‘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.

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.