eyes were guarded, the shadows beneath them more deeply etched. She tilted her head to one side. A wispy lock of rain-damp hair fell across her face. He had to force himself not to reach out and tenderly push it aside, as he would have done twelve years ago.
She took a deep breath and again he couldn’t help but appreciate the enticing swell of her breasts. She’d been sizzling at eighteen. As a woman of thirty she was sexual dynamite. Ignite it and he was done for.
Finally she spoke. ‘Okay, so maybe promising to help your aunt wasn’t such a great idea. But I crossed my heart. I’m here in Dolphin Bay. Whether you like it or not.’
Her lovely pink-stained mouth trembled and she bit down firmly on her lower lip. She blinked rapidly, as if fighting back tears, sending a wrenching shaft of pain straight to his heart.
She choked out her words. ‘Don’t be angry at me for insisting on staying. I couldn’t bear that.’
‘Like I’d do that, Sandy. Surely you know me better?’
She shook her head slowly from side to side. Her voice broke like static. ‘Ben, I don’t know you at all any more.’
A bruised silence fell between them. He was powerless to do anything to end it. Each breath felt like an effort.
Sandy’s shoulders were hunched somewhere around her ears. He watched her make an effort to pull them down.
‘If you don’t want to be friends, where does that put us?’
‘Seems to me we’re old friends who’ve moved on but who have been thrown together by circumstance. Can’t we leave it at that?’
Before she had a chance to mask it, disappointment clouded her eyes. She looked away. It was a long moment before she nodded and looked back up at him. Her voice was resolute, as if she were closing on a business deal, with only the slightest tremor to betray her. ‘You’re right. Of course you’re right. We’ll be grown-up about this. Passing polite for the next five days. Is that the deal?’
She offered him her hand to shake.
He looked at it for a long moment, at her narrow wrist and slender fingers. Touching Sandy wasn’t a good idea. Not after all these years. Not when he remembered too well how good she’d felt in his arms. How much he wanted her—had always wanted her.
He hesitated a moment too long and she dropped her hand back by her side.
He’d hurt her again. He gritted his teeth. What kind of a man was he that he couldn’t shake her hand?
‘That’s settled, then,’ she said, her voice brisk and businesslike, her eyes not meeting his. ‘By the way, I’ll need somewhere to sleep. Any suggestions?’
Wham! What kind of sucker punch was that? His reaction was instant—raw, physical hunger for her. Hunger so powerful it knocked him for six.
He knew what he ached to say. You can sleep in my bed. With me. Naked, with your legs twined around mine. On top of me. Beneath me. With your face flushed with desire and your heart racing with passion. Sleep with me so we can finish what we started so long ago.
Instead he clenched his fists by his sides, looked somewhere over her head so he wouldn’t have to see her face. He couldn’t let her guess the thoughts that were taking over his mind and body.
‘You’ll be my guest at the hotel. I’ll organise a room for you as soon as I get back.’
She put up her hand. ‘But that won’t be necessary. I—’
He cut short her protest. ‘No buts. You’re helping my family. You don’t pay for accommodation. You’ll go in a penthouse suite.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m happy to pay, but if you insist—’
‘I insist.’ He realised, with some relief, that the rain had stopped pelting on the roof. ‘The weather has let up. We’ll get you checked in now.’
The twist to her mouth conceded defeat, although he suspected the argument was far from over. Like Idy, she was fiercely independent. Back then she’d always insisted on paying her way on their dates. Even if she only matched him ice cream for ice cream or soft drink for soft drink.
‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll just grab my handbag and—’ She felt around on the counter, looked around her in panic. ‘My bag!’
‘It’s at Reception. Kate picked it up.’
Kate, her eyes wide with interest and speculation, had whispered to him as they were helping Ida into the ambulance. She said Sandy had been in such a hurry to follow him out of the restaurant and onto the sand she’d left her bag behind.
Kate obviously saw that as significant. He wondered how many people now knew his old girlfriend was back in town.
The phone calls would start soon. His mother first up. She’d liked Sandy. She’d never pried into his and his brother Jesse’s teenage love lives. But she’d be itching to know why Sandy was back in town.
And he’d wager that Sandy would have a stream of customers visiting Bay Books. Customers whose interest was anything but literary.
Sandy went to move from behind the counter.
‘Sandy, before you go, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’
She frowned. ‘Yes?’
He’d been unforgivably ill-mannered not to shake her hand just to avoid physical contact. So what inexplicable force made him now lean towards her and lightly brush his thumb over her mouth where it was stained that impossibly bright pink? He could easily tell her what he had to without touching her.
His pulse accelerated a gear at the soft, yielding feel of her lips, the warm female scent of her. She quivered in awareness of his touch, then stood very still, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide.
He didn’t want her around. Didn’t want her warmth, her laughter, falling on his heart like drops of water on a spiky-leaved plant so parched it was in danger of dying. A plant that needed the sun, the life-giving rain, but felt safe and comfortable existing in the shadows, living a half-life that until now had seemed enough.
‘Sandy....’ There was so much more he wanted to say. But couldn’t.
She looked mutely back at him.
He drew a deep, ragged breath. Cleared his throat. Forced his voice into its usual tone, aware that it came out gruffer but unable to do anything about it.
‘I don’t know if this is the latest city girl look, but your mouth...it’s kinda pink in the middle. You might want to fix it.’
She froze, then her hand shot to her mouth. ‘What do you mean? I don’t use pink lipstick.’
Without saying a word he walked around to her side of the counter and pulled out a drawer. He handed her the mirror his aunt always kept there.
Sandy looked at her image. She stared. She shrieked. ‘That’s the ink from my niece Amy’s feather pen!’
It
