style="font-size:15px;"> ‘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 against 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.
‘Why did you kiss me, Ben, when with every second breath you’re telling me go away?’
Did he know the answer himself? ‘Because I—’
He couldn’t find the words to say, Because you’re Sandy, and you’re beautiful, and I still can’t believe you’ve come back to me, but I’m afraid to let you in because I don’t want to love you and then lose you again.
Her eyes were huge in her flushed face. She’d got damp from hugging him while he was still wet from the surf. Her tank top clung to her
