Kelly turned to face her husband.

Just as she’d feared—he looked movie-star gorgeous, and it took her breath away. Simon’s stylish black dinner suit and classic black tie radiated good taste and probably cost more than Kelly made in a month. He leaned in to place a kiss on her cheek and Kelly moved to accept it, catching a waft of expensive aftershave.

“You look beautiful, Kell,” Simon said, his subdued voice as disarming as his good looks.

“So do you.”

A soft smile touched his mouth. He was so beautiful. So elegant. So self-assured.

Who is this man? Kelly wondered as she tried to relate the sensations she was experiencing to those she’d felt so many years before. And found that she could not. This was different. This was adult. And this was fast spinning out of her control.

“How long have you been waiting?” he asked, his voice a caress in the dreamy darkness.

For you? For five long, lonely years.

“Not long,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

For better, for worse…these marriages were meant to last!

They’ve already said “I do,” but what happens when their promise to love, honor and cherish is put to the test?

Emotions run high as husbands and wives discover how precious—and fragile—their wedding vows are…but their love will keep them together—forever!

Ally Blake worked in retail, danced on television and acted in friends’ short films until the writing bug could no longer be ignored. And as her mother had read romance novels ever since Ally was a baby, the aspiration to write for Harlequin had been almost bred into her. Ally married her gorgeous husband, Mark, in Las Vegas (no Elvis in sight, thank you very much), and they live in beautiful Melbourne, Australia. Her husband cooks, he cleans and he’s the love of her life. How’s that for a hero?

Books by Ally Blake

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3782—THE WEDDING WISH

3802—MARRIAGE MATERIAL

Marriage Make-Over
Ally Blake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Harry’s real life skipper, my little sister Suze, a girl

who can see the bright side of any situation and thus

makes life that much brighter for the rest of us.

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 FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

KELLYISM:

SO YOU WANT TO BE A ‘SINGLE AND LOVING IT!’ GIRL?

BE RESOLUTE. BE FEARLESS. BE HEARD!

‘KELLY ROCKFORD. Babe. You’re a hit!’

That was the kind of talk Kelly had heard only in her dreams. But there she was, sitting at Editor-in-Chief Maya Rampling’s desk at Fresh magazine, hearing those glorious words for real.

Maya’s talon-tipped finger tapped the draft of Kelly’s latest magazine column, which lay on her desk. ‘This is your best effort yet. Your column has really touched a nerve. Barely a month on and we are getting more mail for you than any other regular writer. As such I would like to offer you a freelance contract here at Fresh.’

Single and Loving It!, her pride and joy, her week-by-week column about how to be a happy single, was now her ticket out of writing bridal announcements and obituaries in the local rags! And she would be able to pay the rent on time. Her heart almost burst at the thought.

A dead-straight strand of cocoa-coloured fringe slipped from Kelly’s straining ponytail and swung before her eyes. She had to fight the urge to blow the offending lock away as, knowing her luck, she would blow a raspberry rather than the smooth, perfectly aimed puff of air she would prefer. And she wanted to remember herself in this perfect moment as the epitome of cool. Well, maybe not cool so much as not blowing a raspberry at an inopportune moment. She could hope for at least that much.

‘We will offer you a three-month contract,’ Maya continued in the face of Kelly’s strained silence. ‘Work at your own pace. Here or at home. Just as long as your copy is on my desk every Monday afternoon at five, and the work and the reader response stay on track, you will be a welcome and regular member of the Fresh family. Come on, I’ll show you to your work-station.’

Maya stood and led the way. In desperate relief Kelly raked her hand over her hair, tucking the fringe back in place. There. Cool Kelly held her ground.

And then she saw her work-station and had to choke back a gasp of splendiferous happiness. It was her very own tiny three-walled cubicle amongst a dozen other tiny three-walled cubicles. The desk was so sparse it reminded her of the first day of school when every new pencil was sharpened and no book was dog-eared or scratched. The work-station housed a corkboard, a filing cabinet, a phone, an assortment of stationery and a computer, which was turned on and opened to a fresh, hopeful Word file.

Kelly took off her faded denim jacket and fluffy pink scarf and hung them over the back of her very own bouncy office chair. She took a seat, swung back and forth and imagined dozens of happy snaps plastered over her corkboard, her ‘I Hate Working Wednesdays, They Really Cut Into My Weekends’ mug resting amidst a ring of stale coffee, and assorted funky knick-knacks balanced atop her monitor. Yep. This was her dream come true.

‘So how does that all sound?’ Maya asked.

As if the angels were singing her song!

‘Sounds fine, thanks,’ cool Kelly responded.

‘Great. First things first: your next column. You have touched on something very deep and given it a voice. So, of course, I want you to hit that vein deeper and deeper every week. Our female readers love you so, in my infinite wisdom, I have decided reader feedback will become a huge part of your page. We will start with a whammy. In amongst your legion of new fans, there was one reader who was not convinced.’

‘Just one?’ Good one, Kelly, real cool and confident!

Maya smiled indulgently, her sharp, preternaturally smooth face breaking into a zillion telling wrinkles at the unfamiliar movement. ‘One juicy one who made an interesting point. So maybe you could respond to this beauty in next week’s issue.’

Maya flicked a one-page letter onto Kelly’s desk as she left. ‘Have fun, and welcome to the Fresh family.’

Have fun? This was turning out to be the best day of her life! The best she cared to remember, anyway. She now had a real job doing something she utterly loved, her very own quasi-office with her very own bouncy chair, and lastly a real pay-packet, a regular pay-packet. How she wished she could have stapled her mother to the wall to have listened to everything Maya had said. Then her life would be perfect.

Kelly picked up the letter. She unconsciously fiddled with the corners of the folded piece of baby-blue paper.

Truth be told, Kelly was surprised there was only one not convinced. The Single and Loving It! idea had come about around a month before after a Saturday Night Cocktails session with her flatmate, racy Gracie, and her landlady, classy Cara, during which they had bitched and moaned about their conglomerate of ex-boyfriends. How they’d thrown every ounce of their energy into the relationships whereas the guys had seen them as a step above cricket practice but not so important as Mum’s home cooking. Was that love? they had asked. Was that as good as it could be?

So Single and Loving It! was born. Kelly had written her first attempt the minute she had trudged home. It had been three a.m., there had been no coffee in the cupboard, as she had not been able to afford it, so she had plied herself with chicken Cup-a-Soup. She had sold the story to Fresh within the week and had been writing weekly follow-ups ever since.

She glanced down at the letter. In her fidgeting hands lay the first piece of fan mail she had ever received. Well, except for that one old guy who once had been determined she was the only one he would allow to write his obituary (first job after uni—bad office, bad pay, bad news).

She rubbed her fingers over the fine paper, memorising the touch. She took a deep breath and dived in.

Dear Kelly

Men and women are meant to be attracted, but not for ever, you say. They come together to fill in space, time, and the void left by their parents, you say. Well, dear Kelly, I don’t believe a word of it.

I believe you are a woman who has loved and loved deeply. I believe you have convinced yourself there is no such thing as love so that you do not have to feel you have failed.

And the thing is, dear Kelly, I believe love is alive and well out there. Especially for you. You just have to be willing to lose yourself to find it.

Simon of St Kilda.

Kelly dropped the letter to the table as though it had scorched her fingers. She hastily looked over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen the words on the paper, the words she wanted nobody else to believe, as no more potentially damaging words had ever been written.

How did the writer know? How? Then out of the red mist before her eyes swam the most telling part of the read. She picked up the letter between two fingers and re-read the name at the bottom of the page.

Simon of St Kilda.

No, it couldn’t be!

If she thought her fingers felt hot before, that was nothing compared with the storm of heat that radiated from her flushed face at those words.

Kelly knew a Simon, but that had been a lifetime ago. And the last she’d heard he lived in Fremantle, on the other side of Australia. Not in Melbourne and certainly not in St Kilda. Not in the same suburb as her.

The letter was typewritten, including the name, so that was no clue. She sniffed at it. It smelled like paper and not like a wood fire at the beach, which was the smell that always reminded her of Simon. She looked closely, checking to see if any letters sat higher than any others. What that would prove she had no idea, but it was the first thing they looked for in any good detective movie.

Who was she kidding? She did not need any fancy fingerprint kit to know that the Simon she knew wrote the letter. She could feel the timbre of his voice in every syllable. She knew his language so well it made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle as though he had whispered the words in her ear.

Simon of St Kilda was Simon Coleman. Her Simon Coleman, whom she had not heard from in five years. Since a week after her eighteenth birthday. Since, for some unknown reason that she had never been able to figure out, he had been spooked and sent dashing from her, never to return.

But now he was back. And writing to her of love.

Her face burned, not from embarrassment but from a deep and abiding anger. How dare he even write the words much less about her? He was the last one to accuse her of any denial when it came to her feelings. She had always made her feelings known without restraint. She had poured them out in print to millions, had she not?

‘So what do you think?’ Maya asked as she passed by Kelly’s desk.

Kelly flinched so violently her chair continued bouncing for several seconds. ‘Hmm?’

‘The letter,’ Maya said. ‘Do you think you can explain yourself to him? Can you tell that guy where to go?’

Ooh, yeah. And you wouldn’t even have to pay me to do it.

‘I would be happy to. But didn’t you say there were nice ones? Lots of nice ones? Ones that agreed with me? Ones that said I was brilliant and should be bronzed this minute?’

‘Sure. But who wants to read those when you’ve got this guy just asking to be put in his place?’

Me! I do!

Kelly shrugged. ‘Nobody, I guess.’

‘Exactly. So, dear Kelly,’ Maya said with a twinkle in her wise eyes, ‘write me a blinder. I want it bigger and better and more controversial. I want Simon of St Kilda in the picture.’

Ha! Give me a time machine and I’ll give you my life with Simon in the picture.

Maya patted her on the shoulder and left to rouse another writer.

What did he want? Why was he back? And how on earth could she keep herself together if and when she saw him? The mental image of her wringing his beautiful neck gave her a small thrill.

She shuffled the computer mouse onto the internet icon, looked up the local phone directory, and found only one S. Coleman listed in St Kilda. Her hand shaking, she picked up the handset of her very own phone that only minutes before had given her such ridiculous pleasure, and dialled.

Because even if Maya had not insisted, she would still have to see him.

He was her husband.

Kelly stood on the sidewalk with feet of lead. Her eyes were locked on the third storey of the swanky St Kilda apartment building. The window was open, and white gauzy curtains flapped in the seaside breeze. Somebody was home. And it had to be S. Coleman.

After dialling and hanging up the phone several times that morning she had given up on the idea of calling. She had to see that it was him. She had to meet him face to face.

So, first things first, she had spent hours making her work-station homey before finally making her way to the address written on the piece of paper clasped in her clammy hand. It wasn’t cowardice that made her delay this moment. The decorating project was imperative. After all, a happy working environment did a happy worker make!

Now, in the late afternoon, devoid of denim jacket and scarf, which she had thoughtlessly left on the back of her chair, she felt a shiver rack her body. A cold change was coming. In the five minutes she had been dithering outside, the sky had gone from clear to grey and a chill breeze now whipped about her. It would rain within a Melbourne minute.

The front door opened from the inside. A young woman was pushing it open with her bottom as she dragged a pram over the threshold behind her. Kelly leapt to grab the door to give her a hand.

The woman looked up, and her face broke into a beaming smile. ‘Thanks!’

‘No problem.’

Only once Kelly had watched the woman bounce the pram lightly down the steps did she realise she was still holding the door open. And it seemed wasteful to go through the whole intercom rigmarole when the main objective had already been achieved. She stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind her.

The foyer was spacious and elegant. Her high-heeled boots clack-clacked on the smooth marble floor. One solitary lift faced her. She pressed the up button, the down must have been for a hidden parking garage, very luxurious indeed in a city where all-day street parking was scarce.

The lift opened, she stepped inside and felt her last chance to run for her life slip away as the doors closed before her.

The mirrored walls reflected back a slim young woman of average height, shivering slightly in a slinky black barely-there halter-neck dress and knee-high black boots. Her long, thick dark hair, with month-old blonde streaks, was slicked back in a low ponytail, the wayward wisps of a growing-out fringe had been caught by the wind and now rested on her cheeks. Big sad brown eyes, her most striking feature, were rimmed in dark liner and lashings of mascara making them that much more dramatic.

The last time she had seen Simon she’d had short spiky hair, which she had chopped herself during her rebellious teens. She had been about a stone heavier, with enviable curves. She’d called it puppy-fat; he’d called her adorable. But living away from home, paying her own rent, with only sporadic pay cheques, had meant that certain luxuries, such as dinner, had been missed on the odd occasion. The puppy-fat had long since gone and she looked thin. Would he think too thin?

Who cares? she thought, standing up straighter, puffing out what little remained of her once ample chest. The reason she was there was to tell him that whatever he thought he should damn well keep it to himself.

The lift binged, and Kelly’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her image wavered and split apart to reveal a small private foyer with a carved white door. It was ajar and Kelly could hear kitchen noises from inside. She sucked in a deep ragged breath, tucked her hair behind her ears, and walked in as if she owned the place.

It was beautiful. Polished wood floors led onto thick cream carpet, modern furniture, soft leather couches. Very opulent and worth a fortune. It was a place in which her parents would feel more than comfortable, so on the flipside it made her feel completely out of place. She was worried about leaving dirty tread on the carpet and wondered for a moment if she should have left her boots at the door.

A homely woman with grey hair tucked into an old-fashioned maid’s cap poked her head around a doorway. ‘Hello there.’

‘Hello,’ Kelly said back, hoping her facial features were forming a confident smile and not the odd grimace she imagined. ‘Is…Simon home?’

‘Nope, sorry. Friend of Mr Coleman’s, are you?’

A friend? Hardly. And it must be Simon’s place—the cleaner had not said ‘Simon who?’ The woman watched Kelly carefully, and the broom in her hand seemed a ready weapon.

‘Actually, I am his wife.’ It felt odd, saying it out loud, but it was the only way she could think to avoid the humiliation of having to dodge a projectile broom handle as the woman became more suspicious by the second.

The woman raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I’ve heard nothing about a wife.’

‘We have been…estranged.’

The woman nodded in sudden and all-too-ready understanding. ‘That explains it. But now you are back. Glad to hear it. This place could do with a woman’s touch. You wouldn’t think Mr Coleman eats in; the kitchen is always so perfect. Make him a good meal. He needs one.’

Kelly nodded, though she had to suppress a smile. Her version of a home-cooked meal would be two-minute noodles.

The cleaner grabbed up her bits and bobs and headed for the front door. ‘He should be home soon enough. Do lock up after if you’re off first.’ And she left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Kelly couldn’t believe her luck, having time to case the joint, to get her bearings, to familiarise herself with all exits.

She walked about the apartment, trying to find signs of the boy who had stolen her heart when she was eleven years old, the teenager who had shared her first magical kiss at fourteen, and the young man who had married her in a secret ceremony on St Kilda beach at midnight on her eighteenth birthday.

No photographs lined the walls or side tables. No ornaments or collectibles showed signs of travel. There was simply no sign of the Simon Coleman she knew. Nothing of the sculptor, nothing of the sailor, nothing of the free spirit. She suddenly felt wary that this was not him. This guy with the cool, personality-free apartment could not be her Simon.

Hearing the jingle of keys at the front door, she spun on her heels. The world turned in agonising slow motion. The door banged lightly and the handle jiggled. Finally it opened and she stole a head-to-toe glance at the owner of the apartment: Simon of St Kilda.

And without a hint of a doubt Kelly knew she looked upon her husband.

CHAPTER TWO

KELLYISM:

LOVE SAYS LISTEN TO YOUR HEART?

‘SINGLE AND LOVING IT!’ SAYS LISTEN TO YOUR STOMACH.

THAT AIN’T BUTTERFLIES, THAT’S PURE ADRENALIN,

AND IT’S TELLING YOU TO RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

SURE it was Simon, but if Kelly thought she had changed he was a revelation in evolution.

Caught in one of those surprising Melbourne rain showers, Simon was drenched from head to toe. He was slick with rainwater, his wet dark hair had been raked back by his fingers, and his jet-black T-shirt clung to every muscular curve of his chest. This was the lanky guy she had married five years before? This was a god!

Along with the new classic short back-and-sides haircut, his face had changed. The newly flat planes of his smooth cheeks book-ended his lovely straight nose and revealed the most glorious cheekbones Kelly had never guessed were hidden there. The delicious hazel eyes below his furrowed brow were still deep enough to drown in, though they too were changed. Where they had once been so very kind they were now cool, closed, guarded.

But if all else had altered, the mouth would have clinched it for her. That mouth would have reeled her in all on its own. The natural curve was just so kissable and the corners were for ever turned with the hint of a private smile. Added to that those lips were now sleek with fresh rainwater.

From deep down in places she had forgotten even existed, a concoction of sensations and emotions dragged themselves to the surface. Her reaction to him was out of practice but as it always had been. Inevitable. Knee-weakening. And blinding. She had always found him beautiful. Inside and out. So much so her heart raced so that she could hardly breathe. And he hadn’t even yet looked her way.

Get a grip, Kelly. Cool. Think cool.

She swallowed down her clambering ardour, because now she knew how little these feelings meant in the grand scheme of things. In the course of writing Single and Loving It! she had talked to dozens of other women who had been in similar boats, and had changed her view dramatically.

Her feelings for him had been understandable teenage lust and now she was just experiencing an echo of those sensations. Like her belly ring, her chopped hair and her hippy aspirations, it had been the perfect rebellion against her conservative parents. It had never really been love in the first place. Relentless passion, and unceasing adoration, sure. But love? That she now very much doubted.

‘Hello, Simon.’

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowed. A moment later they softened, lit from within, their hazel depths flickering with warm gold, and beneath the altered exterior her Simon gazed back at her. And she all but melted.

‘Hello, Kelly.’

His smooth, low voice washed over her like a warm sun shower. The five years since she had heard him speak slipped away and it felt as if it had been no more than five minutes.

‘I assume you got my letter,’ he said and Kelly remembered why she was there and she was much obliged as the gulf between them widened once more.

This was no happy reunion with her long-lost best friend. This was no time to fall into a hopeless, trembling puddle at her former lover’s feet. This was an intervention.

The day she signed a freelance contract doing the perfect, made-for-her job, writing about how to live without a man, her husband turned up on the scene. He was a thorn in the side of the wonderful new life she had created for herself and he had to be removed, fast, before he became too deeply imbedded.

‘I did get your preposterous letter,’ she said, ‘and I would appreciate it if that was the last of its kind.’

‘Fine. Don’t write rubbish and I will have no reason to refute it.’

Her first response was a slow, steadying blink as he walked past her without another glance and took his bags of groceries into the kitchen. She followed, striving to drag her treacherous gaze from the tempting sight of tanned, tensed forearm muscles as he carried the heavy load.

‘Rubbish?’ she yelled when she finally found her voice. ‘I would have you know the women I write about are all real people. Real women with real experiences and real hopes that have been dashed one too many times by men.’ She all but spat the word in his face.

He continued to unpack his groceries all but ignoring her outburst. ‘That column of yours has to be damaging. Individual women have the capacity to make up their own minds about their individual relationships. The last thing they need is some unqualified post-feminist hack spreading easy wholesale answers to serious situations.’

Kelly coughed and spluttered her way back into the conversation. ‘I would have you know that it is the most popular new column in the magazine’s history.’

He shrugged. ‘Popularity is fleeting and not something to hang your hat on. Think plaid flares. Think fluorescent socks. Need I go on?’

‘Readers love me!’

‘I thought your job was to convince your readers there was no such thing as love.’

She counted to ten in her mind. ‘No such thing as romantic, everlasting love between a man and a woman. Respect and heartfelt thanks are out there in droves and they are coming my way.’

‘Fine. You are a star. But you are also a liar.’

Steam was streaming from her ears, literally, she was certain. She could feel it heating up her scalp! ‘Me? A liar? How dare you—?’

The steam faded. She was a liar, wasn’t she? Of sorts. Nobody knew she was married. But then again she did not know if Maya was married. And to all intents and purposes she was alone. And single. But before she could tell Simon just how wrong he was, he turned on her.

‘Did you actually read my letter?’

Only a hundred times. ‘Yes,’ she said through clenched teeth.

‘And that’s why you’re here?’

‘Of course. Nothing else would possibly have dragged me here. But my editor wants me to respond to your ridiculous statements in the next column.’

Simon smiled, his beautiful mouth turning up at the sides and revealing lovely, naturally neat white teeth. Her heart leapt. She mentally slapped it down.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I look forward to hearing your response.’

‘My response, Simon, is that you can stick your letter up your—’

Simon’s sensibilities were saved by the shrill ringing of his mobile phone. He turned away and answered it. His voice switched into professional mode. After a few moments he put his hand over the mouthpiece and said, ‘It’s my broker. Won’t be a moment. Don’t go away.’ He walked out of the room, talking residuals and percentages as he went.

She had never seen him talk like that to anyone. Her Simon had been a thinker, a dreamer, not someone who lived in a museum, carried the latest in mobile phones, and had a stockbroker! And not someone who could demand her to stay with such authority that she could not help but shoot him a saucy salute behind his departing back.

After a few moments she followed, intrigued despite herself, and peeked around the corner.

He was in his bedroom and it was as sparse and flavourless as the rest of the apartment. He had already whipped off his soaked top and tossed it on a gargantuan white bed and was pulling the belt from his trousers. One glance at the broad naked shoulders and tanned buff chest on show was enough for Kelly to spring back into the dining room, her heart beating a million miles a minute and her head swimming with mixed images of Simon at twenty-one, slim and fit, to be sure, but certainly not the strapping man she had just glimpsed.

Well, several seconds of solid ogling were probably more than a glimpse…

Kelly’s self-consciousness returned in full measure. She worried that compared to her eighteen-year-old self she looked too thin, too grown up. She rushed through the bare apartment searching frantically for a mirror and had to settle for her reflection in the microwave.

She needed all the body armour she could muster. She tugged at her dress, smoothed out her hair, ran a finger under each eye to make sure her eyeliner was even. She sucked in her stomach, puffed out her minimal chest and waited for her one-time paramour to return.

He did, soon enough, wearing dry chocolate-brown trousers and a deep red shirt, untucked with the top two buttons open showing a glimpse of the enviable physique beneath, and went straight to unpacking his groceries without even a glance her way.

Even in her barely-there dress she felt hot. Hot and bothered. Yet he had barely even taken in her sexy short dress. She had not caught him checking out her legs or anything! It was plainly obvious he was not back for all that and she fought to squash the rising disappointment. So why was he back?

‘Why are you writing this column, Kelly?’

‘To pay the rent,’ she spat out. It meant infinitely more to her than that but she had no intention of letting him know the power he held by simply being on the scene.

His hands stopped shuffling for a brief moment before taking up where they left off.

‘With folks like yours I wouldn’t have thought that would be a major concern for you.’ He must have sensed the scream welling inside her as he continued. ‘Or why not stick to obituaries?’

That stifled the scream in an instant. So he had been keeping up with her career for a while. It had been months since she’d had the reward of that particular job.

‘Why write this column?’

‘Because I have the in-the-trenches experience to have real insight. With Single and Loving It! I really have something valuable to say.’

‘Which is?’

‘Love is an illusion and what the illusion promises exists in the woman’s mind alone and never in real life.’

She wondered if he too felt the words sounded rehearsed, as though she had repeated them like a mantra inside her head a thousand times before.

His glance shifted her way and held and all the body armour in the world could not have kept her safe. Kelly’s breath faltered. Her skin warmed. And her long-since-dormant libido whirred back to life. As, standing before her, his beautiful hazel eyes boring into hers, he seemed as far from an illusion as could be.

‘Do you really believe that?’ he finally asked.

Kelly swallowed. How was a woman to stand up to such focussed attention from such a man? Unless armed with the knowledge that the promise in his eyes and the tumbling feelings in her own stomach were all precursors to disillusionment, any woman would be sucked in only to be spat out at a later date. Thankfully her column was around to prepare women for just such an occasion.

‘I do believe it,’ she said, and she meant it.

Simon shook his head and several damp locks of hair flicked onto his forehead and it was all Kelly could do not to close the distance between them, reach out, and brush them away, just as she would have done all those years before. How could she expect her readers to follow her advice to disregard the very real physical sensations one experienced at times like this if she was finding it so hard?

All the more reason to be strong.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked.

‘This is my apartment.’

Kelly’s fingernails dug into her palms. ‘I mean why are you back? In Melbourne?’ Living barely streets away from me?

Simon turned back to his groceries and Kelly expelled the breath she had been holding. He loaded up a platter with fresh bread sticks, soft cheeses, and other trimmings and walked into the dining room. Kelly could do little but follow. He set the platter down, and pulled out a chair for her. When she remained standing, he pressed her into the seat, his achingly familiar fingers leaving warm imprints on her bare shoulders, then sat in a chair on the other side of the gleaming oval table.

‘I am back for all sorts of reasons.’

‘Being?’ she prompted. Not fair for him to grill her and expect to be let off the hook.

‘Work. Family.’

If you took that to the nth degree she would be considered family.

‘How are your family?’ she asked, deciding to take his statement literally.

‘Well, actually.’ He softened immeasurably, his secret smile once more tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘My sister is married with two kids now.’

‘Nikki or Kat?’ Wow. Neither was even dating when she had last seen them.

‘Nikki. Kat is a nanny in London.’

‘And your mother?’ Kelly knew this had always been a sore point for Simon but she had to ask. She had always truly liked Simon’s mother despite her shortfalls.

‘She’s good. Really good. Remarried and living in Sydney.’

Again? Kelly thought, wondering if that would be the fourth marriage or if she had married more times since their estrangement.

Simon grabbed a hunk of bread, lathered it in a hefty chunk of Brie and a good measure of pepper before popping it on a plate and handing it to Kelly. She stared at the food. She had not eaten this exact combination since the night of their wedding. Had he remembered or was it a fluke?

She glanced up and saw him making his own favourite with Swiss cheese and cherry tomatoes. This felt all too intimate. All too familiar. All too far from where she had imagined she would be when she’d woken up that morning.

But her poor neglected stomach rumbled in anticipation of the delicious-looking food so she bit down. It was as delicious as she remembered but the bread soon stuck in her throat as the memories that it invoked came tumbling down upon her. She placed the remaining food on the plate and wiped the telltale crumbs from her fingers.

‘How long have you been back, Simon?’

‘A little over a week.’

Her heart wrenched. It had taken him that long to contact her, and even then it had been in a most obscure manner. Despite her promises to be strong it ached to think they had once been the best of friends and here they were engaging in small talk like a pair of acquaintances.

He made no apology and did not seem even to notice the awkwardness of the situation.

‘It was a couple of weeks ago,’ he continued, ‘when I overheard several women in my office talking about this amazing new column called Single and Loving It!. Because of the column they had decided to cancel their plans to go to a nightclub that weekend and were instead going to have a few girlfriends around for a night at home.’

Kelly listened in silence to the familiar story, concentrating on his expression as he retold the tale. And where usually people would have a glimmer in their eye, as if they were sharing in some grand inside joke about the perils of singlehood, Simon watched her with a shuttered expression, all evidence of good humour gone.

‘I was about to move on until one of them said, “That Kelly Rockford is my new hero. She’s a genius. I wish she had been writing this column five years ago. Would have saved me a lot of wasted Saturday nights.” Understandably that caught my attention.’

The corner of his mouth kicked, revealing a sexy crease in his right cheek. You cannot keep a good smile down, Kelly thought, feeling her stomach warm absurdly in response.

‘I asked around, found Fresh, and saw not genius but sadness. I saw not the wit and vivacity of the Kelly Rockford I had once known but hostility and bitterness that I refused to believe could come from the same woman. Even when your picture appeared above your byline, I had to come and see for myself in order to believe it was really you.’

He stopped talking and looked her over. Kelly straightened up under the meticulous inspection.

‘You’ve changed, Kell.’

The shortening of her name flowed over her like the endearment it once had been. She shook it off.

‘Not surprising,’ she scoffed, ‘considering it has been five years.’

‘Still…’ His voice trailed off.

Still what? she ached to ask. Still you expected me to be the bubbly bundle of fun and fancy I was at eighteen. Well, you’re the one who eradicated that girl, my friend.

‘Am I to take it that after five years of nothing, after five years of not having the courtesy to let me know if you were dead or alive, you are only now back simply to assure yourself that I have not become all bitter and twisted?’

After five years of my not knowing if you were healthy and happy. If you had moved on to other relationships. Or if you still missed me so much it physically hurt.

His mouth opened. He had something to say, Kelly was sure of it. She waited in agonising anticipation for answers to questions that had plagued her for years. But he must have thought better of it and clammed his mouth shut. And that was enough for Kelly to regain her purpose. She gathered up every last ounce of courage and laid it on the line.

‘Well, for whatever reason you are here, you are here. And we have managed to avoid talking about this since we haven’t, well, talked in the last five years. But this is just ridiculous. We really can’t go on being married.’

His warm eyes glossed over so fast, so icy cold, it made her shiver. ‘Is there someone else you wish to be married to?’ he asked. He took a slow bite of his bread but his gaze held fast to hers.

‘No!’ Kelly shook her head manically and flapped her hands in front of her face.

Simon’s smile warmed up again, this time even enough to showcase a sexy crease on each cheek and she cringed.

Hmm. Probably could have made that ‘no’ less emphatic.

‘So what’s the rush?’ he asked, his expression a model of nonchalance.

If my readers find out I am married, my life as I know it is all over! That’s the rush!

‘Five years is hardly a rush. And considering I could not find you for the first three, that shortens the time span a little.’

The last of the cool in his eyes melted. ‘You looked for me?’

‘What do you think I did? Do you think I just said, “Oh, well, my husband has disappeared, but them’s the breaks, so may as well get on with the rest of my life”?’

Still he was silent, yet he seemed to be basking in the knowledge that she had cared enough to search. And it made Kelly furious. The hurt, the confusion, and the loss she had spent five years overcoming swarmed in on her all over again.

‘Well, think again, boyo. You may have enjoyed running off to the other side of the country and reinventing yourself into this!’ She flicked a hand around the cool apartment. ‘But I was left here to face my family and try to explain why the man I had spent my life defending had done the very thing they had always warned me he would do.’

The warmth in Simon’s eyes switched to a burning flame. ‘I bet they relished the fact.’

Kelly jumped to her feet and slammed her hands on the table.

‘Of course they did! You proved them right. What about proving me right? What about proving yourself right?’

‘I think I have done that, don’t you?’

‘No. Unless all this is some sort of charade, you have sold out. But somehow I don’t think it is. I would put money on the fact you would have more suits in your closet than old jeans, and if so you have become what they wanted you to be. Not what I loved you for being.’ Her voice finally cracked. The cool Kelly act was fast coming apart at the seams.

Simon slid to his feet and was around her side of the table in a second. His hands taking a tight hold on her upper arms were the only things keeping her upright.

She wished he would stop looking at her like that. As if he was so sure he was right. As if he had all the answers and all she had to do was surrender to them. His beautiful hazel eyes burned deep into her mind.

‘I have become what you always knew I would be, Kelly. I am wealthy. I am successful. Just as you always predicted.’

And then she realised he was only centimetres away. Not the miles and miles he had been for so very long. Centimetres could so easily become millimetres and then she would be enfolded in his strong arms. But she knew, from his fervid objection to what she had become, if he even sensed what she was feeling he would be appalled by the very thought.

It is all just an echo, she reminded herself, an echo of bygone desire. A mirage, a shimmering memory that belongs where it came from. In the past. He is here to ease his own guilt, no other reason.

Kelly’s strength returned and she pulled away, rubbing away the tingle in her arms where he had held her. Her head swam. She had to get away. Away from the stifling apartment. Away from him.

‘No, Simon, you are wrong. What I wanted was for you to do whatever you felt you had to do, but with me at your side. But that is all water under the bridge now. Now I want a divorce. I’ll send you the papers.’

She turned and walked to the front door, her legs all but turning to jelly beneath her. As she closed the door she looked his way one more time and her heart lurched in her chest as she watched him slump into the dining-room chair and lower his head into his hands.

Kelly felt more herself when her home, St Kilda Storeys, an old, no-frills apartment building located a block from the beach, came into view. Her parents thought it a rundown hovel but Kelly preferred to think it had loads of character. Add to that the fantastic location, and the dozen fabulous young neighbours, on her meagre budget she could not have hoped for better.

When Kelly opened her top-floor apartment door her tiny dog, Minky, bounded into her waiting arms.

‘Hey, baby doll,’ Kelly cooed. ‘Gracie not home?’ she asked the diddering dog.

Kelly called out, but her flatmate must have left already. She worked shifts at the Crown Casino as a croupier in the high rollers room so they crossed paths between shifts and on weekends, which worked well for both and gave Minky plenty of company.

But right then Kelly wished her little-seen flatmate were home. She needed a friendly ear. She kept Minky with her and walked back down the stairs until she reached the ground-floor apartment.

She knocked on the door. Her other Saturday Night Cocktails buddy, the young owner of the St Kilda Storeys apartment block, and sometime stylist for Fresh, classy Cara, opened up chewing on a slice of honey-covered toast. Kelly eyed the food and salivated. Minky did the same.

Cara happily fed them both. And when she heard the good news, she threw her arms around Kelly, careful to keep her sticky, crumby fingers away from her friend. ‘A contracted columnist at Fresh. Didn’t I tell you the two of you were made for each other?’

‘So I can get you the rent in a week if you can wait.’

Cara fluffed a hand across her face. ‘Next week’s fine. Don’t worry about it. So Single and Loving It! is here to stay. But can you do it? Is there enough vitriol in that tiny frame of yours to castigate men infinitum?’

Kelly thought back to Simon’s self-righteous certainty and nodded. ‘You bet. With more and more ammunition coming my way on a daily basis.’

‘Ooh, that sounds juicy. What happened?’

‘Ran into an ex today.’ Close enough. ‘Wasn’t fun. But did make me feel that much more right about sending my ideas and resolutions out into the world for other women to emulate.’

‘How not fun? Details, darlin’.’

How was it not fun? They had been fairly polite. They had even broken bread together. It had all been terribly civilised. And that was where the fun was lost. In the past they had been beyond passionate. Whether clawing at each other’s throats or at each other’s clothes, the one thing they had never been was civilised.

‘Saving it for the column.’

‘Thank God names must be changed to protect the innocent or I have a feeling this guy would be pulp by the time you were finished with him.’

And Kelly smiled. Simon had blown that one. By writing to her and begging a response, there would be no need for protecting the innocent. Or the guilty as the case might be.

‘Cocktails Saturday night?’ Cara asked.

‘Always,’ Kelly promised, planting a kiss on her friend’s cheek. ‘Thanks for the ear, Cara. I’d better go.’

Kelly had a column to map out and the ideas were flowing thick and fast.

CHAPTER THREE

KELLYISM:

YEARNING FOR A MAN WITH WHOM TO SPEND YOUR TIME?

GET A HOBBY INSTEAD!

BY SIX the next morning Kelly was up at the front of her kickboxing class. She had almost become used to picturing her mother’s disappointed face on the punching bag and to have Simon’s face there in its place felt like a huge step backwards.

But it was enough to put extra vigour into her kick. She spun on her left heel and her right foot caught the huge bag precisely in the centre, sending a satisfying zing up her leg.

The capability to kick the sense out of a perfectly docile leather bag had been her saviour and a much more affordable option than the therapy her mother had offered to pay for. Twice a week for five years had kept her fit and kept her mind clear. You couldn’t mope and achieve the addictive endorphin rush at the same time, so she’d had to give up one for the other.

Kelly jogged on the spot, working up a sweat and a new appetite to take on Simon’s assertions head-on. The more ammunition she had, the better her column would be. She had found at least one wonderful woman to feature this week, and she knew that Simon’s insensitivity to the delicate nature of a woman’s heart would be obvious in comparison.

Kelly slowed to a light bounce. Class was over. But a few last-minute punches to a point on the bag about six feet off the ground did not go astray.

Kelly hopped off the tram and walked the block to the melon-coloured two-storey stuccoed building that held the offices of Fresh magazine. It was her first full day as a real staff writer at Fresh.

The world was a good place. One or two minor irritations could be brushed over as long as she had the job of her dreams, a forum from which she could spread the word. Be fearless. Be resolute. Be heard. And whatever else, be who you have to be.

She pushed open the glass doors that led to the front reception and all but gasped as she saw Simon leaning on the reception desk.

It was bad enough having to face him in his apartment when she’d had time to prepare herself, but him showing up in her place of work shocked the hell out of her. Besides, he was dressed down in a form-fitting white T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, and he looked unbelievable. It was too much to cope with all at once.

Upon Kelly’s arrival, Judy, the receptionist, stopped batting her eyelashes at Simon at once, leapt from her swivel chair and disappeared into the office behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Kelly snapped, her eyes darting about the open space to see if anyone was within hearing distance. ‘Apart from flirting with my coworkers, that is?’

Simon’s eyes narrowed and Kelly wished she had learnt the ability to keep her trap shut. She was learning that telling it as it was in print was one thing, but thinking before speaking could not be overrated.

‘We had not finished our conversation when you ran off yesterday,’ Simon said.

‘I did not run off. I left. Something you should recognise since you are such an expert at it.’

He didn’t even blanch. Pity. Standing there before her all manly and gorgeous, with all that healthy glowing tan, was entirely too disconcerting.

‘Besides, I had said all I wished to say to you.’ Kelly tilted her nose in the air and walked past Simon on stiff legs. ‘Now please leave. Anything else you have to say can be said through a lawyer.’

Simon shot out a hand and took Kelly by the arm. His hand was warm beneath the steely strength, and it felt so deliciously familiar. Familiar. She looked down at his hand. It was large and square, with clean clipped fingernails. But it was not soft like that of a man who worked in an office all day. It was lightly roughened from outdoor work as it always had been. So, beneath the city-worker exterior there were hints of the Simon who had lived his life in the sunshine, who did not stop working on his beloved boats until the weak moonlight made it impossible.

‘You really have changed,’ he said, all but mirroring Kelly’s thoughts.

She shot him her steeliest glare. ‘You said that already.’

‘It’s just that it hits me anew each time I see you.’

His coarse grip softened but did not let go. He ran his unfathomable hazel eyes over her, taking in every inch of her that was so different. And she was glad she had made a concerted effort that morning.

Her hair was ironed straight and hanging sleekly past her shoulder blades. But as his gaze raked over it, long where it had once been pixie-short, she could almost feel his craving to reach out and stroke its silky length and she fought the urge to rake it back into an unexciting ponytail.

Her lashes were lathered in their usual black mascara, her cheeks were dusted in a shimmering pink, and her lips were awash with pale rose gloss. Her tight black top was held together with a small clip at her belly and fanned out again to reach the top of her skirt, showcasing décolletage, what cleavage she could muster, and belly, which were flushed with bronzing powder. Her skirt, which was black and pencil-thin, stopped just below her knees and she wore pointy black stilettos.

It was the outfit of a magazine chick, a woman with great self-assurance, and no fear. An outfit Kelly had chosen to get her through the most important day of her life so far. An outfit she had not seen as daring when wearing it in offices staffed mainly by women in similar garb, but standing there under Simon’s unashamed scrutiny she felt half naked.

‘I can’t get over how different you look.’

Kelly knew it too. She looked worn-down, thin.

His gaze finally raked back to hers and her breath caught painfully in her throat as she waited for him to say so.

The enchanting creases slowly, slowly, deepened in his smooth cheeks as an intimate smile lit his handsome face and he said, ‘You are beautiful, Kell.’

She blinked to cover her shock. He had never called her beautiful before. Cute. Adorable. Sexy. But never, ever beautiful.

Only then did she realise with utter astonishment that it was not disappointment or guilt resting heavily in his piercing hazel eyes, but desire. And in complete disregard for the consequences she felt herself leaning into his magnetic pull, being drawn deeper and deeper into his beautiful, longing gaze. Her breath released on a deep sigh and its message was loud and clear. The libido that had reawakened only the day before was up and running full steam ahead. She was turned on beyond measure.

‘Kelly?’

She blinked, rocked back onto her stiletto heels, and turned to the dismembered voice. Maya was standing in the open doorway to the offices, with Judy hovering behind her. Maya looked curiously from Kelly to the man seated nonchalantly on the desk at her side with one hand wrapped possessively around her arm.

‘What are you up to all the way out here, my sweet?’

Simon released his grip and stood, and Kelly knew he was moving to introduce himself. And the last thing she needed was to be shown up as a fraud on her first real day at work. Her world clicked back into focus.

‘This is Simon,’ Kelly shouted, drawing all eyes her way. ‘Simon of St Kilda. He is here to be interviewed for my next column.’

Maya’s eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘Well, well, Ms Rockford. You are a revelation. How on earth did you find this fellow and so quickly?’

Yes, how? How? How on earth? Anything but the facts. Her frantic mind tumbled over the possibilities and came up with…nothing.

‘A woman should never reveal her sources, her secrets, nor her deepest desires,’ Simon filled in the deep silence. ‘Wasn’t that a Kellyism from a couple of weeks back?’

Maya nodded, impressed. ‘I see you are a true connoisseur of our Kelly’s column.’

‘I have read it with great personal interest.’

‘Glad to hear it. I will leave you two to it. Bleed him dry, Kelly. I have a feeling about this one.’

Maya winked at Simon and left in a sparkling silver wake and a wash of expensive perfume, with a madly blushing Judy hot on her heels.

Kelly had gathered her wits and purposely funnelled her tension into sharp anger. She pointed to the front door. ‘Now go!’

‘Can’t. I’m being interviewed by a hot new writer.’

Simon sunk his hands into his jeans pockets, whistled a merry tune, and walked around Kelly and into the offices. She was left alone, pointing to the front door, feeling certain the emphasis on hot was not accidental.

When she caught up with Simon he was wandering through the open-plan room, the eyes of every woman in the place overtly following him. He received a few inviting smiles, a couple of assertive hellos, and even a wolf-whistle from the graphics department.

He turned to Kelly. ‘Which one’s yours?’

She pointed to her tiny desk and suddenly wished she had not made herself so at home so soon. Simon took a seat and pored over the photos stuck to her monitor.

Photos of her last birthday party, with her sitting at the old wooden table in her apartment, surrounded by Cara, Gracie, and other tenants, with sponge cake and cream all over her face. Photos of her cuddling Minky on her single bed. And a more staid photo of her last Christmas, sitting on her parents’ huge leather couch by a ridiculously large tree decorated in elegant silver ornaments. Kelly nibbled on her thumbnail and watched as Simon caught up on her life over the past five years.

Simon looked beyond the family shot and grabbed the one of Minky. ‘Is she…how is she?’

‘Scruffy and spoilt as ever.’

‘Missing me?’

‘Not any more.’

He did not glance her way though she was sure he had got her message loud and clear.

‘And your parents?’

‘Painful and…painful as ever.’

‘Missing me?’ He looked up with this question, his expression playful.

This brought a curious smile to Kelly’s face. ‘More than life itself.’

The smile stayed. Five years before, any mention of her parents would have started a fight. They had warned her from the start that he would be like his mother and flee at the first sign of hard work in a relationship and he had never forgiven them for it. And when he had left they had lived for months on ‘I told you so’.

But now here was a Simon who could ask after her parents with a smile on his face, in self-deprecation. Wonder of wonders.

As he put the picture back he bumped the mouse and stared as Kelly’s monitor changed from a star field screensaver to the shot of a crystal-clear ocean with a beautiful white sailing boat bobbing imperiously atop it.

It was the brochure shot of their boat. The one they had spent their brief passionate wedding night aboard. She rushed to her desk and clicked open a Word file, the blank white page obliterating the offending picture.

‘So, where do you want to start?’ Kelly asked.

Simon dragged his eyes from the computer screen, his look filled with questions Kelly did not dare answer, even to herself.

‘You said you were here to be interviewed so we may as well go through with it.’ Kelly made herself busy fluffing about in her filing cabinet until she found the letter. It was crumpled from a moment of wrath when she had rolled it into the smallest ball she could, stomped on it until flat, then shoved it at the very bottom of her rubbish bin. Eventually reason had made her iron it out with her hands but it still looked worse for wear. She could feel Simon’s smile as he saw the paper.

‘I was picturing your face as I did it,’ Kelly said quietly, knowing there were a dozen pairs of ears trained onto their cubicle.

‘I figured as much. So what would you like to ask me?’

Kelly leaned against the cubicle wall, arms folded, as Simon twisted and bounced on her chair. There was no way out of it now. Maya had seen him. She would have to grab a couple of lines for the column to take the edge off Maya’s curiosity.

‘Okay, then. Why do you think you know any more than I do about…?’

‘Love?’ he finished for her in a voice so low and reminiscent of the nights he would whisper such words in her ear by bonfires on the beach.

‘Mmm.’ She could not bring herself to say the word.

‘I don’t claim to know any more than you do. I think I know about exactly the same amount.’

‘Ha!’ She scoffed so loud a couple of female heads turned her way, their eyes alight with interest.

‘You disagree?’ he asked.

‘I’m the one asking the questions here,’ she said through clenched teeth, her glance darting about the room.

‘I have a question for you,’ he said, happily ignoring her protest. ‘Where’s your ring?’

He reached out and took her left hand, toying with her bare ring finger, encircling, stroking, caressing from the tip to her sensitive palm.

Kelly’s gaze rocked back to him, startled. She knew which ring he meant. She yanked her hand away and rubbed at the spot that tingled with the memory of wearing the ring Simon had given her. Such a short time. Such a long time ago.

She shrugged. ‘I haven’t worn it in years. And I’ve moved so many times since then…who knows? Gone for all eternity, I suppose.’

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. His gaze had lowered to her squirming hands so she had no idea how her answer affected him. But it had affected her to her very core. It had dredged up memories and feelings and associations with another time when he had held her left hand with such intimacy.

‘So if you’re the one asking the questions,’ he finally said, ‘come on, then. Ask away.’

Her mind froze. The only other question she could summon at that moment was: Do you feel the same overwhelming and downright frightening sense of sense slipping away that I feel every time we are within touching distance of one another?

So, knowing that was the last thing she wanted to share with Simon, she stood and grabbed him by the hand, dragging him through the room, past a dozen interested onlookers, and into the tearoom, which thankfully was empty.

‘I don’t think this is going to work. I have your letter. That’s enough for me to come up with a perfectly good retort.’

‘Surely I deserve a heads up. I said in my letter that I believe love is alive and well out there. What do you have to say about that?’

She still held his hand. She made to pull away and his free hand put a stop to that, closing over hers so that it was entirely encased in the strong warmth of his grasp.

Kelly was sure she had plenty to say but at that moment her throat had closed over and her pulse had quickened to a rate of knots. She shook her head to clear the indefinable fog that was dampening her perfectly good rage.

‘Simon, just go, please.’ Her voice sounded far away.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No. I did not come here to be interviewed, Kelly, you know that.’

‘So why are you here?’

Please tell me. Whatever the answer, I have to know.

He closed the gap between them so quickly Kelly did not see it coming. His warm, strong hands pulled her to him before reaching up, framing her shocked face as he leaned in to touch his lips to hers.

For a moment Kelly was able to resist. Stunned as she was. But only a moment. Then, with a shuddering groan, her open mouth yielded under his warm, persuasive skill.

Simon’s beautiful lips tempted her own apart and a hundred distant memories burst to the surface with the unexpectedness of a lightning flash. She could all but feel the hot sun of five years before burn upon her neck as his kiss deepened and enticed and sent melting hot flushes the length of her body.

She stole her hands around his shoulders to bury her fingers deep into his soft hair, the silky sensation so familiar and so missed all these years. One of Simon’s hands followed suit, sliding around to bury itself deep within her tumble of silky hair just as she had sensed him longing to do all morning. His other hand stole around her back, the heat from his fingertips scorching through the thin synthetic fabric of her top. It curved lower, and lower until he cupped her bottom.

Then, having wrapped her up tight in his solid embrace, Simon pressed his body to hers. He was muscled where he had once been lean. And even with the changes to her own physique he fitted as if he had been carved just for her.

And the one blaring thought that managed to seep through her whirling, foggy, out-of-control mind was that she ached to know every single one of those changes up close and personal.

CHAPTER FOUR

KELLYISM:

LOVE AND KISSES SHOULD NEVER BE USED

IN THE SAME SENTENCE,

UNLESS IT’S THIS ONE!

KELLY’S mobile phone buzzed at her hip. The vibration jolted her out of Simon’s arms as if she had been struck with a hot poker.

She pulled away, relieved beyond thought that nobody had walked in on them. That was all she needed: to be caught necking in the tearoom. How could she, the mentor of how to survive without a man, explain that to her new colleagues?

She reached for the phone and checked the text message, blissfully ignoring Simon who was standing in front of her, his hands hanging clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with the same power and pace as her own.

‘My real interview is on the phone,’ Kelly said. She looked to him with pleading eyes. ‘So stay, go, do whatever you please, just leave me alone.’

‘I’ll go. For now.’

For ever. Please, for my sanity’s sake, go for ever this time.

He left and she followed. And as he reached the doorway to Reception, he sent her one last glance. One last hot, meaningful, and totally knee-weakening glance. It was all she could do to send him a professional nod and walk calmly back towards her desk. She could feel dozens of pairs of eyes burning holes into her back.

She’d kissed him. What on earth was she thinking kissing him? Sure, he had started it but that was an excuse better suited to the school playground. And she had certainly joined in without hesitation. Argh! She had been trying to send him away, for good, and then she had gone and kissed him! Well done, Kelly. Now he’ll really take your demands to get lost seriously.

She reached her desk and sat down with a punishing thud. A pretty blonde head popped around from the desk across from hers.

‘Hiya.’

‘Hello.’

‘I’m Lena.’ The cute girl extended a plump hand. ‘I’m the restaurant critic. You’re Kelly Rockford, right?’

‘I am.’ Kelly’s breathing had thankfully slowed to a more regular pace. She shook the proffered hand.

‘Glad to have you on board,’ Lena said. ‘Single and Loving It! is a crack-up. My girlfriends and I are totally addicted. One friend broke up with her boyfriend last week and we actually did your ritual night, right down to burning her ex’s photo and dancing around the ashes. Felt so silly at first but my friend is like I have never seen her. She is on top of the world. You saved her, and us from having to put up with the usual blubbering mess we would have had to contend with. You’re a genius.’

Kelly smiled, picturing the night a week after Simon had left when she had performed that ritual herself. Naked on the beach at midnight. Burning every photograph, every piece of physical evidence that he had been a part of her life. Doing everything she could to release her downtrodden spirit and move on. Though she was only now realising the little good it had done in releasing her from his influence.

‘Oh, no. Don’t go thinking I am a genius. Just a medium through which women can be heard.’

‘Believe me. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next. Anyway, grab me if you have any questions about the place. Happy to help.’

‘Thanks, Lena, shall do.’

Lena grinned at her as if she were a movie star and swung back inside her own cubicle.

Kelly took a deep breath and picked up her phone. ‘Judy, could you patch my interviewee through for me? Thanks.’

Kelly sat at Maya’s desk that afternoon as the elder woman glanced over her outline. Her face spread into a wide grin.

‘This is priceless. Is she for real?’

Kelly nodded.

‘Wherever do you find these women?’ Before Kelly could answer Maya waved her quiet. ‘Sorry, sorry, I forgot. “A woman should never reveal her sources, her secrets, nor her deepest desires.” The way that young Simon of St Kilda came out with that line made me want to have secrets just so he could come looking for them!’

‘Maya!’ Kelly could not control her blush at Maya’s ravenous expression.

‘He’s a dish. No doubt about it.’ After a brief sigh Maya continued as though there had been no pit stop in the conversation. ‘So this Gillian woman crashes weddings on a regular basis.’

‘Yep. Every weekend. Sometimes twice a week.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘It seems she just loves weddings. Loves the unadulterated joy experienced on such occasions that you find nowhere else.’

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