by Lucy Gordon
Tears pricked her eyes and she wiped them away with the finger of her glove. Cold wind and regret assaulted her eyes. But her mouth sheltered a secret smile.
It had taken years of working nights, weekends and public holidays for the extra salary she needed to build up savings but she had finally done it this week after her bonus for working over the whole Christmas and New Year holiday had been paid. It was hard to believe that she finally had enough for the deposit she needed to buy back the house their father had built brick by brick. This was probably the only chance she would have to make this house a home again for herself and her sister, where they could live and work side by side one day.
Other people had social lives. Lovely homes and designer clothing. Even boyfriends. Instead, Mari Chance had become the ‘go to’ single girl who was willing to work when her colleagues spent precious holiday time with their families. Promotion after promotion had meant travelling to some far-flung parts of the world at a moment’s notice. But she did it. And most of the time she loved her work. Loved the idea that she could arrive at a business office where the staff were panicking and walk out with the IT system working perfectly. That was deeply satisfying. Besides, she did not have any personal commitments, not even a pet. But all that travel came with a price.
The crushing loneliness.
And now the one thing she had been dreaming about for the last three years was finally going to happen—it was so close, she could almost feel it. Everything was ready. She had the funds, her place at the auction had been booked, and she knew the going rate for the property from recent sales figures.
This was the house she had been born in. The house she had loved and been so happy in, and now she could make the offer—in cash and above the expected price with a loan facility already agreed at the bank, if the price was higher than she had budgeted for.
She had to have this house.
She had to.
This was where her travelling and relentless activity and exhausting work was finally going to come to an end. This was where she was going to spend the rest of her life. Building a routine with Rosa in the place where she had grown up with extended family all around her. She was ready to come home to Swanhaven.
At that moment an icy blast ran up inside Mari’s coat and a deep shiver crossed her shoulders and down her back, making her stamp her feet and clap her hands together to restore some circulation. Time to get back to hot tea and toasted crumpets—Rosa’s favourites. She could come back and see the house any time she wanted—but perhaps not today.
Indulging in a brief smile and a final lingering look, Mari turned back into the wind as she strolled back towards the marina and the stone terraced cottage Rosa had made her own. Instantly Mari’s eyes were drawn to a small sailing boat which was coming towards the jetty from the west. It was the only boat on the sea and was too small to have crossed the Channel so it could not have come very far.
For a moment Mari wondered who was brave enough, or foolish enough, to be sailing in open waters on a day like this. Icy blustery wind and grey skies did not equate in her mind to a pleasant sailing experience. She continued walking, her head angled down against the wind, but she could not miss the small craft as it came closer and closer towards the shore and the safety of a berth in the sheltered marina. She walked swiftly to try and get warm but, even with her fast pace the stiff wind in the small white sail sped the light craft faster than she could walk.
It was coming in too fast. Much too fast. The closer she got to the marina, the faster the boat came towards her. He had not even lowered the sail and, oh, no, the crosswind was gusting now across the entrance to the marina. There was no way this boat could stop itself from being smashed against the jetty or the stone breakwater of the marina.
No! She had to do something. Shout. Call for help.
Mari looked frantically around—but there was nobody close enough to hear her call and the wind would snatch away any chance of being heard in the town.
The cellphone was useless—the lifeboat would never come out in time. There were only seconds to spare before the boat collided with the dock.
She started jogging, running for the shore, waving her arms above her head, trying frantically to attract the attention of the sailor, who seemed to be totally oblivious to the danger he was in. Mari was shouting now, over and over, ‘Watch out, watch out,’ but the words were flung back into her face by the bitterly cold winds which attacked her cheeks and eyes so that she could hardly see with the tears of winter blurring her vision. Her hat was long gone, blown away in the wind.
Her heart was beating so fast that she thought she was going to pass out. Heaving lungfuls of cold air tipped with icy sleet, she reached the edge of the water and had to bend over at the waist, a hand on each knee, not daring to watch as the small boat was tossed violently from side to side like a plastic bath toy.
She knew exactly what was going to happen next and the horror of what was to come filled her mind. She could not watch.
Her face screwed up in pain, ready for the terrible sound of the hull smashing against the jetty, her hands ready to press against her ears to block out the horror and the cries of anguish from the lone sailor. Eyes closed, she knew what was coming and yet felt so powerless to prevent it that the horror of the moment washed over her with a cold shiver which ran across her shoulders and down her back.
She waited and the seconds seemed to stretch into minutes.
And then the minutes grew longer. And all she could hear was the smashing of the waves on the shore and the screeching of the herring gulls as they swooped down into the harbour in the wind.
Slowly, slowly, hardly daring to look, Mari lifted her head and pushed herself to a standing position.
Just in time to see a tall sailor step off his boat onto the jetty, coil the rope around a bollard on the pontoon one-handed and use his other hand to rake his fingers from his forehead back through his hair as if the wind had made a nuisance of itself by messing up his hairstyle.
The sail was down and neatly wrapped, the boat was perfectly aligned in a berth in calm waters and the sailor looked so composed he might have just stepped from a cruise ship on a lazy summer afternoon.
Stunned and totally bewildered, Mari could only watch in amazed silence as the man double-checked the rope, glanced at his watch and then turned around to stroll casually away from her down the walkway which led back to the town. And just for a second she saw his face for the first time.
Her heart missed a beat.
Ethan Chandler was back in town.
CHAPTER TWO
MARI lifted her head so she could look at Ethan again, just to make sure that she was not mistaken, except this time with her mouth half open in shock.
But of course it was him. Nobody else came even close to Ethan in looks or ability. He had sailed on his own around the world non-stop! Little wonder that he could moor a small boat on a floating pontoon in an English winter.
Ethan … She was looking at Ethan Chandler.
A bolt of energy hit her hard in the stomach and punched the air from her lungs. The blast was so physical that Mari clutched hold of the edge of the stone wall of the marina with both hands to stop herself from sliding onto her knees. Frozen with shock.
She could not believe this was happening. It had to be some sort of crazy nightmare brought on by lack of sleep and far too much caffeine and wine last night over dinner with Rosa.
There was nothing else to explain it.
The man-boy she had last seen ten years ago looking back at her from the backseat of his father’s car as they drove out of Swanhaven, leaving her behind, clinging to the wreckage of her life, was blocking her way back into town. Mari sucked in oxygen to feed her racing brain and the frantic pulsing of blood.
This must be what it felt like to have a heart attack.
The last person on the planet she had expected to see again was dressed in chinos and a pale blue shirt, under a luxurious all-weather jacket the
colour of the smoothest latte.
Ethan Chandler. International Yachtsman of the Year. The boy whose family had rented the house next to her home each summer holiday and in the process became part of Swanhaven and the star of the sailing club for a few weeks and her home town’s only true claim for a celebrity. The village shop even sold bottles of the delectable designer aftershave he’d promoted a few years earlier.
The stylist who had chosen his shirt had done an excellent job and that particular shade of blue was a perfect match for the colour of his eyes, even in the grey February light which took the edge off a suntan cultivated under the Florida sunshine.
At the age of seventeen Ethan Chandler had been the best-looking boy in town. A natural athlete and champion yachtsman destined for greatness. Ethan at twenty-eight was a revelation. Of course she had seen his photo on TV and on the cover of magazines, clean and polished and with all of his rough edges smoothed out to create the perfect image. Male-model handsome, rugged and broad-shouldered.
But there was a world of difference between seeing Ethan standing behind the wheel of an ocean-going yacht, or modelling board shorts on the cover of a sailing magazine, and having the man himself standing so close that she could see the stubble on his cheek on the side of his face.
Ethan had always had that cocky and easy confidence in his own charm—but this was taking it to a completely new level. Six feet of broad-shouldered, tousle-haired hunk could do that to a girl.
The blood rushing to her cheeks and neck was so embarrassing. And Marigold Chance did not blush. Ever.
And then, almost as if he knew that someone was watching him, Ethan stopped walking, paused, and started to turn around to look in her direction.
Instantly, without thinking about what she was doing or hesitating more than a split second, Mari pulled the hood of her coat high over her head and whirled on one heel so quickly that she was walking back the way she had come along the beach path before her hands were back by her sides, punching the air with each step.
Determined to get as far away from Ethan Chandler as possible.
Grains of sand flew up beneath her feet as she strode forward, too terrified to look back just in case Ethan had recognised the crazy woman power walking along the beach. Her head was spinning with a confusion of thoughts and feelings. Some deep part of her was secretly hoping that he had seen her, and he was even now running to catch up with her, ready to calm her nerves and tell her that he’d never meant to hurt her feelings all those years ago when they had kissed and he had walked away without a single word of goodbye.
But that would mean that he had cared about her back then. And still did. This was impossible.
No. Ethan was always destined to be her brother’s unobtainable best friend and the boy who’d survived the accident when Kit had not.
Her feet slowed but her heart was pounding inside her chest and she felt the blood flare in her face despite the icy-cold wind from the sea. A few more steps and she would be around the corner of the bay and out of sight from Swanhaven marina. And Ethan would not be able to see her tears.
Mari’s left hand pressed against the damp cliff wall.
After all these years, she had fooled herself into thinking that she had finally come to terms with Kit’s death.
Idiot.
All it took was one sight of Ethan—not even a word—just seeing him again, and she was right back to being sixteen again and those terrible few months after the accident when all she wanted to do was be alone. Grieving, scared, frozen and numb and so very alone. Trapped inside her thoughts, withdrawn and traumatised.
Only one person had been able to challenge her enough to break through the prison doors of her anguish and that person was Ethan. He had done something no one had ever done. He had kept challenging, kept on asking her forgiveness, kept on forcing her to engage with him, until her self-imposed barriers had finally broken down. And for one hour of one day she had clung to Ethan like a drowning girl with every single emotion raw and open and exposed for him to see. This was the boy who had made her brother go out in a race he was not ready for. This was the boy who had teased her and ridiculed her every summer holiday. This was the boy she had secretly had a crush on, but said nothing. Because he was so perfect, so admirable and so very, very unobtainable.
And in that moment when she had been most vulnerable, he had kissed her. And she had kissed him back. And she might have been sixteen, and this was her first kiss, but she knew that he meant it.
And it had destroyed her.
The guilt of kissing and wanting Ethan after he had brought about her family’s ruin had been too much for her to bear. She had felt so weak and angry and disgusted with herself.
When he’d left town the following day, without even saying goodbye, she knew that she had deluded herself into thinking that Ethan could ever care about her. She wasn’t even worth taking the time to speak to.
Mari closed her eyes and took a couple of long breaths. She was twenty-six years old, a trained IT professional and an adult who was used to handling computer crises. Ethan was probably only passing through with his parents. She could cope with seeing him again over the next few days before she went back to work. It was all going to be fine. Just fine.
Only at the exact same moment she allowed herself to breathe normally, there was the sound of footsteps on the cobblestones and sand and, as she turned her head sideways, Ethan Chandler jogged around the corner.
He tried to slide to a halt on the uneven path, arms flailing at the same time as Mari pushed herself back against the wall.
So the only thing he had to grab hold of to stop himself from falling … was her.
Seconds later, Mari’s brain connected to the fact that Ethan Chandler was holding her by both arms, pressing her against his jacket, and she looked up into the blue eyes of the boy who had broken her heart. Words were impossible. Mari inhaled a heady mix of aromatic spices, leather and freshly laundered linen as her own hand moved instinctively to press against the soft fabric and feel the warmth of the man beneath.
‘Hello, Mari. Are you okay there? I wondered if it was you.’ Ethan flicked his head back towards the shore. ‘I only caught a glimpse so I couldn’t be sure but … wow … I had no idea you were back in town. I … er …’ he broke off as their eyes locked; it was only for a second but she knew that he had recognised the total confusion and disbelief and anger that was whirling around inside her head at seeing him again ‘… wasn’t expecting to see you.’
His iron grip relaxed on the sleeve of her jacket and she almost fell back onto the rocks.
‘Ethan,’ she whispered, her voice hoarse and pathetic, ‘I didn’t know that you were around.’
She swallowed down an ocean of nerves into a bone-dry throat, looking for something to say to break the silence. ‘That was quite a performance. I thought you were in trouble out there,’ and she gestured to the waves breaking over the harbour wall.
‘Trouble?’ He coughed nervously and stepped back. ‘No, I wasn’t in trouble. I suppose it is a bit blowy.’
Mari blinked a few times and shook her head in disbelief.
‘Blowy? Right. I hope you know that you scared the living daylights out of me just now. How do you do it? How do you get into that boat and go out on the water in weather like this? I simply don’t understand it.’
His reply was a twitch at the side of his mouth which told her more than a lengthy answer. Oh, yes. She had been right. The boy who had become the man was still as annoyingly arrogant and self-confident that it shone out of him like a beacon to all those around him who were still trying to find their way in the dark. And straight away she was back to being the plump, geeky girl who was the constant target of his incessant teasing.
It was so aggravating she could scream.
She was different now. She could handle this man who had become a star. They had both been so young the last time they spoke—teenagers trying to find their place in the world.
So h
ow was it that the last time she had felt like strangling someone as badly as she did now, her client had just uploaded a virus onto the brand-new server she had just installed?
Ethan took it to the next level.
Grinding her teeth together in frustration, Mari pressed her fingers into her palms and slowly closed her eyes, then opened them while her blood pressure calmed.
‘I’ve got used to bad weather over the past few years, and Swanhaven bay is positively calm compared to the seas in the Southern Ocean. But I’m sorry if I scared you.’
And with all of the extra confidence and self-assurance that ten years of a life spent in the spotlight and hero worship could bring, Ethan took one step closer and casually slid his left hand up and down the sleeve of her padded coat. ‘Are you okay now?’
And it annoyed her so much that it sucked any chance of logical thought out of her mind, rendering her speechless. A blinking, wide-eyed creature. Just as she had been all those years ago when she’d hero-worshipped him from afar and he’d ignored her for most of the time and teased her the rest.
‘You’ve changed your hair,’ Ethan said softly, his sea-blue eyes focused on her face. He grinned the kind of white smile that would make toothpaste companies queue up to arrange sponsorship deals. ‘Looks great.’
Yes, this makes my day, she thought, and found something interesting to look at on her gloves. How dare he look even better with a few years on him? When she felt positively shop-worn and decrepit? And her hair had been squeezed under a hat for ages and must look a total mess. For a moment she couldn’t think or move. Nor trust herself to look at him again, never mind talk to him in joined up sentences.
