“Didn’t you marry the first man who came along after I left?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN Copyright “Didn’t you marry the first man who came along after I left?” “Left is the operative word. You had left, Alex,” Shea threw at him. “And barely a month later you married Jamie. My own cousin,” he said with heavy contempt. “Well, it’s all in the past now. Jamie and I had a good marriage and—” Alex grasped her arm. “Jamie told me how happy you were. And I died a thousand deaths over the years thinking of you with him, then hating myself because I envied him when he was just like a brother to me. I used to torture myself imagining you together, you kissing Jamie the way you used to kiss me.” Shea’s mouth was dry. Her whole body wanted to move toward him, but with steely control she held herself rigidly apart. “When you were making love with Jamie, did you ever imagine it was me?” LYNSEY STEVENS was born in Brisbane, Queensland, and before beginning to write she was a librarian. It was in secondary school that she decided she wanted to be a writer. “Writers, I imagined,” Lynsey explains, “lived such exciting lives: traveling to exotic places, making lots of money and not having to work. I have traveled. However, the taxman loves me dearly, and no one told me about typist’s backache and frustrating lost words!” When she’s not writing she enjoys reading and cross-stitching and she’s interested in genealogy. Lynsey Stevens writes intense, deeply emotional romances—with vibrant, believable characters. Her powerful writing style is highlighted perfectly in our FORBIDDEN! series.... In His Cousin’s Wife Lynsey gives a moving insight into the poignancy of forbidden passion...when two people have been in love with each other for years, but circumstances keep them apart! His Cousin’s Wife Lynsey Stevens www.millsandboon.co.uk
CHAPTER ONE HIS strong, tanned body loomed over her, shutting out the shaft of moonlight that had been dancing between the rustling leaves above them, the light salty breeze playing along their naked bodies. Her hands rose to touch his sleek skin, to slide over his taut buttocks, along the indentation of his spine, around his narrow hips, upwards over his firm midriff. The soft mat of fine hair on his chest curled damply about her fingers as her hands rested there for long moments before continuing their erotic expedition. She exalted in the heady knowledge that she was exciting him, and she luxuriated in the rippling contours of the smooth flexing muscles of his shoulders and arms as he held himself poised above her. She followed the tensed sweep of his neck, fingertips tracing the shape of his ears, the line of his square jaw, his firm chin, to settle on his full lips. He took her fingertips into his mouth then, nibbled gently with his strong white teeth. When his lips released her, her hand went instinctively to her own mouth, tasting the dampness of him still lingering there, and then she trailed a path downwards over his chin, his throat, his chest. Her other hand, which had been delighting in the thick texture of his fairish hair, joined in again, returning to tease his small, sharp nipples. He groaned, a low, primitive, so masculine sound that echoed in his chest, escaping to mingle with, to compliment, the murmur of the steady ebb and flow of the waves on the beach beneath them. Then he drew a shuddering breath, his lips descending to cover hers, his body settling over her as they began to move as one... Shea woke with a fright, clutching at the light sheet that covered her. She fought to draw air into her aching lungs as she gulped shallow breaths. Peering agitatedly into the darkness she blinked until her eyes gradually became accustomed to the night. Her heartbeats were racing in her chest and she gazed about her, seeking and then finding the familiarity of her bedroom. It was her bedroom, she told herself. There was her wardrobe, her dressing table, her curtains stirring in the cooling breeze. And this was her bed. Yet still her band slid tentatively sideways across the tousled sheets, feeling, seeking, and eventually relaxing just a little as she convinced herself that she was indeed alone. The curtains shifted again and a ray of moonlight skittered across the wall, the breeze making her shiver as it touched her damp skin. Shakily she brushed back her tangled fair hair and dried her damp forehead on the sleeve of her old cotton nightshirt. With a soft moan she rubbed at her eyes. She hadn’t had that particular dream in years. Dream? She reproached herself unsteadily. No, it was definitely a nightmare, one she hadn’t experienced since she’d heard he’d married. Somehow the knowledge that he’d committed himself to someone else had seemed to lay that specific ghost, had generally allowed her to get on with her life to some extent. And over the years she’d doggedly convinced herself it was all behind her. But it appeared that this evening’s disturbing events had proved her so terribly wrong. She squinted at the glowing dial of her bedside clock: 1:00 a.m. Less than eight hours since her comfortable life had been shifted so disturbingly off its equally comfortable axis. And yet she’d had no premonition, no inkling of what lay ahead as she parked her car in the garage and walked up the front steps. In fact she was even humming a tune she’d heard on the car radio as she deposited her briefcase in her room and continued down the hallway towards the back of the house. ‘Tell me that’s not the decadent odour of cooling Anzac biscuits?’ she beseeched her mother-in-law as she stepped into the kitchen. The room was light and airy, filled with warmth from the large old stove and the homey aroma of baking. вернуться “Didn’t you marry the first man who came along after I left?” “Left is the operative word. You had left, Alex,” Shea threw at him. “And barely a month later you married Jamie. My own cousin,” he said with heavy contempt. “Well, it’s all in the past now. Jamie and I had a good marriage and—” Alex grasped her arm. “Jamie told me how happy you were. And I died a thousand deaths over the years thinking of you with him, then hating myself because I envied him when he was just like a brother to me. I used to torture myself imagining you together, you kissing Jamie the way you used to kiss me.” Shea’s mouth was dry. Her whole body wanted to move toward him, but with steely control she held herself rigidly apart. “When you were making love with Jamie, did you ever imagine it was me?” вернуться LYNSEY STEVENS was born in Brisbane, Queensland, and before beginning to write she was a librarian. It was in secondary school that she decided she wanted to be a writer. “Writers, I imagined,” Lynsey explains, “lived such exciting lives: traveling to exotic places, making lots of money and not having to work. I have traveled. However, the taxman loves me dearly, and no one told me about typist’s backache and frustrating lost words!” When she’s not writing she enjoys reading and cross-stitching and she’s interested in genealogy. Lynsey Stevens writes intense, deeply emotional romances—with vibrant, believable characters. Her powerful writing style is highlighted perfectly in our FORBIDDEN! series.... In His Cousin’s Wife Lynsey gives a moving insight into the poignancy of forbidden passion...when two people have been in love with each other for years, but circumstances keep them apart! вернуться CHAPTER ONE HIS strong, tanned body loomed over her, shutting out the shaft of moonlight that had been dancing between the rustling leaves above them, the light salty breeze playing along their naked bodies. Her hands rose to touch his sleek skin, to slide over his taut buttocks, along the indentation of his spine, around his narrow hips, upwards over his firm midriff. The soft mat of fine hair on his chest curled damply about her fingers as her hands rested there for long moments before continuing their erotic expedition. She exalted in the heady knowledge that she was exciting him, and she luxuriated in the rippling contours of the smooth flexing muscles of his shoulders and arms as he held himself poised above her. She followed the tensed sweep of his neck, fingertips tracing the shape of his ears, the line of his square jaw, his firm chin, to settle on his full lips. He took her fingertips into his mouth then, nibbled gently with his strong white teeth. When his lips released her, her hand went instinctively to her own mouth, tasting the dampness of him still lingering there, and then she trailed a path downwards over his chin, his throat, his chest. Her other hand, which had been delighting in the thick texture of his fairish hair, joined in again, returning to tease his small, sharp nipples. He groaned, a low, primitive, so masculine sound that echoed in his chest, escaping to mingle with, to compliment, the murmur of the steady ebb and flow of the waves on the beach beneath them. Then he drew a shuddering breath, his lips descending to cover hers, his body settling over her as they began to move as one... Shea woke with a fright, clutching at the light sheet that covered her. She fought to draw air into her aching lungs as she gulped shallow breaths. Peering agitatedly into the darkness she blinked until her eyes gradually became accustomed to the night. Her heartbeats were racing in her chest and she gazed about her, seeking and then finding the familiarity of her bedroom. It was her bedroom, she told herself. There was her wardrobe, her dressing table, her curtains stirring in the cooling breeze. And this was her bed. Yet still her band slid tentatively sideways across the tousled sheets, feeling, seeking, and eventually relaxing just a little as she convinced herself that she was indeed alone. The curtains shifted again and a ray of moonlight skittered across the wall, the breeze making her shiver as it touched her damp skin. Shakily she brushed back her tangled fair hair and dried her damp forehead on the sleeve of her old cotton nightshirt. With a soft moan she rubbed at her eyes. She hadn’t had that particular dream in years. Dream? She reproached herself unsteadily. No, it was definitely a nightmare, one she hadn’t experienced since she’d heard he’d married. Somehow the knowledge that he’d committed himself to someone else had seemed to lay that specific ghost, had generally allowed her to get on with her life to some extent. And over the years she’d doggedly convinced herself it was all behind her. But it appeared that this evening’s disturbing events had proved her so terribly wrong. She squinted at the glowing dial of her bedside clock: 1:00 a.m. Less than eight hours since her comfortable life had been shifted so disturbingly off its equally comfortable axis. And yet she’d had no premonition, no inkling of what lay ahead as she parked her car in the garage and walked up the front steps. In fact she was even humming a tune she’d heard on the car radio as she deposited her briefcase in her room and continued down the hallway towards the back of the house. ‘Tell me that’s not the decadent odour of cooling Anzac biscuits?’ she beseeched her mother-in-law as she stepped into the kitchen. The room was light and airy, filled with warmth from the large old stove and the homey aroma of baking. ‘I cannot tell a lie,’ laughed Norah Finlay, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘I know how much you like them, love.’ Shea groaned. ‘To which my spreading hips will attest,’ she said as she sat down, reaching out for one of the still warm biscuits. ‘Spreading hips indeed,’ Norah scoffed. ‘I don’t hold with this modern fixation with being thin as a matchstick. It’s not natural. A woman should look like a woman.’ ‘And I’m more womanly than most.’ Shea took another bite of her biscuit and murmured her enjoyment. ‘So much for my threatened diet.’ Norah tsked. ‘Forget about dieting. You’re just right the way you are, Shea Finlay, and I won’t hear a word that says you’re not.’ ‘When you’re a twenty-eight-year-old matron...’ Shea began, and Norah laughed aloud. ‘Matron? For heaven’s sake. You’re an attractive young woman and I know I’m not the only one who thinks that.’ ‘You’re prejudiced, Norah. But thanks anyway.’ Shea grinned. ‘Just don’t tell Niall I’ve had one of these or he’ll give me that long-suffering look of his that will quite rightly imply “do as I say, not as I do”.’ Norah chuckled. ‘He would at that.’ The oven timer dinged and she slipped on her oven mitt, turning to open the oven door. ‘Oh, no.’ Shea groaned again. ‘Not chocolate chip cookies, too. Have mercy, Norah.’ ‘These are Niall’s favourites. And it’s your own fault.’ She glanced up at the kitchen clock. ‘If you hadn’t come home early I’d have had these all safely secreted away. And why are you home at this time? It’s not like you. Or is my clock wrong?’ ‘No. I am early.’ Shea picked up a hot cookie and juggled it until it was cool enough to hold. ‘I can’t believe I’m about to eat this. I can feel a kilo settling on each thigh just from the smell.’ Norah laughed again. ‘So why are you playing hooky? I thought you were convinced that shop would fall down if you weren’t there to hold it up.’ ‘Well, Debbie’s more than capable of closing up so I decided I’d take extra time to have dinner, shower and get ready for the meeting tonight.’ Shea pulled a face. ‘So you see I’m taking your advice and slowing down. I have been a bit tired lately and I know I’ve been pushing myself to get this new children’s range organised. So, before I get into negotiations over the new factory space, I’m giving myself this afternoon to catch my breath and relax a little.’ ‘And about time.’ Norah slipped the used cooking trays into some soapy water to soak. ‘Is this the Progress Association meeting tonight?’ ‘Mmmm. I suppose it will be the usual talking around in circles. I sometimes wonder why I bother to go but I suppose I should show some interest in the development of the area. I do make my living here.’ Shea shrugged good-naturedly and grinned. ‘I guess these meetings once a month are the price I have to pay.’ Norah laughed. ‘There’s that way of looking at it. But I have to agree that some of the members are a trifle long-winded.’ ‘You’re being kind, Norah,’ Shea chuckled. ‘Sometimes I’m hard pressed to stay awake.’ ‘And is David Aston going to pick you up and take you to the meeting again?’ Norah asked casually, and Shea nodded with equal nonchalance. ‘Yes. He kindly offered me a lift. He sort of goes past.’ ‘He goes out of his way by three or four blocks,’ Norah said, and added shrewdly, ‘You know, I think that young man fancies you.’ ‘Norah!’ ‘Well, he does. And it’s only natural. I told you before, you’re a very attractive woman.’ ‘I’m not interested in David Aston. Or anyone else for that matter.’ Norah gave a sceptical exclamation. ‘Oh, come on, Norah. David Aston’s years younger than I am.’ ‘Two years younger and no more. That doesn’t exactly qualify you as a cradle snatcher.’ ‘I’m not into that scene, Norah. You know that,’ Shea said softly, and her mother-in-law sighed. ‘It’s over four years since Jamie’s death, love. He was my son and I know how happy you made him. I also know he wouldn’t want you to lock yourself away from life.’ ‘I know he wouldn’t, Norah. And I’m not really doing that.’ She shrugged a little wistfully. ‘I just don’t feel I’m ready to change that part of my life so drastically. Not yet anyway.’ ‘Jamie, well, we all loved him and I know he’d want to see you happy.’ Norah paused. ‘But Niall’s growing up. Perhaps he needs a father.’ ‘Niall’s doing all right. He has us and his teachers at school. Male and female, we’re all good role models. He’s OK as he is.’ Shea looked up at the older woman. ‘He is, isn’t he, Norah?’ She nodded. ‘Yes, he’s a fine young man. Although my opinion may not hold water when you consider I’m his doting grandmother,’ she added with a laugh, and Shea smiled. ‘I do sometimes look at him and wonder if I should take the accolades for having such a bright, well-adjusted son. Or if it’s just Niall’s innate good sense.’ ‘A little of both, I’d say.’ Norah began to wash her baking dishes. ‘And if I was into that previous life stuff, I’d say young Niall Finlay had been here before.’ Shea picked up the tea towel and started to wipe the dishes. ‘Jamie would have been so proud of him,’ Norah added softly, and Shea let her gaze fall to the tray in her hands. A tiny pain flickered in her chest, grew tentacles that clutched at her heart. ‘Yes,’ she agreed evenly, not meeting her mother-in-law’s eyes, and they continued to work side by side, each lost in her own thoughts until the silence was broken by the slam of the front screen door. ‘Gran. Mum. I’m home.’ Niall Finlay ran into the room and shrugged off his windcheater. His fair hair was standing on end and the wind had whipped colour into his cheeks. ‘Wow! It was so windy down by the beach it would blow dogs off chains.’ His hazel eyes widened appreciatively. ‘Cookies. Excellent, Gran. Can I have one?’ Shea exchanged a glance with Norah and grimaced. ‘One only,’ she acquiesced guiltily. ‘I don’t want you to spoil your dinner.’ ‘No way. I could eat a horse and chase his rider,’ the young boy quipped as he took a bite of his biscuit. ‘I don’t know where you pick up all those colourful sayings,’ his mother commented and he grinned. ‘From Gran.’ ‘So where have you been?’ Norah put in quickly to change the subject. ‘Riding my bike. Pete and I went down to the beach and around the place and guess what?’ His mother and his grandmother raised enquiring eyebrows. ‘Someone must be going to live in the big white house around the bay.’ Shea’s breath caught somewhere in her chest and she felt the warmth of colour rise in her face. For long moments she couldn’t bring herself to look at the older woman. When she did, she saw the concern in Norah’s eyes. ‘There’s a plumber’s ute and an electrician’s van and guys everywhere,’ Niall continued. ‘And they’ve started to paint the place. And guess what else? It’s not going to be white anymore. It’s sort of yellowy-cream. We won’t be able to call it the big white house now.’ ‘That will be a pity,’ his mother replied carefully, and Niall nodded. ‘People are going to be all confused,’ he said in a voice of doom. ‘If you ask for directions around here they say, “Go down to the big white house and turn left” or “Don’t go as far as the big white house” and stuff like that.’ ‘Yes. When you put it like that, it does sound as though we’ll all have to get used to the change,’ his grandmother agreed. ‘Well, how about your homework,’ Shea reminded her son and he went towards his room with a grumble, leaving behind a heavy silence in the kitchen. ‘This doesn’t mean anything,’ Norah said at last as Shea kept rubbing the tea towel over the already dry cookie tray. ‘No.’ Shea agreed quietly. “The big white house has only been leased for short times on two or three occasions. And Joe Rosten himself hasn’t been near the place in over ten years. Why come back now? He’s most likely sold it.’ ‘Yes, he probably has,’ Shea agreed again. ‘And I shouldn’t think Alex would be coming back here.’ Norah glanced concernedly at her daughter-in-law. ‘If he had, I’m sure he’d have already called in to see us. I am his aunt. And now that his father has remarried and is living in the States he really has no ties here in Byron.’ ‘There’s still the cottage,’ Shea said absently. ‘The tenants are still there,’ Norah reflected with a frown. ‘David hasn’t mentioned anything about the cottage being on the market, has he? I mean, working for the major real estate agency in the town, David would surely know if a cottage a few doors down from our place was up for sale.’ Shea shook her head. ‘No. And he hasn’t said anything about the big white house changing hands, either.’ She set down the cookie tray and looked at the other woman. ‘Which is a little strange in itself, don’t you think?’ Norah shrugged. ‘Perhaps not. Maybe the new owners didn’t want any publicity. And you know that’s what a lot of famous people like about this area. The town closes ranks and can be as secretive and protective as a mob of minders.’ ‘Yes, that could be it. Perhaps a pop star or someone like that has bought the white house.’ Shea relaxed a little, a ray of hope growing stronger in her heart. ‘Who knows.’ Norah gave a soft laugh. ‘Pop stars. Movie stars. All sorts of entrepreneurs. Stranger things have happened around here, you have to admit.’ Shea smiled faintly, too. ‘That they have.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I think I’ll go and have a quick shower and then I’ll come and help prepare dinner.’ Two hours later Norah called from the front room. ‘Here’s David now, Shea.’ Niall made a noise into his book. ‘Did you say something?’ Shea paused and he sighed theatrically. ‘Is that David Aston again?’ he asked, twisting his pencil in his hand. ‘Yes. You know he usually gives me a lift to the Progress Association meetings,’ she replied perfunctorily. ‘Why?’ ‘You’re not going out with him, are you? I mean, on a date or anything?’ ‘No. Of course not.’ His mother frowned. ‘What on earth makes you ask that?’ ‘Oh, nothing.’ ‘Niall, what’s the problem?’ Shea asked gently. ‘I just don’t think I’d like you and David, well, you know. I mean, he’s all right I suppose but he’s kind of, well, a bit of a wuss.’ ‘A what?’ Shea raised her eyebrows at the unfamiliar term, and Niall grinned sheepishly. ‘A wuss. He’s wussy.’ ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what that means, Niall,’ Shea told him firmly, ‘but it doesn’t sound complimentary.’ “It’s not that bad really, Mum. Depends how you look at it. But he is a bit of a wimp and,’ Niall gazed up at her seriously, ‘I guess I mean he’s not good enough for you.’ ‘Oh.’ Shea swallowed a laugh. ‘Is that right? And who, in your opinion, young man, is good enough for your aging mother?’ Niall grinned again. ‘Tom Cruise.’ Shea did laugh then. ‘Mrs Tom Cruise might have something to say about that.’ ‘How about someone like Pete’s father then?’ Niall tried again. ‘He takes Pete fishing and stuff.’ ‘A small problem there, too.’ Shea pulled a face at him. ‘Pete’s very nice mother.’ ‘’Spose she is pretty nice.’ He sighed again. ‘Gosh, Mum! Are all the good blokes taken?’ he asked with his grandmother’s intonation. Shea ran a hand over his fair hair and bent to kiss him on the cheek. ‘Rumour has it that that is unfortunately so,’ she said with a smile. ‘If I’m home late I’ll see you in the morning. OK?’ ‘Sure. Have a good time.’ ‘At a meeting?’ Shea grimaced sceptically. ‘But, to return to the subject of good blokes, on the remote chance I do see one, I’ll try not to let him get away.’ Niall chuckled and gave his mother a thumbs up sign. ‘Excellent decision, Mum. See you.’ Shea was still smiling when she climbed into David’s car. ‘What’s the joke?’ he asked, and she shook her head. ‘Nothing interesting,’ she answered a little absently and for the first time Shea found herself really assessing him. David Aston was quite good-looking with dark hair and eyes and he was, she knew, a relatively quiet and unassuming young man. A wuss? A wimp? Niall’s description came into her mind and she pushed it guiltily away. No, David was simply, well, somewhat dull. That didn’t mean he was a wimp. Yet one thing was certain, Shea acknowledged. She knew she wasn’t attracted to him. To any man, for that matter. And hadn’t been for such a long time... Shea shifted agitatedly and quickly forced her disquieting reflections out of her mind. She made herself make pleasant conversation to distract herself from her unsettling thoughts. ‘So, what do you think will be on tonight’s agenda at the meeting?’ ‘We had a few points to discuss that were carried over from last month,’ David said earnestly as he turned the car onto the road into the town centre. ‘I believe I heard someone suggested picketing the council offices about the new sewerage pipes. I can’t say I find that acceptable behaviour.’ Shea raised her eyebrows. ‘So you’re not into passive resistance?’ ‘Of course not. I can’t see any point in making an exhibition of one’s self. There are other more, well, urbane ways of doing things.’ ‘Mature discussion?’ Shea suggested, and David brushed a hand over his dark hair. ‘Of course. People do associate picketing and rallying with the, well, the unsavoury hippie element. Don’t you think, Shea?’ Shea bit her lip reflectively. There were a number of alternative lifestyle groups in and around Byron Bay but Shea didn’t consider them to be unsavoury. She glanced sideways at David and saw his lips were pursed in disapproval. ‘I think most people would stand up and be counted if a point was to be made,’ she said carefully. ‘But there are proper channels. So distasteful to see all those long-haired, untidy-looking people standing about.’ Shea sighed. She really didn’t have the energy or the inclination to argue with David. ‘I know I’m a relative newcomer, I’ve only been here a year or so,’ David was continuing, ‘but I chose to come here because it was a quiet, beautiful little town with none of the so-called bright light attractions.’ ‘Well, Byron Bay certainly is that.’ Shea glanced at the row of modest houses in the street as they drove past. She loved the place, with the laid-back lifestyle that was usually associated with Australian beach communities. ‘I saw Niall riding his bicycle down by the beach this afternoon,’ David had changed the subject. ‘Bicycle-riding is one of his passions at the moment,’ Shea replied thoughtfully and recalled her son’s revelations about the big white house. ‘How’s the real estate business at the moment?’ she asked as casually as she could. ‘Can’t complain. I sold the Martin house to Jack Percy’s son. He’s getting married at the end of the year and is going to renovate it in time for the wedding.’ ‘That’s nice.’ Shea took a breath. ‘Niall said there were workmen at the big white house. Has that been sold?’ Her voice sounded thin in her ears but David didn’t seem to notice her pseudo-nonchalance. ‘Not that I’ve heard and I’m sure I would have. Unless it was sold privately. But the sale would have had to have been made months ago for work to be legally done on the place.’ Having her suspicions verified caused a sinking feeling to invade the pit of Shea’s stomach. She’d known all along that David would have been aware of any sale. And that he would have mentioned it. Businesses here were like small fraternities and they all knew how the other was fairing. A sale of the magnitude of the big white house would have set the whole town agog. Which meant only one thing— ‘It’s owned by an American, isn’t it?’ David broke into her thoughts and she nodded. ‘Yes. Joe Rosten.’ ‘Rosten. That’s him. He’s the head of some big American stock-broking firm.’ ‘Something like that,’ Shea replied carefully. ‘A chain of financial advisory services. He also has a lot of other businesses. Mining. Real estate.’ ‘Someone told me he even had his own movie company. Is that true?’ ‘Yes. A small one. More of a hobby, I think.’ Or a grandiose present for a much-loved only daughter, Shea added to herself, and a long dormant ache began to grow inside her. She firmly pushed her thoughts back into the dark, pain-filled recesses of her mind. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, allow herself to remember it all. Not now. ‘Some hobby.’ David turned into the parking area behind the meeting venue. ‘How old is this guy? I mean, does he have a family? And how come he never spends any time at the place?’ ‘He has a daughter, actually,’ Shea began guardedly. What would David think if she told him the whole story? ‘Lucky daughter. And where can I meet her?’ David laughed as he climbed out of the car and hurried around to open the passenger side door for Shea to alight. Fortunately, at that moment they were joined by a group of people also heading into the meeting so Shea was saved trying to formulate an answer. The hall used for the Progress Association meeting was old and draughty and the seating left a lot to be desired. However, a large crowd of people had braved the venue’s shortcomings. As boring as the meetings sometimes were, quite a number of concerned citizens always turned up, Shea reflected as she took a seat beside David a few rows from the front. Rob, the chairman, banged a glass on the table and the meeting got under way. It wasn’t long before the discussion bogged down and Shea found her attention drifting. Of course her mind went straight to Niall’s revelations about the activity at the big white house. Joe Rosten, the owner and a friend of Alex’s father, would be nearing seventy years old now so he’d probably be retired. Maybe he intended returning to Byron Bay? This thought of course brought other disturbing considerations. Perhaps his only daughter would be accompanying him. And his son-in-law. ‘Well, I’m not going to be involved in any protest march.’ David’s lowered voice drew Shea out of her reveries and she shifted in her seat, a little guilty that she had been so inattentive. ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that,’ she began, not having a clue about the subject of David’s frowning displeasure. ‘Perhaps that might be a little premature,’ suggested a deep voice from the back of the hall. A tall, fair-haired man was striding towards the front, his long legs easily eating up the distance, trainer-clad feet silent on the dusty bare floorboards. He wore a pair of tight-fitting tailored blue jeans and an unadorned light sweatshirt, the sleeves pushed casually back along his forearms. The harsh fluorescent light flashed on the gold watch on his left wrist and on the same hand, on his ring finger, he wore a gold signet ring. All this Shea took in subconsciously. Her numbed body was apparently beyond reaction. If she had been alone and able to respond to the sound of that voice, the sight of that familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar face, she knew she would have dissolved into a shaking heap. Or simply fainted dead away. But she did neither. Then the crowd seemed to part and their eyes met, steady coffee brown and startled sea green. And Shea’s heartbeats began to race. вернуться CHAPTER TWO HOW Shea wished she could sit quietly, alone, regain some semblance of composure, away from the so public backdrop of the crowded meeting hall. In those interminable seconds she felt as though her whole life flashed before her, with all its pleasure and pain, its achievements, and what she considered her failures. She was a young child again in Brisbane, growing up in the warmth and security of her mother’s love and care. She was an orphaned twelve-year-old travelling south to Byron Bay to begin a new life with Norah Finlay, a godmother she scarcely knew. She was being thrust into the unfamiliar family circle of Norah and her son, Jamie. And Norah’s nephew, Alex. She remembered vividly the moment when she met Alex Finlay. It was etched in her mind with a clarity that easily overshadowed her arrival in the picturesque little coastal town of Byron Bay and her re-acquaintance with Norah and Jamie. And apparently her memories of her first sight of him could still unsettle her. She had been living with Norah and her fifteen-year-old son, Jamie, for just a week when Norah’s nephew arrived home from a school excursion to Canberra, the nation’s capital. However, in that week of his absence Alex Finlay’s reputation had preceded him. Norah quite obviously adored him and if all Jamie said was true, then his sixteen-year-old cousin had to be some sort of god. Alex was, academically, dux of the school. Alex was outstanding on the sports field. Alex was, well, Alex was everything to everybody. He lived, Shea was told, with his widowed father in a cottage down the road from Norah’s home. Alex’s father and Jamie’s late father were brothers and, according to Jamie, Alex was more like a brother to him than a mere cousin. And Shea reflected in those days before she met Alex that it was a fair indication of Jamie’s character that he showed not the slightest bit of envy for this so perfect cousin. Alex came down to visit as soon as he arrived back from Canberra. Jamie had said Alex didn’t seem to get on all that well with his father. And later Shea also found Donald Finlay to be a cool, morose sort of man, certainly not the kind of person to encourage anyone to come too close to him, including his own son. So Alex arrived. Shea was in her room nervously preparing her text books for her first day at her new school next day when she heard the sound of welcoming voices from the living room. Moments later there was a tap on her wall and Jamie poked a smiling face around the open door to tell her Alex was here and that she must come and meet him. And she went. Reluctantly. Not only was she basically a little shy when encountering anyone new but she was also just slightly disinclined to be meeting someone so revered by her new family. What if Alex Finlay, universally acknowledged as being so perfect, was a big-headed, arrogant, pain-in-the-neck? She supposed she’d simply have to pretend to like him, for Norah’s and Jamie’s sakes. She walked into the living room behind Jamie and there he was. His fair hair was an overly long mass of loose, unruly curls, the ends bleached white by the sun. And his eyes were dark, fringed by even darker lashes. Later she discovered his eyes were brown, light tan in the bright sunlight and when he laughed, deepening to dark chocolate when he was passionate about something. Or someone. In that moment she knew unconsciously that his tanned, handsome face held more than a hint of manhood. Other frightening sensations were warring inside her. She suddenly felt absolutely aware of herself. She was conscious she was almost as tall as Jamie who was three years older than she was. Her legs seemed too long, her body too thin, her hair too nondescript. And she knew a burning urge to be older than she was. Alex unwound himself from the chair as Shea entered and her legs were suddenly unaccountably rubbery. His shoulders were square beneath his loose T-shirt, and his faded, threadbare jeans accentuated his long legs and narrow hips. ‘Shea, this is my cousin, Alex Finlay,’ Jamie said with obvious pleasure. ‘Alex, meet Shea Stanley, who’s now my unofficial sister.’ ‘Shea’s mother and I were the best of friends since our schooldays,’ Norah was explaining. ‘Even though we lived in different states we’ve always kept in touch.’ As Shea’s eyes moved over him, taking in each feature, his gaze was making its own exploration of her. Until their eyes met, held, passed an earth-shattering message. That was the moment she’d fallen in love with him. It had been as simple as that. They had looked at each other and the earth had seemed to tilt vertiginously. She could remember a multitude of incidents over the years but that first electric moment when she was twelve and he was a so grown up sixteen would remain vividly in her memory till the day she died. She’d wanted to run to him and from him all at once. She’d also known Alex felt exactly as she did, while Jamie’s half-rueful glance had told Shea he suspected as much as well. So here they were sixteen years later. Face to face. And so much had happened between then and now. Between innocence and experience. But their wonderful beginning had ended on that cool autumn night eleven years ago. Eleven years. She hadn’t seen him since. And now... Her shocked gaze registered the change in him, sent the messages to that section in the deep recesses of her mind that she knew had stored away every memory of him. She could have been that same lanky child-woman if her present reaction to him was any indication. And her response to his sudden appearance filled her with overwhelming horror. She would have to admit it was a far cry from just uncomplicated surprise at his unexpected and unheralded arrival. The noise of the meeting abated and the crowd faded into the background as their eyes met for those immeasurable seconds. After his momentary pause he passed her, was moving up to the table at the front of the meeting, holding out his hand to Rob, the chairman. ‘Rob Jones. Remember me? Alex Finlay.’ Recognition dawned on the older man and he grinned a welcome. ‘Well now, Alex Finlay. After all these years. How could I forget that winning try in the footy final? We haven’t won a premiership since you retired.’ A few others joined them, took turns in shaking Alex’s hand, slapping him on the back, welcoming home one of the township’s more successful sons. And Shea sank slowly down onto her chair, knowing all she had feared had come to be. The very person who had taken her young life and turned it upside down had returned to up-end her ordered world. She’d hoped never to see him again. ‘Who is he?’ David subsided onto his seat beside her. ‘Do you know him, Shea? Everyone else seems to. Finlay?’ His eyebrows went up and he turned sharply to face her. ‘Not any relation, is he?’ Shea swallowed the hysterical laugh that threatened to burst from her. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No. Not really. A sort of cousin. By marriage.’ ‘Oh.’ David continued to look at her questioningly and she swallowed to clear her dry throat. ‘He was related to Jamie, my late husband.’ ‘I see. I take it this Alex Finlay’s been away.’ ‘Yes. He left Byron Bay, before Jamie and I were married, actually.’ ‘Oh. That would be years ago. It’s a wonder you recognised him if you haven’t seen him since then.’ Pain twisted inside Shea, clutching at her heart. And she wasn’t ready to see him tonight. Not tonight or any night. See him! She mocked herself disparagingly. See him! She didn’t have to see him. She knew exactly what he looked like, would have known him anywhere, no matter how many years came between. How could she forget? She knew every hair, every inch of firm muscle, every secret responsive... Shea drew a deep, steadying breath. She had to stop this, stop torturing herself. ‘Has he changed much?’ David was asking. ‘He looks a little older,’ she said off-handedly. David’s smile held a hint of smugness. ‘A bit longer in the tooth?’ But he’s not old. Shea clamped her lips tightly closed before the words came out. He’s only thirty-two. Four years older than she was. Eleven years older than he was when she last saw him. Panic rose inside her. When she last saw him. No! She wouldn’t think about that. She mustn’t. ‘Aren’t we all,’ she said flatly as Rob Jones called for order and introduced Alex to the meeting. Alex took the floor and Shea tried valiantly to concentrate on what he was saying, but the sound of his voice took painful precedence. Somewhere her mind heard him talking about deputations to the council, community petitions. Yet her other more perfidious senses clamoured for attention, wanted to luxuriate in the purely sybaritic excitement that was for Shea so atypically physical. Various members of the crowd put questions to Alex until Rob glanced at his watch. ‘Time’s getting on so I think we’d better call this meeting closed. We’ll advertise the date and time of the next meeting in the usual way. And in the meantime we’ll take Alex’s advice and I’ll be carrying our continued concerns to the council meeting tomorrow night. See you all next time.’ People began to file out of the hall and Shea stood up quickly. If she hurried she’d manage to escape before Alex had a chance to approach her. Should he want to, that was, she told herself derisively. But David was blocking her exit and for once she felt irritated by his gentlemanly consideration as he stood back to allow a group of elderly people to precede him. At long last he stepped into the aisle and turned to see that she was following him. ‘Shea.’ She had barely taken two steps when the deep voice behind her saying her name stopped her dead in her tracks. It seemed Alex did want to approach her and she’d left leaving too long. Once again, she conceded bitterly, she’d underestimated his ability to get what he wanted. How she wished she could ignore him, move on, leave the building and pretend she hadn’t heard him, but David had already paused beside her. ‘Shea,’ Alex repeated, and she made herself turn slowly to face him. She allowed her eyes to meet his again, and the pain it brought her was worse, so very much worse than she ever imagined it would be. It was an agony just to look at the long, tall, tanned length of him. He was standing so close she could have put out her hand and touched him... How she’d loved him! And she couldn’t stop some part of. her reassessing him, adding the new details to her previous cache of graphic memories. His hair, darker now, and much shorter than he used to wear it. But she remembered how thick and vital it was. She could almost feel it now. Hadn’t she run her fingers through it as she pulled his mouth back to hers? His eyes, dark lashes now shielding the expression in their deep brown depths. They’d reminded her of smooth chocolate as he gazed down at her with passionate intensity. His features, totally masculine, square-jawed and craggy. She knew deep creases crept into his cheeks, bracketing his mouth when he laughed. And his lips. How his lips used to drive her crazy, bring her right to the very edge of her control. And beyond. So far beyond. Shea forced herself to concentrate on the present. Alex Finlay now. Yes, he’d changed. He did look older. But then so did she, she knew. Any vestige of youth that had remained when she’d last seen him had gone. The harder planes of his face made him look older than his thirty-two years. Yet it wasn’t age so much, part of her reflected almost unemotionally. He had the look of a man who had been pushing himself too hard for too long. The bright light she remembered that sparkled in his brown eyes had gone, as though some inner part of him had died. But she was being fanciful, surely. He was just as attractive, as tall, as broad, as potently masculine. His light sweatshirt moulded his well-developed shoulders and his dark denim jeans were hugging his muscular thighs. Shea’s mouth went dry and she raised her eyes guiltily from that part of his body to find his gaze resting guardedly upon her. ‘How are you, Shea?’ he asked softly, his deep voice playing over her like a mellow melody, so effortlessly familiar, arousing her with horrifyingly well-remembered ease. She shrugged in acknowledgement of his polite enquiry, and she found herself fighting an impulse to pat an imaginary escaped tendril of fair hair back into her loose chignon. Speech at that moment was an impossibility as her heartbeats thundered in her dry throat. The studied expressionlessness on his face gave her no insight into his thoughts but she just as suddenly sensed that perhaps he may not have approached her had it not been for good manners and family propriety. It would have looked strange if he didn’t speak to his only cousin’s wife. And what had she expected? she asked herself angrily. Did she think he’d go down on his knees and beg forgiveness? That his eyes would burn again with that same all-consuming passion? Fantasy, Shea Finlay, she chided. Pure fantasy. Well, his so obvious feeling of antipathy was most definitely mutual. Her stony coldness told him so. Yet inside she was a mass of contradictory sensations. ‘I had every intention of calling in to see Norah this afternoon,’ Alex was continuing evenly, ‘but I was held up at the house. I didn’t expect you’d be here at this meeting.’ ‘I attend all of these meetings,’ she told him with a faint lift of her firm chin, guiltily shoving aside the knowledge that her attention tonight had rarely been on the business at hand. ‘I’m concerned about the future of the town.’ He nodded. ‘More people should be.’ David chose that moment to cough softly beside Shea, moving closer to her, his hand going to her elbow, and Alex’s eyes narrowed on the solicitous gesture. ‘This is David Aston.’ Shea reluctantly made the introductions. ‘He works for the major real estate agency here in town. David, meet Alex Finlay.’ David released her arm and held out his hand. ‘Shea tells me you’re her long lost cousin.’ Alex’s dark eyebrows rose imperiously as he slowly took David’s extended hand. ‘Cousins by marriage. We’re not blood relations.’ Something in his tone made David shift self-consciously and he turned back to Shea. ‘Well, shall we go?’ ‘I’d like to talk to you, Shea,’ Alex said, pointedly ignoring the younger man, and Shea glanced irritatedly at the time. ‘It’s late.’ ‘Not too late,’ he cut in determinedly. ‘I’ll drive you home.’ ‘Shea came with me,’ David stated, obviously piqued by the turn of events. ‘I’m sure you won’t mind this time, mate.’ Alex produced his practiced, disarming smile, which Shea noticed didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I want to see Norah so it seems I can save you the trouble of dropping Shea off. I go that way anyhow.’ David drew himself up to his full height, a few inches shorter than Alex, and was about to argue the point. Somehow, Shea knew he would come off second best to this older, so sure of himself Alex, and she put her hand apologetically on the young man’s arm. ‘It’s all right, David. I’ll go with Alex this time. But thank you for giving me a lift to the meeting.’ David’s chin jutted belligerently but he relented and, with a curt goodnight, he reminded Shea he would be seeing her tomorrow and walked away, leaving Shea with Alex. ‘Shall we go, too?’ he suggested, motioning for Shea to precede him to the door and she could only do as he bade her. Appearances must be kept, she taunted herself disparagingly as she strode through the doorway and down the loose wooden stairs. And Alex was right behind her. She could feel him with every step she took. Shea quickened her pace, but once around the corner and into the parking lot she paused, looking about the semi-lit area for a car that Alex might be likely to be driving. Her breathing was shallow and she made herself move forward again until she put her hand shakily on the solidness of the first car she came to, as though the familiarity of its cool metal would help her keep a hold on her composure. His footsteps crunched loudly on the gravel as he caught up to her and her sensitised nerve endings vibrated until she could almost physically feel the touch of his body as he drew closer to her. He hesitated then, too, and in the cacophonous silence that swelled about them Shea felt her heartbeats accelerate until the sound of them rose to almost deafen her. And then he moved around her so tense body to unlock the front passenger door for her. He stood back just as the lights of another departing vehicle flashed over them, illuminating the dark and gleaming duco of a low-slung Jaguar XJS. Her lips twisted wryly. Alex had always wanted a Jag. It had been his teenage dream. Now he had one and his dream had become reality. It was a pity, she thought caustically, that he’d had to sell himself to get it. As she moved jerkily forward his hand went to her elbow in an unconscious gesture of assistance. That fleeting touch burned Shea’s skin and she drew a quivering breath as she all but fell into the seat in her haste to break that scorching contact. And then he was striding around the front of the car to slide into the driver’s seat beside her. Moistening her dry lips with her tongue tip Shea admonished herself as the silence screamed. Say something! Anything! She had to make an effort at mundane conversation, not sit there like a stuffed dummy. She had to show him how little his return meant to her. She had to be cool, civilised, unperturbed. Unperturbed? She bit back a laugh. Somehow she didn’t think a racing pulse, a tightness in the chest and paralysed vocal chords were exactly the most common signs of composure. It was a caustic, unpalatable pill to have to swallow, that Alex Finlay still had the power after all these years, after all he’d done to her, to scatter those hard-won remnants of self-possession to the four winds. And Alex seemed just as loathe to make an attempt at conversation. Glancing sideways at him Shea was unable to read anything into his shadowed features. The tilt of his chin, the line of his square jaw, only brought back aching memories and her. fingers balled into fists, nails biting into her palms. The heavy seconds stretched into a couple of interminable minutes that seemed like hours and the silence grew impossibly heavier. Now Shea felt instinctively that he was watching her. The electric tension sparked between them, flaming, growing, until Shea thought she could bear it no longer. Then he spoke. вернуться CHAPTER THREE ‘HOW’VE you been, Shea?’ he asked huskily. How did he think she’d been? she wanted to scream at him. Did he imagine a broken heart was fatal? Did he think she’d fallen apart, so far apart that she’d never be able to pick up the pieces? Well, she hadn’t. She very nearly had. But the pieces had been back in place long ago, super-glued, and she’d never let anyone do what he did to her again. Not ever. ‘I’m fine.’ She shrugged, her voice only slightly constricted. ‘You look,’ Alex paused, ‘great,’ he finished and Shea thought she sensed a tightness in his deep voice. She must have been mistaken, she decided, for if she wasn’t—Shea swallowed quickly, cutting off the entry into that small part inside her that she suspected would begin to tremble with excitement, would threaten to race madly, wildly away. No. She had to keep herself under firm control and not allow the fascination of the old Alex Finlay to tempt her. ‘Thank you,’ she replied tritely, and continued when she realised her voice sounded almost steady. ‘Let’s just say the years seem to have been kind to both of us.’ Alex made no comment on that but Shea noticed his hands clenched on the steering wheel for a moment before he reached out to switch on the ignition. He put the Jag into gear and pulled out of the parking lot, the scrunching of the gravel beneath the wide tyres easily drowning out the low purr of the engine. ‘So, what are you doing these days?’ he asked as they turned onto the bitumen roadway. ‘My father told me you own your own business.’ ‘Yes.’ The monosyllable sounded harsh and she took a quick, steadying breath. She had to be cool. Aloof. He meant nothing to her anymore. ‘Yes, I have my own fashion boutique.’ They were being so very civilised. Shea barely suppressed a bitter laugh. Good manners were reflected in polite conversation. They’d both been well taught. ‘I design and make my own range of clothing,’ she added with continued decorum. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. You always were interested in that sort of thing.’ No! a voice inside her threw at him angrily. Don’t talk about always. Don’t dare talk about that. He, of all people, had no right to do that. She clutched at her slipping composure and fixed her gaze on the dark outlines of the trees beyond the road, not really seeing their shadowy shapes. But the murkiness of night seemed synonymous with what had happened back then. Silence extended between them again and Alex sighed. Shea was unable to prevent herself from looking at him then and, for fleeting seconds before his attention returned to the road, his eyes met and held hers in the semi-dark cocoon of the car’s cabin. ‘How’s your business going? Are you doing well?’ he asked and she had to consciously drag her concentration back to the theme of their conversation. ‘Quite well,’ she replied, suppressing the urge to tell him she had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams, that her business last year had trebled, that this year she’d extended her premises and, with the new children’s range under way, she’d definitely need to relocate her factory into larger space. ‘Where’s your shop?’ Alex was asking. ‘Where the old café used to be, up from the pub on the corner. The shop next door recently became vacant so I extended and combined the two.’ Her voice died away. ‘Have you been there long?’ ‘About eight years. I started out on a small scale working from home, then tried the markets. Luckily it’s gone ahead from there.’ Why was she telling him all this when she had no desire whatsoever to inform or impress him? ‘Are you still working for the Rosten Group?’ After a moment’s pause her question seemed to escape of its own volition and Alex hesitated, too, before replying. ‘In absentia. I do some freelance work for the company now and then. But I’ve taken a break from the full time rat race,’ he finished and a heavy silence fell between them until he swung the car into the driveway of Shea’s house. She barely suppressed a sigh of relief that she could at last escape. ‘Thank you for bringing me home,’ she began but Alex was already out of the car and striding around to open the passenger side door for her. She climbed out and repeated her thanks. ‘No worries,’ he replied lightly. ‘Well, I’ll say goodnight.’ Shea started walking towards the front door only to pause when she realised Alex had joined her. She gazed inquiringly at him and in the glow from the outside light Norah had left on for her, she saw him grimace slightly. ‘I told you I wanted to see Norah,’ he said, and Shea stood her ground. ‘It’s late. Norah’s most probably in bed,’ she began, and Alex held his wristwatch to the light. ‘Norah in bed at this hour? I seem to remember she never used to go to bed before midnight: He was right, but Shea wasn’t inclined to tell him so. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you came back in the morning?’ ‘Better for whom?’ he asked softly. ‘For Norah? Or for you?’ ‘I—’ Shea swallowed. ‘I really don’t know what you mean,’ she got out, and Alex continued to hold her gaze. ‘I think you do, Shea. Something tells me you aren’t that pleased to see me.’ ‘Should I be?’ The words slipped out before she could draw them back and she made herself continue to the foot of the stairs. ‘Eleven years is a long time. People change,’ she said as she retreated. ‘They do that.’ The edge to his voice made her step falter. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily take eleven years,’ he added flatly. Shea stopped then, her hand going to the railing to steady herself, and she heard him sigh. ‘Look, Shea, we used to be friends. Can’t we simply try to be that again?’ His deep voice struck more raw and tender chords. ‘Can’t we try to be friends?’ Didn’t he realise each word was a sabre thrust opening old wounds that had taken years to heal? ‘Friends?’ Shea bit off a sharp incredulous laugh as she turned back to face him. ‘Would that be so difficult?’ His eyes burned into hers across the few feet separating them and then he ran a strong hand through his fair hair. And Shea’s eyes were drawn to the movement, to the line of his forearm, the long sensitive fingers enmeshed in thick strands of hair. Almost mesmerised, she watched as he then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, drawing the material tautly across his thighs, and she felt her stomach lurch in that old familiar way. For all those long years that section of her emotions had lain dormant. No man since had stirred her in that purely physical way. Not even Jamie. No! Not again! She wouldn’t allow him, or any other man, to have such a hold on her again. Physically or emotionally. Yet her blood raced through her veins, her traitorous senses paying no heed. ‘I’d have thought we could both act like rational adults after all these years,’ Alex was saying. Rational adults? Shea clutched at her composure and her chin rose. Did he really think their ages had anything to do with it? If they were seventy she’d still feel the same. It was called betrayal. ‘Look, Shea—’ Alex stopped and sighed. ‘OK, let’s leave it that you’re not overjoyed by my return. Although why—’ He made an irritated movement with his hand. ‘No matter. The fact remains that I am here and I plan to stay here for some time.’ Shea’s heart twisted painfully. Well, she told herself brutally, if she’d been subconsciously harbouring any illusions about this being a flying visit home he had just nipped them in the bud. She’d simply have to get used to having him turn up now and then. She’d have to steel herself. And her heart. Especially her heart. Because she knew if she let him get close to her and he ran true to form, she’d never survive it all the second time around. ‘We’re pretty much family,’ he continued with a shrug. ‘We’ll have to see each other occasionally.’ ‘I’m sure we can manage to keep those occasions to a minimum,’ she said with an evenness she was proud of. ‘You’ll be working, I take it, and so will I. If we’re careful we needn’t see each other at all.’ She made herself hold his gaze and his jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed. ‘I’d prefer not to orchestrate any sidestepping. I think we should just behave as normally as possible.’ Shea could almost laugh at that. Normally? What did he mean? ‘Normal’ for Alex and herself had been spending every moment together, talking, laughing, making love. However, as she was trying to decide how to answer his comment, Norah called from the hallway. ‘Is that you, Shea?’ ‘Yes. It’s me,’ she said and climbed the remaining stairs to the door. But Alex was there before her. ‘And she’s brought a guest,’ he said into the opening. ‘Alex!’ Norah’s hand went to her throat in surprise. She shot a quick, startled look at Shea. ‘Hello, Norah,’ Alex replied with a faint touch of uncharacteristic reticence in his deep voice. Then Norah’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. ‘Alex,’ she repeated softly, a catch in her voice, and she opened her arms welcomingly. Alex stepped into them, lifted her off the ground and swung her around before setting her back on her feet. ‘I wondered if you’d recognise me after all this time. Or if you’d want to.’ ‘As if I wouldn’t,’ she admonished him. ‘And I’ve known you too many years to forget your face now.’ Norah patted his cheek and looked into his eyes. ‘But, Alex. You’ve changed.’ ‘That’s to be expected, isn’t it?’ Alex gave a soft laugh. ‘But I hope that frown doesn’t mean you think I’ve changed for the worse, does it?’ ‘Of course not. Those looks of yours would still charm birds out of trees.’ Alex’s grin widened, the creases bracketing his mouth deepening, and Shea felt her own mouth tighten in disgust. Norah couldn’t have spoken truer words. Other girls had succumbed, she knew. But she had been the one who’d fallen the hardest. ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Alex joked, ‘because you never know when you’ll need a few birds to come out of the trees.’ Norah and Alex laughed easily and somehow they had gravitated into the hallway, moving naturally towards the kitchen instead of the living room where they would normally take a guest. But Alex was family, so they went into the kitchen. As though he’d never been away, Shea thought with a stab of irritation. Norah subsided into her favourite chair and Alex looked at Shea, obviously waiting for her to be seated before he himself sat down. ‘I think I’ll make some coffee, shall I?’ she asked quickly, hovering just inside the doorway. ‘To tell you the truth I’ve been dying for a cup of true Finlay coffee,’ Alex said amiably. ‘Haven’t tasted one as good since I left.’ ‘I’d just brewed a fresh pot.’ Norah made to get up again but Shea motioned for her to remain where she was. ‘No. You stay there and talk to Alex. I’ll get it.’ Shea crossed to the old-fashioned dresser, busying herself taking Norah’s fine china mugs from their decorative hooks. But she couldn’t prevent her eyes from slipping across to Alex as he seated himself at the scrubbed wooden table. She experienced a stabbing pain at the completely natural way Alex had drawn up that particular chair. He’d done so for as long as Shea could remember. Until he left. Her lips tightened. She couldn’t forget that. He had betrayed them. Betrayed her. She tried not to listen as Norah inquired about Alex’s flight home, then about his father and stepmother. She couldn’t stay and listen to Alex’s easy tone when she wanted to lash out at him, fling over him some of the anger and pain that burned inside her. Automatically she set their mugs of coffee on the table, adding the sugar bowl and the milk jug, along with a plate of Norah’s freshly made cookies. Alex used to love them, too... ‘Aren’t you going to sit down, Shea?’ His words broke in on her unsettling thoughts and she moved forward to disguise the start of surprise his voice had caused her. ‘Yes. Of course. But if you’ll both excuse me for a moment. I’ll just, um, the bathroom,’ she muttered disjointedly and made her escape. Once she’d reached the safety of the hallway her step faltered, and she gulped shallow, calming breaths. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t managed to get home sooner,’ Shea heard Alex say and her hand went to the wall to steady herself. ‘Once Dad moved to the States I lost all contact apart from an occasional note from Jamie.’ ‘Jamie wrote to you? I never knew that.’ Shea heard Norah say and her own lips tightened. Well, she, Shea, hadn’t known, either, and she felt a numbed surprise that Jamie had deceived her. ‘About the funeral, Norah,’ Alex was continuing. ‘I got the message you left about the accident and I was about to fly home but,’ he paused, ‘something came up.’ Shea didn’t stay to hear any more. She made herself hurry towards the bathroom. So something had come up to prevent him attending Jamie’s funeral, Jamie who had been more than a brother to him. Some business deal no doubt, she thought bitterly. How could she think it would have been any other way? Alex hadn’t changed. He had been interested only in himself eleven years ago and he was still the same. Alex-oriented. Something she would never be again. She automatically splashed her face and towelled it dry. Her reflection, face devoid of makeup, gazed back at her from the mirror above the vanity basin, and her frown deepened. She rubbed at the slight indentation between her eyes. She looked—Well, she looked every bit of her twenty-eight years, and then some. She was definitely no longer the fresh-faced teenager Alex had left behind. He couldn’t help but notice the difference in her. Shea shifted agitatedly, hanging up the towel and grasping her hairbrush. Did it matter what Alex Finlay thought? she asked herself derisively. Her fingers loosened the knot of fair hair at the back of her head and she raked the brush through the tangles. Then she rewound it into its confining bob and rubbed at her throbbing temples. There was nothing now to keep her from rejoining her mother-in-law and their guest so she walked back along the hallway. However, she hesitated again before she reached the kitchen doorway as she heard Norah’s words. ‘And is Patti with you?’ ‘No.’ Shea thought she heard Alex sigh. ‘Patti and I aren’t together anymore. We divorced. It just didn’t work out.’ ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Alex,’ Norah said softly as Shea’s entire body seemed to stiffen at Alex’s bombshell. A tiny flicker of hope caught Shea unawares and she berated herself derisively. ‘We should never have married, Patti and I,’ Alex was saying. ‘That’s easy to say with hindsight,’ Norah put in sympathetically. ‘I suppose so,’ Alex agreed tiredly. Realising she had been holding her breath Shea made herself exhale as her chest tightened painfully. ‘Our marriage lasted barely a year. We were finally divorced a couple of years ago and Patti’s remarried. She seems happy enough now.’ The chair creaked as Alex moved. ‘That’s the way things go sometimes.’ ‘I suppose sometimes they do,’ Norah commiserated. ‘But I think it’s sad when young marriages break up. There seems to be so much of it these days.’ Alex made a noncommittal remark as Norah continued to decry the modern phenomena and Shea tried to analyse her own feelings at Alex’s revelation. So Alex’s and Patti’s marriage hadn’t lasted. Shea could recall quite vividly the devastation she’d experienced when Alex’s father had told her of his son’s engagement to Joe Rosten’s daughter. And the pain of having to pretend to everyone that it meant nothing to her, for she had supposedly been a happily married woman herself at the time. Donald Finlay had left for the States to attend his son’s wedding and when he eventually returned to Byron Bay he had packed up his belongings, rented out his cottage, and gone back to the States to marry a widow he’d met at the wedding. Shea had had no news of either Donald or Alex since that time. Neither Norah nor Jamie had spoken of them. A tiny spark remaining inside Shea had died knowing Alex was married and only Jamie had known how badly the news of his cousin’s marriage had affected her. Poor Jamie. He’d consoled her, knowing she could never feel for him what she had felt for his taller, smarter, more handsome cousin. Even though she’d tried so desperately for the six years of their marriage to do just that. All things considered, she felt she could have been forgiven for feeling some delight at learning that Alex and Patti had parted. But she simply felt desensitised. Well, she could care less if Alex was married or single, she told herself and with a major clasp at her composure, Shea made herself re-enter the kitchen. Alex immediately stood up and passed her her mug of coffee as she sat down on the opposite side of the table, as far from Alex as she could. But that was a strategic error, for now she only had to raise her eyes to look at him. ‘Coffee’s not cold, is it, love?’ Norah smiled at Shea and she shook her head, determinedly taking a placating sip. She glanced across the rim of her coffee cup to find Alex’s hooded eyes resting on her and she stilled, her fingers tightening around the handle. With precision timing the telephone jangled and Shea was hard put not to slosh her coffee into her lap. ‘I’ll get it.’ Norah was up and out the door before Shea or Alex could make a move. And with Norah’s departure the tension recharged between them. Their eyes meshed and neither seemed able to break the hold. How long they sat like that she couldn’t have told but she thought she saw a pulse beating erratically in Alex’s smoothly shaven jaw line. And was that his pain or simply a reflection of her own in the glittering darkness of his eyes? Deep inside her she knew what she really wanted. She wanted, needed, yearned to throw herself into his strong arms, have his body mould itself to hers. She could almost feel him, smell the male scent of him, hear the murmur of the sea on the sand below them, see the moonlight dancing on their damp bodies. Yes, she’d loved him then. Yet when she’d needed him most he had left her. She dragged her gaze from his. Why, Alex? Why did you do it? Why did you leave me? The words echoed so loudly inside her head she thought she must have voiced them and she glanced quickly back at him. But he showed no sign that she had spoken. His expression was guarded now, making him seem somewhat detached, light-years away from the Alex she had known so well, loved with such intensity and innocence. Perhaps she had even imagined that earlier momentary fire. But her imagination wasn’t to blame for the remembered feel of him, the remembered taste of him... Her hunger was a physical pain and she lowered her lashes in case he saw just how vulnerable to his nearness she really was. When she raised her eyes he had leaned forward in his chair and an entirely different anguish caught her, for all dispassion had left his face. ‘Shea!’ Her name seemed to be torn raggedly from him and his hand moved towards her. Shea felt herself drawn capriciously forward, only to check as Norah rejoined them, her quick glance going from her daughter-in-law to her nephew. Shea hoped the telltale colour that had flooded her pale cheeks wouldn’t betray her previous lapse in control. Her nerves were jangling like mechanical puppets gone mad. If Norah hadn’t interrupted them Alex would have... Would have what? she asked herself bitterly. Touched her? Kissed her? No! Never again. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, be able to bear it. ‘It was David,’ Norah said. ‘On the phone,’ she added, seeing the blank looks on both Shea’s and Alex’s faces. ‘He was just checking to see Shea got home all right.’ ‘Oh.’ Shea swallowed. ‘That was thoughtful of him.’ ‘Yes. Very thoughtful,’ Alex agreed drily, and Norah smiled. ‘It’s so kind of him to drive Shea to the meetings. David’s a pleasant young man.’ Norah beamed and Alex’s smile barely shadowed the corners of his mouth. ‘I’m sure he is,’ he said evenly, but before Norah could extol David Aston’s virtues any further a sound at the doorway drew their attention. вернуться CHAPTER FOUR ‘MUM? Gran? What’s going on?’ Niall’s pyjama-clad body leant against the door jamb, fists rubbing at his sleepy eyes. Panic gathered in a tight ball in Shea’s chest and she stood up, taking a couple of steps towards Niall, trying to put herself between Alex and her son. ‘It’s all right, love. Go on back to bed.’ But by now Niall was fully awake and he came forward to stand beside his mother. ‘You’re Cousin Alex, aren’t you?’ he said, obvious excitement in his young voice. ‘I’ve seen stacks of photos of you with my dad.’ Alex had pushed himself to his feet, too, and his expression was shadowed by his lashes as he looked down at Niall. Then he seemed to make himself relax and came around the table. ‘I am Alex. But you’re far too old to be young Niall,’ he teased with mock incredulity, and Niall grinned. ‘I’m ten,’ he said proudly. ‘Your father wrote to me about you,’ Alex continued, and Shea drew a sharp breath. She had no idea Jamie had ever contacted his cousin to inform him of Niall’s birth. Another instance of Jamie’s secret letters. She reached out and clasped Niall’s thin shoulders, fighting an urge to push her son behind her, shield him with her body. ‘This is my son,’ she said unnecessarily, her slightly sharp voice betraying her total turmoil. Niall slid a quick glance up at her before turning back to Alex. ‘I’m Niall James Alexander Finlay,’ he stated with a beam and, with obvious importance, took Alex’s outstretched hand. ‘The James is for my father and my grandfather and the Alexander is after you.’ His grin broadened. ‘The Niall bit’s just mine.’ Alex laughed easily and ran a hand over Niall’s tousled hair. ‘Do you think I look like you and Dad?’ Niall continued. ‘Gran says you could hardly tell you and Dad apart when you were boys and I’m supposed to look like him.’ ‘You and Jamie did look like brothers when you were small,’ Norah put in quickly, not meeting her daughter-in-law’s eyes. ‘And Niall has the same colouring. But I can see a lot of Shea in him, too.’ With uncharacteristic nervousness her fingers played with the cord of her robe. ‘But I’m babbling. Would you like a glass of milk, Niall? And how about another cup of coffee, Alex?’ ‘It’s a little late, Norah,’ Shea said, her hands still holding her son. ‘I’m sure Alex wants to get home.’ ‘No. Unless it’s too late for you?’ He raised dark brows at his aunt who shook her head. ‘Did you know my dad died?’ Niall asked and Alex nodded solemnly. ‘He swam out to rescue a board rider and just when they were nearly safe a big wave picked up the board and knocked Dad out and he got drowned. He was a hero.’ ‘He was that,’ Alex agreed. ‘So how come you haven’t been back home in so long, Cousin Alex?’ Niall asked then, as he sat down beside his mother who had reluctantly subsided into her chair. Shea’s back stiffened and she swallowed, grasping the plate of Norah’s homemade cookies and offering them to Alex in an effort to disguise the inner chaos she suspected was visible on her face. ‘Call me Alex, Niall,’ Alex was saying. ‘And as to why I’ve stayed away so long, well, things just seemed to work out that way.’ Shea’s mouth was dry now. She could feel Alex’s eyes on her and a shiver raced along the length of her spine. ‘I’ve been fairly involved with my job and I guess the years simply slipped away from me.’ Norah set down a glass of milk in front of her grandson. ‘And how long will you be staying, Alex?’ It was a question Shea knew Norah had been burning to ask since Alex had reappeared. It had, after all, been one of the first querying thoughts to seep into her own numbed mind. Alex’s gaze met Shea’s, held it. “How long am I staying? As I told Shea earlier, pretty well indefinitely at this stage,’ he said levelly before shifting his attention back to Norah. ‘I bought Joe’s house from him some time ago and I’m doing it up. When it’s finished I’ll decide whether or not to continue living there or to sell it’ ‘Niall said there was some activity at the big white house,’ Norah commented and Niall turned to Alex in surprise. ‘The big white house? You own the big white house? Mum didn’t tell me that. Wow! What a mansion. Can I come and see inside it some time?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Niall—’ Shea began to chastise him but Alex cut in. ‘Sure you can. The interior’s something of a mausoleum. But I’m attempting to bring some normality to the decor.’ ‘What’s a mausoleum?’ Niall frowned and Alex gave a laugh. ‘In this case, sort of dark and dingy. Looks like it should have cobwebs all over the furniture and bats flapping around the ceilings.’ ‘Unreal! Pete and I would love to see it,’ Niall said with feeling, and then added, ‘Pete’s my best mate. I’d have to bring him, too. If I didn’t he’d be as mad as a hornet.’ ‘Sure, Pete can come, too. Any time,’ Alex told him easily. ‘When? Tomorrow after school?’ Niall pressed, and Shea moved the cookies from his reach. He’d used the cover of adult conversation to eat two already. ‘We’ll see, Niall,’ she warned him with a glance. ‘Alex will be busy with his renovations.’ When Niall would have protested, Norah interrupted. ‘Fancy you and Shea running into each other at the Progress Association meeting. And Shea almost didn’t go tonight.’ How Shea wished now that she had stayed home. It would have given her more time to prepare—But she still would have speculated about the big white house, would have wondered anxiously if Alex might have returned. |
