at his launch party.
She reached the secluded far end of the terrace, which was shaded with large, lush potted palms. Gripping the railing, she stared down at the glowing turquoise pool. The sound on Ocean Drive registered. The screech of tires, as if someone had just braked, followed by the long blast of a horn spun her back just over eleven months, to the accident and her last encounter with Ben.
Not that she had been thinking about him when her SUV had skidded on the loose piece of metal on a country road, then rolled down a gully choked with vegetation and trees. She had been focused on a future that did not contain him.
Happily, the airbags had deployed and the safety belt had done its job, but the two full revolutions down the shallow bank had battered her SUV. Worse yet, the seat belt had repeatedly cut into her torso and stomach, leaving a deep bruise and placing an extra load on her spine at vertebrae T11 and T12.
When the SUV had stopped, it was miraculously right side up. After the airbags had deflated, she found herself enclosed by dense brush and staring at the gnarled branches of a tree, which meant she was invisible from the road.
Her handbag, gym gear and bottle of water, all of which had been in the back seat, were now strewn around her in the front of the car. Her nose was stinging from the water bottle hitting her face while the car had been doing its tumbling act.
Not a problem. But the instant she reached for her handbag, a sharp pain in her right wrist and one in her lower back made her freeze in place. A quick inspection of her wrist suggested it had probably taken a hit from both front and side airbags when she’d automatically thrown up her arm to shield her face. It was straight but already swelling, which meant it was sprained not broken. Since she’d had a broken arm as a kid, she knew the difference.
She had no idea how bad the back injury might be. She didn’t think it was too serious because she hadn’t lost any feeling anywhere, but it was starting to throb, and she knew enough from the first aid course she’d done, and from her mom, who had trained as a paramedic, that you didn’t mess around with spinal injuries. The injuries meant she couldn’t afford to try to exit the SUV herself and climb up to the road.
Luckily she had her cell phone with her, which she suddenly loved with passion because it was going to connect her with the good, safe world out there.
She also knew exactly where she was, so at least she could take charge of getting rescued.
Moving carefully, so as not to twinge her back any more than necessary, she retrieved her phone from her bag.
Normally, she would ring the emergency services number, but since her mother, who had trained as a paramedic after Sophie’s father’s death and volunteered for the local ambulance service, it made sense to kill two birds with one stone and ring her.
Annoyingly, she was forced to use her clumsy left hand because her right hand was out of commission. Instead of getting her mom’s number, she scrolled too far and found herself staring at Ben’s.
A sharp, stabbing pain replaced the throb in her back, and she realized she had tensed. The hand holding her phone jerked, and her thumb must have moved on the screen because suddenly the phone was dialing him.
She wasn’t even supposed to have his number, because when he’d walked out on their one night together and disappeared overseas, he hadn’t given her any contact details at all. She’d had to stoop to getting the number off her brother, Nick’s, phone.
A split second later, his deep, cool voice filled the cab. “Sophie? Why are you ringing? Is something wrong?”
Shock and mortification held her immobile for long seconds, along with the realization that for Ben to know it was her calling meant he must have her number—and she hadn’t given it to him.
It registered that his voice sounded more gravelly than usual, as if she had just woken him up. She probably had, since he was living half a world away, in Miami.
A sudden image of Ben sprawled in bed, of his bronzed shoulders and broad chest a stark contrast to white sheets, made the breath hitch in her throat. She cleared her throat, which felt suddenly tight. “Nothing that you can help with.”
“Are you sure? Babe, you sound…odd.”
Babe.
He had only called her that once before, while they had been in bed. He certainly had no right to call her that now! And she was injured. She shouldn’t be lingering on the phone talking with him. What she needed was an ambulance. Suddenly the weird desire to keep Ben with his dark velvet voice on the line was gone and she was back. “You’re in Miami, I’m in New Zealand. There’s no way you can help me.” She hurriedly added, “Not that I need help from you with anything.”
Her jaw tightened at the fact that she had almost let him know that she was, actually, in need of help, a situation that was unthinkable, since she would rather crawl through the scrub and up the bank with her injured back and sprained wrist than accept any help Ben Sabin might care to offer.
“It’s been nice talking to you,” she said smoothly, “but I didn’t mean to call you. Igloos will be melting in the Arctic and polar bears sunning themselves in Central Park before it happens again. It was a misdial.”
With a stab of her thumb—this time deadly accurate—she terminated the call.
She scrolled through her contacts and succeeded in contacting Luisa Messena. With her mom and help on the way, she tried to relax. But the instant she didn’t have anything to do, all she could think about was Ben. Embarrassed heat flooded her that she had actually rung him, which was at the top of her list of things not to do.
On top of that, the fact that he’d somehow gotten hold of her number and had never bothered to contact her made her mad, which was not good, because it meant she was obviously still harboring sneaky feelings for him.
While she was at home convalescing, her mother, who had figured out that she was struggling with lack of closure around her “relationship” with Ben, had suggested she have counseling and had recommended a therapist. Sophie hadn’t thought she would like the process, but she had taken to it like a duck to water, because the therapy had put the power back in her hands.
What she had felt for Ben was past tense and controllable. She did not have to feel disempowered by what he did or did not do. She was free and empowered to make her own choices.
A distant flash of lightning jerked her back to the present, and to Nick’s party, where, once again, she had managed to utterly embarrass herself.
The breeze lifted, blowing loose strands of hair around her cheeks. She was on the point of leaving and returning to the room Nick had reserved for her at the resort when a sense of premonition tingled down her spine. Ben. Her breath hitched in her throat, and for a crazy moment she wondered if she was experiencing one of Francesca’s feelings.
When she turned, he was there. The terrace lights glanced off the clean cut of his cheekbones, emphasizing the intriguing shadows beneath and highlighting the solid line of his jaw. He shrugged out of his jacket, which had water stains down the lapels, and tossed it over the wrought iron railing. The white shirt he was wearing was wet all down the front and plastered across his chest, making him seem even broader and more muscular than she remembered.
He dragged long fingers through his damp hair and wiped moisture from his chin.
