

‘Yep.’

‘I haven’t made a mistake, Kate.’

The panic left Felice’s voice. Kate blinked, averting her gaze from Simon and his body, with all its intriguing distractions and temptations.

‘I love Danny.’ Felice’s sincerity rang out in the quietness of her tone, and in the simplicity of her claim. ‘Marrying Danny is the one good thing I’ve managed to do with my life.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Kate nodded although she knew Felice couldn’t see her. ‘But will you at least do one thing for me? Will you speak to Simon and tell him you’re fine?’

‘I don’t want to speak to him.’

Kate had never heard that stubborn note in Felice’s voice before. ‘Please?’ She held her breath.

‘He’ll make me hang up on him,’ Felice warned.

She let out her breath. ‘Nevertheless…’

‘Will you promise to call me back when he’s not watching over you like a guard dog?’

It was another apt description.

‘Please, Kate?’

She bit back a sigh. ‘Deal,’ she said. Then she handed the phone across to Simon. ‘Be nice,’ she ordered.

He held it to his ear. ‘Felice? Thank God! Are you all right?’ He listened for a moment and his brow darkened. ‘What the hell are you playing at? I’ve—’

He broke off and held the phone away from his ear. Kate wanted to tell him he wasn’t doing a very good job at being nice.

He slammed the phone back to his ear. ‘I’ve been out of my wits with worry!’ His teeth clenched for a moment. ‘Out with it, then,’ he ordered, unclenching said teeth. ‘What kind of trouble have you managed to get yourself into this time?’

In fact, he was doing a really bad job of being nice. She had a sudden flash of empathy for Felice. Felice, who was so full of life and laughter…and love.

‘What do you mean, it’s none of my business? I—’

Kate took a sip of her coffee and watched him. He had that over-protective big brother thing down pat. She wondered if she’d ever smothered Danny like that.

There was only five years’ difference between her and Danny, though. There was ten years between Simon and Felice. Ten years. That was a lot.

‘Then why the hell haven’t you called?’

She set her coffee back down at that. Good question.

‘You could’ve at least had the common decency—’

His free hand—the one not holding the phone—curved into a fist. ‘Of course it’s my business. I—’

The fist started to bounce on the table. ‘That’s rubbish and you know it. I—’

He broke off to stare at the phone. He shook it, then put it back to his ear. ‘Hello?’ Then he turned to Kate. ‘She hung up on me.’

‘Of course she did.’ Kate reached across and plucked her mobile from his fingers. ‘I don’t blame her.’

He scowled. ‘You don’t—’

‘I told you to be nice. You weren’t nice. You were bossy and…stuffy.’

He scowled some more. Then he slumped back in his chair, defeat outlined in the shape of his shoulders. ‘Where is she? I’m not leaving Australia until I at least clap eyes on her.’

‘Oh, right,’ Kate mocked gently. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’ll be happy to see her in the distance, see that she’s all in one piece and then leave again? I don’t think so. You’re itching to haul her over the coals for some imagined misdemeanour. For heaven’s sake, she’s twenty-two years old. Old enough to make her own decisions. Old enough to lead her own life.’

‘You don’t know her.’ He drained his coffee in one gulp.

‘I beg to differ. She’s just spent the last three months living in my house, working for my business.’

His brows drew down low over his eyes. The corners of his mouth tightened. ‘You don’t know her like I do.’

‘I’ll grant you that. But you’ve got to stop treating her like she’s twelve years old or you’ll turn around one day and find out she really has done something stupid.’

His head swung up. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know.’ She lifted a hand and tried to pluck an example from the air. ‘Like getting in with some hard and fast party crowd and taking recreational drugs or something. Just so she can prove to you she’s all grown up.’

Panic raced across his face. She rushed to reassure him. ‘Not that she has, you understand. I’ve never seen Felice take anything stronger than a glass of Chardonnay.’

He slumped back.

‘But if you don’t back off you could drive her to something awful and then, when she really needs you, she may not feel able to come to you.’

He dragged a hand down his face. ‘The voice of experience speaketh?’ he finally intoned. ‘She said we made a good pair, didn’t she?’

‘Accused, more like.’ Kate traced a finger around the rim of her coffee mug, gathered up coffee froth and popped it in her mouth. Simon’s eyes narrowed as he watched her and she hastily pulled the finger away and clutched it in her lap. ‘My father died eight years ago when I was twenty. My brother Danny was only fifteen.’

‘Your mother?’

‘She left when I was six.’

‘So, basically, you raised your brother.’

It didn’t sound like a question so she didn’t bother answering it. ‘Danny and I have had our moments, but he’s only five years younger than me. It has probably been easier for me to accept that he’s grown up and capable of making his own decisions.’

‘Plus he’s male. Men can look after themselves.’

‘That’s a particularly sexist view of the world.’

He shrugged, then leaned forward. ‘Do you know how much Felice is worth? How much she’ll inherit when she turns twenty-five?’

He named a sum that had her choking, ‘What?’

He sat back and glared. ‘So you can see why I’m concerned she doesn’t do something stupid.’

‘Like?’

His mouth grew grim. ‘There’s a lot of men out there who’d like to get hold of her fortune. I won’t let her marry a fortune hunter.’

And then it all made crystal-clear sense to Kate—why Felice hadn’t told them about her family, her fortune. She’d wanted them to love her for herself. Kate suddenly wanted to cry. She hoped Felice realised that they did love her for herself.

Something else struck her with equal force. When Simon heard about Felice’s marriage to Danny, he would not share their—or her—joy.

He may well go ballistic.

He may well say unforgivable things.

Kate wanted to drop her head to the table and groan, but Simon was watching her with that direct grey gaze, so she couldn’t.

‘Where is she?’

The question didn’t surprise her. She lifted her mug and drank the last of her coffee. This time she didn’t taste it either. ‘I don’t know.’ She set the mug back on the table.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘That can’t be helped. I guess it’s even fair enough, because even if I did know where she’s staying, I wouldn’t tell you.’

His mouth turned grim then. His nostrils flared. ‘So that’s that then, is it?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ A sigh of regret stole through her. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, but Felice is of age and, I believe, capable of making her own decisions.’

He folded his arms and scowled.

Kate had liked the charming stranger with the to-die-for accent, empathised with the worried big brother with the clear grey eyes…but this scowling, thwarted man made her shift in her seat and wish herself elsewhere. She wondered what face he showed most often to Felice?

She recalled the panic in Felice’s voice and found her answer.

And then it hit her—the scowling and the glaring; it was just a foil for his fear. It was obvious he’d spent the last few months worried sick about his sister. Instead of telling Felice he loved her and was glad she was okay, he’d lashed out at her as if…

As if he expected rejection.

What on earth had happened between them?

‘What now?’ he demanded. ‘What the hell is she doing, anyway?’

She’d bet more people bowed and scraped to His Lordship than stood up to him. She wanted to tell him to stop acting like a spoilt child, only when she looked at him there was nothing of the child in the sensual firmness of his lips, or the broad, lean strokes of his body.

‘She’s seeing some of the world, back-packing like she always intended. She’ll be home in a fortnight.’

‘Home?’ He pounced on the word. ‘Her home is in England!’

Oh, dear. ‘Back, then. She’ll be back in a fortnight.’

Kate’s back started to tighten and ache—like it always did when she felt torn. She loved Felice and had given her word. Yet it didn’t stop her from feeling an enormous surge of empathy for this man sitting opposite her. She knew what it was like to fret over a sibling. She knew what it was like to worry about a child.

And Simon’s expression told her he still thought of Felice as a child.

His expression also told her he needed to loosen up.

‘What am I supposed to do in the meantime?’ he demanded.

‘You could return home to England,’ she offered. ‘I promise to make sure Felice calls you when she gets back.’

He shook his head once decisively. ‘I’m not leaving till I see her.’

Good. Instinct told her he should stay if he wanted to mend his relationship with Felice.

‘Well, then.’ She gestured to the view. ‘You’re in the centre of a tourist Mecca, my Lord.’ He was in Nelson’s Bay, one of the main towns of Port Stephens—three hours north of Sydney and, in Kate’s opinion, one of the prettiest places on earth. ‘If you’re intent on staying, have a holiday.’

‘I don’t have time for a holiday!’

She took in the tight set of his shoulders. ‘Why not?’ She might not be a doctor, she wasn’t a nurse, but she had a first aid certificate and she could tell a holiday was precisely what he needed.

‘I have an estate to run. I—’

‘Is that more important than hanging around here and waiting for Felice?’

‘No.’

Right answer. And he hadn’t even hesitated. It made her lips curve into a grin. He blinked. His eyes narrowed, but she ignored his suspicion. ‘Have you forgotten how to have fun? I bet all you do is work and sleep.’

And worry about Felice. She’d met men like this before. Men like her father, who thought they’d find relief in work. Hard work had helped her father up to a point. If only he’d put as much effort into winning back Kate’s mother—the love of his life. Maybe then he’d have been happy.

‘I—’

‘You need to loosen up, Simon. You need to stop and smell the roses. Do you have rose gardens on your estate? I bet you do. Roses aren’t our specialty here in Nelson’s Bay, but salt is. And coconut oil.’

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You want me to stop and smell the…coconut oil?’

‘Absolutely. Everyone should stop and smell the coconut oil.’

He kept staring at her as if she’d just confirmed her craziness. Perhaps she had, but she couldn’t help it—she wanted to make Simon laugh and forget his troubles like she did when Jesse came home from school glum, with the weight of the world pressing down on his seven-year-old shoulders.

‘C’mon.’ She stood. ‘You need to feel sand between your toes and be at the centre of a lot of squawking.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘I…WHAT?’

Simon stood too, but he looked far from decisive. That was okay because she’d be decisive enough for both of them. If Simon wanted to rebuild his relationship with Felice, he had to learn to loosen up. ‘First things first.’ She twinkled at him. ‘We need to get you out of that suit.’

A giggle! For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t twelve. And that skippety-skip in her pulse had nothing to do with anything.

There was no denying, though, that the blood surged through her veins with a new kind of vigour.

Maybe that was a bad omen, not a good one?

She pushed the thought aside. This was about him, not her.

‘I’m guessing you don’t want to ruin that gorgeous Italian suit?’

‘Bond Street,’ he said automatically, as if he couldn’t help it.

‘That’s a no then, is it?’ She didn’t wait for him to answer but tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and tugged him towards a rack of clothes outside a nearby shop front. He was far too polite—or was that stunned—to resist.

‘Ooh, end of season sales. We’re in luck.’ She pulled out a pair of board shorts for inspection. ‘These look like they’d fit you.’

‘I’m not wearing those!’

They were pink and white candy-striped. ‘Pity.’ She hung them back up and pulled out another pair in loud red and yellow. She took one look at the expression on his face and shook her head. ‘No,’ she agreed. Then a bolt of pure mischief shook her. ‘Stop press! I’ve found the perfect pair.’ She pulled them out and held them triumphantly aloft.

Simon’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s the Union Jack.’

‘It is,’ she said, eyeing them with satisfaction. ‘And I think they’d suit your Lordship down to the ground.’

She suddenly found her shoulders seized in strong hands and Simon glaring down at her. His fingers curved into the soft flesh of her upper arms, firm but not hurting her. The barely contained power of the man transferred itself through his fingers to her arms…and then her brain. It made her pulse leap and jerk. For one fateful moment she thought he meant to kiss her.

If he did, she had an awful feeling she might just kiss him back.

Bad omen! Very bad omen.

‘Can we drop the Lordship thing?’ he growled. ‘Will you please just call me Simon?’

She swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes.’

He blinked as if he hadn’t expected such easy acquiescence. For some reason she found that…unbelievably sad. ‘I wouldn’t have teased you about it if I’d known you hated it.’ She had a feeling the lord thing would get right up her nose too. ‘I’m sorry.’

For a moment he looked lost and she wanted to hug him.

‘That’s okay.’

His voice sounded hoarse, then his gaze dropped to her lips. His eyes darkened from mist-grey to charcoal. Although he didn’t move a finger, his hands at her shoulders became gentler and almost seemed to cradle her. And he kept staring and staring at her lips. They tingled in response. They wanted to part, to offer him a provocative invitation.

Bad move. Reckless. But she couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with such naked hunger. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had elicited a matching hunger from her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been reckless.

Gloriously and wondrously reckless.

She wasn’t free to be reckless.

But…

No. Not a good idea with a man who’d be gone in the blink of an eye.

‘Simon?’ she said, at the same time as he pulled his hands away and took a step back. She wondered if she looked as nonplussed as he did. She lifted the Union Jack board shorts, holding them up like a barrier. ‘That’s a no then, is it?’

He cleared his throat. ‘That’s a resounding no.’

‘Well?’ She gestured to the rack.

She watched his gaze dart along it. He pounced on a sky-blue pair. ‘These will do nicely.’ Then he did a double-take.

Kate started to laugh. ‘I dare you to,’ she challenged. The colour had obviously lulled him into a false sense of security. Overlaying the sky-blue was a Hawaiian print of golden beaches, palm trees and Hula girls. Exuberant and colourful.

Reckless.

He glared at her, raked a hand back through his too-short hair. ‘I take it there’s a point to all of this?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And are you going to enlighten me?’

‘Perhaps. It depends on how wholeheartedly you throw yourself into it.’

‘Into what?’

‘Ah, if you can answer that at the end of the afternoon then I’ll most definitely enlighten you.’

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

‘Simon—’ her hands went to her hips ‘—do you have anything else planned for the day?’

‘No, but…’

‘Then just go with the flow.’

‘The flow?’

Before he could think of another objection, Kate sped along to the next rack—T-shirts. ‘Any preference for colour?’ she tossed over her shoulder. ‘And do you like a tight T-shirt or something a bit roomier?’

He was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Again.

She cocked her head to one side and pretended to study him, tapping a finger against her chin. ‘I think you’d look great in a tight T-shirt, but for reasons of comfort I’d understand if you prefer a looser one.’

And finally he smiled.

She wanted to dance a victory jig. She didn’t. She just smiled back.

‘Are you always like this?’

She forced her eyes wide. ‘Like what?’ She handed him a shirt—blue-grey. It’d match his eyes.

‘Incorrigible.’

She touched a hand to her throat in mock surprise. ‘Moi?’ Then she pushed him into the interior of the shop. ‘Dressing rooms are that way. If the clothes fit, leave them on. The salesman will give you a bag for your suit.’

‘I—’

‘And you’ll need a pair of thongs.’ He gazed at her in horrified incomprehension and she added, ‘You know, flip-flops.’ She pointed to a row of them, then turned on her heel and left him to it, her heart racing and her palms sweaty. She swiped them down the front of her shorts. Go with the flow? As long as the flow didn’t contain any more thoughts of kissing and cosying up to Simon Morton-Blake, she’d be just fine.

She pulled her cell phone from her pocket.

‘God! Has he gone?’ Felice demanded, answering immediately and dispensing with pleasantries.

‘He’ll be busy for at least ten minutes, I think.’

‘Please tell me you’ve talked him into going home.’

‘You are joking, right?’ Kate cast a glance back towards the menswear shop. ‘I’m not even going to try. He claims he’s not leaving until he sees you.’

Felice uttered something midway between a groan and a snort. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t hang around in Australia for a whole fortnight waiting for me to show my face.’

Kate sensed the hurt that stretched behind those words. ‘We’ll see.’ She bit her lip. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

‘There’s nothing to tell. Other than the fact that he’s a total tyrant and too stuffy to step even a big toe out of line.’

Kate mulled that over for a moment. ‘You know what? I don’t think you should give a moment’s notice to anything other than enjoying your honeymoon.’ A girl only got one honeymoon. ‘I’ll take care of everything at this end, including Simon. I don’t want you to give it another thought.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘Thanks, Kate.’

Felice rang off. Kate turned to wait for Simon.

When he emerged from the shop ten minutes later, she tried to wolf-whistle, but she’d never been able to wolf-whistle to save her life. Simon was definitely wolf-whistle worthy, though. ‘I’ve been dying to see your knees,’ she teased. He had great legs—strong calves, muscled thighs…even if said legs were a tad pale. A fortnight in the sun would set that to rights.

Simon didn’t smile. ‘I feel like an idiot,’ he grumbled.

‘You look like a holiday-maker,’ she returned.

Actually, he didn’t. He still looked too tense and…buttoned up for a holiday-maker.

And a bit too crisp and clean.

She could set that to rights, at least.

‘These are impossible to walk in.’ He lifted a thong-clad foot.

‘You’ll get the hang of them. C’mon.’

She led him across the road, through the park and down to the beach. She kicked off her canvas tennis shoes and closed her eyes, groaning in enjoyment as she dug her feet into sun-warmed sand. Heavenly!

She kinked open one eye and found Simon staring at her in appalled fascination—thongs still on his feet and two enormous plastic carrier bags clutched in his hands. His spine was as stiff as a surfboard. She opened her other eye and shook her head. ‘Simon, when was the last time you had a holiday?’

‘Holiday?’

Hmm… That said it all, really. She took the plastic carrier bags from his hands and set them carefully on the beach beside her tennis shoes. ‘Thongs there,’ she ordered, pointing.

He complied.

‘Now do this.’ She twisted her body from side to side until she’d sunk up to her ankles in sand.

To his credit, Simon didn’t glance around to see if anyone was watching, but followed her instructions to the letter.

‘Doesn’t that feel glorious?’ she demanded.

‘Er…yeah.’

He stared at her as if trying to work out what reaction it was she wanted. For the briefest moment her eyes stung. She wanted to yell, Don’t think about me. Do what feels good for you.

But if he hadn’t had a holiday in a long time…

‘You live in Europe, right?’

‘Last time I checked, England was still a part of Europe, yes.’

‘Oh, ha ha, everyone’s a comedian.’

He gave her a kind of half-grin. She gave him a full grin back. ‘Well, Spain is nearby, isn’t it? Don’t you go on annual holidays to…Aruba?’ She pulled the name from some dark recess of her mind.

‘Kate…?’

Ooh, her name sounded divine in that to-die-for accent. She started to twist again. ‘Mmm?’

‘Aruba is in the Caribbean.’

Was it? ‘What’s a holiday destination between friends?’ she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Simon threw his head back and laughed. She watched in satisfaction. She’d find the holiday-maker in him yet. Still grinning, he gazed out over the water of the bay and she recognised the flare of yearning that lit his eyes. ‘Why don’t you go in for a dip?’

‘I don’t have a towel.’

She shrugged. ‘So run across the road and buy a beach towel. Or dry off after on your T-shirt.’ That’d take the crispness out of it. In fact, it’d leave him deliciously rumpled.

‘What about you?’

‘I didn’t bring my swimsuit.’ She stared out at the water wistfully. ‘Though I have gone swimming in shorts and T-shirt more times than I can count.’ She pulled back. ‘No, no. I have to go back to work in a couple of hours. I have a meeting with my accountant.’ Which was a good thing, she told herself—a very good thing.

Then the scent of hot chips hit her and she forgot everything else.

Simon swung towards her when she groaned. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I am soooo hungry.’ She pulled her feet free from the sand. ‘Stay here. I’ll be right back.’

It took her less than two minutes to race up to the kiosk, buy three cones of hot chips and race back.

She handed Simon one. He grinned at the two she still held. ‘You weren’t kidding, were you?’

‘One for you, one for me and one for the seagulls.’

‘One for—’

She didn’t hear the rest of his sentence because she’d already thrown a chip in the air and seagulls descended from every direction to fight over it. ‘Your turn.’ She held the cone out to him. He took a chip and threw it. Seagulls dived and squawked. The air became alive with the flapping of wings. She laughed. He laughed. Feeding the seagulls was definitely a holiday thing. Fun.

When the cone was finished she tossed it in a nearby bin. ‘These ones are mine and I’m not sharing,’ she shouted to the seagulls, covering her cone with her hand. ‘Come and paddle,’ she said to Simon.

He blinked. ‘Whilst eating chips?’

She didn’t miss a beat. ‘It’s called alfresco dining.’ She cocked an eyebrow. ‘You English lords aren’t too high and mighty to get your feet wet, are you?’

‘Nah,’ he said, entering into the spirit, ‘it’s the colonials who eat with their fingers that frighten me.’

She laughed in delight. ‘I didn’t see you exactly rushing to bring out the silver service.’

‘I’d need a table for that.’ His eyes laughed down into hers. ‘Not to mention a butler.’

She’d known he had to have a sense of humour. He was Felice’s brother, after all.

They paddled and ate their chips. She watched the tension ease out of his shoulders, watched him lift his face to the sun.

‘When was the last time you did something like this with Felice?’ She tried to keep the question casual.

The tension shot back into his shoulders. His grey eyes speared hers.

‘It was just a question,’ she said gently. ‘Instinct tells me a bit of a rift has developed between the two of you.’

He drew himself up and glared at her and, although he wore board shorts and a T-shirt, he looked as formidable as if he wore a suit of armour. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss my relationship with Felice with a…’

‘Stranger?’ she finished for him. ‘That’s okay. You don’t have to. Let me tell you what I think has happened instead.’

‘I don’t—’

‘As you’re ten years older than Felice,’ she rushed on, talking over the top of him, ‘I expect you’ve always felt a certain amount of responsibility for her. As Felice is ten years younger than you, I expect some time in the last few years she’s rebelled against your…authority.’

She glanced at him. He didn’t say anything. His lips were clamped shut, but shadows haunted his eyes.

‘She’s spread her fledgling wings and that’s probably scared the beegeebies out of you because how on earth can you keep tabs on her when she’s flitting all over the place?’ She glanced at him again. He stared straight out to the front. ‘The short answer, of course, is you can’t. So you’ve become bossy and critical, she’s become defiant and defensive, and suddenly, instead of having fun together, all you do is fight.’

He stopped dead in his tracks and she knew she’d struck the proverbial nail. ‘You don’t know me. This is all…supposition!’

Supposition that had his hands clenching into fists, she noted. ‘I know Felice.’ Felice was family now. She wondered how Simon would react to that news when he heard it. He glared at her. ‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘I’m just a nosy colonial.’ But her brother had married into this man’s family and she wanted things to be right for Danny and Felice.

She wanted things right for Simon too.

‘I think there’s just enough of you in Felice for her to really get sick of your attempts to control her. Pushed too far, she’d up stumps and take off. Cut her losses.’

The colour leached from Simon’s face and Kate suddenly wanted to hug him. ‘But she’s a nice girl at heart,’ she continued, pretending not to notice his pallor. Pretending not to have noticed anything at all. ‘If my hypothetical situation ever occurred, I think a heartfelt apology would go a long way towards mending fences. An apology and a promise to butt out and let her make her own decisions.’ She lifted her face to the sun, welcoming its warmth. ‘After all, Felice is a competent young woman, more than capable of taking care of herself.’

The colour slowly returned to Simon’s face. They resumed their walk. The tension didn’t leave him, but she could sense that it had subtly shifted—seemed to be directed outwards rather than inwards now.

‘So,’ he finally said, ‘Felice has been enjoying her stay here?’

She sent him a deliberately droll look, then flung her arms wide to indicate the bay and its surrounds. ‘What do you think?’

He glanced around and a reluctant grin tugged at his lips. ‘I think she’s probably had a ball.’

‘Bingo.’

Sauntering along the water’s edge like this with Simon was strangely companionable. Kate pulled in a breath, filled her lungs with air, and beneath the salt tang lay the cool, crisp scent that was Simon—wood shavings, a hint of pine and something that was purely male.

‘Does your brother—Danny—live in Nelson’s Bay too?’

‘He does. We run the dolphin tour business together.’ She glanced up at him and smiled; she couldn’t seem to help it. ‘My father started the business over twenty years ago.’

‘And you enjoy it?’

‘I love it. Most of the time.’ She frowned. ‘Except on those days when staff call in sick—like this morning—and I have to run around like the proverbial headless chicken to get a replacement.’

His lips twitched. ‘Was that before or after the goldfish burial?’

‘During.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘And what do you and Danny do to have fun together?’

She tripped and almost fell flat on her face. But she righted herself almost at once and hoped her surprise didn’t show. ‘We share a passion for surfing and B-grade horror films. What about you and Felice?’

When he didn’t say anything she nudged his arm. ‘C’mon, there has to be at least one thing you guys like to do together. You have to have at least one good memory of hanging out with her.’

For heaven’s sake, he was a lord. Which probably made Felice a lady. They must’ve had the best toys, the best holidays…the best of everything.

He straightened and glared down his nose at her. ‘There are many.’

Boy, could he do haughty when he wanted to? ‘Then pick a stand out,’ she ordered. ‘When was the last time you made her laugh? Really laugh.’

He considered her words, then a slow smile spread across his face. ‘The time I taught her to walk on her hands.’

No toys. ‘Where?’

‘On the lawn at the Holm estate.’

No exotic location. ‘When?’

His grin broadened. Kate didn’t want to ask why it gladdened her heart so much.

‘It would’ve only been five years ago.’

‘Five years!’ She grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. ‘You can walk on your hands? Show me,’ she demanded. ‘All my life I have been trying to walk on my hands.’

So he did. He turned himself upside down and walked on his hands. His biceps bulged, the muscles in his forearms flexed, his T-shirt fell down to cover his face, and Kate’s mouth watered as she took in an impeccable six-pack. He took five or six steps on his hands—Kate wasn’t sure how many, she’d lost the ability to count—then he righted himself with a flourish. ‘Ta da!’ And then he bowed.

She stood there and gaped at him, then realised perhaps that wasn’t very cool so she executed a perfect cartwheel instead.

He nodded. ‘Nice.’

‘I’ll teach you to do a cartwheel if you’ll teach me to walk on my hands.’

‘I hate to break this to you, Kate, but cartwheels are a girl thing.’

‘Male gymnasts do them!’

‘Mmm…I’m still thinking they’re a girl thing.’

‘How about a back flip?’ she offered. ‘I can do a back flip.’

She did a back flip.

So did Simon.

And then it was on—the trying to impress each other, outdo each other. Showing off, pure and simple. Kate knew it was ridiculous and childish, but there was no denying it was fun. She laughed until her stomach ached. Then she laughed until it stopped. Finally, after another botched attempt on her part to walk on her hands, and Simon’s attempt to save her, they fell to the sand in a tangle of limbs.

Kate lay back and stared up at the bluest of blue skies and tried to catch her breath. She turned her head a fraction to feast her eyes on Simon’s profile. As if he could feel her gaze, he rolled to his side and propped his head on his hand. His eyes travelled over her hair, her face, and she could tell he liked what he saw. A thrill shot through her.

She tried to douse it with a dose of cold hard reality. She should pull back—turn away. Simon was a tourist. Nothing could happen between them.

‘Tell me,’ he started with a smile that could tempt a saint, ‘exactly how scandalised would that accountant of yours be if you showed up to your meeting a tad…damp?’

She pretended to consider it. ‘In all honesty, on a day like today, I expect he’ll be a tad damp too.’ And it wouldn’t hurt her to cool off.

Simon didn’t need any further encouragement. He picked her up, raced to the water’s edge and tossed her in. Her laugh was cut short as water closed over her head. She bounced up, spluttering, to find him grinning and barely wet. So that was how he wanted to play it, huh? She grabbed him, hooked a leg behind his knee and dunked him.

He burst out of the water, seized her around the waist and kissed her. Hot and hard. Before she could catch her breath. Then he pulled back, but he didn’t let her go and Kate knew this was what she’d been waiting for from the first moment he’d smiled at her.

He didn’t move. Not forward. Not back. As if giving her a chance to pull away, to stop what was about to happen from happening.

He had to be joking, right? She wasn’t going anywhere. Oh, she knew she should turn tail and run. But she couldn’t…wouldn’t.

One of his hands came up to cup her cheek—his eyes reflected her own confusion and wonder. Then his head dipped to hers and her lips lifted to his and she fell into him. But that seemed okay because his arms came around her and held her safe while his lips and his mouth and his tongue teased and tantalised and tempted.

Sensation spun inwards, then outwards, fizzing up through her like uncorked champagne. But still Simon held her safe. And the kiss deepened and grew until her arms twined around his neck and his hands splayed across her back, pulling her nearer, and even the gentle swell of the water propelled her closer and closer to him.

In his arms, all things suddenly seemed possible.

When Simon lifted his head, Kate didn’t know if it was seconds or minutes that had passed.

‘I…’ He blinked, slowly, as if waking from a dream.

‘Wow,’ she breathed.

He grinned. A low, sexy grin. ‘That’s the word I was looking for.’

She eased away from him a bit because, plastered against his chest like this, she found it next to impossible to think. And she had a feeling that thinking might become crucial in the next few minutes.

‘I didn’t mean for that to happen,’ he said, watching her carefully.

‘I know.’ She believed him.

‘Are you…okay?’ He drew back too, till they were no longer touching. Perversely, she wanted skin on skin again.

‘Yes.’ She wrung out her hair. Of course she was okay. She was in one piece, wasn’t she? The blood might be pumping around her body with more vigour than it normally did and her lips tingling as if they’d been thoroughly kissed—which was perfectly reasonable because, of course, they had been. But the sun still shone and the seagulls still squawked and somewhere children laughed and…

Everything felt different and she didn’t know why.

‘Are you?’ she asked. ‘Okay, that is.’

‘Yes.’ But he drew the word out slowly as if he wasn’t entirely sure and she was glad.

‘What I think we should do…’ she started, and his gaze shot to hers. She had to gulp back Kiss some more and replaced it with, ‘Find a nice shady tree to dry off under.’ She pointed to the strip of green beyond the beach and set off towards it without waiting for his answer.

She found a tree, sat under it and tried to talk sense into herself.

Simon lowered himself down beside her and she could feel him watching her. ‘Do you want me to apologise?’ he asked cautiously.

‘What?’ She swung to him. ‘No! No, of course I don’t want you to apologise.’

She wondered if his world felt turned upside down too.

‘I mean, that…’ she motioned to the water, to the spot where they’d kissed ‘…was…’

His lips twitched. ‘It was,’ he agreed, motioning to the same spot.

‘It’s just—’ she turned to face him more fully, tucking her hair behind her ears ‘—that was just about the best kiss that I’ve ever had.’ There was no probably about it!

He sent her another of those low, sexy grins that brought cheek creases and eye creases into play. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’

Her stomach rolled over and over on itself. Simon had hit holiday-maker mode with a vengeance and she liked it. She liked it a lot. ‘Wouldn’t that be reckless and irresponsible?’ She deliberately used the words he’d applied to Felice.

His face grew thoughtful and he drew back. ‘It would.’

‘Simon, I don’t do reckless and irresponsible.’

‘Nor do I.’

The longer she studied him, the greater the longing that built inside her. She hadn’t been with a man for a very long time, and normally she avoided any kind of romantic entanglement with tourists. Could she make an exception for Simon? The thought filtered into her mind and lodged there.

The next moment she tried to oust it. That hadn’t been a holiday fling kind of kiss. It had been a…for ever kind of kiss.

She and Simon for ever?

Oh, for heaven’s sake, get a grip. He lived on the other side of the world. She’d known him for a couple of hours. A sensible person did not make lifelong plans with a person they’d only known for a couple of hours. She’d obviously had too much sun. A sensible person wore a hat.

‘I can see what you’re thinking.’

Good God. She hoped not. She lifted her hands to her suddenly blazing cheeks. ‘What’s that?’ she managed to croak.

‘You’re thinking how you hardly know me.’

‘Bingo!’ The heat in her cheeks started to abate. ‘It’s true.’ She hadn’t even had the benefit of getting to know him by proxy through Felice.

He reached out and took one of her hands, held it between both of his. ‘It doesn’t feel true.’

She knew exactly what he meant. But… ‘You live a million trillion miles away on the other side of the world.’ She didn’t pull her hand from his.

‘Well, yes…or at least ten thousand miles, but what’s a trillion miles between friends, right?’

She managed a smile.

‘I am, however, for the next fortnight or so based here in Nelson’s Bay.’ His hands tightened around hers. ‘And I’d very much like to get to know you better.’

Her heart gave a joyful leap. She tried to curb it. Impossible. So she tried to talk sense instead. ‘Simon, what’s the point? I mean—’

He reached out and placed a finger against her lips. ‘Some things don’t have a point, Kate. They just are.’

His words shouldn’t make sense. They shouldn’t feel right.

But when he eased back and grinned at her, she grinned back and they both remained exactly where they were.

Carefully she detached her hand from his. ‘So you are going to wait for Felice?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you want to spend the next fortnight here in Nelson’s Bay?’

‘That’s right.’

‘The room Felice was using is free at the moment,’ she blurted out. ‘You can use it until she returns, if you like.’

Simon drew back and stared at her. ‘Stay with you…in your house?’

Good Lord, what was she doing? She gulped and swallowed and started to cough. ‘I mean, that’s not an invitation to…’ She gestured to that spot in the water again and found it impossible to meet his eye. ‘I mean, I don’t do…do…’

He reached out and touched her knee, his smile kind. ‘I think what you’re trying to say is I’ll be firmly ensconced in the guest room.’

She nodded because her throat had closed over at his touch and she couldn’t speak. When he removed his hand she wanted to sigh, but whether in relief or disappointment she didn’t know.

‘I would be honoured to accept your hospitality. And, Kate?’

She glanced up, met the clear grey of his eyes. They’d lightened until they resembled the colour of mercury—the same colour as the bay at dawn.

‘I promise I will behave like a gentleman. You can trust me.’

Could she? Yes, she had the distinct impression that she could. But could she trust herself?

‘And, to thank you for your hospitality, but also because I’d very much like to, may I take you out to dinner one night soon?’

She pointed to the spot where they’d kissed. ‘That can’t happen again.’

He met her gaze steadily. ‘It’s just a dinner invitation, Kate.’

She should say no. ‘I’d like that,’ she found herself saying instead.

‘The date ends,’ he said gently, ‘when you open your front door.’

It made her smile. He wanted to provide boundaries that would make her feel comfortable. She had a feeling that, despite their best intentions, one kiss would shatter those boundaries. It should make her feel wary. Instead, it fizzed her blood through her veins and made her want to throw her head back and sing.

‘Are you free tomorrow night?’ he asked.

Tomorrow was Saturday. Reluctantly she shook her head. ‘The weekends are our busiest days on The Merry Dolphin.’

He frowned. ‘The what?’

‘My boat—The Merry Dolphin. Look—’ she pointed ‘—there she is.’

She watched The Merry Dolphin glide through the entrance to the marina before glancing back at Simon. His jaw had dropped. ‘That’s your boat?’

‘It is.’ She couldn’t contain a surge of pride. ‘Lovely, isn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

But he was looking at her, not the boat. She tucked a non-existent strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. ‘If you like, you could spend the day on the boat with me tomorrow.’

‘I’d like that. And Sunday?’

‘I’m working a half day this Sunday. I should be finished by two o’clock. I’m free in the evening.’

There was that sexy grin of his again. She scrambled to her feet before she could do something stupid—like kiss him again. ‘And now I have to meet with my accountant.’ She needed to get away, give herself a sensible talking-to.

They arranged to meet back at her office in a couple of hours and, although she did have a long overdue appointment with her accountant, although she knew she needed to give herself a darn good talking-to, she found her feet dragging as she walked away from Simon in holidaymaker mode.

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