‘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?
CHAPTER EIGHT
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 back to survey her work. She loved working in the bookshop. Even after just a few hours she felt right at home. The individuality and quirkiness of Ida’s set-up connected with her, though she could immediately see things she’d like to change to bring the business model of this bricks-and-mortar bookstore more in step to compete with the e-bookstores. That said, if she could inject just a fraction of Bay Books’ charm into her candle shop she’d be very happy. She must write in her fairy notebook: Ask Ida about Balinese woodcarvers.
But it wasn’t just about the wooden dolphins with their enchanting carved smiles. The idyllic setting was a vital part of Bay Books. Not, she suspected, to be matched by the high-volume-retail-traffic Melbourne mall the candle people would insist on for their shop. It might be hard to get as excited about that.
Here, she only had to walk over to the window to view the quaint harbour, with the old-fashioned stone walls that sheltered it from the turquoise-blue waters of the open sea—only had to push the door open to hear the squawk of seagulls, breathe in the salt-tangy air.
This morning, in her hotel room, she had been awoken by a chorus of kookaburras. When she’d opened the sliding doors to her balcony it had been to find a row of lorikeets, the small, multi-coloured parrots like living gems adorning the balcony railing. On her way to the beach she’d surprised two small kangaroos, feeding in the grass in the bushland between the boardwalk and the sand dunes of Big Ray. It was good for the soul.
What a difference from fashionable, revitalised inner-city Surry Hills, where she lived in Sydney. It had more restaurants, bars and boutiques than she would ever have time to try. But it was densely populated and in summer could be stiflingly hot and humid. Driving round and round the narrow streets, trying to find somewhere to park her car, she’d sometimes dreamed of living in a place closer to nature.
And here she was back in Dolphin Bay, working in a stranger’s bookshop, reconnecting with her first love.
It seemed surreal.
She paused, a paperback thriller in her hand. Remembered her pink-inked resolution. Get as far away from Sydney as possible.
That didn’t necessarily have to mean moving to Melbourne.
But she had only ever been a city girl. Could she settle for small-town life and the restrictions that entailed?
The bell sounded again. She looked up, heart thudding, mouth suddenly dry. But again it wasn’t Ben. It was red-haired Kate, the waitress from the hotel.
‘Hey, nice to see you, Kate,’ she said, masking her disappointment that the woman wasn’t her tall blond surf god.
‘You too,’ said Kate. ‘We all love this shop and the personal service Ida gives us. It’s great you’re able to help her out.’
‘Isn’t it? I’m getting the hang of things. Can I help you with a book?’ she asked.
Kate smiled and Sandy wondered if she could tell how inexperienced a shopkeeper she was.
‘Ida ordered some titles for me, but in all the drama yesterday I didn’t get