Mills & Boon Showcase. Christy McKellen
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heart.
Would she go up and say hello? Or put her hat back on and try to slink out without him seeing her?
Despite her fears, she took off her sunglasses with fingers that weren’t quite steady and slowly raised her head.
Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the blood drain from her face. He stood with his profile towards her, but it was definitely Ben Morgan: broad-shouldered, towering above the other men in the bar, talking animatedly with a group of people.
From what she could see from this distance he was as handsome as the day they’d said goodbye. His hair was shorter. He wore tailored shorts and a polo-style shirt instead of the Hawaiian print board shorts and singlet he’d favoured when he was nineteen. He was more muscular. Definitely more grown up.
But he was still Ben.
He said something to the guy standing near him, laughed again at his response. Now, as then, he held the attention of everyone around him.
Did he feel her gaze fixed on him?
Something must have made him turn. As their eyes connected, he froze mid-laugh. Nothing about his expression indicated that he recognised her.
For a long, long moment it seemed as if everyone and everything else in the room fell away. The sound of plates clattering, glasses clinking, and the hum of chatter seemed muted. She realised she was holding her breath.
Ben turned back to the man he’d been talking to, said something, then turned to face her again. This time he smiled, acknowledging her, and she let out her breath in a slow sigh.
He made his way to her table with assured, athletic strides. She watched, mesmerised, taking in the changes wrought by twelve years. The broad-shouldered, tightly muscled body, with not a trace of his teenage gangliness. The solid strength of him. The transformation from boy to man. Oh, yes, the teenage Ben was now very definitely a man.
And hotter than ever.
All her senses screamed that recognition.
He’d reached her before she had a chance to get up from her chair.
‘Sandy?’
The voice she hadn’t heard for so long was as deep and husky as she remembered. He’d had a man’s voice even at nineteen. Though only a year older than her, he’d seemed light years ahead in maturity.
Words of greeting she knew she should utter were wedged in her throat. She coughed. Panicked that she couldn’t even manage a hello.
His words filled the void. ‘Or are you Alexandra these days?’
He remembered that. Her father had insisted she be called by her full name of Alexandra. But Alexandra was too much of a mouthful, Ben had decided. He’d called her by the name she preferred. From that summer on she’d been Sandy. Except, of course, to her father and mother.
‘Who’s Alexandra?’ she said now, pretending to look around for someone else.
He laughed with what seemed like genuine pleasure to see her. Suddenly she felt her nervousness, her self-consciousness, drop down a notch or two.
She scrambled up from her chair. The small round table was a barrier between her and the man who’d been everything to her twelve years ago. The man she’d thought she’d never see again.
‘It’s good to see you, Ben,’ she said, her voice still more choked than she would have liked it to be.
His face was the same—strong-jawed and handsome—and his eyes were still as blue as the summer sky at noon. Close-cropped dark blond hair replaced the sun-bleached surfer tangle that so long ago she’d thought was the ultimate in cool. There were creases around his eyes that hadn’t been there when he was nineteen. And there was a tiny white crescent of a scar on his top lip she didn’t remember. But she could still see the boy in the man.
‘It’s good to see you, too,’ he said, in that so-deep-it-bordered-on-gruff voice. ‘I recognised you straight away.’
‘Me too. I mean, I recognised you too.’
What did he see as he looked at her? What outward signs had the last years of living life full steam ahead left on her?
‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he said.
‘So have you,’ she said, and he smiled.
Automatically her hand went up to touch her head. Of course he would notice. Her brown hair had swung below her waist when she’d last seen him, and she remembered how he’d made her swear never, ever to change it. Now it was cut in a chic, city-smart bob and tastefully highlighted.
‘But otherwise you haven’t changed,’ he added in that husky voice. ‘Just grown up.’
‘It’s kind of you to say that,’ she said. But she knew how much she’d changed from that girl that summer.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Please. I was just having a drink...’
She sat back down and Ben sat in the chair opposite her. His strong, tanned legs were so close they nudged hers as he settled into place. She didn’t draw her legs back. The slight pressure of his skin on her skin, although momentary, sent waves of awareness coursing through her. She swallowed hard.
She’d used to think Ben Morgan was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. The twelve intervening years had done nothing to change her opinion. No sophisticated city guy had ever matched up to him. Not even Jason.
She’d left the menu open on the table before her. ‘I see you’ve decided on dessert before your main meal,’ Ben said, with that lazy smile which hadn’t changed at all.
‘I was checking out the salads, actually,’ she lied.
‘Really?’ he said, the smile still in his voice, and the one word said everything.
He’d caught her out. Was teasing her. Like he’d used to do. With no brothers, an all-girls school and zero dating experience, she hadn’t been used to boys. Never hurtful or mean, his happy-go-lucky ways had helped get her over that oversensitivity. It was just one of the ways he’d helped her grow up.
‘You’re right,’ she said, relaxing into a smile. ‘Old habits die hard. The raspberry brownie with chocolate fudge sauce does appeal.’ The birthday cake you had when you weren’t having a birthday cake. But she wouldn’t admit to that.
‘That brownie is so good you’ll want to order two servings,’ he said.
Like you used to.
The unspoken words hung between them. Their eyes met for a moment too long to be comfortable. She was the first to look away.
Ben signalled the waiter. As he waved, Sandy had to suppress a gasp at the ugly raised scars that distorted the palms of his hands. What had happened? A fishing accident?
Quickly she averted her eyes so he wouldn’t notice her shock. Or see the questions she didn’t dare ask.
Not now. Not yet.
She rushed to fill the silence that had fallen over their table. ‘It’s been a—’
He finished the sentence for her. ‘Long time?’
‘Yes,’ was all she was able to get out. ‘I was only thinking about you a minute ago and wondering...’
She felt the colour rise up her throat to stain her cheeks. As she’d walked away from the information kiosk and towards the hotel hadn’t she been remembering how Ben had kissed her all those years ago, as they’d lain entwined on the sand in the shadows at the back of the Morgan family’s boat shed? Remembering the promises they’d made to each other between those breathless kisses? Promises she’d really, truly believed.
She felt again as gauche and awkward as she had the night she’d first danced with him, at a bushfire brigade fundraiser dance