And, even though it was February and the school holidays were over, there were people strolling, browsing, licking on ice cream cones—more people than she could remember ever seeing in Dolphin Bay.
For a moment disappointment almost won. But she laughed out loud when she noticed the rubbish bins that sat out on the footpath. Each was in the shape of a dolphin with its mouth wide open.
They were absolute kitsch, but she fell in love with them all over again. Surreptitiously, she patted one on its fibreglass snout. ‘Delighted you’re still here,’ she whispered.
Then, when she looked more closely around her, she noticed that in spite of the new sophistication every business still sported a dolphin motif in some form or another, from a discreet sticker to a carved wooden awning.
And she’d bet Morgan’s Guesthouse at the northern end of the bay wouldn’t have changed. The rambling weatherboard building, dating from the 1920s, would certainly have some sort of a heritage preservation order on it. It was part of the history of the town.
In her mind’s eye she could see the guesthouse the way it had been that magic summer. The shuttered windows, the banks of blue and purple hydrangeas her mother had loved, the old sand tennis court where she’d played hit-and-giggle games with Ben. She hoped it hadn’t changed too much.
As she approached the tourist information kiosk to ask for directions on how to get there she hesitated. Why did she need the guesthouse to be the same?
Did it have something to do with those rapidly returning memories of Ben Morgan? Ben, nineteen to her eighteen, the surfer hunk all the girls had had wild crushes on.
Around from the bay, accessed via a boardwalk, was a magnificent surf beach. When Ben had ridden his board, harnessing the power of the waves like some suntanned young god, there had always been a giggling gaggle of admiring girls on the sand.
She’d never been one of them. No, she’d stood on the sidelines, never daring to dream he’d see her as anything but a guest staying for two weeks with her family at his parents’ guesthouse.
But, to her amazement and joy, he’d chosen her. And then the sun had really started to shine that long-ago summer.
‘Morgan’s Guesthouse?’ said the woman manning the information kiosk. ‘Sorry, love, I’ve never heard of it.’
‘The old wooden building at the northern end of the bay,’ Sandy prompted.
‘There’s only the Hotel Harbourside there,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a modern place—been there as long as I’ve been in town.’
Sandy thanked her and walked away, a little confused.
But she gasped when she saw the stark, modern structure of the luxury hotel that had replaced the charming old weatherboard guesthouse. Its roofline paid some kind of homage to the old-fashioned peaked roof that had stood there the last time she had visited Dolphin Bay, but the concrete and steel of its construction did not. The hotel took up the footprint of the original building and gardens, and rose several floors higher.
Hotel Harbourside? She’d call it Hotel Hideous.
She took a deep, calming breath. Then forced herself to think positive. The new hotel might lack the appeal of the old guesthouse but she’d bet it would be air conditioned and would almost certainly have a decent restaurant. Just the place for a solo thirtieth birthday lunch.
And as she stood on the steps that led from the beach to the hotel and closed her eyes, breathed in the salty air, felt the heat shimmering from the sand, listened to the sound of the water lapping at the edge of the breakwater, she could almost imagine everything was the same as it had been.
Almost.
The interior of the restaurant was all glass, steel and smart design. What a difference from the old guesthouse dining room, with its mismatched wooden chairs, well-worn old table and stacks of board games for ruthlessly played after-dinner tournaments. But the windows that looked out over the bay framed a view that was much the same as it had always been—although now a fleet of dolphin-watching boats plied its tourist trade across the horizon.
She found a table in the corner furthest from the bar and sat down. She took off her hat and squashed it in her bag but kept her sunglasses on. Behind them she felt safer. Protected. Less vulnerable, she had to admit to herself.
She refused to allow even a smidgeon of self-pity to intrude as she celebrated her thirtieth birthday all by herself whilst at the same time her ex Jason was preparing to walk down the aisle.
Casting her eye over the menu, Sandy was startled by a burst of masculine laughter over the chatter from the bar. As that sound soared back into her memory her heart gave an excited leap of recognition. No other man’s laughter could sound like that.
Rich. Warm. Unforgettable.
Ben.
He hadn’t been at the bar when she’d walked in. She’d swear to it. Unless he’d changed beyond all recognition.
She was afraid to look up. Afraid of being disappointed. Afraid of what she might say, do, to the first man to have broken her heart.
Would she go up and say hello? Or put her hat back on and try to slink out without him seeing her?
Despite her fears, she took off her sunglasses with fingers that weren’t quite steady and slowly raised her head.
Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the blood drain from her face. He stood with his profile towards her, but it was definitely Ben Morgan: broad-shouldered, towering above the other men in the bar, talking animatedly with a group of people.
From what she could see from this distance he was as handsome as the day they’d said goodbye. His hair was shorter. He wore tailored shorts and a polo-style shirt instead of the Hawaiian print board shorts and singlet he’d favoured when he was nineteen. He was more muscular. Definitely more grown up.
But he was still Ben.
He said something to the guy standing near him, laughed again at his response. Now, as then, he held the attention of everyone around him.
Did he feel her gaze fixed on him?
Something must have made him turn. As their eyes connected, he froze mid-laugh. Nothing about his expression indicated that he recognised her.
For a long, long moment it seemed as if everyone and everything else in the room fell away. The sound of plates clattering, glasses clinking, and the hum of chatter seemed muted. She realised she was holding her breath.
Ben turned back to the man he’d been talking to, said something, then turned to face her again. This time he smiled, acknowledging her, and she let out her breath in a slow sigh.
He made his way to her table with assured, athletic strides. She watched, mesmerised, taking in the changes wrought by twelve years. The broad-shouldered, tightly muscled body, with not a trace of his teenage gangliness. The solid strength of him. The transformation from boy to man. Oh, yes, the teenage Ben was now very definitely a man.
And hotter than ever.
All her senses screamed that recognition.
He’d reached her before she had a chance to get up from her chair.
‘Sandy?’
The voice she hadn’t heard for so long was as deep and husky as she remembered. He’d had a man’s voice even at nineteen. Though only a year older than her, he’d seemed light years ahead in maturity.
Words of greeting she knew she should utter were wedged in her throat. She coughed. Panicked that she couldn’t even manage a hello.
His words filled the void. ‘Or are you Alexandra these days?’
He remembered that. Her father had insisted she be called by her full name of Alexandra. But Alexandra was too much of a mouthful, Ben had decided. He’d called her by the name she preferred. From that summer on she’d been Sandy. Except, of course, to her father and mother.
‘Who’s Alexandra?’ she said now, pretending to look around for someone else.
He laughed with what
seemed like genuine pleasure to see her. Suddenly she felt her nervousness, her self-consciousness, drop down a notch or two.
She scrambled up from her chair. The small round table was a barrier between her and the man who’d been everything to her twelve years ago. The man she’d thought she’d never see again.
‘It’s good to see you, Ben,’ she said, her voice still more choked than she would have liked it to be.
His face was the same—strong-jawed and handsome—and his eyes were still as blue as the summer sky at noon. Close-cropped dark blond hair replaced the sun-bleached surfer tangle that so long ago she’d thought was the ultimate in cool. There were creases around his eyes that hadn’t been there when he was nineteen. And there was a tiny white crescent of a scar on his top lip she didn’t remember. But she could still see the boy in the man.
‘It’s good to see you, too,’ he said, in that so-deep-it-bordered-on-gruff voice. ‘I recognised you straight away.’
‘Me too. I mean, I recognised you too.’
What did he see as he looked at her? What outward signs had the last years of living life full steam ahead left on her?
‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he said.
‘So have you,’ she said, and he smiled.
Automatically her hand went up to touch her head. Of course he would notice. Her brown hair had swung below her waist when she’d last seen him, and she remembered how he’d made her swear never, ever to change it. Now it was cut in a chic, city-smart bob and tastefully highlighted.
‘But otherwise you haven’t changed,’ he added in that husky voice. ‘Just grown up.’
‘It’s kind of you to say that,’ she said. But she knew how much she’d changed from that girl that summer.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Please. I was just having a drink...’
She sat back down and Ben sat in the chair opposite her. His strong, tanned legs were so close they nudged hers as he settled into place. She didn’t draw her legs back. The slight pressure of his skin on her skin, although momentary, sent waves of awareness coursing through her. She swallowed hard.
She’d used to think Ben Morgan was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. The twelve intervening years had done nothing to change her opinion. No sophisticated city guy had ever matched up to him. Not even Jason.
She’d left the menu open on the table before her. ‘I see you’ve decided on dessert before your main meal,’ Ben said, with that lazy smile which hadn’t changed at all.
‘I was checking out the salads, actually,’ she lied.
‘Really?’ he said, the smile still in his voice, and the one word said everything.
He’d caught her out. Was teasing her. Like he’d used to do. With no brothers, an all-girls school and zero dating experience, she hadn’t been used to boys. Never hurtful or mean, his happy-go-lucky ways had helped get her over that oversensitivity. It was just one of the ways he’d helped her grow up.
‘You’re right,’ she said, relaxing into a smile. ‘Old habits die hard. The raspberry brownie with chocolate fudge sauce does appeal.’ The birthday cake you had when you weren’t having a birthday cake. But she wouldn’t admit to that.
‘That brownie is so good you’ll want to order two servings,’ he said.
Like you used to.
The unspoken words hung between them. Their eyes met for a moment too long to be comfortable. She was the first to look away.
Ben signalled the waiter. As he waved, Sandy had to suppress a gasp at the ugly raised scars that distorted the palms of his hands. What had happened? A fishing accident?
Quickly she averted her eyes so he wouldn’t notice her shock. Or see the questions she didn’t dare ask.
Not now. Not yet.
She rushed to fill the silence that had fallen over their table. ‘It’s been a—’
He finished the sentence for her. ‘Long time?’
‘Yes,’ was all she was able to get out. ‘I was only thinking about you a minute ago and wondering...’
She felt the colour rise up her throat to stain her cheeks. As she’d walked away from the information kiosk and towards the hotel hadn’t she been remembering how Ben had kissed her all those years ago, as they’d lain entwined on the sand in the shadows at the back of the Morgan family’s boat shed? Remembering the promises they’d made to each other between those breathless kisses? Promises she’d really, truly believed.
She felt again as gauche and awkward as she had the night she’d first danced with him, at a bushfire brigade fundraiser dance at the surf club a lifetime ago. Unable to believe that Ben Morgan had actually singled her out from the summer people who’d invaded the locals’ dance.
After their second dance together he’d asked her if she had a boyfriend back home. When she’d shaken her head, he’d smiled.
‘Good,’ he’d said. ‘Then I don’t have to go up to Sydney and fight him for you.’
She’d been so thrilled she’d actually felt dizzy.
The waiter arrived at their table.
‘Can I get you another drink?’ Ben asked.
‘Um, diet cola, please.’
What was wrong with her? Why was she so jittery and on edge?
As a teenager she’d always felt relaxed with Ben, able to be herself. She’d gone home to Sydney a different person from the one who had arrived for that two-week holiday in Dolphin Bay.
She had to stop being so uptight. This was the same Ben. Older, but still Ben. He seemed the same laid-back guy he’d been as her teenage heartthrob. Except—she suppressed a shudder—for the horrendous scarring on his hands.
‘Would you believe this is the first time I’ve been back this way since that summer?’ she said, looking straight into his eyes. She’d used to tell him that eyes so blue were wasted on a man and beg him to swap them for her ordinary hazel-brownish ones.
‘It’s certainly the first time I’ve seen you here,’ he said easily.
Was he, too, remembering those laughing intimacies they’d once shared? Those long discussions of what they’d do with their lives, full of hopes and dreams and youthful optimism? Their resolve not to let the distance between Dolphin Bay and Sydney stop them from seeing each other again?
If he was, he certainly didn’t show it. ‘So what brings you back?’ he asked.
It seemed a polite, uninterested question—the kind a long-ago acquaintance might ask a scarcely remembered stranger who’d blown unexpectedly into town.
‘The sun, the surf and the dolphins?’ she said, determined to match his tone.
He smiled. ‘The surf’s as good as it always was, and the dolphins are still here. But there must be something else to bring a city girl like you to this particular backwater.’
‘B...backwater? I wouldn’t call it that,’ she stuttered. ‘I’m sorry if you think I—’ The gleam in his blue eyes told her he wasn’t serious. She recovered herself. ‘I’m on my way from Sydney through to Melbourne. I saw the turn to this wonderful non-backwater town and here I am. On impulse.’
‘It’s nice you decided to drop in.’ His words were casual, just the right thing to say. Almost too casual. ‘So, how do you find the place?’
She’d never had to lie with Ben. Still, she was in the habit of being tactful. And this was Ben’s hometown.
‘I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to see those dolphin rubbish bins still there.’
Ben laughed, his strong, even teeth very white against his tan.
That laugh. It still had the power to warm her. Her heart did a curious flipping over thing as she remembered all the laughter they’d shared that long-ago summer. No wonder she’d recognised it instantly.
‘Those hellish things,’ he said. ‘There’s always someone on the progress association who wants to
rip them out, but they’re always shouted down.’
‘Thank heaven for that,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be Dolphin Bay without them.’
‘People have even started a rumour that if the dolphins are removed it will be the end of Dolphin Bay.’
She giggled. ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘The rubbish bins go and as punishment we’ll be struck by a tsunami. Or some other calamity.’
He rolled his eyes. Just like he’d used to do. That hidden part of her heart marked ‘first love’ reacted with a painful lurch. She averted her gaze from his mouth and that intriguing, sexy little scar.
She remembered the hours of surfing with him, playing tennis on that old court out at the back of the guesthouse. The fun. The laughter. Those passionate, heartfelt kisses. Oh, those kisses—his mouth hard and warm and exciting on hers, his tongue exploring, teasing. Her body straining to his...
The memories gave her the courage to ask the question. It was now or never. ‘Ben. It was a long time ago. But...but why didn’t you write like you said you would?’
For a long moment he didn’t answer and she tensed. Then he shrugged. ‘I never was much for letters. After you didn’t answer the first two I didn’t bother again.’
An edge to his voice hinted that his words weren’t as carefree as they seemed. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You wrote me two letters?’
‘The day after you went home. Then the week after that. Like I promised to.’
Her mouth went suddenly dry. ‘I never got a letter. Never. Or a phone call. I always wondered why...’
No way would she admit how, day after day, she’d hung around the letterbox, hoping against hope that he’d write. Her strict upbringing had meant she was very short on dating experience and vulnerable to doubt.
‘Don’t chase after boys,’ her mother had told her, over and over again. ‘Men are hunters. If he’s interested he’ll come after you. If he doesn’t you’ll only make a fool of yourself by throwing yourself at him.’
But in spite of her mother’s advice she’d tried to phone Ben. Three times she’d braved a phone call to the guesthouse but had hung up without identifying herself when his father had answered. On the third time his father had told her not to ring again. Had he thought she was a nuisance caller? Or realised it was her and didn’t want her bothering his son? Her eighteen-year-old self had assumed the latter.
Heiress on the Run (Harlequin Romance) Page 17
