The Pregnancy Discovery
Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical north Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit her website at www.barbarahannay.com.

For Magnetic Island and

my fortunate friends who live there.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

MEG almost missed seeing the old bottle lying half in, half out of the damp sand.

Most evenings, on her solitary walks along the beach on Magnetic Island, she found a trail of shells, broken coral and driftwood. She often came across fishing floats, pieces of timber from wrecks on the Great Barrier Reef…and bottles.

But this evening, just as she passed this particular bottle, a ray from the setting sun struck its glass. It glinted and winked at her. Meg paused and bent closer. It was then she noticed that the neck was sealed and a little stirring of curiosity, a prickle of anticipation, prompted her to reach down and tug the bottle out of its sandy bed.

At first she thought it was empty. But when she held it up to the fading light, she saw a shadowy cylinder of paper inside and her breath snagged on a sudden gasp.

A letter.

A letter in a bottle.

Her first reaction was excitement, a kind of childish thrill…and hot on its heels came a thousand questions. But then a strange kind of sixth sense buzzed through Meg.

Her heart drummed.

Shivering, she tried to shrug off the unsettling notion that she and the bottle shared a connection—a tenuous, but important link.

The feeling wouldn’t go away.

Around her the tropical night was closing in. All that was left of the sun was a blush of pink along the tops of the island’s hills. The darkening waters of the bay threw themselves gently against the coral sand in a slow slap…slap…slap.

The rest of the world was going about its business, just as it did every evening, but Meg felt different…as if her life had been touched by an unseen hand.

Clutching the bottle to her chest, she hurried back up the beach and along the bush track to the car park. Carefully, she wrapped it in a towel and settled it safely under the passenger’s seat of her Mini Moke. She would wait till she got back to her bungalow to open the bottle with great care and she would read its contents in complete privacy.

And then she would know…

CHAPTER ONE

THE last thing Sam Kirby needed was another pretty woman in his life.

His personal assistant, who spent her days juggling his crowded social calendar with his hectic business appointments, had told him so on many occasions.

So when he rushed into his downtown Seattle office straight from his latest corporate battle, he didn’t expect to find a photo of a beautiful, bikini-clad girl smack on top of the paperwork needing his immediate attention.

‘Ellen, what’s this?’ He spun around so abruptly he almost collided with his assistant, who’d been following faithfully at his heels.

Her eyes flicked anxiously to the photo. ‘It came this morning in a courier express package from Australia.’ She picked up several sheets from his desk. ‘The operator of an island holiday resort sent it along with a news clipping and a letter.’

He frowned. ‘If it’s just an advertising gimmick, throw it in the bin. The way things are at present I won’t be free to take a holiday any time in the next decade.’

‘It’s not advertising, Sam. I’m afraid there’s more to it.’

With a grimace of exasperation, he took the clipping Ellen held out. The photo showed a lovely blonde standing on a postcard-perfect, tropical beach. Her name, the caption claimed, was Meg Bennet and she was holding an old bottle.

For a little longer than was strictly necessary, he let his gaze linger on her.

She wore a bikini top and a simple sarong in different shades of blue tied loosely around her slim hips. Her midriff glowed honey-gold and her hair was a pleasing tumble of sunshiny curls.

But she wasn’t just another remarkably pretty girl.

What Sam found unexpectedly interesting, almost magnetic, was the disturbing directness of her smiling eyes as they looked straight out of the page at him.

It bugged him that he couldn’t determine the exact colour of those eyes but, for a heady moment, he thought how interesting it would be to see them close up—just before he kissed her.

‘Sam, your social diary is fully-booked well into next month,’ his long suffering assistant remarked dryly, ‘and that particular young woman lives on the other side of the Pacific.’

‘Too bad,’ he responded with a quick grin and a shrug before he refocused his concentration on the clipping from an Australian newspaper. ‘Love letter found in bottle on tropical island,’ he read aloud and, letting out an impatient sigh, he silently skimmed the rest of the story.

When he finished, he looked at Ellen with a puzzled frown. ‘I don’t understand why we’ve been sent this. Some American airman wrote a love letter to his bride back in 1942 and stuck it in a bottle and now it’s turned up on the Great Barrier Reef almost sixty years later. So what?’

‘Perhaps you were too side-tracked by the photo to notice,’ Ellen prompted. ‘But the story also mentions that they’re trying to trace the American who wrote the letter, or his descendants.’

‘But what has that to do with us at Kirby & Son?’

Ellen straightened her impeccably neat suit jacket.

And Sam felt a nasty jab of alarm. ‘Ellen, what is it?’

She smiled gently. ‘According to this letter from the manager of the island resort, the man who wrote the message in the bottle has been identified and his descendants have been traced.’

‘And?’

‘And his name was Thomas Jefferson Kirby—’

‘My grandfather,’ Sam completed in a choked, disbelieving whisper.

‘Yes.’

‘Whew!’ He closed his eyes for a second or two. Slowly, he looked at Ellen again and shook his head. ‘Tom Kirby died during the war. My father never even knew the poor guy.’

Again he stared at the photo and the bottle in the girl’s hand. ‘Who would have thought?’ He held out his hand for the letter. ‘What else does this Australian have to say?’

As he read, his stomach tightened an extra notch. ‘What’s he playing at? He reckons there was a new will in the bottle and he won’t release the details until someone from my family goes over there.’

‘There’s no way your father could undertake that kind of journey.’

‘Of course he can’t, he’s far too frail, but how the heck does this guy expect me to just drop everything and head off to some tropical island down under?’ Groaning, he clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘I don’t have time to deal with this.’

Ellen looked at her young boss over her half glasses. ‘There’s a lot at stake. Kirby & Son has been in your family for four generations.’

‘I know. I know.’ Sam pushed aside thoughts of what such stress might do to his ailing father. ‘There’s something suspicious about this Aussie. I don’t like the way he’s refusing to hand over the letter unless I show up in person.’ With one hand rubbing his jaw, he added, ‘I’ll have to give this some thought.’

Ellen nodded and returned without comment to her desk in the adjoining office.

Tossing the photo and the papers onto his desk, Sam shoved his hands deep in his trouser pockets and strode towards the huge plate-glass window that overlooked the Seattle waterfront and the Bell Street Pier.

This sudden news about his grandfather had caught him way off-base.

It was the last thing he needed. Since his father’s heart attack, Sam had sole responsibility for running the family’s huge multimillion dollar construction company. He’d been working at a killing pace for the past three years and there was no sign of things slowing down.

Now, he’d been pitched a curve ball by an ancestor he’d rarely thought about and had never even mourned. He drew in an huge breath and let it out slowly, trying to diffuse the overwhelming sense of pressure.

Gloomily, he stared through the window at the world outside. From his vantage point, the whole of Seattle seemed stripped of any colour this afternoon. Although it was late spring, grey skies, and grey office blocks overlooked a grey waterfront. Even the offshore islands were dark charcoal smudges floating on dull slate-coloured water.

The idea of escape—especially of escaping to sunshine and warmth—had distinct appeal. He could collect this letter, steal a few days to dive on the coral reefs and smell the frangipani. Check out the colour of Meg Bennet’s eyes…

Pacing the carpet back to his desk, his mind tussled with his dilemma. What he needed to know was whether this new will in Australia was genuine. If any of his competitors got wind of a will that could question the legal ownership of Kirby & Son, it would be like having an ace up their sleeves in a multimillion-dollar card game.

A discreet cough from the doorway interrupted his thoughts. ‘Sam.’ Ellen sounded hesitant, looked sympathetic. ‘I just had a phone call from a reporter at the Seattle Times. He wants to talk to you. It seems the media already know about the bottle.’

Sam cursed under his breath.

‘The press will make a field day out of it,’ Ellen agreed. ‘Especially after that society columnist dubbed you Seattle’s favourite bachelor last week.’

He thrust an irate hand through his thick dark hair. ‘I think I’m fast running out of options. I’ll have to go to Australia and get this bottle business sorted out as quickly as possible.’

Ellen nodded. ‘I can start making bookings.’

‘Yeah, thanks. And I want my lawyers alerted to have someone on call round the clock—just in case this guy tries any tricks about my grandfather’s will.’ Sam paused and looked thoughtfully at the photo of the girl with the bottle.

Ellen followed his gaze and she sighed. ‘Poor Meg Bennet.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘She looks rather sweet. I can’t help thinking that if you’re planning to zip over to her quiet little island for a few days and zap straight back here again, you should be wearing hazard lights.’

Sam frowned and looked affronted. ‘I’m not a danger to women. I’m just attracted to them.’

‘Of course,’ Ellen replied, but she walked away muttering something about charm having its own perils and wouldn’t it be fitting if the tables were turned one of these days.

His glance flicked to the picture of the intriguing Meg Bennet. There was a spunky intelligence and honesty about her lovely face that suggested she wouldn’t let any man get the better of her unless she wanted him to.

But he quickly dismissed such thoughts. It was the will, his grandfather’s message in the bottle, that he was going to Australia to pick up. Not the beautiful girl who’d happened to find it.

Meg was pleased. The reef was looking its best this morning. As she snorkelled back towards the shallows of Florence Bay, no breath of wind stirred the surface of the pleasantly warm water, and the sun shone from a cloudless sky. The underwater visibility was perfect for her group of tourists to view the spectacular fantasy below.

Beneath them now, copper and gold butterfly-fish with elongated snouts were probing vibrant red coral clumps. Nearby, forests of branching staghorn coral, bright blue with deep pink tips, shimmered, pretty as Christmas trees.

A spotted ray, camouflaged on the sea bed, suddenly exploded in a cloud of white sand, the tips of its flat body rippling as it arched away.

All morning, she’d been guiding the resort’s guests through a treasure trove of natural beauty. She always got a kick out of sharing the excitement of first timers when they discovered the incredible secrets of the tropical sea.

Reaching the shallows, she stood and balanced first on one foot and then the other, as she pulled off her flippers. Then she removed her snorkel and mask and waited for the holiday makers she’d been escorting to join her.

The American, who was closest to her, ripped off his face mask and exclaimed, ‘That was just fantastic. I never expected to see so many varieties of damselfish in the one spot.’

‘So you know about damselfish? Sounds like you did some research before you came on holiday,’ Meg suggested as they waded towards the crescent of sand that fringed the bay.

‘I haven’t had any time for research recently, but I’ve been interested in tropical fish since I was so high.’ He gestured somewhere near his knee and grinned.

Oh, boy! Meg gulped as the full impact of that grin hit her. This man’s smile outranked the big screen efforts of most movie stars.

And his eyes were an unexpected drowsy blue. She was perturbed by the way that just looking at him made her breathing quicken, dislodging the comfortable friendliness she usually shared with resort guests.

Dropping her snorkelling gear onto the sand, she reached for her towel and made a business of squeezing excess moisture from her hair. What was the matter with her? This American wasn’t the first handsome tourist she’d taken skin-diving.

She promised herself that a reaction like that wouldn’t happen again. This fellow could smile as much as he liked and she would remain immune. She’d seen one or two of her workmates get themselves into dreadful emotional pickles, breaking their hearts over resort guests. It just wasn’t worth it.

Waving to the group of German tourists, who were making their way out of the water, she decided that it must be this blue-eyed boy’s excitement about the reef that gave him an extra edge of attractiveness.

But she felt ridiculously self-conscious about unzipping the full-length Lycra bodysuit she’d worn as protection from marine stingers.

Her companion didn’t hesitate to shed his suit and Meg found herself stealing a peek at the tall, wide-shouldered and tautly muscled body that emerged clad in simple bathers. She had no alternative but to step out of her suit, too. Nevertheless, she avoided his gaze.

It was very annoying that she should suddenly feel so bothered about something she did every day.

When they both hauled on T-shirts, she felt better, but there was still a self-conscious edge to her voice when she said, ‘We’ll head back to the resort now. You’ll have time for a shower before lunch.’

The Germans, who had their own hired vehicles, were talking animatedly amongst themselves and so the American helped Meg to pile the snorkelling equipment into the back of the resort’s Mini Moke and he sent her another breath-robbing grin. ‘Thanks for a great morning.’

‘My pleasure,’ she murmured.

They both jumped into her Moke and, as she steered the little vehicle up the winding track leading out of the bay, her passenger leaned comfortably back in his seat, turned to her and asked, ‘OK Miss Recreation Officer, what’s planned for this afternoon?’

Surprised, she shot him a calculating glance, but smiled as she said, ‘You Americans are so energetic when you come on holidays, aren’t you? It’s go, go, go the whole time.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘That’s so unusual?’

‘I don’t suppose so,’ she admitted. ‘But we don’t have a huge number of guests here at the moment and most of them seem to be fairly independent, so I didn’t have anything organised for this afternoon.’

‘I was hoping you might be able to take me on a guided tour of one of the island’s walks.’

Meg pursed her lips. Was this fellow making a play for her already? When she’d come to work at the resort just three months ago, she’d discovered that far too many male visitors arrived on the island and assumed the female staff were part of the room service along with the free tea and coffee. She’d developed some pretty useful brush-off tactics.

‘If you have a look in that glove box, you’ll find a pamphlet that outlines all the walks. You’re a big boy. You don’t need a guide. Anyhow…’ she added a white lie as an extra measure of protection ‘…I’m busy all afternoon. There’s a VIP coming soon.’

‘Big deal is it?’

‘Oh, just some hotshot millionaire.’ Meg rolled her eyes.

‘You don’t think much of millionaires?’

Her scowl was automatic. Five years ago, she’d watched her father’s career and health suffer at the hands of a money-hungry tycoon and she’d developed a seriously jaundiced view of wealth. ‘I’m sure those types are so busy counting their money, or protecting it, or making it grow, they don’t have time for the important things in life.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said in a strangely flat voice that made Meg look at him sharply.

They crested the hill and in front of them stretched a magnificent vista—a string of pretty blue bays sparkling in the midday sun like sapphires on a necklace.

As the American admired the view, he said casually, ‘I heard something about a bottle being found on one of those beaches.’

‘Yes.’ A sudden sprinkling of goose bumps broke out on Meg’s arms. ‘I found it,’ she told him.

Sam’s guilty conscience gave him a bad time as he watched Meg’s face grow wistful. He should come clean and confess to her that he was the very millionaire she had been talking about. He should tell her right now.

But an equally strong instinct urged him otherwise. She was already wary of him and a confession like that would make her clam up completely. Then he would miss this heaven-sent opportunity to pick up inside information about the bottle and its message before he tackled her boss.

They reached the resort, Magnetic Rendezvous. She steered the car into a parking bay and, after turning the engine off, leaned forward, linking her arms across the top of the steering wheel. Sam got the distinct impression she was pleased to talk to someone about this bottle.

She turned to look at him and he felt the full impact of her clear grey eyes. Yes, they were definitely grey, he decided—and sweetly framed by long dark lashes. And, he noticed uncomfortably, right now they were shimmering with a suspicious sheen.

‘I don’t know what made me pick the bottle up,’ she said softly. ‘I keep asking myself that and I know it sounds fanciful, but it was almost as if I was meant to find it.’

Her face softened into a sad, dreamy smile and Sam felt a surprising constriction in his throat. In the flesh, Meg was even lovelier than her photo had suggested. The photo hadn’t shown the way she moved, light and graceful, with a sexy little sway of her hips. It couldn’t record the delightful warmth of her voice or capture the way her smile could dissolve into a sweetly serious frown when she was lost in thought.

She was looking serious now when she said, ‘That bottle spent sixty years bobbing around in the ocean. I’m only—well—it’s more than twice my age.’

‘So how old does that make you?’

‘None of your business.’

Sam grinned. At a guess, he’d put her age at around twenty-four or twenty-five. He was thirty-two, so she was a bit young for him—not that he was thinking of her in that way, of course.

Then again…

She was offering him a view of her delicate profile and, as he watched the way she nibbled at her soft bottom lip, a guy couldn’t help contemplating how nice it would be to try that himself sometime.

Meg’s voice broke into his thoughts, dragging them away from highly unsuitable fantasies. ‘I guess I’m looking at this whole bottle business in a hopelessly romantic way.’ She flashed him a sudden smile.

He couldn’t resist smiling back. ‘What’s wrong with romance?’

For a long moment their gazes held. An unspoken, highly charged exchange flashed between them. Sam only just resisted an urge to lean forward and taste her soft, startled mouth.

He couldn’t be sure who looked away first but, eventually, they both stared back out through the windscreen at the stretch of lawn dotted with coconut palms.

He forced himself to remember that his family’s business was at stake. Which was why he was relaxing on a tropical island and deliberately misleading this lovely young woman. He definitely shouldn’t be planning to add seduction to his crime of deception.

He cleared his throat. ‘So this message in the bottle, was it a love letter?’

She nodded. ‘It’s beautiful. That man sure loved the woman he was writing to.’

‘He was writing to his wife, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but you can’t read her name. There’s some damage—from exposure to light we think.’

He repressed an angry sigh. If Tom Kirby’s wife wasn’t named, sorting out this will could be really messy. It was the worst possible news.

‘You’d better not ask me any more about it,’ Meg said with sudden briskness, ‘I can’t say anything else, not when the grandson of Thomas Kirby, the man who wrote the message, is coming here soon—tomorrow, I think.’

Sam’s stomach tightened guiltily.

Meg added, ‘He’s the American VIP I was telling you about.’

‘You don’t say?’ he murmured, and he switched his attention to a rainbow lorikeet as it settled in a nearby tree. After promising himself, again, to come clean very soon, he asked, ‘So this guy is coming all the way out here just to pick up a sixty-year-old letter? Why couldn’t you have posted it to him special delivery?’

Meg sighed loudly. ‘That would be too easy. My boss wouldn’t hear of it. He wants to get as much publicity mileage as he can out of this incident.’

He stopped studying the bird and turned to frown at her. ‘What kind of publicity?’

‘He sees this as a great opportunity to get media attention for the resort. Magnetic Rendezvous isn’t doing all that well. The competition for the tourist dollar is very stiff.’

So that was what this guy was after! ‘That’s cheeky.’

‘Oh, Fred’s cheeky all right. He wants shots of me and this bachelor millionaire with the bottle plastered in newspapers and on television screens all over the country. I’m not looking forward to it,’ she said with another sigh.

‘This man—this millionaire—’

‘Yes?’

‘He might—’ Sam hesitated, uncomfortably aware that if he kept on talking about himself, he was taking this whole subterfuge thing way too far.

To his relief, Meg didn’t wait for him to finish. She jumped out of the doorless Moke and grinned at him. ‘I prefer not to think about him until I have to. Now, you’re going to miss out on lunch if you don’t get moving.’

He hopped out of the car too, and strode around to the back where she had begun to sort out the tangle of snorkels and flippers. ‘There’s something I should explain.’

‘What’s that?’

His eyes rested her. Her beauty was as fresh and natural, as untouched as the island itself. Tell her, an inner voice urged and he drew in a breath, ready to confess. ‘There’s something I should tell you…something I should get off my chest about why I’m here on the island.’

Meg stopped counting flippers and looked up abruptly to frown at him. ‘Now you really have me intrigued.’ She touched his wrist lightly. ‘You’ll have to explain…Heavens! I’ve been rattling on to you and I can’t even remember your name. What did you say your name was again?’

‘Sam.’

‘OK, Sam.’ Her grey eyes looked directly into his. ‘Get it off your chest.’

Her gaze suddenly locked with his and, just as he had earlier, Sam felt another startling sense of connection zap between them.

Her warm hand was still lying on his wrist.

Neither of them moved.

Chemistry could play sneaky tricks on a guy. Sam would have liked to feel more in control of this situation. Getting to know a woman was usually a pleasant game where he called all the shots. Many considered him to be an expert.

But right now, he had no idea where he was heading.

Especially when, out of absolutely nowhere, the unmistakable idea of kissing hovered between them in the dappled sunlight.

As if prompted by a magnetic force, he dipped his head towards Meg ever so slightly and, to his surprise, she didn’t pull back. When he leaned lower, she raised her face a breathless fraction higher.

Their mouths met.

It was a hello kind of kiss. More than friendly, but not exactly the exchange of lovers. Apart from their mouths and her hand on his, they weren’t touching. He smiled down at her and she smiled back and he felt the warmth and softness of her linger on his lips and the blood rush through his pulse points.

Meg was looking at him in dazed alarm as if she was as startled as he was. Then she jumped back, glaring at him and she said shakily, ‘I make it a rule never to kiss guests.’

The flustered, breathless way she spoke sounded so sexy Sam stepped back too, in case he gave in to any more urges. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

She grabbed a pile of flippers, as if she needed an armful of rubber to keep him at bay. ‘You said you wanted to tell me something important about why you’re here,’ she reminded him sharply. ‘What sort of work did you say you did?’

‘Er—don’t worry about my job. It’s boring,’ Sam replied hastily. ‘But my hobby is marine science. I haven’t studied it in depth, but I’d love to learn more about the life on the reef, underwater photography, salt-water aquariums—that sort of thing. We could make a great team. You could be my tutor.’

‘Bad idea.’ She scowled. And then, like a mother scolding a little boy, she added, ‘I suggest you go take a shower and have some lunch.’

She looked so mad that any thought of confessing his identity seemed ridiculous now. But it also seemed important to set things straight with Meg. For some inexplicable reason, Sam really cared what she thought of him.

A flipper dropped from the pile she was clutching and landed at his feet. He picked it up and held it for a moment, his fingers flexing the rubber. ‘Meg, what I meant to tell you was that this VIP you mentioned…’

He could sense her wariness, as if she’d pulled it on like protective armour. From beneath ash-blonde curls streaked with gold, her grey gaze darkened to a stormy charcoal. ‘Don’t tell me it’s you,’ she whispered.

‘Yeah, ‘fraid so.’

A red flush flared in her cheeks and he couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or just plain mad at him.

‘I’m sorry. I meant to tell you earlier.’

‘No one was stopping you,’ she snapped.

‘Maybe not, but I didn’t see why I should give you a perfect reason to hate me.’

‘Yes, but—’ Meg gulped.

‘And you handed me an excellent opportunity to check out the lie of the land. I don’t intend to just waltz in to your boss ready to dance to his tune. After all, there’s a lot at stake.’

‘A lot of money.’

‘More than just money. It’s complicated.’ He took a step closer and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘But I have an even better excuse.’

Meg didn’t smile back. She continued to stand stiffly to attention with her arms tightly wrapped around the flippers.

‘I really appreciated being able to see the reef just the way I did this morning—just like an ordinary tourist. I had a great time. Thank you. From what you’ve said, the media will be hanging around tomorrow. Things will be different.’ He smiled again.

But it seemed the effort was wasted.

Meg’s chin lifted and she eyed him with a haughty glare. ‘Things will be very different,’ she said. ‘For starters, you won’t even think about trying to kiss me.’

He tucked the flipper into the bundle she was holding. ‘In that case, I’m sure neither of us will look forward to tomorrow.’

Ignoring her startled gasp, he turned in the direction of his bungalow. And, as he walked away, Sam reflected that he’d been wise not to add a comment about just how slim Meg’s chances were if she expected to control his thoughts.

Especially his thoughts about kissing her again.

CHAPTER TWO

AS SOON as she woke the next morning, Meg knew it was going to be a bad day. Her first clue was the way her mind flashed straight to Sam Kirby—exactly where she didn’t want it to be. He’d taken up far too much space in her head all night.

Not even the rainbow lorrikeets that came to her kitchen window for their breakfast treat could lift her spirits. She watched the amazing birds peck daintily at tiny pieces of bread and honey. But this morning their bright purple heads, lime-green wings, and bright yellow chests, brush-stroked with scarlet, didn’t fill her with admiration as they usually did. She was too busy feeling angry.

The cheek of the man—hiding his identity, encouraging her to talk about the bottle and then stealing that kiss—all in such a short space of time!

If ever a man spelled danger for Meg, Sam Kirby did. He was a super-rich big businessman and an international resort guest—he summed up everything she went out of her way to avoid. So how on earth had she stood there like a ninny and let him kiss her?

And the worst part was, it had been such a nice kiss.

Despite her anger, she’d found herself thinking about it over and over as she’d drifted off to sleep. Again and again, she’d remembered the warm, sensual pressure of his slightly open lips on hers. Then there was the impact of those deep blue eyes up close. They had been breathtaking. They’d made her think about…finding somewhere private…somewhere beneath whispering palm trees…or in the shallows on a secluded sandy beach…somewhere…anywhere he could go on kissing her…

But, for heaven’s sake! These were things she most certainly shouldn’t be thinking about on first meeting a man. Especially this man. She’d spent the rest of the night telling herself that.

Remember who he is. A corporate high roller.

A playboy millionaire. Forget him!

He’ll be gone in a few days. Forget him, now!

The fact that he’d come to the island to collect the letter in the bottle was a snag. She’d already agreed to her boss’s demands to pose with Sam for the publicity shots today, so she had little choice now, but to eat her breakfast, shower and get ready for the ordeal.

But, as she did so, Meg kept up a continuous pep talk in her head. By the time she left her bungalow, she was determined to be mentally prepared to face Sam again.

A swarm of journalists, television cameramen and photographers hovered around the reception area. When Meg arrived, some were pacing the slate tiles, while others settled back on the deep cane lounges to smoke and chat quietly.

Her boss, Fred Raynor, dragged her excitedly into his office. ‘I was about to have you paged. All the media have turned up! They came over on the early boat. Isn’t this great?’

He beamed and rubbed his pudgy hands together. ‘And these are just the local press. When their stories get out, there’ll be more.’ He flung a hand to the view of the resort’s tropical garden. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful day in paradise. We’ll get excellent outdoor shots.’

‘All we need is our millionaire,’ Meg added dryly.

‘He’ll be here any minute.’ Fred shook his head and ran a hand over his bulging stomach. ‘Boy, did that guy upset my digestion last night.’

‘Oh?’ Meg couldn’t help being curious.

‘He wanted the letter out of the bottle straight away and was wild as a cut snake when I said he could only have it after he posed for a few photos.’

‘Did he refuse to go ahead with the publicity?’ she asked hopefully.

‘I finally got him to agree. I told him flat I’ve got possession. He can carry on about his lawyers and rights, but down here it’s finders keepers.’ Fred’s pale eyes gleamed as he looked at her meaningfully. ‘Actually, I think what won him round was the fact that it gives him a good excuse to hang around—er, here—for a day or two.’

He looked over Meg’s shoulder as someone entered the office and he lowered his voice. ‘Here he is now.’

Standing stiffly to attention, Meg clenched her hands into tight little fists at her sides as she turned to face Sam.

‘Morning,’ he said with his usual smile.

‘It’s going to be good one.’ Fred beamed.

‘Hello, Meg,’ Sam added when she didn’t respond. His eyes held a twinkling warmth.

Meg nodded frostily. ‘Hi.’ She found herself needing to search for outward signs of wealth on Sam Kirby—things she might have overlooked yesterday—when she’d been taken up with his other attributes.

His watch was a sophisticated diving watch, but many men wore similar accessories. His dark blue, open-necked shirt, stone-coloured shorts and navy trainers were probably expensive, but spoke of taste rather than money. There was no hint of jewellery around his neck, at his wrist, or on his fingers.

So he wasn’t flashy. That still didn’t mean she could trust him.

Fred slapped them both on the shoulder and grinned broadly. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

Feeling annoyingly self-conscious again, Meg followed the men out of the office. As she expected, Fred wanted plenty of publicity shots set up in front of the huge Magnetic Rendezvous sign. She was required to pose with Sam.

‘Smile into each other’s eyes now,’ a photographer called.

Meg tried to force a smile and focused on a point beyond Sam’s shoulder. She knew he was looking straight at her, smiling with those baby-blue, super-cute eyes, but she was determined not to let them affect her again.

‘Hey, miss, lighten up,’ a photographer scolded.

She squeezed her smile muscles harder as Sam leaned closer.

‘They’re blue today.’ His voice was a sexy rumble close to her ear.

Goose bumps prickled to unwilling life on her arms. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Gulp. No matter how she felt about him, Sam was still the best-looking guy she’d seen outside a cinema. ‘What are blue? What are you talking about?’

‘Your eyes,’ he said softly. ‘How do they do it?’

‘Do what?’ she muttered through her grimacing smile.

‘Change colour. I’ve been trying to work out what colour they are and yesterday I decided they were definitely grey, but today I swear they’re blue.’

Meg couldn’t help it. She smiled.

Cameras flashed all around them. ‘That’s great!’ someone shouted. ‘Hold that smile! Gorgeous!’ There were more flashes and clicks.

As a photographer rearranged them into a slightly different pose, Sam asked, ‘How do they change like that?’

He was doing it again. Trying to win her over with charm. Most men usually focused their attention somewhere between her neck and her knees. No man, in her memory, had ever paid such flattering attention to her eyes.

‘Does their colour depend on what you’re wearing?’ His approving gaze took in her aqua halter-necked top and shorts.

‘I think so.’

‘That’s a really neat trick.’

But Meg was determined not to be won over by a few throw-away lines about her eyes.

Suddenly a female journalist in a trendy power suit stepped forward wielding a microphone. A cameraman and sound recorder crowded close behind.

‘Mr Kirby,’ the journalist asked silkily. ‘I understand you’ve dated film stars and celebrities in America? So what do you think of Australian girls?’

Meg made a choking sound. Where on earth had this stupid question come from? What did it have to do with the letter in the bottle? Didn’t the ditsy journalist know about sticking to the hard facts?

Sam looked a little startled by the question, too, but he quickly recovered. He favoured the journalist with a full-scale model of his sexiest smile. ‘Aussie girls are enchanting.’

The journalist simpered and Meg might have scowled if the camera hadn’t swung to focus on her. The interviewer spoke again, ‘And, Meg, what’s it like to have the attention of Seattle’s favourite bachelor?’

‘It’s been an enlightening experience,’ she replied coolly.

The journalist’s eyebrow arched. ‘Can you tell us exactly how you’ve been enlightened?’

Meg smiled slowly. ‘No.’

Taken aback, the journalist stared at Meg for several long seconds before trying Sam again. ‘We’re told that this story isn’t just about a romance that happened sixty years ago.’ Her eyes slid meaningfully from Meg to Sam. ‘I understand there’s a little chemistry happening right now?’

Meg glared over her shoulder at her boss, who was slinking behind a clump of golden cane palms. She heard the angry hiss of Sam’s breath. When she glanced his way, she saw that his smile had been replaced by a displeased, stony stare.

‘You heard Miss Bennet,’ he said. ‘No comment.’

The journalist shrugged and rolled her eyes.

To Meg’s relief, someone else called, ‘OK, now we’ll take some beach shots! Everyone down at the water’s edge.’

On the beach, the morning sun hung above them, a dazzling white-gold blaze in the sky. Beneath it, the bay stretched like a shimmering sheet of liquid gold.

A cameraman hurried to set up his tripod.

And a bottle was thrust into Sam’s hands. ‘This is it? This is the bottle?’ He turned to Meg.

She nodded.

The bottle was empty and Meg stood quietly as he examined the ancient, once clear, green glass carefully, turning it over and over, slowly. He seemed to be studying the surface, which was worn to an opaque haze by sand and salt and endless, endless water.

Her mouth quivered into a funny little trembling smile as she watched him and she wondered if he felt as choked up as she did. This was the bottle that had been held by Tom Kirby, his grandfather. All those years ago.

For days now, she’d been thinking about this moment when it was handed over to its rightful owner. She looked at Sam through moist eyes. ‘It’s good to know you have it at last,’ she said in a voice choked with emotion.

Once more, cameras clicked and whirred as photographers crouched and hovered around them. ‘That’s lovely, sweetheart.’ Click! ‘Keep looking at him like that.’ Click! Click! ‘Beautiful.’

As soon as there was a break, Sam’s face pulled into a wry grimace as he looked at her. ‘I’ll be happier when I get the letter as well as this bottle.’

Meg stiffened. All he cared about was the letter and the will and securing his family’s business. She should have known a playboy bachelor from Seattle wouldn’t have a sentimental bone in his body.

‘Now, put your arm around her, mate,’ another voice instructed.

Before she could prepare herself, Sam’s strong arm settled around Meg’s shoulders. She was gathered against him and of course her curves fitted perfectly against the hard planes of his muscular physique. This close, she could smell his skin, clean with a hint of expensive aftershave…and annoying, undeniable ripples of awareness heated her.

This was way too close for comfort.

‘Put your hand on the bottle, too,’ someone instructed. ‘That’s it—both of you holding it together.’

‘Now, look deep into each other’s eyes.’

Reluctantly, Meg dragged her eyes up to meet Sam’s. This wasn’t fair! Her resistance was wearing off. Suddenly, looking into those blue depths was like taking off from a high diving board. Her foolish heart leapt in her chest.

She tried for a joke—anything to take her mind off her body’s embarrassing reactions. ‘I guess we can regard this as practice for when we get married.’ Then she cringed. Idiot! Had she really said that? ‘I mean married to—whoever we marry,’ she stammered, suddenly terribly flustered. ‘If we get ever married.’ How did she get into this mess? ‘Either of us, that is—’ she added, floundering hopelessly. ‘Either of us get married to anyone,’ she finished lamely.

Looking into Sam’s sexy eyes had emptied her mind of all cohesive thoughts.

‘I get the picture, Meg.’ He smiled.

‘Have I gone bright red?’ she asked him, as the cameras clicked away.

‘Just a very becoming pink.’ His amused eyes looked deep into hers as he tugged her a little closer.

His lips were so temptingly close. Meg had the distinct impression that he would have liked to kiss her again. She felt her own lips part and a little tremor of anticipation danced across them.

Thank goodness for Fred and the photographers! She was safe from Sam’s kisses while they were around. How could any part of her feeble brain be contemplating kissing this man hot on the heels of yesterday’s fiasco? Today she was supposed to be working doubly hard at keeping Sam at bay.

To her relief, the photo session was over at last. Someone mentioned that the next ferry would arrive soon, and the media dispersed, scrambling to leave for another assignment.

Meg squinted at the sky, taking deep breaths to regain her equilibrium. ‘Time to get out of the sun.’

‘You have a busy schedule today?’ Sam asked as they passed under criss-crossing fronds of coconut palms on the way back to the resort.

She wasn’t going to fall for any more of his come-on lines. ‘I’m exceedingly busy,’ she answered emphatically. ‘I have meetings…’

He nodded. ‘But would you have dinner with me tonight?’

She pressed her lips tightly together. Not only did she have to ward off this man’s charm, now she had to deal with his persistence as well.

Sam added softly, ‘It can be my way of paying you back for the dirty hand I dealt you yesterday.’

Meg was proud of her crisp reply. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

‘I owe you a great deal.’ He stopped walking and looked down at the bottle he was still holding. Then he tossed it lightly from one hand to the other. ‘Whatever happens, my family will be grateful to you for my grandfather’s letter.’

‘Whatever happens?’ Meg repeated. ‘You sound like you’re really worried about how this will turn out.’

His face tightened and he looked away at some spot down the beach. ‘I’ll feel a lot better when that will is safely in the hands of my lawyers.’

‘You said there’s a lot at stake.’

‘Yeah.’ His fingers toyed with the bottle’s mouth. ‘Meg—about my grandfather’s letter—you’ve read it, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you tell me more about it? Are you sure there’s no way of telling who it was addressed to?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. As I told you, the top of the page was damaged.’

‘And there was no other reference to his wife’s name?’

‘No. The rest of the time he referred to “my wife” or “darling” or “sweetheart”—that kind of thing.’

Sam sighed heavily. ‘But there was definitely a will?’

‘It definitely made mention of Tom leaving all his worldly goods to his wife.’

‘Yeah, well, Fred had better hand it over soon.’ He gripped the bottle tightly with both hands for a moment, then suddenly smiled at her.

If only he would stop doing that!

‘Why don’t you forgive me for yesterday? I hear there’s a very good outdoor restaurant over in one of the other bays.’

Fighting back the wild urge to accept was like trying to put out a bushfire with a mere tumbler of water. For Pete’s sake, Sam was by far the best-looking fellow who’d ever asked Meg out. But, she had to be sensible about this. He’d be gone in a day or two. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Thanks for the invite, Sam, but I’ll have to decline.’

Before she changed her mind, she turned and walked quickly away.

Sam watched her go, a wry, admiring smile tugging his lips. When she’d rejected his invitation, she hadn’t added, I can’t trust you, but that was what she’d meant.

Of course, he couldn’t blame Meg for running. He’d given her every reason to be wary. Yesterday, she’d been totally upfront and honest with him and he hadn’t returned the compliment.

Her disdain was exactly what he deserved.

But Meg Bennet was having a strange effect on him. Just thinking about her…about her eyes…her hair…her mouth made him…restless. Was it because she was different? Because she refused to be impressed by the thing that impressed most women—his money? Because she refused to be impressed by anything about him?

His gaze dropped again to the bottle in his hands and he reminded himself that he hadn’t come to Australia looking for romance. He had a business to run and he had to get back to it as soon as possible.

By tomorrow, he’d be grateful Meg had turned him down.

Meg dropped a peach-coloured bath bomb into the warm water and watched it explode and fizz. The steam in her bathroom began to distil a sensuous mixture of citrus and flowers. Dipping her big toe into the fragrant liquid, she felt her body begin at once to relax. She visualised submerging beneath the heated, scented surface of the water.

Br-ring! Br-ring!

Heavens, no! Not the telephone! Hovering with one leg in the air, she glared at the slim, cordless machine lying on the counter next to her hand basin. She toyed with the notion of letting it ring. But, officially, she was still on duty. With an impatient sigh, she crossed the room and picked it up but, as she answered, she returned with it to the bath. There was no way she would waste that beautifully scented hot water.

‘Meg! It’s Fred Raynor,’ the voice snapped.

‘Yes, Fred?’ She lowered herself into the bath and felt the warm liquid swirl softly, seductively around her body. Fragrance drifted upwards, teasing her nostrils, enticing her to relax.

‘You’re not busy tonight are you?’

‘Oh? Not particularly.’ Meg grimaced and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. What on earth could her boss want now? Since she’d refused Sam’s invitation to dinner, she’d had an ongoing battle with her weaker self all afternoon.

That was the main reason she needed to relax now. To pamper herself after a nerve-racking, miserable day.

‘I want you to take Sam Kirby out to dinner, over at Alma Bay.’

Meg gulped. ‘I have to?’

‘Damn right you do.’ Fred snapped.

Frowning, she sat up higher out of the water. She held the phone closer to her ear. ‘Fred, you know this is way beyond the limits of my job as recreation officer.’

‘But we need to keep this guy on our side. There’s a good chance we can get national coverage out of this. He’s big time. We could even get an international story if we play our cards right.’

‘I’m sorry, Fred. I posed for your photos, but this is definitely going too far. It’s verging on sexual harassment.’

She was relieved when, after a noisy grumble, her boss rang off.

Surprised that he’d given in so easily, Meg was about to drop the phone onto the bath mat when it rang again.

‘Give up, Fred!’ she cried. ‘I am not going to dinner with Sam Kirby. Got it?’

‘I’m reading you loud and clear.’

‘Sam?’ she demanded. ‘Is that you?’

‘It is,’ came a response from the other end of the line.

‘For Pete’s sake, what do you want?’ She knew it was ridiculous, but Meg scrambled over the edge of the bath to grab at a fluffy white towel. Even talking on the phone to Sam felt dangerous when she was naked. ‘Did you get Fred to order me out to dinner with you?’

‘I won’t ruin my reputation by answering that.’ There was a pause and then he asked in a lighter tone, ‘Did I hear splashing?’

‘Er, I doubt it,’ she muttered, wrapping herself in the huge towel and perching on the side of the bath.

‘I’m sorry if I interrupted something.’

Meg wanted to be angry. She wanted to depress the disconnect button and to slip back beneath the warm and welcoming water. But the weak side of her clung to the phone, liking too much the sound of his deep voice with that musical North American twang. Besides, she was desperately curious. ‘What did you want?’

‘Actually, it was to try one more time to ask you to dinner, but without Fred’s assistance. Hey, if you were taking a bath, go right ahead. Don’t waste the water.’

‘I might just do that.’

‘By the way,’ he continued, ‘I have a very interesting scientific question.’

‘Oh?’

‘Are you near a mirror?’

‘What do you think? I’m in a bathroom.’

‘Could you look in the mirror for me and tell me what colour your eyes are when you’re not wearing clothes?’

Instinctively, Meg’s glance flashed to the mirror. But then her cheeks warmed. ‘I’ll tell you no such thing.’ She flung her towel aside and slipped back into the bath.

There was an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the line. ‘Another mystery of science remains unanswered.’

‘I guess your eyes stay blue all the time,’ she heard herself say and she wondered how that sultry, flirtatious little hum had crept into her voice.

‘Yeah. I’m afraid my eyes are boring, boring.’

Hardly boring, Sam, she thought, but didn’t dare say so. She lifted her feet out of the suds and rested her toes on the end of the bath, wondering if she should apply some nail polish to make them more glamorous and, the very next second, wondered why they needed to look glamorous.

‘OK,’ he added, ‘try this. While you’re soaking in the tub, practise saying, “Yes, Sam, I’d love to join you for dinner.”’

To her amazement, Meg heard herself purring a reply in her very best attempt at an American accent. ‘Yes, Sam, I’d lurve to join you for dinner.’

‘Wonderful. I’ll meet you at your place at seven.’

She nearly dropped the phone. ‘Hold on! I was only copying your accent! That wasn’t a real acceptance.’

‘Oh, but Meg,’ he replied, his voice warm and hinting somehow that he was smiling his hottest smile, ‘it was a very, very real invitation.’

When he didn’t hang up but waited in silence for her response, Meg closed her eyes and willed herself to be strong. She was furious with this man. She should have hung up as soon as she’d heard his voice.

Letting out her breath on a gusty sigh, she told him, ‘Nice try, Sam Kirby but, as I said at the start, give up.’

‘Now, that,’ he replied in a husky baritone, ‘is a distinct challenge. I can warn you now, Meg Bennet, if I set myself a goal, I never give up.’

‘And what goal are you aiming for?’

There was a long pause and Meg thought she heard a faint chuckle. ‘I’d settle for your acceptance of my apology. For yesterday.’

Meg closed her eyes. ‘OK. Apology accepted,’ she whispered.

‘Good,’ he said simply. ‘And dinner?’

After a beat, she answered, ‘Dinner declined.’

She disconnected the phone and let it drop onto the bath mat and, sinking beneath the sudsy water, she wished she felt more pleased about turning Sam down.

CHAPTER THREE

AS SHE ate her simple supper of cheese on toast, Meg tried not to think about what it would have been like to be dining with Sam. She kept reminding herself that he and the bottle would soon be going home to the United States and she was wise to stay well out of the way. How silly she’d been to imagine that somehow her own destiny was linked to that bottle.

The only connection she had was stumbling across it on the beach and giving way to natural curiosity.

Finishing her meal, she carried her plate through to the kitchen and decided she’d seen too much significance in finding the bottle. Perhaps she’d been grasping at straws. There was a good chance she’d been looking for anything that would help her out of the depressing loneliness she felt these days. Ever since her father had died just three months ago.

It had been bad enough giving up her postgraduate studies in marine biology to nurse her dad through the last horrible months of his illness. But nothing had prepared her for the bereft emptiness of her life after he’d died. He was all the family she’d had. Her mother had died when she was only little and her father had meant everything to her. Since his death, Meg thought she had discovered the utter depths of loneliness.

But tonight she felt more desolate than ever.

The sand crunched beneath Sam’s shoes as he walked towards the water. By the light of a glowing white moon, Florence Bay looked beautiful. On either side of the bay, dark rocky headlands curved out to protect the deserted beach. Hoop pines, rising majestically from between granite boulders, were silhouetted in inky black strokes against the gun metal sky.

The dark water lapped gently.

Somewhere out there in the wider ocean beyond the reefs, Tom Kirby lay at rest. Thinking about his grandfather and the bottle, he hunkered down on the sand and stared ahead. These past few years, he’d been working so hard he hadn’t stopped to contemplate anything deep or meaningful—like death and the hereafter. Or life for that matter.

Lately, he’d been sensing an uneasy awareness that his own life was hurtling forward like a runaway train and he wasn’t at all sure he was heading in the right direction. He was doing the right thing by his family—carrying on the Kirby tradition—and working damn hard to keep it successful—and playing hard, too, when time permitted. But he knew deep down that neither his work nor his play was really making him happy.

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear footsteps so, when a voice suddenly sounded close behind him, he jumped to his feet.

‘Sam, what are you doing here?’

‘Meg!’

She was standing a metre or so away from him, her face pale and her eyes wide with surprise. She was wearing a soft blue sweater and white jeans and, in the moonlight, her hair had a silvery sheen and she looked breathtakingly lovely.

He turned and extended an arm towards the sea. ‘It may sound a little weird, but I’m paying my respects.’

‘To your grandfather?’

‘Yeah.’ Sam shoved his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from reaching for her. ‘I rang my lawyers this afternoon. They’ve been doing some research for me and I couldn’t believe what they told me.’ He kicked at a knob of bleached coral lying on the sand. ‘Tom Kirby died on this day—this very day—in 1942. In the Battle of the Coral Sea.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded suitably shocked.

‘Weird coincidence, isn’t it?’ He swallowed the constriction in his throat. Then he smiled at Meg. ‘But maybe an even better coincidence is that I am seeing you this evening after all,’ he murmured huskily. ‘You never know, maybe we’re destined for each other, Meg.’

Meg was sure Sam was teasing and she felt more than a little miffed that he might be making fun of her. Lifting her chin defiantly high, she shifted her concentration from his strong, handsome face to their surroundings—the little bay and the moon and the rocky headlands.

Time to leave, or to come up with a quick change of subject. Reluctant to hurry back to her lonely cottage, she changed the subject. ‘For some reason, those rocks always remind me of shelled Brazil nuts.’

Sam’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s an interesting association of ideas. I wonder where it comes from?’

She smiled. ‘I know exactly where it comes from. I’m crazy about Brazil nuts.’ And for a moment she was absorbed by memory. She was sitting once more at a dining table, laden with Christmas fare, and she could see her father’s strong hands wielding the silver nutcracker, breaking open the hard shell and handing her a pure smooth Brazil nut.

‘My father always used to crack them for me and, when he gave me one, he would joke… “Would you like a nut, Meg?” Of course, his nickname for me was Nutmeg.’

‘Nutmeg,’ Sam repeated. ‘I like that.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Does your father live here on the island?’

‘My father’s dead,’ she told him in a shaky whisper.

‘I’m sorry.’ His hand reached out and rubbed her shoulder gently.

‘You know he used to warn me that there are no guarantees in life. He reckoned the only thing you can be sure of is that the angles of a triangle will always add up to one hundred and eighty degrees.’

‘Sounds like he got one or two nasty shocks along the way.’

‘Well, yes. He worked as a draftsman for the same company for thirty-five years and then suddenly they made him redundant.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just like that. Downsizing they called it. Profits were more important than loyal and talented employees.’

Sam’s jaw clenched and he swung away so that he no longer looked at her. ‘Sometimes the guys running big companies have to make difficult choices.’

‘And their answers are always about money,’ she responded bitterly.

‘Money,’ he repeated grimly. His hand was still resting on her and suddenly he smiled at her again and obviously decided to have his own stab at changing the subject. ‘As you accepted my apology so nicely this afternoon, we can start afresh, can’t we?’

Meg was sure she should have clarified exactly what Sam thought they were starting. But perhaps it was the setting, or her loneliness, or even moonlight madness, but she suddenly didn’t want to be wary or cautious any more. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I guess we can.’

‘You know,’ Sam told her. ‘We actually have more in common than you might be prepared to admit. I used to haunt the Seattle Aquarium when I was a boy. Tell me some more about the reef.’

Realising that he’d cleverly selected a topic she loved to talk about, she was happy to cooperate. ‘Something I find very interesting is the coral-spawning that takes place every year. Have you heard about it?’

‘I do remember reading something.’

‘Marine scientists made the discovery here on this island. Every piece of coral on the Great Barrier Reef, even pieces in buckets and aquariums, becomes fertile and spawns in mass at a certain full moon in spring.’ Her eyes danced. ‘It’s been described as the world’s biggest sexual encounter.’

‘World’s biggest sexual encounter?’ Sam repeated with a lazy smile and his gaze speared hers so intently she felt breathless and more than a little warm. ‘That’s exceptionally interesting.’

She couldn’t help chuckling. ‘Well, I don’t know who actually judges these things.’

He turned towards her so that both his hands could grasp her shoulders. ‘I warned you earlier, Meg, I can’t resist a challenge.’

His face was in shadow but, as she heard the unmistakable rumble of desire in his voice, flames of unexpected heat darted through Meg. She wondered what she could do about her growing interest in getting close to this man. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting you want to compete with the entire Great Barrier Reef?’ she asked in a strained, tight voice.

‘I’m going to make a start.’ His gaze centred on her mouth. ‘I’m not planning to be upstaged by coral polyps.’

She knew then what was going to happen and she let it.

For the second time, Meg offered absolutely no resistance when he drew her closer. She had a desperate feeling that she had as much chance of resisting Sam Kirby as the tides had of resisting the pull of the moon. Fleetingly, she wondered if this was what destiny felt like.

In spite of her rules about guests, she had never felt so willing, so wanting to be enclosed in a man’s arms.

Her heart jolted unsteadily as Sam’s lips roamed her mouth and her own lips parted, as open and needy as a desert flower welcoming rain. His kiss deepened and, with a whimper of pleasure, she surrendered to his invasion. Sam tasted wonderful. His hard, strong body felt divine. Wanting more, she crushed herself shamelessly against him, as if she was afraid the world might end any minute and she would miss out on this vital experience.

Yesterday, Sam’s kiss had been friendly and gentle. Tonight it quickly became wicked, wild and threatening. And Meg loved it! She loved the heat of his tongue as it plundered her mouth. Loved the hard, intimate force of his body driving and moulding against her.

She heard his desperately ragged breathing and suspected she was rushing headlong into danger. But it was a dark and alluring danger. A danger she suddenly longed for and welcomed.

Flash!

The blinding light startled them both, shattering their embrace.

Meg felt Sam swing angrily out of her arms. ‘Get lost!’ he cried and began to prowl towards someone in the darkness.

Shaking, Meg followed the direction of his gaze and saw what he’d seen—a man skulking behind a casuarina on the edge of the sand and clutching a camera.

‘Let’s just get out of here,’ Meg called, running after him and grabbing his hand.

For a moment, Sam hesitated, but he shook her hand away and continued to stride towards the darkness in the direction the photographer had taken. There was the sound of a car taking off at speed. ‘Who was he?’ he demanded, turning back to her. ‘I have enough trouble at home with the press.’

‘Do you really think it was someone from a newspaper?’

‘That’s my guess.’

Meg cringed as she thought of all her workmates seeing evidence in tomorrow’s paper of her lapse. So much for her personal code of ethics regarding tourists! ‘I can’t believe I let this happen again,’ she whispered to herself.

She supposed she should be grateful to the photographer. He’d broken the spell that had been dragging her towards making a foolish mistake. Heaven knew what might have happened if they hadn’t been rudely interrupted.

‘Are you worried about your golden rule about kissing guests?’ Sam’s knuckle grazed her cheek. ‘For my part, I’m very glad you broke it. I wouldn’t object at all if you wanted to break a few more rules.’

Embarrassed, Meg drew back. ‘You know I wasn’t going to let you do anything but kiss me.’

‘But you did let me kiss you,’ he challenged. ‘And I had the distinct impression that you were kissing me back.’

‘I just got carried away with—with the atmosphere and the moonlight.’

‘Is that what happened?’ His voice suggested that he didn’t believe her in the slightest.

‘That’s all,’ she said as convincingly as she could manage. ‘And I must go home now.’ She had to get out of there before the moonlight or whatever it was started making her reckless again. Turning to head back to her car, she asked, ‘Do you need a lift?’

‘No. Don’t worry about me.’ Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and he turned to stare back out to sea.

When she reached her car, Meg looked back at him, but he hadn’t moved. And that was good. Maybe it was sinking into Sam’s thick skull that they must never take the risk of kissing a third time.

When Sam opened his door the next morning and found Meg standing there, he was mildly surprised. She was wearing a soft, floaty kind of dress that dipped in a low curve from shoulder to shoulder. In her hand was a folded newspaper.

‘Good morning,’ she greeted him primly, without smiling.

He returned her greeting carefully. ‘Morning.’

There was no beating around the bush. Looking somewhere around the centre of his chest, she said, ‘Have you seen this morning’s paper?’

‘Fred phoned and told me about it.’

With an impatient shake of her head, she thrust the paper at him. ‘The publicity shot of us with the bottle on the front page is OK, I guess. But take a look at page three. The close-up shot of you and me—’

‘On the beach?’ Sam supplied as he took the paper and flicked to page three. He looked at the photo and felt his throat tighten. ‘That’s—er—some clinch, isn’t it?’

Meg was blushing. ‘What are we going to do about it? Fred wants to make more publicity mileage out of it. He wants us to go to a big function tonight for the handover of the letter—as a couple.’

‘Yeah. He explained that when he rang.’

‘Don’t tell me you agreed?’ she asked sharply.

‘Sure. Why not?’ Sam hoped Meg didn’t quiz him too hard about why he’d agreed. He wasn’t too sure himself that his motives would stand up to close scrutiny. ‘But I take it you’re not happy?’

‘Of course not!’ Meg exclaimed with a haughty lift of her chin that made her look especially stubborn. And gorgeous.

He looked again at the photo. Seeing that image of Meg’s arms wrapped around him and her mouth meshed with his was interfering with his search for a rational argument. He tapped the page with a finger and replied in his most nonchalant manner, ‘There’s not much point in trying to pretend there’s nothing between us. Why don’t we attend this event together and brazen it out just for this one night?’

Meg stared at him. She looked ready to argue. Her arms were crossed belligerently across her chest and her eyes glistened as she tapped a tattoo with her foot.

Sam waited patiently in silence, unwilling to take the lid off this particular volcano.

Eventually she sighed. ‘I’ll go to this function on one condition.’

‘Yes?’

‘We only have the minimum contact necessary to keep the press happy.’

He had been leaning against the door frame, trying to look more casual than he felt. This situation was becoming more ridiculous by the minute, but sharing that opinion with Meg wasn’t going to help matters.

Stepping back, he gestured towards the small sitting area in his resort bungalow. ‘Why don’t you come in? I find this a little difficult to discuss on a doorstep.’

She followed him in silence and assumed a stiff-backed, prudish pose at one end of his couch. Under other circumstances, he might have found it comic.

Selecting a single cane chair, Sam lounged back into the deep cushions. In a deliberately casual movement, he stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. ‘Now, tell me about these conditions of yours.’

She sat straight with her knees together, just as she might have been taught at deportment school, and made a little throat clearing sound. ‘What I mean is, there’ll be no flirting—no unnecessary touching. We’ll just pretend we’re—a couple who are—um—interested in romance.’

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