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‘It wasn’t all bad, though. Being a crazy teen.’
The cream had returned to his voice. His tone was low, almost whispered, and she felt herself swaying towards him.
‘No, of course not. That was the happiest time of my life. The happiest time,’ she whispered, so low she hoped he hadn’t heard her.
Just one little step—that was all it took. One little step and she was touching him, looking up at him. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and just that one small touch set her achingly aware nerves on fire; she felt the jolt of desire shock through her, buzzing through to her fingers, to her toes, pooling deep within her.
Jonas’s head was tilted down and the full focus of his disconcertingly intense eyes was on her. Lawrie swallowed and licked suddenly dry lips, her nails cutting into her palms as she curled them into tight fists. The urge to grab him and pull him close was suddenly almost overwhelming.
‘Jonas …?’
An entreaty? A question? Lawrie didn’t know what she was asking him, begging him for. All she knew was that it was her birthday. And that she hadn’t felt this alive for a long, long time.
The Return of Mrs Jones
Jessica Gilmore
After learning to read aged just two, JESSICA GILMORE spent every childhood party hiding in bedrooms in case the birthday girl had a book or two she hadn’t read yet. Discovering Mills & Boon on a family holiday, Jessica realised that romance-writing was her true vocation and proceeded to spend her maths lessons practising her art: creating a Dynasty-inspired series starring herself and Morten Harket’s cheekbones. Writing for Mills & Boon really is a dream come true!
An ex-au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and Scarborough seafront trader selling rock from under a sign that said ‘Cheapest on the Front', Jessica now works as Membership Manager for a regional environmental charity. Sadly she spends most of her time chained to her desk, wrestling with databases, but she likes to sneak out to one of their beautiful reserves whenever she gets a chance. Married to an extremely patient man, Jessica lives in the beautiful and historic city of York with one daughter, one very fluffy dog, two dog-loathing cats and a goldfish called Bob.
On the rare occasions when she is not writing, working, taking her daughter to activities or Tweeting, Jessica likes to plan holidays—and uses her favourite locations in her books. She writes deeply emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and usually a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.
For Dan.
Thanks for giving me the time to write and always believing that I would make it.
I couldn’t have done it without you. x
Special thanks must also go to my amazing critique group, Jane, Julia and Maggie, for three years of pep talks, brainstorming and patience, to Merilyn for making writing fun and to Fiona Harper and Jessica Hart for all their encouragement and support.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
‘YOU CAN COME in, you know. Or do you city folk wear coffee patches and bypass the actual drinking process now?’
Lawrie Bennett jumped as the mocking tones jolted her out of her stunned contemplation of the ultra-modern building clinging to the harbour’s edge. Turning, half convinced she had conjured up his voice along with her memories, she saw him lounging against the arty driftwood sign, the same crooked smile lurking in familiar blue eyes.
‘Jonas?’
No, not a ghost. Subtle changes showed the passage of time: the surfer-blond hair was a little shorter, and a few lines round the eyes added new character to the tanned face.
Embarrassment, guilt, humiliation. Lawrie could take her pick of any of that ugly trio. Being caught hanging around outside her ex-husband’s business like a gauche teenager with a crush was bad enough. To have been caught by her ex-husband really was a fitting end to what had been a truly terrible few weeks.
Trying to summon up an illusion of control, Lawrie switched on her best social smile—the one that had seen her through numerous meetings and charity balls. But her eyes hadn’t got the ‘cool and collected’ memo, and flicked quickly up and down the lean body facing her.
The black tailored trousers and short-sleeved charcoal shirt were a startling change from the cut-off jeans and band T-shirt uniform of her memories, but the body underneath the sharp lines was as surfer-fit as she remembered. He still looked irritatingly good. And even worse—judging by the smirk that flared briefly in the cool eyes—he was fully aware of both her perusal and approval.
So much for control.
Jonas quirked an eyebrow. ‘So, are you...planning to come in?’
How, after all this time, could his voice be so familiar? It was such a long time since she had heard those deep, measured tones tempered with a slight Cornish burr. Yet they sounded like home.
‘I was just wondering if I was in the right place,’ she said, gesturing at the wood and glass building behind him; so shiny and new, so unfamiliar. ‘Everything’s different.’
And that, Lawrie thought, was the understatement of the century.
‘I’ve made some changes. What do you think?’ There was pride in his voice underneath the laid-back drawl.
‘Impressive,’ she said. And it was. But she missed the peeling, ramshackle old building. The picturesque setting for her first job, her first kiss. Her first love. ‘Did you demolish the boathouse?’
Her heart speeded up as she waited for his answer. It mattered, she realised with a shock. She hadn’t set foot in the small Cornish village for nine years. Hadn’t seen this man for nine years. But it still mattered.
It was her history.
‘I had it relocated. It was the start of everything, after all. Demolishing the old girl would have been pretty poor thanks. And we kept the name and brand, of course.’
‘Everything?’ Was he talking about her? Get a grip, she told herself. Walking