to Sarah when she’d been about twelve—they’d just watched a very sweet romance on TV together—that he could never fall in love the way the characters had in that movie. He’d confessed rather grimly that he didn’t have any idea what that kind of love felt like.
Sarah presumed his inability to emotionally connect with women had something to do with his loveless up-bringing, a subject she’d overheard being discussed by her parents not long before her mother died. Apparently, Nick had suffered terribly at the hands of a drunken and abusive father, running away to live on the streets of Sydney when he’d been only thirteen. After that, he’d been reduced to doing some pretty dreadful things just to survive.
Sarah never did find out exactly how dreadful, but she could guess.
Just after turning eighteen, Nick had finally been arrested—for stealing cars—and had been sentenced to two years in jail.
It was during this term that he’d finally been shown some kindness, and given some practical help. By a man who’d spotted his natural intelligence, a man who, for years, had generously given up many hours of his time to help those less fortunate.
Nick was put into a special education programme for inmates that this man had funded, and became one of their most successful graduates, achieving his higher-school certificate in record time.
That man had been her father.
‘Sarah!’
Sarah almost jumped out of her skin at her name being called.
But when she saw who it was, she smiled.
‘Hi there, Jim. You’re looking well.’ Flora’s husband had to be over sixty by now. But he was one of those wirily built men who aged well and always moved with a spritely step.
‘Got a lot of luggage there, missie,’ he said, joining her behind her car and staring down at her two very large bags. ‘Home for good, are you?’
‘Not yet, Jim. Did you get me a good tree?’
‘Yep. A beauty. Set it up in the usual spot in the family room. I put the boxes of decorations next to it. And I’ve hung up the lights out the back.’
‘Great. Thanks, Jim.’
Jim nodded. He wasn’t one for chit-chat, unlike his wife.
Jim was happiest when he was working with his hands. He loved keeping the extensive grounds at Goldmine spick and span, not such a difficult job after her father had come home from a visit to Tokyo a decade ago and had all the more traditional flower beds and lawns ripped out and replaced with Japanese-style gardens. Now there were lots of rocks and gravel pathways, combined with ponds and water features, all shown to advantage by interesting trees and plants.
Jim hadn’t been too thrilled at first with the lack of grass and flowers, but he’d grown to appreciate the garden’s unique beauty and serenity.
Jim picked up Sarah’s bags without her asking and started heading along the curved path towards the front porch, putting paid to her earlier plan to sneak in unnoticed through the garages.
To be honest, Sarah still wished she looked better for Nick’s first sight of her. It would have been rewarding to see the surprised look on his face.
Sighing, she grabbed her carry-all from the passenger seat, locked the car and hurried after Jim, who by then had dropped her bags by the front door and rung the doorbell.
‘I do have keys,’ she said, and was fishing through her bag in search of them when the door was wrenched open.
Not by Flora—but by Nick.
If ever Sarah was glad she was wearing sunglasses it was at that moment.
Not because of Nick’s reaction to her, but because of her reaction to him.
She’d been so caught up with worrying about her own appearance that she’d forgotten just how devastatingly attractive she found him, especially when he was wearing as little as he was wearing today: just board shorts and a sleeveless white surf top, the colour highlighting his beautifully bronzed skin.
Sarah’s thankfully hidden gaze travelled hungrily down his body then up again before fixing on his mouth.
If Nick’s black eyes hadn’t been so hard, and his other features strongly masculine, his mouth might have made him into a pretty boy. Both his lips were full and sensual, curving around a mouthful of flashing white teeth, their perfection courtesy of the top-flight dentist her father had taken him to as soon as he’d been let out of prison.
If Sarah had any criticism, it was of his hair, which she believed he kept far too short. Still, the buzz-cut style did give him an intimidating look that probably worked well for him in the business world.
‘Well, hello, stranger,’ he said, his dark eyes sweeping down to her sneakered feet, then up again.
Not a hint of admiration in his expression, however, or even surprise. No reaction at all. Zilch.
His lack of reaction—she’d been expecting some sort of compliment—exasperated Sarah. What did she have to do to make the man notice her, damn it?
‘Thanks, Jim,’ he said, bending to pick up her bags. ‘I’ll take these now.’
‘Yes, thanks, Jim,’ Sarah managed to echo through clenched teeth.
Jim nodded, then moved off, by which time Nick had picked up her luggage and turned to carry it inside.
Sarah wanted to hit him. Instead, she gritted her teeth even harder.
Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to turn twenty-five. The sooner she got Nick out of her life, the better. He was like a thorn in her side, niggling away at her. How could she have what she wanted most in life—which was children of her own—if he was always there, spoiling things for her? How could she feel completely happy when she kept comparing every man she dated to him?
Out of sight would be out of mind. Hopefully.
Sarah closed the front door after her, smothering a sigh when she saw Nick heading for the stairs with her cases.
‘I can take those up,’ she said, desperately needing a few minutes away from the man to regain her composure.
As much as Sarah had subconsciously always known that nothing would ever come of her secret feelings for Nick, finally facing the futility of her fantasies was a soul-shattering experience.
He hadn’t even noticed that she’d lost weight!
All that work. For nothing!
‘It’s no trouble,’ he threw over his shoulder as he continued on up the stairs with the bags.
Sarah gritted her teeth, and hurried up the stairs after him. ‘Why aren’t you at golf?’
‘I wanted the opportunity to talk to you,’ he tossed back at her. ‘Privately.’
‘About what?’
He didn’t answer her, instead charging on ahead with her bags.
