Christy McKellen - Mills & Boon Showcase

Why, although they were talking about authors and titles of favourite books, did he sense this instant alliance could mean trouble for him? Trouble not of the business kind—hell, there was nothing he couldn’t handle there—but a feminine kind of trouble he was not as well equipped to deal with.

Sandy was laughing and gesticulating with her hands as she spoke. His aunt was laughing too. It pleased him to see a warm flush vanquishing the grey tinge of pain from her face.

‘What do you think, Ben?’ Sandy asked.

‘Me?’

‘Yes. Who is the primary customer for Bay Books?’

He shrugged. ‘People off the boats looking for something to read? Retirees?’

His aunt nodded. ‘They’re important, yes. But I sell more books to the telecommuters than to anyone else. They’re crazy for book clubs. A book club gives them human contact as an antidote to the hours they spend working away on their computers, reporting to an office somewhere miles and miles away.’

Ben rubbed his hands together in simulated glee. ‘All those people fleeing the cities, making a sea-change to live on the coast—the lifeblood of commerce in Dolphin Bay. They’re buying land, building houses, and spending their socks off.’

Sandy wrinkled up her nose in the way he remembered so well. It was just as cute on her at thirty as it had been at eighteen.

‘That seems very calculating,’ she said.

‘What do you expect from the President of the Dolphin Bay Chamber of Commerce?’ said Aunt Ida, her voice dripping with the pride all his family felt at his achievement. ‘The town has really come on under his leadership.’

Sandy’s eyes widened. ‘You’re full of surprises, Ben.’

On that so expressive face of hers he could see her wondering how he’d come from fisherman’s son to successful businessman. Her father had judged him not good enough, not wealthy enough. He’d had no idea of how much land Ben’s family owned. And Sandy didn’t know how spurred on to succeed Ben had been by the snobby older man’s low opinion of him.

‘We have a lot to catch up on,’ she said.

No.

More than ever he did not want to spend more time than was necessary with Sandy, reviving old feelings that were best left buried.

She was modestly dressed now, in a neat-fitting T-shirt and a skirt of some floaty material that covered her knees. But she’d answered the door to him at the hotel wrapped in nothing more than a Hotel Harbourside bathrobe.

As she’d spoken to him the robe had slid open to reveal the tantalising shadow between her breasts. Her face had been flushed and her hair damp. It was obvious she’d just stepped out of the shower and the thought of her naked had been almost more than his libido could take.

Naked in one of his hotel bathrooms. Naked under one of his hotel’s bathrobes. It hadn’t taken much to take the thought a step further to her naked on one of his hotel’s beds. With the hotel’s owner taking passionate possession.

He’d had to grit his teeth and force his gaze to somewhere above her head.

When she’d kissed him it had taken every ounce of his iron-clad self-control not to take her in his arms and kiss her properly. Not on the cheek but claiming her mouth, tasting her with his tongue, exploring her sexy body with hungry hands. Backing her into the room and onto the bed.

No.

There’d be no catching up on old times. Or letting his libido lead him where he had vowed not to go.

He cleared his throat. ‘Isn’t this conversation irrelevant to you running the bookstore for Aunt Ida?’

Sandy met his gaze in a way that let him know she knew only too well he was steering the conversation away from anything personal.

‘Of course. You’re absolutely right.’

She turned to face the hospital bed.

‘Ida, tell me about any special orders.’ Then she looked back at him, her head at a provocative angle. Her eyes gleamed with challenge. ‘Is that better, Mr President?’

He looked to Ida for support, but her eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Sandy and back again.

It was starting. The speculation about him and Sandy. The gossip. And it looked as if he couldn’t count on his aunt for support in his battle to protect his heart.

In fact she looked mighty pleased at the prospect of uncovering something personal between him and her temporary manager.

‘You can tell me more about your past friendship with Sandy some other time, nephew of mine,’ she said.

Sandy looked as uncomfortable as he felt, and had trouble meeting his gaze. ‘Can we get back to talking about Bay Books, Ida?’ she asked.

His aunt laughed. ‘Back to the not nearly so interesting topic of the bookshop? Okay, my dear, have you got something you can take some notes in? The special orders can get complicated.’

Looking relieved, Sandy dived into her handbag. She pulled out a luminous pink notebook and with it came a flurry of glitter that sparkled in the shafts of late-afternoon sun falling on his aunt’s hospital bed.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ she said, biting down on her bottom lip as the particles settled across the bedcovers.

Ida seemed mesmerised by the glitter. ‘It’s not mess, it’s fairy dust!’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. Her still youthful blue eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, this is wonderful, isn’t it, Ben? Sandy will bring magic to Dolphin Bay. I just know it!’

Ben watched the tiny metallic particles as they glistened on the white hospital sheets. Saw the pleasure in his aunt’s shrewd gaze, the gleam of reluctant laughter in Sandy’s eyes.

‘Magic? Well, it did come from my fairy notebook,’ she said.

Something called him to join in their complicity, to believe in their fantasy.

Hope he’d thought long extinguished struggled to revive itself. Magic? Was it magic that Sandy had brought with her? Magic from the past? Magic for the future? He desperately wanted to believe that.

But there was no such thing as magic. He’d learnt that on a violently blazing day five years ago, when he had been powerless to save the lives of his family.

He would need a hell of a lot more than some so-called fairy dust to change his mind.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE FIRST THING Sandy noticed on the beach early the next morning was the dog. A big, shaggy golden retriever, it lay near a towel on the sand near the edge of the water with its head resting on its paws. Its gaze was directed out to the surf of Big Ray Beach, the beach she’d reached via the boardwalk from the bay.

Twelve years ago she’d thought ‘Big Ray’ must refer to a person. No. Ben had informed her the beach had another name on the maps. But the locals had named it after the two enormous manta rays that lived on the northern end of the beach and every so often undulated their way to the other end. He had laughed at her squeals and hugged her close, telling her they were harmless and that he would keep her safe from anything that dared hurt her.

This morning there were only a few people in the water; she guessed one of them must be the dog’s owner. At six-thirty, with strips of cloud still tinged pink from sunrise, it was already warm, the weather gearing up for sultry heat after the previous day’s storm. Cicadas were already tuning up their chorus for the day.

Sandy smiled at the picture of doggy devotion. Get dog of own once settled in Melbourne, she added in a mental memo for her ‘to do’ list. That-Jerk-Jason had allergies and wouldn’t tolerate a dog in the house. How had she been so in love with him when they’d had so little in common apart from their jobs?

She walked up to the dog and dropped to her knees in the sand. She offered it her hand to sniff, then ruffled the fur behind its neck. ‘Aren’t you a handsome boy?’ she murmured.