stained her cheeks. ‘Hey, I’m in advertising. I get creative with copy.’ But when she looked up at him her eyes were huge and sincere. ‘I adored you, Ben. You must know that.’ Her voice caught in her throat.
Ben shifted from foot to foot in the sand. ‘I... Uh... Same here.’ He’d planned his life around her.
‘Let’s spend these four days together,’ she urged. ‘Forget all that’s happened to us since we last saw each other. Just go back to how we were. Sandy and Ben. Teenagers again. Carefree. Enjoying each other’s company. Recapturing what we had.’
‘You mean a fling?’
‘A four-day fling? No strings? Why not? I’m prepared to risk it if you are.’
Risk. Was he ready to risk the safe life he’d so carefully constructed around himself in Dolphin Bay? He’d done so well in business by taking risks. But taking this risk—even for four days—could have far greater complications than monetary loss.
‘Sandy. I hear what you’re saying. But I need time.’
‘Ben, we don’t have time. We—’
Hobo skidded at their feet, the driftwood in his mouth, wet and eager and demanding attention.
Sandy glared at the animal. ‘You have a great sense of timing, dog.’
‘Yeah, he’s known for it.’ Ben reached down for the driftwood and tossed it just a short distance away. ‘I’ve got to get him back. Dogs are only allowed unleashed on the beach before seven a.m.’
‘And you can’t be seen to be breaking the rules, can you?’
Was she taunting him?
No. The expression in her eyes was wistful, and he realised how she’d put herself on the line for him. For them. Or the possibility of them.
He turned to her. ‘I’ll consider what you said, Sandy.’
Her tone was again forcedly cheerful. ‘Okay, Mr President.’
He grinned. ‘I prefer surf god.’
‘I’m going to regret telling you I called you that, aren’t I? Okay, surf god. But don’t take too long. These four days will be gone before we know it and then I’m out of here. Let’s not waste them.’ She turned to face the water. ‘Are the mantas still in residence?’
‘Yes. More likely their descendants, still scaring the hell out of tourists.’
He remembered how she’d started off being terrified of the big black rays. But by the end of that summer she’d been snorkelling around them. She had overcome her fears. Could he be as brave?
She reached up and hugged him. Briefly, he held her bare warmth to him before she pushed him away.
‘Go,’ she said, her voice not quite steady. ‘Me? I’m having my first swim at Big Ray Beach for twelve years. I can’t wait to get into the surf.’
With unconscious grace she pulled off her skimpy tank top, giving him the full impact of her body in a brief yellow bikini. Her breasts were definitely bigger than they’d been when she was eighteen.
Was he insane not to pull her back into his arms? To kiss her again? To laugh with her again? To have her as part of his life again?
For four days.
She headed for the water, treating him to a tantalising view of her sexy, shapely bottom. ‘Come see me when you’ve done your thinking,’ she called over her shoulder, before running into the surf.
She squealed as the cold hit her. Water sprayed up over her slim brown legs and the early sunlight shattered into a million glistening crystals. More fairy dust.
He looked at the tracks her feet had made in the sand. After the fire he had felt as if he’d been broken down to nothing—like rock into sand. Slowly, painfully, he had put himself back together. But there were cracks, places deep inside him, that still crumbled at the slightest touch.
If he let it, could Sandy’s magic help give him the strength to become not the man he had been but someone better, finer, forged by the tragedy he had endured? Or would she break him right back down to nothing?
EVERY TIME THE old-fashioned bell on the top of the entrance door to Bay Books jangled Sandy looked up, heart racing, body tensed in anticipation. And every time it wasn’t Ben she felt so let down she had to force herself to smile and cheerfully greet the customers, hoping they wouldn’t detect the false note to her voice.
When would he come? Surely he wanted to be with her as much as she ached to be with him?
Or was he staying away because she had driven him away, by coming on too strong before he was ready? His reaction had both surprised and hurt her. Why had he been so uncertain about taking this second, unexpected chance with her? It was only for four days. Surely they could handle that?
She knew she should stop reliving every moment on the beach this morning over and over again, as if she were still eighteen. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. That wonderful, wonderful kiss. After all those years it could have been a let-down. But kissing Ben again had been everything she had ever fantasised about. In his arms, his mouth claiming hers, she’d still felt the same heady mix of comfort, pleasure and bone-melting desire. It was as if their twelve-year separation had never happened.
Although there was a difference. Now she wanted him with an adult’s hunger—an adult’s sensual knowledge of the pleasures that could follow a kiss.
She remembered how on fire with first-time desire she’d felt all that time ago, when they’d been making out behind the boat shed. Or in the back seat of his father’s car, parked on the bluff overlooking the ocean. They hadn’t even noticed the view. Not that they could have seen it through the fogged-up windows.
And yet she hadn’t let him go all the way. Hadn’t felt ready for that final step. Even though she had been head-over-heels in love with him.
Her virginal young self hadn’t appreciated the effort it must have taken for Ben to hold back. ‘When you’re ready,’ he’d always said. Not like her experiences with boys in Sydney—‘suitable’ sons of her fathers’ friends—all grabby hands and then sulks when she’d slapped them away. No. Ben truly had been her Sir Galahad on a surfboard.
Would a four-day fling include making love with Ben? That might be more than she—or Ben—could handle. They should keep it to kissing. And talking. And lots of laughing. Like it had been back then. Carefree. Uncomplicated.
She refused to listen to that nagging internal voice. Could anything be uncomplicated with the grown-up Ben?
She forced her thoughts back to the present and got on with her work. She had to finish the job Ida had been in the middle of when she’d fallen—unpacking a delivery and slotting the books artfully onto the ‘new releases’ table.
Just minutes later, with a sigh of satisfaction, she stepped
