The Summer They Never Forgot Page 8

  Sandy was laughing and gesticulating with her hands as she spoke. His aunt was laughing too. It pleased him to see a warm flush vanquishing the grey tinge of pain from her face.

  ‘What do you think, Ben?’ Sandy asked.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. Who is the primary customer for Bay Books?’

  He shrugged. ‘People off the boats looking for something to read? Retirees?’

  His aunt nodded. ‘They’re important, yes. But I sell more books to the telecommuters than to anyone else. They’re crazy for book clubs. A book club gives them human contact as an antidote to the hours they spend working away on their computers, reporting to an office somewhere miles and miles away.’

  Ben rubbed his hands together in simulated glee. ‘All those people fleeing the cities, making a sea-change to live on the coast—the lifeblood of commerce in Dolphin Bay. They’re buying land, building houses, and spending their socks off.’

  Sandy wrinkled up her nose in the way he remembered so well. It was just as cute on her at thirty as it had been at eighteen.

  ‘That seems very calculating,’ she said.

  ‘What do you expect from the President of the Dolphin Bay Chamber of Commerce?’ said Aunt Ida, her voice dripping with the pride all his family felt at his achievement. ‘The town has really come on under his leadership.’

  Sandy’s eyes widened. ‘You’re full of surprises, Ben.’

  On that so expressive face of hers he could see her wondering how he’d come from fisherman’s son to successful businessman. Her father had judged him not good enough, not wealthy enough. He’d had no idea of how much land Ben’s family owned. And Sandy didn’t know how spurred on to succeed Ben had been by the snobby older man’s low opinion of him.

  ‘We have a lot to catch up on,’ she said.

  No.

  More than ever he did not want to spend more time than was necessary with Sandy, reviving old feelings that were best left buried.

  She was modestly dressed now, in a neat-fitting T-shirt and a skirt of some floaty material that covered her knees. But she’d answered the door to him at the hotel wrapped in nothing more than a Hotel Harbourside bathrobe.

  As she’d spoken to him the robe had slid open to reveal the tantalising shadow between her breasts. Her face had been flushed and her hair damp. It was obvious she’d just stepped out of the shower and the thought of her naked had been almost more than his libido could take.

  Naked in one of his hotel bathrooms. Naked under one of his hotel’s bathrobes. It hadn’t taken much to take the thought a step further to her naked on one of his hotel’s beds. With the hotel’s owner taking passionate possession.

  He’d had to grit his teeth and force his gaze to somewhere above her head.

  When she’d kissed him it had taken every ounce of his iron-clad self-control not to take her in his arms and kiss her properly. Not on the cheek but claiming her mouth, tasting her with his tongue, exploring her sexy body with hungry hands. Backing her into the room and onto the bed.

  No.

  There’d be no catching up on old times. Or letting his libido lead him where he had vowed not to go.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Isn’t this conversation irrelevant to you running the bookstore for Aunt Ida?’

  Sandy met his gaze in a way that let him know she knew only too well he was steering the conversation away from anything personal.

  ‘Of course. You’re absolutely right.’

  She turned to face the hospital bed.

  ‘Ida, tell me about any special orders.’ Then she looked back at him, her head at a provocative angle. Her eyes gleamed with challenge. ‘Is that better, Mr President?’

  He looked to Ida for support, but her eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Sandy and back again.

  It was starting. The speculation about him and Sandy. The gossip. And it looked as if he couldn’t count on his aunt for support in his battle to protect his heart.

  In fact she looked mighty pleased at the prospect of uncovering something personal between him and her temporary manager.

  ‘You can tell me more about your past friendship with Sandy some other time, nephew of mine,’ she said.

  Sandy looked as uncomfortable as he felt, and had trouble meeting his gaze. ‘Can we get back to talking about Bay Books, Ida?’ she asked.

  His aunt laughed. ‘Back to the not nearly so interesting topic of the bookshop? Okay, my dear, have you got something you can take some notes in? The special orders can get complicated.’

  Looking relieved, Sandy dived into her handbag. She pulled out a luminous pink notebook and with it came a flurry of glitter that sparkled in the shafts of late-afternoon sun falling on his aunt’s hospital bed.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ she said, biting down on her bottom lip as the particles settled across the bedcovers.

  Ida seemed mesmerised by the glitter. ‘It’s not mess, it’s fairy dust!’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. Her still youthful blue eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, this is wonderful, isn’t it, Ben? Sandy will bring magic to Dolphin Bay. I just know it!’

  Ben watched the tiny metallic particles as they glistened on the white hospital sheets. Saw the pleasure in his aunt’s shrewd gaze, the gleam of reluctant laughter in Sandy’s eyes.

  ‘Magic? Well, it did come from my fairy notebook,’ she said.

  Something called him to join in their complicity, to believe in their fantasy.

  Hope he’d thought long extinguished struggled to revive itself. Magic? Was it magic that Sandy had brought with her? Magic from the past? Magic for the future? He desperately wanted to believe that.

  But there was no such thing as magic. He’d learnt that on a violently blazing day five years ago, when he had been powerless to save the lives of his family.

  He would need a hell of a lot more than some so-called fairy dust to change his mind.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE FIRST THING Sandy noticed on the beach early the next morning was the dog. A big, shaggy golden retriever, it lay near a towel on the sand near the edge of the water with its head resting on its paws. Its gaze was directed out to the surf of Big Ray Beach, the beach she’d reached via the boardwalk from the bay.

  Twelve years ago she’d thought ‘Big Ray’ must refer to a person. No. Ben had informed her the beach had another name on the maps. But the locals had named it after the two enormous manta rays that lived on the northern end of the beach and every so often undulated their way to the other end. He had laughed at her squeals and hugged her close, telling her they were harmless and that he would keep her safe from anything that dared hurt her.

  This morning there were only a few people in the water; she guessed one of them must be the dog’s owner. At six-thirty, with strips of cloud still tinged pink from sunrise, it was already warm, the weather gearing up for sultry heat after the previous day’s storm. Cicadas were already tuning up their chorus for the day.

  Sandy smiled at the picture of doggy devotion. Get dog of own once settled in Melbourne, she added in a mental memo for her ‘to do’ list. That-Jerk-Jason had allergies and wouldn’t tolerate a dog in the house. How had she been so in love with him when they’d had so little in common apart from their jobs?

  She walked up to the dog and dropped to her knees in the sand. She offered it her hand to sniff, then ruffled the fur behind its neck. ‘Aren’t you a handsome boy?’ she murmured.

  The dog looked up momentarily, with friendly, intelligent eyes, thumped his plumed tail on the sand, then resumed his vigil.

  She followed the animal’s gaze, curious to see the object of such devotion. The dog’s eyes were fixed on a man who was body-surfing. His broad, powerful shoulders and athletic physique were in perfect sync with the wave, harnessing its energy as it curled behind him and he shot towards shore.

  The man was Ben.

  She knew that even before he lifted his head from the water, a look of intense exhilaration on his face as he powered down the fac
e of the wave. He was as at home on a wave as he had been when he was nineteen, and for a moment it was as if she were thrown back into the past. So much of her time with him that summer had been spent on this beach.

  She was transported back to a morning like this when she’d run from the guesthouse to the sand and found him riding a wave, accompanied by a pod of dolphins, their grey shapes distinct on the underside of the wave. Joy and wonder had shone from his face. She’d splashed in to meet him and shared a moment of pure magic before the pod took off. Afterwards they’d lain on their backs on the beach, holding hands, marvelling over the experience. Did he remember?

  Now he had seen her watching, and he lifted off the wave as it carried him into shore. She wanted to call out to him not to break off his ride on her account, but knew he wouldn’t hear her over the sound of the surf.

  He waved a greeting and swam, then strode towards her through the small breaking waves that foamed around his legs. Her breath caught in her throat at his near-naked magnificence. He was so tall and powerfully built that he seemed to dominate the vastness of the ocean and the horizon behind him.

  His hair was dark and plastered to his head. The water was streaming off his broad shoulders and honed muscles. Sunlight glistened off the drops of water on his body so he seemed for one fanciful moment like some kind of mythical hero, emerging from the sea.

  Desire, sudden and overwhelming, surged through her. Her nipples tensed and she seemed to melt inside. She wanted him. Longed for him. How could she ever have left him? She should have defied her parents and got back to Dolphin Bay. Somehow. Anyhow. Just to be with him.

  That was back then. Now they were very different people who just happened to have found themselves on the same beach. But the attraction was as compelling as ever, undiluted by the years that had passed.

  Why couldn’t she forget that special time they had shared? What kept alive that fraction of hope that they could share it again? It wasn’t just that she found him good-looking. This irrational compulsion was more than that. Something so powerful it overrode his rejection of her overtures. He didn’t want her here. He had made that clear from the word go. She should just return his acquaintance-type wave and walk on.

  But she ran in to the knee-deep waves to meet him. The dog splashed alongside her, giving a few joyous barks of welcome. She squealed at the sudden chill of the water as it sprayed her.

  Remember, just friends, she reminded herself as she and Ben neared each other. Give him even a hint of the desire that had her so shaky and confused and he might turn back to that ocean and swim all the way to New Zealand.

  ‘Good morning, Mr President,’ she said. Ben as leader of the business community? It took some getting used to. And yet the air of authority was there when he dealt with his staff at the hotel—and they certainly gave him the deference due to a well-respected boss.

  ‘Just Ben will do,’ he said as he walked beside her onto the dry sand. As always, she had trouble keeping up with his stride.

  She was finding it almost impossible not to look at his body, impressive in red board shorts. Kept casting sideways glances at him.

  ‘So you’ve met Hobo,’ he said, with an affectionate glance at the dog.

  ‘No formal introductions were made, but we said hello,’ she said, still breathless at her physical reaction to him. ‘Is he yours?’

  She felt self-conscious at Ben’s nearness, aware that she was wearing only a bikini covered by the skimpiest of tank tops.

  ‘My mother helps out at a dog shelter. Sometimes she brings dogs home to foster until they find permanent homes. This one clapped eyes on me, followed me to my house and has been with me ever since.’ He leaned down to pat the dog vigorously. ‘Can’t get rid of you, can I, mate?’ He spoke with ill-concealed affection.

  So he had something to love.

  She was glad.

  ‘He’s adorable. And he guarded your towel like a well-trained soldier.’

  Ben picked up the towel from the sand and flung it around his neck. How many times had she seen him do that in just the same way? How many times had he tucked his towel solicitously around her if her own towel was damp?

  ‘What brings you to the beach so early?’ he asked.

  She pulled a face. ‘Had to walk those Snickers bars off.’

  ‘How many gone?’

  ‘Only two.’

  ‘One for dinner and one for breakfast?’

  ‘Chocolate for breakfast? I’ve got a sweet tooth, but I’m not a total sugar freak.’ She scuffed her foot in the sand. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking of all I don’t know about managing a bookstore.’ Kept thinking about you.

  He picked up a piece of driftwood and threw it for Hobo. The dog bounded into the water to retrieve it.

  ‘You took a lot of notes from Aunt Ida yesterday.’

  ‘It’s just nerves. Bay Books is so important for Ida and I want to get it right.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. It’s only for a few days.’

  No doubt he meant to sound reassuring. But it seemed as if he was reminding her yet again that he wanted her out of Dolphin Bay.

  ‘Yes. Just a few days,’ she echoed. ‘I guess I won’t bankrupt the place in that time.’

  Hobo splashed out of the shallows with the driftwood in his mouth, grinning a doggy grin and looking very pleased with himself. He dropped it between their feet.

  Sandy reached down to pick it up at the same time as Ben did. She collided with his warm, solid shoulders, felt her head connect with his. ‘Ouch!’ She rubbed the side of her temple.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Ben pulled her to her feet and turned her to face him.

  They stood very close, her hands on his shoulders where she’d braced herself for balance. He was damp and salty and smelled as fresh and clean as the morning. It would be so easy to slide her hands down, to tangle her fingers in his chest hair, test the strength of his muscles. Every cell in her body seemed to tingle with awareness where his bare skin touched hers.

  She nodded, scarcely able to speak. ‘That’s one tough skull you’ve got there. But I’m fine. Really.’

  He gently probed her head, his fingers sending currents of sensation coursing through her. ‘There’s no bump.’

  ‘I think I’ll live,’ she managed to choke out, desperately attempting to sound flippant.

  His big scarred hands moved from her scalp to cradle her face. He tilted her head so she was forced to look up into his eyes. For a long moment he searched her face.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Sandy,’ he said, his voice hoarse.

  She knew he wasn’t talking about the collision. ‘I realise that, Ben,’ she whispered.

  Then, with her eyes drowning in his, he kissed her.

  She was so surprised she stood stock-still for a moment. Then she relaxed into the sensation of Ben’s mouth on hers. It felt like coming home.

  * * *

  When Ben had lifted his head from the wave and had seen Sandy standing on the beach, it had been as if the past and the present had coalesced into one shining moment. A joy so unexpected it was painful had flooded his heart.

  And here he was, against all resolutions, kissing her.

  Her lips were warm and pliant beneath his. Her breasts were pressed to his chest. Her eyes, startled at first, were filled with an expression of bliss.

  He shouldn’t be kissing her. Starting things he could not finish. Risking pain for both of them. But those thoughts were lost in the wonder of having her close to him again.

  It was as if the twelve years between kisses had never happened.

  He twined his hands in her shiny vanilla-scented hair, tilted her head back as he deepened the kiss, pushed against her lips with his tongue. Her mouth parted to welcome him, to meet the tip of his tongue with hers.

  She made a small murmur of appreciation and wound her arms around his neck. His arms slid to her waist, to the smooth, warm skin where her top stopped, drawing her close. He could feel her heart thudding ag
ainst his chest.

  He wanted her. She could surely feel his arousal. But this wasn’t just about sex. It had always been so much more than that with Sandy.

  The world shrank to just him and her, and the surf was a muted pounding that echoed the pulsing of their hearts, the blood running hot through his veins.

  He could feel her nipples hard against him. Sensed the shiver of pleasure that vibrated through her. He pulled her tighter, wanting her as close to him as she could be.

  But then something landed near his foot, accompanied by a piteous whining. Hobo. The driftwood. Damn!

  He ignored it. Sand was dug in a flurry around them, stinging his legs. The whining turned to sharp, demanding barks.

  Inwardly he cursed. Willed Hobo to go away. But the dog just kept on digging and barking. Ben broke away from the first time he’d kissed Sandy in twelve years for long enough to mutter, ‘Get lost, boy.’

  But when he quickly reclaimed Sandy’s lips she was trembling. Not with passion but repressed laughter. ‘He’s not going to go away, you know,’ she murmured against his mouth.

  Ben groaned. He swore. He leaned down, grabbed the driftwood and threw it as far away as he could—so hard he nearly wrenched his shoulder.

  Now Sandy was bent over with laughter. ‘He wasn’t going to let up, was he?’

  Ben cursed his dog again.

  ‘I know you don’t really mean that,’ she said, with a mischievous tilt to her mouth. ‘Poor Hobo.’

  ‘Back to the shelter for him,’ Ben growled.

  ‘As if,’ said Sandy.

  She looked up to him, her eyes still dancing with laughter. She looked as though she’d been thoroughly kissed. He didn’t shave until after his morning surf and her chin was all pink from his beard. He felt a surge of possessiveness so fierce it was primal.

  ‘That...that was nice, Ben.’

  Nice? He struggled for a word to sum up what it had meant to him. When he didn’t reply straight away, the soft, satisfied light of a woman who knew she was desired seemed to dim in her eyes.

  ‘More than nice,’ he said, and her eyes lit up again.

  He reached out to smooth that wayward lock of hair from her eyes. She caught his hand with hers and dropped a quick kiss on it before she let it go.