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 When she glanced his way, she saw that his smile had been replaced by a displeased, stony stare.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 terribly flustered. ‘If we get ever married.’ How did she get into this mess? ‘Either of us, that is—’ she added, floundering hopelessly. ‘Either of us get married to anyone,’ she finished lamely.
Looking into Sam’s sexy eyes had emptied her mind of all cohesive thoughts.
‘I get the picture, Meg.’ He smiled.
‘Have I gone bright red?’ she asked him, as the cameras clicked away.
‘Just a very becoming pink.’ His amused eyes looked deep into hers as he tugged her a little closer.
His lips were so temptingly close. Meg had the distinct impression that he would have liked to kiss her again. She felt her own lips part and a little tremor of anticipation danced across them.
Thank goodness for Fred and the photographers! She was safe from Sam’s kisses while they were around. How could any part of her feeble brain be contemplating kissing this man hot on the heels of yesterday’s fiasco? Today she was supposed to be working doubly hard at keeping Sam at bay.
To her relief, the photo session was over at last. Someone mentioned that the next ferry would arrive soon, and the media dispersed, scrambling to leave for another assignment.
Meg squinted at the sky, taking deep breaths to regain her equilibrium. ‘Time to get out of the sun.’
‘You have a busy schedule today?’ Sam asked as they passed under criss-crossing fronds of coconut palms on the way back to the resort.
She wasn’t going to fall for any more of his come-on lines. ‘I’m exceedingly busy,’ she answered emphatically. ‘I have meetings…’
He nodded. ‘But would you have dinner with me tonight?’
She pressed her lips tightly together. Not only did she have to ward off this man’s charm, now she had to deal with his persistence as well.
Sam added softly, ‘It can be my way of paying you back for the dirty hand I dealt you yesterday.’
Meg was proud of her crisp reply. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’
‘I owe you a great deal.’ He stopped walking and looked down at the bottle he was still holding. Then he tossed it lightly from one hand to the other. ‘Whatever happens, my family will be grateful to you for my grandfather’s letter.’
‘Whatever happens?’ Meg repeated. ‘You sound like you’re really worried about how this will turn out.’
His face tightened and he looked away at some spot down the beach. ‘I’ll feel a lot better when that will is safely in the hands of my lawyers.’
‘You said there’s a lot at stake.’
‘Yeah.’ His fingers toyed with the bottle’s mouth. ‘Meg—about my grandfather’s letter—you’ve read it, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me more about it? Are you sure there’s no way of telling who it was addressed to?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. As I told you, the top of the page was damaged.’
‘And there was no other reference to his wife’s name?’
‘No. The rest of the time he referred to “my wife” or “darling” or “sweetheart”—that kind of thing.’
Sam sighed heavily. ‘But there was definitely a will?’
‘It definitely made mention of Tom leaving all his worldly goods to his wife.’
‘Yeah, well, Fred had better hand it over soon.’ He gripped the bottle tightly with both hands for a moment, then suddenly smiled at her.
If only he would stop doing that!
‘Why don’t you forgive me for yesterday? I hear there’s a very good outdoor restaurant over in one of the other bays.’
Fighting back the wild urge to accept was like trying to put out a bushfire with a mere tumbler of water. For Pete’s sake, Sam was by far the best-looking fellow who’d ever asked Meg out. But, she had to be sens
ible about this. He’d be gone in a day or two. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Thanks for the invite, Sam, but I’ll have to decline.’
Before she changed her mind, she turned and walked quickly away.
Sam watched her go, a wry, admiring smile tugging his lips. When she’d rejected his invitation, she hadn’t added, I can’t trust you, but that was what she’d meant.
Of course, he couldn’t blame Meg for running. He’d given her every reason to be wary. Yesterday, she’d been totally upfront and honest with him and he hadn’t returned the compliment.
Her disdain was exactly what he deserved.
But Meg Bennet was having a strange effect on him. Just thinking about her…about her eyes…her hair…her mouth made him…restless. Was it because she was different? Because she refused to be impressed by the thing that impressed most women—his money? Because she refused to be impressed by anything about him?
His gaze dropped again to the bottle in his hands and he reminded himself that he hadn’t come to Australia looking for romance. He had a business to run and he had to get back to it as soon as possible.
By tomorrow, he’d be grateful Meg had turned him down.
Meg dropped a peach-coloured bath bomb into the warm water and watched it explode and fizz. The steam in her bathroom began to distil a sensuous mixture of citrus and flowers. Dipping her big toe into the fragrant liquid, she felt her body begin at once to relax. She visualised submerging beneath the heated, scented surface of the water.
Br-ring! Br-ring!
Heavens, no! Not the telephone! Hovering with one leg in the air, she glared at the slim, cordless machine lying on the counter next to her hand basin. She toyed with the notion of letting it ring. But, officially, she was still on duty. With an impatient sigh, she crossed the room and picked it up but, as she answered, she returned with it to the bath. There was no way she would waste that beautifully scented hot water.
‘Meg! It’s Fred Raynor,’ the voice snapped.
‘Yes, Fred?’ She lowered herself into the bath and felt the warm liquid swirl softly, seductively around her body. Fragrance drifted upwards, teasing her nostrils, enticing her to relax.
‘You’re not busy tonight are you?’
‘Oh? Not particularly.’ Meg grimaced and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. What on earth could her boss want now? Since she’d refused Sam’s invitation to dinner, she’d had an ongoing battle with her weaker self all afternoon.
That was the main reason she needed to relax now. To pamper herself after a nerve-racking, miserable day.
‘I want you to take Sam Kirby out to dinner, over at Alma Bay.’
Meg gulped. ‘I have to?’
‘Damn right you do.’ Fred snapped.
Frowning, she sat up higher out of the water. She held the phone closer to her ear. ‘Fred, you know this is way beyond the limits of my job as recreation officer.’
‘But we need to keep this guy on our side. There’s a good chance we can get national coverage out of this. He’s big time. We could even get an international story if we play our cards right.’
‘I’m sorry, Fred. I posed for your photos, but this is definitely going too far. It’s verging on sexual harassment.’
She was relieved when, after a noisy grumble, her boss rang off.
Surprised that he’d given in so easily, Meg was about to drop the phone onto the bath mat when it rang again.
‘Give up, Fred!’ she cried. ‘I am not going to dinner with Sam Kirby. Got it?’
‘I’m reading you loud and clear.’
‘Sam?’ she demanded. ‘Is that you?’
‘It is,’ came a response from the other end of the line.
‘For Pete’s sake, what do you want?’ She knew it was ridiculous, but Meg scrambled over the edge of the bath to grab at a fluffy white towel. Even talking on the phone to Sam felt dangerous when she was naked. ‘Did you get Fred to order me out to dinner with you?’
‘I won’t ruin my reputation by answering that.’ There was a pause and then he asked in a lighter tone, ‘Did I hear splashing?’
‘Er, I doubt it,’ she muttered, wrapping herself in the huge towel and perching on the side of the bath.
‘I’m sorry if I interrupted something.’
Meg wanted to be angry. She wanted to depress the disconnect button and to slip back beneath the warm and welcoming water. But the weak side of her clung to the phone, liking too much the sound of his deep voice with that musical North American twang. Besides, she was desperately curious. ‘What did you want?’
‘Actually, it was to try one more time to ask you to dinner, but without Fred’s assistance. Hey, if you were taking a bath, go right ahead. Don’t waste the water.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘By the way,’ he continued, ‘I have a very interesting scientific question.’
‘Oh?’
‘Are you near a mirror?’
‘What do you think? I’m in a bathroom.’
‘Could you look in the mirror for me and tell me what colour your eyes are when you’re not wearing clothes?’
Instinctively, Meg’s glance flashed to the mirror. But then her cheeks warmed. ‘I’ll tell you no such thing.’ She flung her towel aside and slipped back into the bath.
There was an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the line. ‘Another mystery of science remains unanswered.’
‘I guess your eyes stay blue all the time,’ she heard herself say and she wondered how that sultry, flirtatious little hum had crept into her voice.
‘Yeah. I’m afraid my eyes are boring, boring.’
Hardly boring, Sam, she thought, but didn’t dare say so. She lifted her feet out of the suds and rested her toes on the end of the bath, wondering if she should apply some nail polish to make them more glamorous and, the very next second, wondered why they needed to look glamorous.
‘OK,’ he added, ‘try this. While you’re soaking in the tub, practise saying, “Yes, Sam, I’d love to join you for dinner.”’
To her amazement, Meg heard herself purring a reply in her very best attempt at an American accent. ‘Yes, Sam, I’d lurve to join you for dinner.’
‘Wonderful. I’ll meet you at your place at seven.’
She nearly dropped the phone. ‘Hold on! I was only copying your accent! That wasn’t a real acceptance.’
‘Oh, but Meg,’ he replied, his voice warm and hinting somehow that he was smiling his hottest smile, ‘it was a very, very real invitation.’
When he didn’t hang up but waited in silence for her response, Meg closed her eyes and willed herself to be strong. She was furious with this man. She should have hung up as soon as she’d heard his voice.
Letting out her breath on a gusty sigh, she told him, ‘Nice try, Sam Kirby but, as I said at the start, give up.’
‘Now, that,’ he replied in a husky baritone, ‘is a distinct challenge. I can warn you now, Meg Bennet, if I set myself a goal, I never give up.’
‘And what goal are you aiming for?’
There was a long pause and Meg thought she heard a faint chuckle. ‘I’d settle for your acceptance of my apology. For yesterday.’
Meg closed her eyes. ‘OK. Apology accepted,’ she whispered.
‘Good,’ he said simply. ‘And dinner?’
After a beat, she answered, ‘Dinner declined.’
She disconnected the phone and let it drop onto the bath mat and, sinking beneath the sudsy water, she wished she felt more pleased about turning Sam down.
CHAPTER THREE
AS SHE ate her simple supper of cheese on toast, Meg tried not to think about what it would have been like to be dining with Sam. She kept reminding herself that he and the bottle would soon be going home to the United States and she was wise to stay well out of the way. How silly she’d been to imagine that somehow her own destiny was linked to that bottle.
The only connection she had was stumbling across it on the beach and giving way to natur
al curiosity.
Finishing her meal, she carried her plate through to the kitchen and decided she’d seen too much significance in finding the bottle. Perhaps she’d been grasping at straws. There was a good chance she’d been looking for anything that would help her out of the depressing loneliness she felt these days. Ever since her father had died just three months ago.
It had been bad enough giving up her postgraduate studies in marine biology to nurse her dad through the last horrible months of his illness. But nothing had prepared her for the bereft emptiness of her life after he’d died. He was all the family she’d had. Her mother had died when she was only little and her father had meant everything to her. Since his death, Meg thought she had discovered the utter depths of loneliness.
But tonight she felt more desolate than ever.
The sand crunched beneath Sam’s shoes as he walked towards the water. By the light of a glowing white moon, Florence Bay looked beautiful. On either side of the bay, dark rocky headlands curved out to protect the deserted beach. Hoop pines, rising majestically from between granite boulders, were silhouetted in inky black strokes against the gun metal sky.
The dark water lapped gently.
Somewhere out there in the wider ocean beyond the reefs, Tom Kirby lay at rest. Thinking about his grandfather and the bottle, he hunkered down on the sand and stared ahead. These past few years, he’d been working so hard he hadn’t stopped to contemplate anything deep or meaningful—like death and the hereafter. Or life for that matter.
Lately, he’d been sensing an uneasy awareness that his own life was hurtling forward like a runaway train and he wasn’t at all sure he was heading in the right direction. He was doing the right thing by his family—carrying on the Kirby tradition—and working damn hard to keep it successful—and playing hard, too, when time permitted. But he knew deep down that neither his work nor his play was really making him happy.
Lost in thought, he didn’t hear footsteps so, when a voice suddenly sounded close behind him, he jumped to his feet.
The Pregnancy Discovery Page 3
