Kitabı oku: «His Little Miracle: The Billionaire's Baby»

His Little Miracle
The Billionaire’s
Baby
Nicola Marsh
Doorstep Daddy
Shirley Jump
Baby Be Mine
Victoria Pade

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Billionaire’s Baby

NICOLA MARSH has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster, she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job. Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

For my fab editor, Lucy,

who went above and beyond the call of duty

with this one.

Thanks, Lucy!

CONTENTS

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

CHAPTER ONE

CAMRYN HENDERSON hated Valentine’s Day.

A day designed to highlight over-the-top, mushy commercialism. All that hearts-and-flowers claptrap might work for those foolish enough to believe in romance, but she knew better.

Boy, did she know better.

‘That was some turnout today, huh?’

Camryn stopped swiping at the immaculate stainless-steel surface behind the bar and mustered a tired smile for Anna, her best employee and closest friend.

‘Our biggest day all year.’

She propped against the bar and shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other. Her favourite knee-high black leather boots with a two-inch block heel might look great and add to her street cred as a hip young thing running the trendiest café in Melbourne’s Docklands, but built for comfort they weren’t.

‘Every café and restaurant along this stretch was packed today. Nice to know romance is alive and well.’

Camryn refrained from wrinkling her nose in disgust at the mention of romance—just.

‘Sure, it’s great for business but, personally, I think it’s a bit lame. All pomp and show for one day when for the rest of the year those couples probably barely speak to each other.’

She’d worked Valentine’s Day for the last six years, forced to watch cosy couples mooning over each other, the intimate smiles, the hand-holding, the roses, even the occasional marriage proposal.

She’d seen it all, had been relieved to have distanced herself from all that fanciful nonsense, but it was times like now, when the café had all but emptied and the tea candles had burned low, that she couldn’t help but wish for something she’d once had on this day…a lifetime ago.

‘You’re the only woman I know who doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body.’ Anna waved a finger in front of her face and tut-tutted. ‘Maybe you should let the little fat guy with the bow fire an arrow your way for once.’

‘Not on your life.’

She’d already been stung in the butt by one of Cupid’s arrows and had the scars to prove it.

‘Besides, I’ve found my niche.’

They laughed as she picked up a black serviette with a bold fuchsia Café Niche printed on it and thrust it towards Anna. ‘See, it says so right here.’

‘And what the boss says goes. Yeah, yeah, I know.’ Anna shook her head. ‘Well, want to know what I think?’

Camryn grinned as she poured milk into a stainless-steel jug, hankering for a frothy cappuccino before wrapping things up for the night. ‘You’re going to tell me anyway, so go ahead.’

Anna smirked as she slid two cups onto saucers and readied the espresso machine.

‘I think Cupid likes a challenge, and you, my friend, are it. The ultimate romantic rebel. Wouldn’t it be a notch in his bow to get you all hot and bothered over some guy?’

‘Sooo not going to happen.’

Her mouth twitched. If her friend only knew how hot and bothered she’d once been over a guy and what had happened on this particular day. ‘Though I kind of like the thought of being a rebel. Makes me want to wear black leather to work.’

Anna raised an eyebrow and sent a pointed look at her boots. ‘You already do.’

She grimaced as she wiggled a foot. ‘Yeah, and it’s killing me.’

‘You don’t get to look as good as we do without a little pain.’

Anna cinched her belt, made entirely of interlocking silver circles, tighter around her ample waist and patted what she proudly referred to as her ‘bountiful booty’. ‘Besides, wish I could get away with wearing what you do. However, skinny jeans, clingy silk tops and knee-high boots just aren’t me.’

‘You always look great,’ Camryn said, silently agreeing the typical outfit she wore to work definitely wouldn’t flatter her vertically challenged, curvaceous friend.

‘Thanks, hon. Now, let me make the cappuccinos while you hustle the last stragglers out the door.’

Anna jerked her head in the direction of a table near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the spectacular Melbourne city night skyline. ‘It isn’t as if they’re here waiting for Cupid to strike.’

Camryn laughed as she glanced over at the two tradesmen, Dirk and Mike, who religiously frequented the café, poring over house plans spread across the table.

‘Hey, you never know. Maybe they’re planning on building their dream home?’

Anna quirked an eyebrow as both heads turned in sync as a blonde in a mini skirt walked past outside. ‘Uh, I don’t think so. Now, shoo! Give them a delicate shove out the door so we can put our feet up and get a decent caffeine hit before we lock up.’

‘Actually, the guys have organised a project manager to meet me here tonight to discuss the renovations on my apartment, so I’ll have to wait around till he arrives. Why don’t we skip the coffee and you head home? I’ll lock up.’

‘Sure thing, boss.’ Anna sent her a mock salute and grinned. ‘Want me to turn down the lights to discourage other customers from dropping in? And flick the sign on the door?’

‘I’ll do it. Thanks, have a good night.’

As Camryn walked the length of the bar to the power box, she glanced at her watch, hoping the project manager would arrive soon. She needed the renovations done asap, and all the other builders she’d tried had fobbed her off with ‘I’m too busy’ lines or tried to rip her off because she was a woman.

And she hated that. She hadn’t got where she was today without being strong and independent and focused on her goals, something chauvinistic guys just didn’t understand.

Flicking two switches to dim the lights, she had her finger poised over a third when a man pushed through the front door.

‘Great. He’s finally here,’ she thought as she flicked the last switch and picked up the set of hefty keys to lock up, eager to get this meeting underway.

However, as she neared the door, the keys crashed to the floor, along with her hopes for a productive consultation, her heart stopping when she got a closer look at the man who’d just entered.

Scruffy, wind-tossed, ultra casual.

Faded denim, soft grey T-shirt, worn leather work boots.

Stubble shadows, laugh-lines around grey eyes, slight dimples bracketing a mouth made for smiling.

A mouth that was smiling at her, a wide, genuine smile filled with warmth, a smile that packed a punch, a smile she could never forget no matter how hard she tried.

And she’d tried. She’d tried for six long, lonely years, yet the minute Blane Andrews strolled in and smiled that all-too-familiar smile, she was instantly transported back in time.

To the first time she’d seen that smile, on Valentine’s Day, as fate would have it, to a time when that smile rarely left his face, when he’d lavished her with attention, when they’d been crazy for each other.

Seeing him again after all these years was like being sucked into a vortex of swirling memories of love and laughter and sunshine on a hot summer’s day beside a lazy, meandering creek.

Of sharing hot dogs perched on the back of his rusty old Ford, watching the sun set, wiping ketchup off each other with smiles on their faces and love in their hearts.

Of taking long slow walks hand in hand in the shade of towering eucalypts, oblivious to the bush beauty, focused solely on each other.

Of cuddling and kissing and floating on air, lost in the exquisite, heady perfection of first love.

Oh, yeah, falling for Blane had been a whirlwind of exhilarating highs, before being spit out the other side, left with nothing but pain and loss and devastation.

He’d ripped her heart out, and she never wanted to feel that way again.

Ever.

‘Everything okay, Cam?’

‘You mean right now or are you asking how I’ve been the last six years?’

Trying not to show how rattled she was by his reappearance and the abbreviated form of her name only he had ever called her, she bent to pick up the keys at the same time he did, their fingers brushing, hers tingling, his long and warm and heartrendingly familiar.

She jerked back, straightening too quickly, and his hand shot out to steady her elbow, the barest of touches enough to give her dormant hormones a jolt.

‘Both.’

He scanned her face as if looking for answers, those slate-grey eyes as frank and warm as they’d always been, beautiful, honest eyes that said trust me.

Foolishly, she’d once complied.

‘I’m fine.’

A big, fat lie if ever she heard one. How could she be fine when the love of her life, the man who’d walked out on her without an explanation, came waltzing in here on the anniversary of the day she’d first handed him her heart? Only to have it carved up three months later.

‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted, sliding the key ring from index finger to index finger, the jangle as the keys clinked and clanked against one another deafening in the growing silence.

‘I came to see you.’

Her heart thudded at the sincerity in his eyes.

He was telling the truth.

She may not have seen him for six years but she’d never forget the way she could always read his moods by the blue flecks in his eyes.

Indigo indicated happiness—the kind of intense, spontaneous happiness they’d had for twelve all-too-brief weeks.

Cobalt indicated honesty—she’d believed him when he’d said she was the only girl for him, that they’d always be together, that he’d love her for ever.

Deep smoky-gentian meant passion—the mind-blowing, unforgettable, once-in-a-lifetime connection they’d shared.

Oh, yeah, she could remember each and every shade of those flecks, had lost herself in those grey depths for three blissful months. Until he’d walked away.

So what if those flecks glowed cobalt now? Did his honesty count for anything when he hadn’t been able to face her with the truth before leaving?

Hating the surge of emotion making her tummy gripe, she stepped back, forcing him to release his hold on her elbow and instantly missing the contact.

Irrational, stupid and crazy, but her body had softened under his touch, had leaned towards him, recognising on some subconscious level the one guy to ever know her intimately. And by the strange heat seeping through her muscles, her traitorous body was rejoicing despite the hard-learned lesson that he couldn’t be trusted.

‘You came to see me? Well, here I am. Now that you’ve seen me, why don’t you leave?’

He smiled, and she struggled not to gasp at the impact, her pulse doing a familiar tango through her veins.

‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’

‘Could’ve fooled me,’ she snapped, mentally clapping one hand over her mouth while slapping herself upside the head with the other.

An emotional outburst like that would suggest she still cared—which she didn’t, she couldn’t—and the last thing she needed was him hanging around trying to rehash the past.

To her chagrin he laughed, a rich, natural sound that warmed her better than any cappuccino she’d ever drunk. And she’d drunk the equivalent of a year’s supply of Brazil beans after he’d left, to recapture half the heat he used to make her feel.

‘Guess I deserved that.’

‘And the rest.’

The laugh-lines around his eyes deepened. ‘Go ahead. Get it all out of your system.’

‘Don’t tempt me.’

She toyed with the keys, torn between the urge to take him up on his offer and tell him how heartbroken she’d been, how she’d searched for him for a year, how she hadn’t let another guy close because of him and the emotional fallout from their intense relationship—and booting him out the door and never giving him another thought.

‘Cam, I know you don’t want to kick me out.’

Great, he could still read her mind, could hone in on how she was feeling, and there was something about the way he looked at her, as if he could see right down to her soul and knew better than she did that the last thing she wanted to do was kick him out.

For as much as she wanted him to walk right back out that door and never come back—he was good at that—a huge part of her clamoured to know where he’d been, what he’d been doing and why he’d ripped their perfect world apart.

‘You don’t know what I want anymore,’ she said, hating the flare of hurt in his eyes and how much her heart ached in response.

‘I’d like to.’

His intent was clear, and she inhaled sharply, his poignantly familiar, fresh outdoorsy scent reminiscent of crushed cedar leaves in a spring shower, the tantalising trace filling her nose, her lungs, making her want to lean into the soft, sensitive spot under his jaw and nuzzle him as she used to.

Ignoring the incredible yearning to do just that, she rattled the keys.

‘I’m closing up.’

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at the lights she’d dimmed. ‘I can see that, but we really need to talk.’

‘Actually, we don’t.’

Because if she let him talk, let him explain why he’d run out on her all those years ago, she’d be compelled to relive the pain, and there was no way she’d go through that heart-break again.

She’d built a new life in the years since he’d split, a better life, an independent life where she didn’t need anything or anyone, and she’d like to keep it that way.

Leaning forward, he touched her cheek, the calluses on his finger-pads rasping against her skin and sending a tiny shiver of longing through her.

She remembered all too well how those work-roughened hands felt caressing her body, how gentle yet arousing they could be. How they used to circle her waist, lift her up and spin her around till she was dizzy with the motion and the sheer joy of being with him. How strong and sure they’d been, stroking her that very first time, initiating her into pleasures she’d only ever dreamed about.

‘I won’t take no for an answer.’

His fingertips lingered an exquisite moment longer before he dropped his hand.

Shaking her head, she bit back the urge to laugh. There was nothing remotely funny about having the man she’d once loved badger her after all this time, but the young, impulsive guy she’d known back then had never been this determined, this stubborn.

‘One coffee then you’re out of here. Take it or leave it.’

‘I’ll take it.’

‘Fine. Choose your poison and make it snappy.’

He grinned as he rocked back on his heels, hands thrust into pockets, confident he’d wear her down.

As if.

‘You sure have a way with customers.’

‘You’re not a customer, you’re my…’ She trailed off, not wanting to go there. She’d shut the door on the past, why open it and risk the future she’d worked so hard to build?

‘Go on, say it. I’m your?’

‘You know,’ she bit out, sending him a withering glare that made little impact if his widening grin was any indication. ‘You better order that coffee before I renege and bundle you out of here right this very minute.’

He chuckled, and rather than it riling her, she could barely clamp down on the urge to join in.

He’d always done this: made her laugh, made her see the lighter side of any situation—a genuine glass-half-full kind of guy. She’d loved that about him. She’d loved many things about him, which had made it all the harder to get over him.

Gritting her teeth, she prompted again, ‘Coffee?’

‘The usual, please.’

‘Coming right up.’

She swivelled on her heel, realising her mistake a second too late. Now he’d know she remembered how he preferred his coffee. Not a great start to showing him how she’d got over him.

The gentle hand on her shoulder pulled her up, her body’s reaction to his innocuous touch totally flummoxing.

‘Cam, I just want to say hello to some guys I know, and I’ll be back in a moment.’

Amusement sparked in the depths of his grey eyes, as if he were privy to some private joke, before he dropped his hand and turned away, leaving her flustered, confused and staring at a very fine butt.

Hearing him call her Cam resurrected memories of the way he’d breezed into Rainbow Creek one sunny Saturday morning, strolled into her parents’ coffee shop, took one look at her name badge and said, ‘I’ll have an espresso, please, Cam’ with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his boyish face.

She’d been a goner, instantly falling head over heels for the laid-back, nomadic builder who’d taken a piece of her heart along with a huge chunk of her pride when he’d left.

As for that butt…tight, firm, filling out the seat of his worn denim very nicely, thank you very much…oh, no, she wouldn’t dwell on how long it had been since she’d admired it, gripped it…

‘No, no, no,’ she muttered, grabbing the end of her French braid and fiddling with the elastic, hoping her plait hadn’t unravelled along with her common sense.

Valentine’s Day had really got to her, and, calling the chubby cherub some rather nasty names under her breath, she marched across the café and slid behind the bar.

One espresso, extra-strong, two sugars, and laid-back Blane with the twinkly eyes and charming smile could take his sexy butt and hightail it out of here, leaving her to do what she did best: run the best damn café in Melbourne.

‘Hey, how’re the plans coming along?’

Blane slid into a chair next to the two guys who were helping him turn his dream into a reality.

An adjunct to his dream, he thought, as his glance flicked to the bar, drawn to the sassy brunette paying an inordinate amount of attention to the espresso machine.

She’d changed so much.

Her short spikes had gone, replaced by a long plait hanging halfway down her back, the three ear studs were down to one, and the lean body he remembered all too well had morphed into curves. Eye-catching, gorgeous curves he couldn’t take his eyes off.

Though the biggest change was her personality. Gone was the impressionable, spontaneous girl he’d known and loved and in her place, a blunt, confident woman who had no qualms about declaring how unwelcome he was.

Not that he expected any less. For what he’d put them both through he deserved it.

But there hadn’t been a choice, and, glancing around the café, her dream a reality, and back to her deftly making his coffee just the way he liked it, he knew he’d done the right thing.

Besides, she might act as if he was as welcome as a cockroach at her café, but there’d been something about the way her brown eyes had sparked when she’d seen him, the way she’d reacted to his touch…it had given him hope.

‘See for yourself.’ Dirk, the cabinetmaker, pushed the plans across to him. ‘The architect’s made changes to the guest bedrooms, as you requested, and we’ve run with the new specifications. What do you think?’

He studied the tiny straight lines, the numbered annotations, and ruffled the hair at his nape, a habit he’d acquired while labouring over countless financial reports during the years it had taken BA Constructions to become a rival of the biggest guns in Australia’s building industry.

‘Looks okay to me.’

The pungent aroma of freshly brewed coffee, strong and bittersweet, drew his attention away from the plans and back to the bar where Cam was placing a steaming cup on a saucer.

He studied her with the same focus he’d shown for the plans, noting the tendrils escaping her plait, curling in defiance around her heart-shaped face, the high cheekbones, the mouth a tad on the full side to be strictly beautiful.

His gaze drifted lower to a funky, bright top whose colour defied logic but blended perfectly with the colour scheme of the place—all bright pinks and blues and golds—to the hint of cleavage which resurrected memories of how she’d felt in his hands, the sounds she’d made the first time he’d touched her…

A short, shrill whistle interrupted his journey down erotic lane, and his gaze snapped up to meet hers—questioning, daring, challenging, as if she’d caught him checking her out and was calling him on it—as she crooked a finger at him and pointed to the steaming espresso on the bar.

‘I told you Cam’s great. Serves the best coffee this side of the Yarra. Mike and I always come here for meetings.’

‘So you said.’

Blane couldn’t thank Dirk enough for letting slip this vital bit of information when he’d arrived in Melbourne a week ago. He’d barely begun his search for her when he’d found her, and, now that he had, he had no intention of letting her slip away.

As for the guys telling him she needed a project manager for renovations on her apartment, it had been a stroke of pure luck.

He’d been hell-bent on barging in here the minute he’d discovered her whereabouts, but once he’d discovered that particular titbit of information, he’d bided his time over the week, knowing she’d be more responsive to him on a professional rather than personal level.

Not that he intended to keep the status quo that way for long.

‘Back in a sec.’

Pushing his chair back, he headed for the bar, deliberately slowing his stride when in fact he felt like sprinting. In all honesty, if she whistled and crooked her finger at him again with that ‘come and get it’ look in her eye, he’d probably do a mean pole-vaulting impression over the bar, too.

‘Here you go. One extra-snappy espresso.’

She pushed the cup towards him, the saucer sliding across the squeaky-clean steel bar.

‘You only made it snappy so you can get rid of me.’

Her wry smile did little to detract from the cheeky gleam in her eyes. ‘Well, looks like you haven’t lost your mind-reading abilities.’

‘I guess not. Care to test me out?’

She shook her head and laughed, the familiar low chuckles sending warmth spiralling through him. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s going through my head right now.’

‘Says who?’

The laughter died on her glossed lips, the same startling shade as her top, as she inched his coffee towards him with a decisive push of her finger.

‘Drink up. The clock’s ticking.’

Taking a gamble, he ignored the coffee, placed his index fingers against his temples and narrowed his eyes. ‘Let me see…you’re thinking how tired you are after working hard all day. You’re thinking you can’t wait to get out of here.’

She quirked an eyebrow and slow-clapped. ‘Amazing. You should add a bit of crossing-over stuff to your repertoire, too.’

‘I also see some cynical thoughts about me whizzing through your head. You don’t want to hear what I have to say. You don’t want to revisit the past. But maybe you’re too scared to face how good we were together. And how we could have that again, given half a chance.’

Her finger convulsed on the edge of his saucer. ‘Drink up. Then please leave.’

If she pushed the coffee any closer to him it would tip off the bar and splatter on his boots, and, reaching across he stilled her hand, vindicated by the slight tremor under his fingers, the flare of awareness in her eyes.

Cam might act as if she didn’t give a flying fig about him anymore, but he knew better.

He’d seen it when she’d unconsciously leaned towards him a few minutes ago, he saw it now as her tongue darted out to moisten her full bottom lip, the ache to do the same almost visceral.

She’d always done that cute little tongue thing when nervous, like the first time he’d taken her kayaking down Rainbow Creek, the first time she’d tried trail-bike riding, arms clutched around his waist and hanging on for dear life, the first time she’d tried oysters au naturel at his coaxing, the first time they’d made love…

The memories flickered across his mind in crystal-clear clarity, sending a shard of pain stabbing at his gut, filling him with bittersweet regret.

He’d walked away from the best thing to happen to him, and, while he might not have had a choice back then, he sure had one now, and there was no way he’d let her go again.

‘Not till we talk.’

Her chin tilted up in defiance as she snatched her hand out from under his and took a step back to distance herself from him. ‘I suppose you’re really not going to leave me alone till I agree?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Still as stubborn as ever,’ she muttered with a shake of her head.

‘Good to see you remember so many things about me.’

His gaze dropped to the espresso in front of him, extra-strong black, just the way he liked it.

She shrugged, but not before he’d seen an answering gleam as if she remembered plenty.

‘My mind has a habit of storing useless information. Don’t take it personally.’

‘I won’t.’

He grinned, noticing an immediate softening around her mouth. She wanted to smile back, he could tell. They’d always been like this: he trying to charm her, she trying her utmost to pretend it wasn’t working before giving in.

‘How about we have this chat over a death by chocolate next door after you lock up?’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You like the Chocolate Toad?’

‘What’s not to like? Great chocolate and a big, happy, green guy looking down on us while we talk.’

He leaned forward and crooked his finger at her, pleased when she met him halfway. ‘You’re not the only one who remembers things, you know. I bet chocolate is still your staple food.’

Camryn couldn’t move.

She wanted to. Oh, yes, she wanted to run away as fast as her boots would carry her, far from this man and the power he had over her.

After all she’d been through, after the pain of losing him, she should turn around right this very minute and walk away without a backward glance.

So why was she standing here, mesmerised by the twinkle in his eyes, captivated by his sense of humour, with the word ‘yes’ hovering on her lips?

‘Come on. A girl deserves a good death by chocolate after a hard day’s work. And I really think it’s important you hear what I have to say.’

He leaned forward until their faces were inches apart, his clean, woodsy smell, as natural and outdoorsy as the rest of him, flooding her senses, tempting her to do crazy things as he had all those years ago. ‘You know you want to.’

‘Yes,’ she breathed on a sigh, caught by his powers of persuasion and something more, something scary and indefinable. A soul-deep attraction to a man who set off sparks by simply tilting his head in acknowledgement had made her lose her mind and accept his invitation when nothing he could say would make up for what he’d done to her six years earlier.

‘Great.’

He straightened, breaking the intimate spell woven around them. ‘In that case I better bolt this coffee down, finish up my business and wait for you to close up.’

Business! She snapped her fingers, wondering how she could have forgotten her proposed meeting with the project manager.

‘Actually, I’ve just remembered I’m meeting a project manager about some renovations I’m doing.’

‘Best in the building industry, so I’ve been told.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You obviously know Dirk and Mike, but I’m surprised the guys have been discussing my plans with you.’

His smile widened, his eyes twinkled, and her heart sank as realisation dawned.

‘Why wouldn’t they? I’m the best project manager around. Ask anybody.’

His reappearance must have really thrown her if she’d missed the connection between him turning up here, knowing the guys and her scheduled meeting. Talk about slow on the uptake, but, somehow, she didn’t care a toss about anything but how let down she felt.

He’d said he’d come here to see her but it was obviously for business reasons. And of course he’d have to mention their shared past, smooth the way if she were to hire him. She’d been such a fool. Again.

‘I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. Just for the record, I came here to see you, to talk to you. As for you needing a project manager, that was my trump card if you’d tried to boot me out the door the minute I set foot in here.’

There he went again, reading her so easily, and she quickly slid an impassive mask into place, knowing it was too late.

Okay, so he wasn’t just here on business, but that didn’t change facts: she’d loved him, he’d walked out on her, and there wasn’t one damn thing he could say to change that.

‘Come on, Cam. Catching up can’t hurt. And if I can help out with your renovations, all the better.’

She still had time to fob him off, to come to her senses, to give him some feeble excuse why she’d rather pick up a sledge hammer and bang the walls down herself than have him involved in her renovations.

But that was the coward’s way out, and if she’d learned anything since she’d arrived in Melbourne as a naïve nineteen-year-old ready to take on the world while mending a broken heart, it was to face things head on.

Besides, she needed the renovations completed sooner rather than later or she’d lose out on the chance at expansion into the apartment next to hers. She’d lived in what she affectionately termed her ‘shoebox’ since she’d opened the café, pouring all her funds into making the Niche great. But with the café doing better and the opportunity to enlarge her living space, she had to strike now. However, she’d been given the run around and time was running out.

She needed his skills asap, and, now he was here, she should at least hear what he had to say—regarding business only, that was.

With a resigned sigh, she glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll meet you next door in forty-five minutes,’ she said, half hoping he’d renege once he heard how long he’d have to wait. The other half of her was already doing a mental scrummage through her handbag for lipgloss, pressed powder compact, brush and hair serum, essentials she’d need to make herself halfway presentable for their date.

Date?

Business or otherwise, she’d agreed to go on a date.

With Blane Andrews, the guy who’d left her with a broken heart without a backward glance.

Was she nuts?

‘Forty-five minutes it is.’

He lifted his coffee cup towards her in a toasting action before strolling away, his even-paced strides achingly familiar. Blane in all his laid-back glory never hurried anywhere.

Unless she counted how fast he’d run out on her.

Wincing at the memory, she got busy with the day’s takings, did a final check for tomorrow’s bookings, determinedly avoiding looking at the table where the occasional low rumble of laughter emanated from.

She focused on the booking diary and accompanying table sketches, running her finger down the list of names, matching them to the table numbers, but the figures blurred and danced the harder she stared at them, and, finally relenting, she allowed her gaze to drift upwards.

Either Blane had been staring at her all along or he was doing his mind-reading trick again, for the second she looked up their gazes locked and held, an unexpected rush of heat flooding her body, making her tummy quiver and her legs tremble so hard she had to grip onto the bar for support.

He smiled, a slow, sensual upward curving of his lips, a smile designed solely for her, a smile that was temptation personified.

She didn’t stand a chance.

No matter how often she told herself this was just a quick catch-up supper while they discussed business, no matter how hard she tried to believe she wasn’t doing this because she was curious to hear his excuse for what he’d done, no matter how much she wanted to turn him away, to hurt him as he’d hurt her six years ago, she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Blane Andrews, in all his tempting glory, still intrigued her enough to sit down over her favourite dessert after all this time…with her husband.

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHAT? You’ve seen me eat chocolate before.’

‘Not with such gusto. It’s cute.’

Camryn waved her fork in the air, enjoying this way too much. Not just the death by chocolate sampler platter, which was to die for, but the easy-going camaraderie that had sprung up between her and Blane with little effort.

She’d been determined to discuss business, scoff down her chocolate and bolt out the door. Instead, they’d made desultory small talk over hot mochas, loosened up through sensational almond biscotti and were presently at the comfortable ‘let’s sit back, relax and avoid any potential minefields’ stage.

‘So what you’re really saying is I’m a pig.’

He shook his head and dug his fork into a massive wedge of mud cake. ‘You’re trying to get me into trouble.’

‘Am I?’

She sent him her best innocent smile and forked another mouth-watering, melt-on-her-tongue, divine piece of chocorange mousse cake into her mouth.

‘Oh, yeah.’

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and, rather than being disconcerted, she was enjoying the attention way too much.

‘From where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re already in trouble.’

Big trouble, the kind of trouble that couldn’t be explained away no matter how hard he tried or what he said.

Yet the longer she sat here, more relaxed than she’d been in ages, she couldn’t summon up the animosity his actions of six years ago deserved.

Shoving more cake into her mouth, she flicked her tongue out to catch a crumb clinging to her top lip, the spark of excitement in his eyes as they riveted to her mouth sending heat streaking through her body in a way she hadn’t experienced since…for ever.

After a long, loaded moment he blinked, his eyes crinkling with the smile never far from his face.

‘Look, I know you want to talk about your renovations and that’s probably the only reason you agreed to meet me here, and I promise you we will talk business later, but now I’ve buttered you up with your favourite food, I want to tell you what this is all about.’

Just like that, the smooth chocolate mousse solidified into an indigestible lump in her stomach.

What was she doing, play-acting as if everything was fine and she was on some kind of date?

Blane was her husband.

Who she hadn’t seen in six long years.

She should be grilling him, not noticing the sexy new grooves bracketing his mouth, the laugh-lines that had multiplied around those striking eyes, and his penchant for rubbing the back of his neck when she put him on the spot.

‘If you’ve softened me up with chocolate, what you have to say must be pretty bad.’

It had better be, for she’d accept nothing less than a catastrophe on the scale of Melbourne City Council shutting down every café in the Docklands as an excuse for what he’d done to her.

He held his hand out, and it wavered in a so-so gesture. ‘Considering I’ve spent the last six years thinking about you, wondering if I did the right thing, wishing there’d been some other way, I don’t think it’s all bad.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

She sat back and folded her arms, resisting the urge to hug them around her middle for what scant comfort she could get.

His smile faded, and, crazily, irrationally, she missed it. He’d rarely been serious when they’d first met, making her laugh every chance he’d got, and it looked as if nothing had changed. Ever since he’d waltzed into the café a few hours ago he’d been smiling, which explained why she could barely think straight.

His smile had been her undoing in the past—that and his boyish charm, his sensitivity, his warmth, his passion…

Gulping a healthy lungful of air to ease the pain in her chest, she tried to focus before she did something crazy—like tell him it didn’t matter where he’d been or why as long as he’d come back.

‘Go ahead, tell me. Give it to me straight, I’m a big girl, I can take it.’

Regret clouded his eyes as he reached across and held out his hand, silently imploring her to take it. But she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to remain detached long enough to hear him out and put an end to this unwise evening.

‘I need you to understand why I left.’

‘So you can ease your conscience?’

He withdrew his hand, folding his arms in a posture mirroring hers, sadness ageing him beyond his twenty-seven years.

‘This isn’t about making me feel better.’

‘Then what’s it about?’

He pinned her with a direct stare, his eyes steely pewter in the soft candlelight from a corny red-heart tea-light burning low in the centre of the table.

‘Us.’

Camryn swallowed the lump of emotion lodged in her throat. How could one tiny word hold so much pain, so many memories?

Us.

Cam and Blane against the world.

Young, impetuous, with the world at their feet, dreams to follow, places to be. Fun to be had, life to be lived to the fullest, the two of them egging each other on, the exhilarating surge of love a maelstrom that propelled them straight into marriage before they could catch their breath.

Whether sharing a quiet cappuccino at the end of a working day, streaking towards the creek to see who’d jump in first, or hiking to the top of nearby Rainbow Mountain for some private canoodling time or dashing after the first daisy he’d plucked for her as it swirled away on a warm summer’s breeze, it had been the two of them, laughing so hard they could barely catch their breath, loving so fiercely and vividly and profoundly.

It had been like that right from the very beginning, the impetuous, precipitous, thrilling rush of loving this man.

The breathtaking high of being a couple ready to take on the world together, to the lowest of lows as she’d plummeted into the depths of despair when he’d left.

Blinking to stave off the sting of tears, she focused on a single crumb lying rather pathetically in her lap, all on its own. Just like her.

Great. Now she was comparing herself to cake crumbs.

This wasn’t a good idea. She needed to get out of here before she broke down in front of him, showing him exactly how much he still affected her.

He must have anticipated her urge to bolt because he rushed on. ‘Those three months in Rainbow Creek were the best of my life. You were the best thing to ever happen to me.’

Her gaze snapped up to his, harsh and accusatory. ‘Then why did you leave?’

He had the grace to look aggrieved. ‘Because we were too young. Because we would’ve changed and grown apart. Because I wondered if you really loved me or were using me as an escape route out of town and a way to rebel against your parents. But mostly because you would’ve put your dreams on hold for mine and I couldn’t live with that. You deserved better.’

‘What?’

She shook her head, trying to clear it.

She could have sworn he’d just said he’d left because of her, as if he’d been doing her some great favour. Of all the lousy, stupid excuses…

‘You left because of me?’

Her blood boiled, and she slammed her hands palm down on the table. Bad move. It gave him the opportunity to reach out and cover one of her hands with his, his soothing touch too warm, too comfortable.

But she didn’t shrug him off. She couldn’t, because somehow with that one touch he’d broken something inside her, some inner reserve of animosity she’d been harbouring against him ever since he’d walked out of Rainbow Creek.

And she didn’t want to resent him or be bitter or harbour any grudges. She wanted a real, honest-to-goodness explanation, a reason that would finally set her free so she could move on.

‘Cam, look at me.’

He squeezed her hand gently and she gnawed on her bottom lip, blinking furiously.

She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She couldn’t, for she had a feeling once the flood gates opened she’d cry enough tears to fill Port Phillip Bay.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes to meet his, her heart clenching at the sincerity blazing in his.

‘I was selfish in marrying you. I wanted you so badly I was blinded to anything else. You were only nineteen, for goodness’ sake, and had spent your whole life in that small town. I took advantage of you.’

He rubbed his free hand over his face but it did little to wipe the anguish off his face. ‘We were practically kids. And eloping? Blowing off your parents? Going against their wishes? What were we thinking?’

‘I married you because I wanted to,’ she said, her voice tremulous, and she swallowed several times to stop it cracking completely. ‘You were my world.’

Pain, deep and irreversible, flickered in his eyes, turning them stormy pewter as he gripped onto her hand as if he’d never let go.

‘Same here, sweetheart, same here. But you wanted to follow me, hit the road to goodness knows where while I scrounged for work, when you had your own dreams to follow.’

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the café next door. ‘There’s your dream right there. You wanted to live in the big city and run your own place; you’ve done it. And that’s great. You couldn’t have done that if you’d traipsed around with me to the ends of the earth and back. I couldn’t let you do it.’

Something niggled in the back of her mind, something about her parents, but she ignored it for now, needing to concentrate long enough to make sense of what he’d just said, to absorb the emotional impact of it all.

For there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Blane meant every word he said, that he truly believed he’d done the right thing.

But at what cost? Her heart? The wonderful life they could have had together?

‘You couldn’t let me?’

She shook her head, hoping she could get through this without dissolving into a teary mess.

‘It was my choice to make. Mine, not yours. At the very least we should’ve discussed it…’ She trailed off as a light bulb flashed in her mind, illuminating what she’d been trying to put her finger on a few moments ago. ‘How did you know I was going against my parents’ wishes? They never spoke to you about what they wanted. You didn’t even see them the week after we eloped.’

Guilt clouded the strong, rugged features she’d once loved with all her heart, and her hand shook with the effort not to reach out and smooth the indentation from between his brows.

‘I went to see them after we eloped to try and explain how we really felt about each other, how I’d never try and come between you and them.’

‘Bet that went down a treat,’ she muttered, struck by the irony of the situation. In leaving town, he’d catapulted her into a life-changing confrontation with her parents, resulting in an estrangement she couldn’t breach.

‘They gave it to me straight, and I knew then I couldn’t put my needs ahead of yours. It wasn’t right or fair. And they were right about one thing: I had nothing to offer you. You had a comfortable life there, a way of building a financial future before following your own dreams, and I couldn’t take that away from you.’

A harsh snort burst from deep within, and she took advantage of his momentary surprise to ease her hand out from under his. She had to before she turned hers palm up and hung on for dear life.

‘Funnily enough, you leaving ended up being the catalyst in me running from Rainbow Creek as fast I could.’

Shock widened his pupils. ‘Why?’

Camryn took a sip of water, instantly transported back to that day in her parents’ kitchen: the tantrum, the accusations, and the god-awful truth.

‘I lost it. Blew up at them big time. Mum lost it, too, we started arguing, then she hurls in my face this was the very reason she was keeping Nan’s inheritance from me till I turned twenty-one.’

She slugged the rest of the water, hoping to wash away the bitter taste of her parents’ deception, lingering to this day.

‘Turns out I could’ve had the money when I reached eighteen. Imagine how different our—my life could’ve been.’

And that was what rankled the most. If she’d had the money when she’d been entitled, maybe they would still be together. He wouldn’t have had to scrape by from job to job, town to town; they could have had a healthy start to their marriage with enough capital to do whatever they wanted.

But her parents had robbed her of that opportunity, had stolen the kind of life she and Blane had talked about while lying under the stars beside the river in Rainbow Creek, two young lovers daring to dream.

And she’d never forgive them for that.

‘I’m sorry.’

He reached out and touched her cheek, a soft, comforting gesture, all too fleeting when he withdrew his hand. ‘For everything.’

Tears scalded the back of her eyes, hot, burning tears that threatened to spill out and run down her cheeks in a cascading waterfall.

Shaking her head, she used her hair as a shield, grateful she’d had the common sense to release it from its plait.

It didn’t work, as he reached forward and gently tucked a few curly strands behind her left ear.

‘I know this has been tough, listening to all this heavy stuff. But we had to have this conversation, Cam. It’s the only way we can move forward.’

Her gaze snapped to his, her belly tumbling into a sickening free-for-all as she registered what he meant.

Moving forward.

He’d met someone.

Someone important enough for him to hunt her down, soften her up with his sob story, then demand a divorce?

As if sensing her distress, he cupped her chin and leaned forward, his face scant inches from hers.

‘I really want to move forward. With you.’

Her angst dissipated in an instant, dissolving on a wave of such intense longing she could have quite happily flung herself into his arms across the table and never let go.

Before her common sense kicked in. What was she thinking, considering taking another chance on a guy like Blane?

Sure, his reasons for leaving sounded sincere, and a small part of her agreed they’d probably been too young, too crazy in eloping, but going down that road again after all this time? He’d also been right about the fact they’d both changed and they had grown apart—thanks to him.

‘I can’t.’

Hurt flickered in his eyes, the smoky-blue flecks shimmering, and she reached out to touch his cheek before she could stop herself.

She’d meant her touch to be innocuous, a brief touch on his cheek to prove a point. However, she hadn’t banked on the urge to linger, the tiny prickles of whisker beckoning her to explore, to trace the contours of his cheek with her fingertips ever-so-slowly just as she used to.

Nor had she counted on him capturing her hand, gently scraping her fingers across his cheek, as if trying to imprint the feel of him into her palm.

‘You sure about that?’

She jerked back, withdrawing her hand with the finesse of a wounded rhino, ignoring the questioning gleam in his steady gaze.

‘Because, the way I see it, we’re still married. We still have chemistry, and you still care as much as I do, otherwise why agree to meet me here?’

She’d been asking herself the very same question since she’d agreed to this foolhardy evening.

‘Because you wanted a chance to explain, and I’m a decent enough person to give it to you. But that’s as far as it goes.’

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling into that devastating smile he used to his advantage. What hope did a girl have?

‘Sorry. I’m not buying it.’

‘Fine. You want to know the truth? I said yes because I’ve wasted enough time looking for you, and now that you’re here it’s a good opportunity to get divorced and move on.’

He should have bristled, or been angry, or defensive, or…something!

Instead, he sat back, looking way too relaxed for a guy who was just about to go through what for most people was a major life-changing event. Apparently divorce ranked right up there with death of a spouse and moving house; considering she’d already been through both those cataclysmic events six years ago—losing Blane had been akin to him dying in the devastation stakes—she knew firsthand how rough it could be.

‘You looked for me?’

No acknowledgement of what she’d said about the divorce, just a hint of curiosity as he leaned forward and placed his arms on the table.

He had strong forearms, lean yet muscular, with a light sprinkling of dark hair, forearms she’d trailed her fingers over when she’d explored his body for the first time, forearms that had lifted her up and swung her around after they’d married, forearms that had cradled her close on their honeymoon night spent in a dingy motel on the outskirts of Echuca.

It had been all they could afford, but it hadn’t mattered. Not the annoying neon sign that flashed on some crazy cycle, not the sagging mattress, not the grungy brown carpet in their room. All of it had faded into oblivion when they’d fallen into each other’s arms for the first time as man and wife.

It was a lifetime ago, in her past, so why was she suddenly all too aware of the underlying buzz of electricity still flowing between them?

‘Yeah, I looked for you, for about a year. You know, to serve you divorce papers.’

‘Only a year, huh?’

Once again he ignored the D word hanging between them, and strangely enough it didn’t seem all that important anymore with his steady grey-eyed gaze fixed on her, her skin tingling as if he’d physically touched her.

She made a frantic grab at her plait before belatedly remembering she’d let her hair down—metaphorically only, she hoped!

‘I like your hair better this way.’

Before she could blink, he’d reached out and captured a strand of her hair, gently twirling it around his index finger, forming a loose curl before releasing it, his fingertips brushing her shoulder as he sat back, a wistful expression on his face.

Clamping down the urge to yank his hands across the table and shove them through her hair, she shrugged, trying to ignore her burning, yearning skin where he’d briefly touched her.

‘Having long hair in the hospitality industry is impractical. I have to wear it tied back all the time.’

‘As long as you get to let it down once in a while.’

Was he asking if she had a social life, if she’d dated?

Hmm…if she counted the catch-up coffee with Lars the Lech and the dinner from hell with Deon the Drag, yeah, she’d dated. Twice in six years, two times too many, for neither of those guys had been Blane, neither had come close to sparking her interest as the man sitting across from her did.

‘I’m a self-confessed workaholic. I want the café to be the best, and to do that I need to put in the hard yards.’

‘Work isn’t everything.’

Camryn couldn’t explain the sudden change in atmosphere. One minute he was laid-back and laughing at her, the next he’d tensed up, from his bunched shoulders to his folded arms.

She topped up her water glass from the funky red glass bottle in the middle of the table, making a mental note to look for something similar for the Niche.

‘It is for me.’

He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, and it was the first time she’d seen him look anything but relaxed all evening.

‘I guess I’m trying to find out if there’s anyone else in the picture.’

The smart thing to do would be to fob him off, maybe even tell a little white lie to cement their estrangement and obtain the divorce she should have got years ago.

Instead, she stalled for time, forking the last piece of cake into her mouth and sighing as the chocolate mousse melted on her tongue, releasing a citrus burst in tart contrast to the luscious sweetness.

‘Come on, Cam, it’s a simple question.’

‘There’s no one else.’

She cleared her throat, blaming her husky tone on a stray cake crumb rather than the sick thought that he’d probably dated—and extensively. ‘What about you?’

Not that it was any of her business. Not that it mattered. She was just curious…

He unfolded his arms to lean forward and place them on the table, way too close to hers, lowering his tone to match hers.

‘There’s been no one else for me, only you. It’s always been you,’ he murmured, sliding his hand to cover hers, his calloused palm rasping across her delicate skin and sending shivers shooting up her arm.

His heartrending statement hung in the air as waiters bustled around them, cake plates were whisked from kitchen to table, and the steady buzz of patrons filled the air along with the sound of muted jazz.

He leaned closer, his forearm brushing hers again, and she clenched her teeth to refrain from sighing with longing.

‘Look, you know I’m a stand-up guy, and I’m too old to play games, so I’ll give it to you straight. I want us to get to know each other again. Take our time. It can be dinner, a movie, another coffee, whatever. The ball’s in your court.’

She sat there, transfixed by the sincerity in his tone, by his guileless grey eyes, by the tiny spark of electricity arcing from his forearm to hers.

Was he for real?

Did he want to give them a second chance?

Or was this just one of those times where he was passing through Melbourne, found himself single, and thought he’d look up a former flame for old time’s sake?

She might be the ultimate city girl these days with the street savvy to match, but it was times like this she wondered if shy Cammie from Rainbow Creek came out to play, filling her with insecurities and doubts and self-recrimination.

A huge part of her wanted to shout yes to getting reacquainted, though she wasn’t that naïve. She may be singing the divorce tune, but spending even the shortest amount of time in Blane’s company in years had her hormones sitting up, taking notice, and screaming ‘take me, I’m still all yours’.

She’d never experienced with anyone else the kind of ‘in your face’ physical attraction they had, the kind that made her body go into meltdown with the slightest touch, the kind that could make a girl lose sight of how far she’d come, and lose sight of her goals.

And if there was one thing she’d learned after leaving her old life behind, it was to stay focused on her goals.

With that in mind she sat back, reclaiming her personal space and what was left of her common sense. ‘I didn’t want this meeting to be about us. I wanted to talk business.’

Disappointment clouded his eyes momentarily as he registered she hadn’t given him a direct response. To his credit, he took it like the man she knew him to be and slid his resident smile back into place, the one which crinkled his eyes adorably.

‘The way I see it, there’s not much to talk about. The guys filled me in on what you need, I’m your man. It’s that simple.’

Simple? Was the guy nuts?

There was nothing remotely simple about this, any of it. Having him turn up out of the blue, asking for a second chance, her desperation to get her renovations done…no, simple didn’t begin to describe the position she now found herself in.

‘But what if…’ She bit down on her bottom lip, unsure whether to be blunt and drive him away completely or ignore the giveaway pitter-patter of her heart whenever he smiled and remain focused on the business aspect of their dealings.

‘What if you don’t want to have anything to do with me personally but want to take advantage of me professionally?’

She blushed, not surprised he knew her so well. He’d always done that, finished her sentences, read her thoughts. After such a short time together, it shouldn’t have been that easy.

But it had been, which made it all the harder to ignore the tiny flicker of hope his proposal had elicited earlier.

Could they give their marriage a second chance?

At that moment a child at a nearby table let out a delighted squeal as a waiter placed a ‘frog in the pond’ in front of her, her blue eyes wide with wonder as she peered at the chocolate frog suspended in green jelly, and Camryn’s blood instantly chilled.

She watched, transfixed, as the little girl’s mother leaned over and gave her a sloppy smooch on her forehead while her father ruffled her mop of blonde curls, their love obvious—the complete, perfect family.

Something she could never have.

Something she’d had no idea how badly she’d wanted till the option had been taken away from her, cruelly wrenched bit by bit with every visit to the hospital in the years since she’d lost Blane, a stark reminder that everything that truly mattered to her was gone.

Her husband.

Her parents.

Her fertility.

While she’d learned to focus on her goals and block out the pain of loss, seeing Blane now, hearing him confirm she still meant something to him, only served to reinforce what she’d known since the last surgery: she couldn’t have kids, and it wouldn’t be fair on any man, particularly one she’d once loved as much as she’d loved him, to have to deal with that.

‘Hey, you okay? Sorry if I’ve come on a bit strong.’

He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, wrenching her attention back to him and away from the happy family scene tugging at her heartstrings.

Momentarily comforted by his touch before coming to her senses and realising she had no right to be, she gently shrugged off his hand on the pretext of reaching for her bag.

‘Look, can you give me some time to think about all this? I’ll get back to you about the project manager position.’

As if.

The moment she left this place she had no intention of ever getting in touch with him ever again.

Her nerves were flayed, her memories too poignant, her pain raw, and she couldn’t see any point in prolonging the inevitable: them parting ways for good.

He rummaged in his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed her a business card, bearing his name, mobile number and email on rather plain but expensive cream cardboard.

‘Here’s where you can reach me. When you call.’

She managed a small smile at his confidence, took the card and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans, knowing she wouldn’t use it, wishing she could.

It was prevaricating like this that could get her into serious trouble, and she needed to get out of here before those sexy grey eyes with their blue flecks and endearing corner crinkles, along with accompanying ingenuous smile, undermined her completely.

‘I have to get going. It’s been a big day and I need to crash before starting all over again tomorrow.’

‘Sure.’

He slid several notes onto the table before she could reach for her purse, and he held up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest.

‘My shout. I asked you to come, I want to pay. Besides, you never know when I might need a snappy espresso fix again, and I want to keep the proprietor of that great place next door happy.’

‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ she said, secretly thrilled by his chivalry in insisting on paying, remembering the old times they’d had to go Dutch because neither of them had a spare cent to their names.

‘Will it?’

‘What can I say? The café’s my baby.’

‘You have every right to be proud. It’s a great place.’

He took hold of her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his touch warm and steady, infusing her with a sense of security she hadn’t known in a long time.

‘I know.’

This wasn’t a time for false modesty. She knew the Niche was fabulous, from its cosy corner, bearing low leather sofas in the softest fawn surrounded by comfortable matching ottomans and strategically placed fuchsia and turquoise bolster cushions, to the monstrous timber bar topped by stainless steel with its co-ordinated bar stools.

She loved every inch of the place, with its exquisite water views on one side, to the views of Melbourne’s city skyline on the other. She’d built it up from scratch, competing in a high-end hospitality market, and could now proudly say it held its own.

Quite simply, the Niche was exactly that for her: a niche in Melbourne, a personal space, a home. Something she’d craved since leaving Rainbow Creek, something concrete and solid and all hers to fill the aching void deep in her heart.

He squeezed her hand, understanding exactly where she was coming from. He should; she’d bared her soul to him, poured out her hopes and dreams about owning a place just like the Niche all those years ago.

Pity he hadn’t listened to her other dream that had involved ‘till death us do part’.

‘Would you like me to take you home?’

‘No, but thanks for offering. Still the gentleman, huh?’

In a rash, spur of the moment gesture she didn’t rationalise and would probably regret later, she leaned forward and placed a quick peck on his cheek, fighting the urge to linger.

His stubble prickled her lips, leaving them tingling and hypersensitive as she inhaled deeply, savouring his scent. Crushed leaves, cedar, the woodsy cedar instantly transporting her back to Rainbow Creek and the huge cedar tree with its old rubber tyre she used to swing on in her parents’ backyard where he’d pushed her for hours one sultry Sunday afternoon.

It was a safe smell, an evocative smell, and she pulled away sharply before she did something even crazier like fling herself into his arms, just like she used to run from the swing into his open, waiting arms.

‘I guess there’s something to be said for old-fashioned manners if that’s the type of response I get,’ he said, rubbing his cheek where she’d left the faintest lipstick mark, a goofy grin on his face.

Her heart hitched at the familiarity of his expression, the same loopy way he’d looked at her when she’d served him the very first day they’d met, and she swayed towards him, torn between wanting to fling herself into his arms and resurrect the good old days and run as far from him as she could get.

Pulling up short, she stiffened, hoping he hadn’t read the yearning in her face. ‘I don’t have far to go.’

‘Okay, then. I guess we’ll call it a night.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Thanks for agreeing to meet with me, Cam.’

She held her breath as he leaned towards her, his head descending slowly, her heart pounding in anticipation of a good-night kiss she shouldn’t want so damn much.

He took his time, and she clenched her hands into fists to stop from reaching out, bunching his T-shirt and yanking him towards her.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she tilted her face up, silently praying he’d go for her lips, guessing he’d play the gentleman to the end and settle for her cheek after all this time.

‘You have my card. Use it,’ he whispered against her ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin behind her lobe and sending tiny shivers of desire down her spine.

Her eyes flew open to find him staring at her with way too much perception, as if he knew what she wanted but would make her wait for it.

Well, he’d be waiting a long time considering she had no intention of using his card.

‘See you.’

Her noncommittal reply fell on deaf ears as his confident smile broadened, and she sent him a jaunty wave as she strolled away, resisting the urge to peek over her shoulder to see if he was watching her. By the heat burning holes in her back and spreading, he was, but she didn’t look back.

Just like he hadn’t when he’d left her high and dry and walked out on her in Rainbow Creek.

CHAPTER THREE

CAMRYN gnawed on her bottom lip, giving the screwdriver an extra vicious twist as she tried to fix the refrigerator door for the third time.

The screwdriver slipped, sheering off the hinge and gouging a deep gash into the pale oak cabinet housing the fridge, and she swore, shoving the useless tool back into the pink tool case designed especially for ‘the independent woman’.

‘Is it the bloody tool that’s the problem or the supposed expert wielding it?’

She narrowed her eyes, sending Anna a glare she reserved for rude customers. ‘I never said I was an expert.’

‘No? Then what’s with the fancy tools?’

Anna’s grin widened as Camryn sprang up from her squatting position and kicked the offending tool case under the bench.

‘Apparently they’re only good for hammering the odd picture hook or tightening the odd loose screw.’ Which was exactly what she had—quite a few loose screws if she thought she could fix something requiring bigger biceps than hers.

‘As for fixing fridge hinges…’ She blew out an exasperated puff of air, casting a malevolent glance at the offending metal hinge. ‘I hate having to call a handyman just to fix something as small as this.’

‘But if you don’t, we’ll lose tomorrow’s cheesecake supply.’ Anna paused, tapping an apricot-coloured fingernail against her bottom lip. ‘Know anyone we can call at short notice?’

Camryn’s heart sank.

She knew someone all right.

In fact, his business card had been burning a hole in her pocket all week.

She’d had no intention of calling Blane, despite the fact she did a double-take every time a tradesman entered the café and she’d dreamed of his laid-back charming smile and twinkling grey eyes several nights since.

In fact, she should have thrown his card out and would have if she’d been able to find it, but she had so many pairs of jeans she rotated as her ‘uniform’ that she’d forgotten which pair she’d worn the night he’d waltzed back into her life.

She’d assumed she’d washed them anyway and that would have taken care of that, but, as fate would have it, when she’d crouched down to fix the hinge, something had crackled in her back pocket, and she’d found his card.

If she believed in all that airy-fairy fate rubbish she would say she was meant to call him. But she didn’t, so she’d put it down to luck instead.

She needed a handyman, she’d found his card, she’d call him. That was where it would end.

And if he tried charming her again, she’d plead work and hide out in the back storeroom till he finished the job.

‘So, do you know anyone? Huh? Huh?’

Anna had been trying to get the low-down on her supper with Blane all week, and Camryn had told her the basics: they’d eaten, they’d chatted, they’d parted company, end of story. Looked like she was about to open a new chapter. Of course, she’d omitted the teensy-weensy detail of him being her husband. What was the point of going into all that when he wouldn’t be for much longer?

‘Hold on to your latte, funny girl. I’ll give Blane a call now and see if he can swing by tonight.’

Anna’s wide grin spoke volumes: she wasn’t buying her casual attitude one bit.

‘Good idea. I’m sure Blane will be a lot more skilled with his tools.’

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the innuendo. ‘We can only hope.’

Turning away, she slid her fingers into her back pocket, relieved and scared at the same time when they wrapped around the stiff cardboard.

She didn’t want to do this, she really didn’t, but the café came first, and if she wanted to offer her regular patrons their fix of the best cheesecake this side of the Docklands, she had no choice.

Pulling the card quickly out of her pocket, she stared at the crisp, bold font, BLANE ANDREWS, amongst the crinkles.

How many times had she absentmindedly doodled Camryn Andrews over the years? Not many, considering he’d ditched her so fast after they’d married she hadn’t had time to get around to officially changing her name.

‘Just ring him already!’

Sighing, she reached for the phone, her thumb poised over the touch buttons while she flipped the card over and over with her other hand.

‘Why don’t you go check on the latest Java bean shipment then head on home? I’ll be fine.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

Anna smirked, sending a pointed look at the card in her hand. ‘I’m sure Blane is very handy with a tool or two.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Enough with the tool jokes, already. Now, go.’

She wanted to be alone when she made the call, not trusting herself to feign nonchalance under Anna’s astute gaze when she heard his voice again.

‘Okay, boss. Catch you tomorrow.’

She waited till Anna had headed through to the storeroom before glancing at the card and punching in the number for Blane’s mobile, hoping he’d answer for the sake of her cheesecakes, hoping he wouldn’t for her peace of mind.

Her heart stalled as the dial tone was replaced by the crackle of static before ‘Blane Andrews speaking’ filtered down the line in that deep, mellifluous tone she knew all too well.

‘Hi, it’s me. How are you?’

She stiffened at the slight pause before willing herself to relax, thankful it gave her a moment to take a deep breath and slow down her thudding heart.

‘Hey, Cam. I’m fine. And glad you called.’

Cringing as she steadied herself to burst his bubble of hope, as she’d called for another reason than what he wished for, she rushed on. ‘Actually, I need your help. I’ve got a refrigerator hinge that needs fixing, and it’s pretty urgent. I gave it a shot myself but couldn’t manage it, so I was wondering if you could pop around tonight and take a look for me?’

The sound of a circular saw whined in the background, closely followed by a loud hammering that had her holding the phone an inch away from her ear.

‘Sure. Let me finish up here and I’ll be around in about two hours.’

To give him credit, he didn’t sound disappointed or annoyed. She should have been relieved. Instead, a small part of her was insulted he didn’t push her for an explanation as to why she hadn’t called or when she finally did it was to ask him for his building expertise.

Injecting false cheer into her voice, she said, ‘Great. I really appreciate it.’

‘No worries, see you later.’

He hung up first, leaving her staring at the phone in confusion.

By his own admission he wanted them to get reacquainted. He’d said it, blunt as you like, the other night. So why wasn’t he bothered she hadn’t called?

Shaking her head, she replaced the cordless phone in its charger and crumpled the card in her hand. Considering almost a week had lapsed since their infamous chat, he’d clearly got the message she wasn’t interested in resurrecting the past.

Great.

Or was it?

Blane slid his mobile back into his top pocket, rubbed his palms down the side of his jeans, and perched on the tailgate of his ute.

‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he muttered, his words whipped away by the blustery gale blowing straight off the ocean, the wind effectively drowning out Mike’s staple gun as it hammered nails into the fence.

She’d called.

After six days, during which time he’d mentally kicked himself for being a jackass and leaving the ball in her court, she’d finally picked up the phone.

Okay, so it wasn’t quite the ‘let’s catch up and have a drink, dinner, whatever’ call he’d been hoping for, but she’d called nonetheless.

A busted fridge hinge could be fixed by anybody, but she’d rung him, which could mean one of two things: she wanted to see him again and was using the fix-it as a flimsy excuse, or she couldn’t be bothered paying some guy out of the phone book a small fortune for such a quick job and was using their shared past to get what she wanted: a fixed fridge.

Shaking his head, he inhaled deeply, hoping a good lungful of bracing sea air might give him the clarity he’d so desperately sought since he’d first laid eyes on Cam again.

Refreshing as it was, the tang of salty sea air didn’t help as memories of the way she’d looked and smiled and sounded assailed him.

Memories of those incredibly tight black jeans moulding her long legs to perfection, those sexy knee-high boots, her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders when she’d let it out, the same rich colour as the chocolate fountain on the bar of her café.

She’d changed so much, the young, shy girl maturing into a confident, stunning woman. If she’d captivated him six years ago, it had nothing on the need coursing through him now, the need to reconcile with his wife.

His wife…the word rolled around and around in his brain, sweet and tempting and oh-so-right, exactly like Cam herself.

She’d been his driving force all these years, the thought of coming back to her with so much more to offer making him work longer, harder and faster than his competitors.

Reuniting with the only woman in the world for him had been a powerful motivator, and now that he’d finally seen her…well, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Cam could stall and bluster and pretend she was immune to him all she liked, but he knew better.

He’d seen the old spark in her eyes, the tenderness when she’d swayed towards him, the flare of desire when he’d touched her.

He hadn’t sugar-coated why he’d left, and while she probably hadn’t accepted it yet, she’d come around.

In the meantime he had every intention of giving her all the encouragement in the world to see exactly how perfect they could be together. All over again.

And if she needed concrete proof…Glancing at the house, he hopped off the ute, refastened his tool belt and sauntered back to work, whistling ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, their song, under his breath with a smile on his face and hope in his heart.

Camryn paced the length of the bar, her high-heeled boots rapping against the polished boards, echoing in the silence.

She’d flicked on the music, her favourite swing singer, only to switch it off again in a mild panic when their song had come on, as Blane might see it as a sign she wanted to create a cosy atmosphere or, worse, take it as an indication she’d changed her mind.

She’d retied her hair into its signature French braid, blown out all the tea-light candles, switched on the bright fluorescent strip hanging over the bar, and removed all traces of the essential oil she’d been burning since closing, all in an attempt to ‘de-cosy’ the place.

The last thing she needed was him getting the wrong idea.

Which was?

An image instantly sprang to mind of the two of them sitting in the plush lounge area of the café situated towards the back, curled up on one of the comfy sofas, sharing a steaming moccaccino, or maybe one of the fine Merlots she kept out the back, with the lamps muted and the luscious aromas of cinnamon and vanilla in the air from the essential oils she used to complement the baking.

Oh, yeah, she could see it all too clearly, and unfortunately her vision of the wrong idea appeared way too right.

Casting one last critical look around—and satisfied she’d obliterated any semblance of romantic ambience—she fiddled with the espresso machine, going through the soothing motions of pouring milk into a stainless-steel jug, sliding it under the frother, filling the scoop with coffee, using the tamper, checking the water level.

The familiar actions calmed her, giving her something to do with her hands rather than tug on her plait till it unravelled.

She had nothing to be nervous about. Absolutely nothing. This was business. Nothing to do with pleasure at all.

With a groan, her head fell forward and thunked against the espresso machine. It was the thought combination of Blane and pleasure that did it.

Of course, he had to find her like this, with her head slumped against the machine, his rapid knock snapping her head to attention in time to see his face creased with concern as he peered through the glass door with hands cupped against it.

Giving her head a rueful rub, she crossed to the door and unlocked it, beckoning him in.

‘You okay?’

She ushered him in before relocking the door. ‘Yeah, fine. I was just inventing a new way to check the coffee-ground levels.’

He smiled, his dubious expression saying he didn’t believe her for a second. But what could she tell him? The mere thought of seeing him had her in a spin, wishing she could clunk her head against a hard surface repeatedly to knock some sense into herself?

‘How have you been?’

He propped against the bar, giving her a tempting view of a broad expanse of muscular chest beneath faded sky-blue cotton, not to mention a healthy set of biceps. Just what she needed, a great set of biceps…to fix the fridge, of course.

Clearing her throat, she said, ‘It’s been flat out here. I haven’t had a moment’s peace.’

His right eyebrow rose a fraction, as if questioning her rather pathetic excuse for not calling him. ‘Yeah, work gets like that sometimes.’

Didn’t anything ever rattle him? She’d expected him to call her on her excuse, not agree with her!

‘Sounded like you were busy earlier when I rang? All that noise in the background?’

Though eager to get the hinge fixed so she could usher him out of here, the polite thing would be to make a bit of small talk before offering him a coffee then the door.

‘Yeah, the current project is coming along nicely.’

‘Bet you still get a buzz constructing something from the ground up, getting your hands dirty.’

Her gaze drifted to his hands casually clutching the bar, and languid heat stole through her body at the thought of those strong, elongated fingers and broad palms getting downright dirty with her.

Fighting a blush, and losing, she tore her gaze away and forced it upwards, not surprised to see the glint of amusement in his eyes, and his lips curved into a knowing smile.

‘I like it.’

He pushed off the bar and crossed the short space between them in a second, sending her pulse rate soaring.

She swallowed, trapped between the espresso machine and a cake display, unable to stop thinking about those hands reaching out to her, resting gently on her waist, pulling her closer and…

‘Would you like me to get started?’

Her gaze flew to his as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, her body in total meltdown.

He was talking about the fridge hinge.

Of course he was, but it didn’t stop her imagination taking flight in all sorts of wicked ways as to how he could get started—with her.

‘It’s down here,’ she managed to say, thankful her voice wasn’t half as shaky as her resolve to hold him at arm’s-length.

‘Okay, let’s take a look.’

He squatted down, dispelling the intimate fog that had surrounded them a second earlier. However, Blaine focusing his concentration on the hinge didn’t help cool her down, not one bit, considering his crouching down on his haunches only served to pull the work-worn denim taut across his butt, and she stifled a groan.

Had he grown oblivious to the attraction zinging between them? Had her disinterest in returning his call served its purpose? If so, she should be springing over the bar and adding a high side-kick for good measure. Instead, she squatted down next to him, disgruntled and confused and totally out of sorts.

It had been so long since she’d felt this way, preferring to play it safe where guys were concerned and not date, knowing she could rely on her business—the male of the species another matter.

Right now, staring at Blane’s butt with heat licking along her veins and sending her intentions to hold him at bay up in smoke, safe was the furthest thing from her mind.

‘I assumed you have tools when you said you’d given it a go yourself at trying to fix this?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Reaching under the nearby bench, she pulled out her tool kit and slid it over to him.

‘It’s pink.’

‘Your powers of observation are truly amazing,’ she said, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from joining in his laughter.

‘I’ve never seen a pink toolbox before.’

She rolled her eyes and flipped it open, handing him the screwdriver he’d need.

‘That’s because you work with boys. I’m sure if you had the foresight to hire a woman to be on your work crew, you’d see pink tool kits every day of the week.’

‘Maybe.’

He grinned as he took the proffered screwdriver, his fingers brushing hers, sending shards of electricity shooting up her arm as she struggled not to yank her hand back. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘With the pink tool kit?’

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching. ‘With the fact you knew which screwdriver to use.’

Puffing up like a true feminist, she said, ‘I’m not a helpless female. I know a Phillips head from a flathead.’

‘Obviously.’

She knew he was baiting her, teasing her as he had too many times to recall when they’d first met, and it felt good. It felt downright fantastic to be firing right back at him, to be swapping banter without guarding her words for fear of saying the wrong thing.

‘Think you can extend those tool-discriminating skills to hand me a wrench?’

‘Here you go, wise guy.’

She handed him the wrench, being careful to keep her fingers out of contact this time, and releasing a tiny sigh of disappointment when it worked.

For someone who knew her mind, went out and grabbed life with both hands, giving it a good shake-up along the way, she couldn’t believe how contrary he made her feel. She was wavering and vacillating all over the place, wishing for one thing, hoping for another.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself agreeing to spend a little time with him…and they both knew exactly where that would lead.

Directly to matrimonial trouble.

With a soft grunt, he muttered, ‘Almost there,’ and she rued the fact considering she’d been enjoying the display of bulging biceps as he held the wrench steady, his back muscles shifting under his T-shirt as he turned the screwdriver with his other hand.

‘Got it.’

With a final twist of the screwdriver, he straightened, and she dragged her eyes upward with regret.

She’d got it all right—got it bad for her husband, who’d breezed into her life when she’d least expected or wanted it.

‘Thanks. I wouldn’t have had a hope of fixing it myself, would I?’

He smiled and handed her back the tools. ‘You did great—it had bent out of shape a tad and needed a bit of muscle power to get it back into alignment.’ He winked as he flexed his arm to display the said muscle. ‘Glad I could oblige.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she mumbled, unable to drag her gaze away from the muscle play in his upper arm, the yearning she’d managed to dampen flaring in a second.

‘Want a coffee?’ she blurted, springing up from her haunches like a jack-in-the-box, needing the safety of doing a routine, everyday activity to steady her shredded resolve.

She’d made a decision not to contact him, closely followed by a need to search out those old divorce papers and put an end to this once and for all. But now she’d seen him again in the flesh—so to speak—her intentions were shot.

The sparks resurrected between them the other night were still there, had intensified if anything, and with a little fanning could burst into a raging inferno of mutual passion, the type of passion she’d only ever had with this one special guy.

‘I’d love one, thanks.’

Grateful she had her back turned so he couldn’t see her scorching cheeks, she tried to concentrate on operating the machine, letting out an almighty yell when he sneaked up behind her and placed his hands on her waist.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Apart from the fact you just scared me half to death?’

She whirled to face him, her unjustified indignation melting away as she looked into his eyes, the desire she glimpsed taking her breath away.

‘You seem jumpy.’

With his hands burning a hole through her flimsy silk top, the smell of cedar enveloping her in a heady cloud and making her wish she could work outdoors right alongside him, she tilted her chin up, willing her arms to stay by her sides and not reach up and slide around his waist.

‘Just tired.’

It sounded like the pathetic excuse it was.

‘You sure that’s all it is?’

What could she say? That he had her so physically aware of him she was tied up in knots?

That she’d barely slept all week for dreaming of him? Remembering how good it had been between them? Wishing it could be again? Yet knowing it could never be, not with her infertility an ever-present shadow looming over her, no matter how much she’d come to terms with it herself.

‘Uh-huh.’

She took a step back, leaving him no option but to drop his hands.

‘Espresso? Or would you like me to whip you up one of our signature coffees? I make a mean café latte fredo.’

Thankfully, he bought her distraction. ‘What’s in it?’

‘One part espresso, five parts cold milk, shaken with ice.’

‘Done.’

He stepped back, giving her room to move, and she grabbed the cocktail shaker, scooped in the ice, and set about making the coffee in record time so she could re-establish some kind of equilibrium.

‘What’s that you’re having?’

‘A doppio. Double shot of espresso.’ As if she needed to stay awake all night again. ‘So what do I owe you?’

‘Nothing.’

Her hand stilled on the espresso machine, and she sent him her best ‘don’t mess with me’ glare.

‘I have to pay you. It’s only fair.’

‘Payment, huh?’

She didn’t like the gleam in his eyes or the cunning smile spreading across his face. Both could give a girl ideas—very naughty ideas.

‘Fine. My payment is dinner.’

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Dinner would involve sitting across from him, staring into those intriguing grey eyes, seeing them crinkle every time he smiled—which was way too often—and trying not to fall under his spell.

Blane was charm personified, and if seeing him for barely thirty minutes had her in this much of a dither, what hope would she have of spending an entire evening with him and coming out unscathed, resolve intact, at the end of it?

‘I’d rather just pay you.’

She busied herself with making the coffee, injecting the right amount of nonchalance into her voice, hoping he’d accept her subtle brush-off.

‘It’s dinner or I take you to the consumer affairs board for non-payment.’

‘You’re kidding?’

Of course he was, those adorable crinkles on full display as she sent him a look of disbelief.

He shrugged, his smile not waning. ‘Maybe. Though it is a non-negotiable deal. Dinner. You and me. You choose the place, seeing as you’re insisting on paying, though I have to tell you, having you shout me a meal doesn’t sit well with me.’

‘Why? Used to being the macho male, huh?’

‘Used to being the polite male who likes to treat his wife right.’

His low, husky tone left her in little doubt as to how well he would treat her, and in that instant she made one of those split-second decisions she’d probably regret later but couldn’t resist now.

‘Okay, dinner it is.’

‘Great. Tomorrow night suit?’

She opened her mouth to fob him off with some lame excuse about checking her diary, before snapping it shut.

He’d been nothing but helpful, courteous and lovely to her, and if all he expected in return was dinner, she’d be churlish not to oblige.

Who was she kidding? Dinner wasn’t all he was expecting—far from it. He wanted her, as his wife, a concept fast losing its initial lack of appeal.

‘Sounds good.’

She picked up the cocktail shaker and shook it as if her life depended on it, the jumbled contents whirling around in similar fashion to her chaotic emotions.

Accepting his offer had her torn between dancing through the café while singing out loud and running to the storeroom out back to hide for the next month.

‘Are you going to pick me up?’

His teasing smile warmed her heart as she poured his coffee into a tall glass and handed it to him.

‘Thought we’d already got past that point the other night?’

He laughed and raised his glass to her. ‘I didn’t pick you up. I asked my wife out.’

There he went again with the wife thing.

Okay, so he was right; technically she was still his wife, but that was all it was, a technicality. A fact that could be easily remedied, would be easily remedied if he’d stop smiling at her for two seconds so she could muster her resolve to not let him back in her life again.

Feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she shrugged. ‘Same diff.’

Taking a sip, he sighed his appreciation. ‘You’re splitting hairs. Or should that be coffee beans?’

Laughing, she sipped her doppio, savouring the strong, hot rush of caffeine. ‘Fine. I’ll swing by your place. Make this a real equal-opportunity dinner date.’

‘Nothing sexier than a chivalrous woman.’

He winked and her heart turned over, beating a hundred miles a minute as she sent him a tremulous smile which hopefully covered the fact she was a quivering mess of nerves inside.

He thought she was sexy.

He was flirting with her in a light, non-pressured, appealing kind of way.

He was throwing everything at her defences, weakening her determination to hold him at bay with every seductive smile, with every twinkle in his gorgeous grey eyes.

It would be so easy to give in, so tempting to see how good they could be together now they were older, wiser, more mature.

But was she willing to take the risk? For there was nothing surer than the more time she spent with Blane the more likely it was that she would fall for him all over again, every charming inch.

Surely she couldn’t tread down the marriage road again? Not when it would involve baring her soul about the one thing she’d buried deep inside, her gut-wrenching sorrow at not being able to have children buried with the yearning for a baby she never knew she’d had until the option had been ripped away from her.

‘So now we’ve got that worked out, is it safe to bring up the topic of your project manager?’

‘All sorted.’

She dropped her gaze to her doppio before he could read her desperation. Yet another builder had walked this week, leaving her with a half-finished apartment and a permit that ran out shortly.