plenty of publicity shots set up in front of the huge Magnetic Rendezvous sign. She was required to pose with Sam.
‘Smile into each other’s eyes now,’ a photographer called.
Meg tried to force a smile and focused on a point beyond Sam’s shoulder. She knew he was looking straight at her, smiling with those baby-blue, super-cute eyes, but she was determined not to let them affect her again.
‘Hey, miss, lighten up,’ a photographer scolded.
She squeezed her smile muscles harder as Sam leaned closer.
‘They’re blue today.’ His voice was a sexy rumble close to her ear.
Goose bumps prickled to unwilling life on her arms. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Gulp. No matter how she felt about him, Sam was still the best-looking guy she’d seen outside a cinema. ‘What are blue? What are you talking about?’
‘Your eyes,’ he said softly. ‘How do they do it?’
‘Do what?’ she muttered through her grimacing smile.
‘Change colour. I’ve been trying to work out what colour they are and yesterday I decided they were definitely grey, but today I swear they’re blue.’
Meg couldn’t help it. She smiled.
Cameras flashed all around them. ‘That’s great!’ someone shouted. ‘Hold that smile! Gorgeous!’ There were more flashes and clicks.
As a photographer rearranged them into a slightly different pose, Sam asked, ‘How do they change like that?’
He was doing it again. Trying to win her over with charm. Most men usually focused their attention somewhere between her neck and her knees. No man, in her memory, had ever paid such flattering attention to her eyes.
‘Does their colour depend on what you’re wearing?’ His approving gaze took in her aqua halter-necked top and shorts.
‘I think so.’
‘That’s a really neat trick.’
But Meg was determined not to be won over by a few throw-away lines about her eyes.
Suddenly a female journalist in a trendy power suit stepped forward wielding a microphone. A cameraman and sound recorder crowded close behind.
‘Mr Kirby,’ the journalist asked silkily. ‘I understand you’ve dated film stars and celebrities in America? So what do you think of Australian girls?’
Meg made a choking sound. Where on earth had this stupid question come from? What did it have to do with the letter in the bottle? Didn’t the ditsy journalist know about sticking to the hard facts?
Sam looked a little startled by the question, too, but he quickly recovered. He favoured the journalist with a full-scale model of his sexiest smile. ‘Aussie girls are enchanting.’
The journalist simpered and Meg might have scowled if the camera hadn’t swung to focus on her. The interviewer spoke again, ‘And, Meg, what’s it like to have the attention of Seattle’s favourite bachelor?’
‘It’s been an enlightening experience,’ she replied coolly.
The journalist’s eyebrow arched. ‘Can you tell us exactly how you’ve been enlightened?’
Meg smiled slowly. ‘No.’
Taken aback, the journalist stared at Meg for several long seconds before trying Sam again. ‘We’re told that this story isn’t just about a romance that happened sixty years ago.’ Her eyes slid meaningfully from Meg to Sam. ‘I understand there’s a little chemistry happening right now?’
Meg glared over her shoulder at her boss, who was slinking behind a clump of golden cane palms. She heard the angry hiss of Sam’s breath. When she glanced his way, she saw that his smile had been replaced by a displeased, stony stare.
‘You heard Miss Bennet,’ he said. ‘No comment.’
The journalist shrugged and rolled her eyes.
To Meg’s relief, someone else called, ‘OK, now we’ll take some beach shots! Everyone down at the water’s edge.’
On the beach, the morning sun hung above them, a dazzling white-gold blaze in the sky. Beneath it, the bay stretched like a shimmering sheet of liquid gold.
A cameraman hurried to set up his tripod.
And a bottle was thrust into Sam’s hands. ‘This is it? This is the bottle?’ He turned to Meg.
She nodded.
The bottle was empty and Meg stood quietly as he examined the ancient, once clear, green glass carefully, turning it over and over, slowly. He seemed to be studying the surface, which was worn to an opaque haze by sand and salt and endless, endless water.
Her mouth quivered into a funny little trembling smile as she watched him and she wondered if he felt as choked up as she did. This was the bottle that had been held by Tom Kirby, his grandfather. All those years ago.
For days now, she’d been thinking about this moment when it was handed over to its rightful owner. She looked at Sam through moist eyes. ‘It’s good to know you have it at last,’ she said in a voice choked with emotion.
Once more, cameras clicked and whirred as photographers crouched and hovered around them. ‘That’s lovely, sweetheart.’ Click! ‘Keep looking at him like that.’ Click! Click! ‘Beautiful.’
As soon as there was a break, Sam’s face pulled into a wry grimace as he looked at her. ‘I’ll be happier when I get the letter as well as this bottle.’
Meg stiffened. All he cared about was the letter and the will and securing his family’s business. She should have known a playboy bachelor from Seattle wouldn’t have a sentimental bone in his body.
‘Now, put your arm around her, mate,’ another voice instructed.
Before she could prepare herself, Sam’s strong arm settled around Meg’s shoulders. She was gathered against him and of course her curves fitted perfectly against the hard planes of his muscular physique. This close, she could smell his skin, clean with a hint of expensive aftershave…and annoying, undeniable ripples of awareness heated her.
This was way too close for comfort.
‘Put your hand on the bottle, too,’ someone instructed. ‘That’s it—both of you holding it together.’
‘Now, look deep into each other’s eyes.’
Reluctantly, Meg dragged her eyes up to meet Sam’s. This wasn’t fair! Her resistance was wearing off. Suddenly, looking into those blue depths was like taking off from a high diving board. Her foolish heart leapt in her chest.
She tried for a joke—anything to take her mind off her body’s embarrassing reactions. ‘I guess we can regard this as practice for when we get married.’ Then she cringed. Idiot! Had she really said that? ‘I mean married to—whoever we marry,’ she stammered, suddenly
