Summer Beach Reads. Natalie Anderson

started up again and muttered, ‘Me too, actually.’

      ‘Though it is pleasingly close,’ she teased, and plucked at the front of her peasant blouse. Loving the way his eyes instantly refocused.

      ‘You want to see it?’

      ‘You made me a boat—’ she shrugged, all absent concern ‘—I suppose that deserves some reward.’

      He turned the gondola and punted double-time back towards the jetty. Following the strong movements of his muscles gave Shirley a thoroughly good mental distraction from his innocent question.

      She’d never asked herself why the list had become her obsession virtually the moment she’d discovered its existence. Why she’d ridden it hard through the past decade. Why she’d built her life around accomplishing it.

      For a woman used to asking the hard questions, this simple one her stumped.

       Why the list?

      ‘Home sweet home,’ he said, sliding the patio door open and letting her into the ultra-white, ultra-clean living area.

      ‘No, it’s not. You don’t live here.’ A house full of props selected by a stylist, maybe, but nothing his. No mess. No plants. No books. It was the latter that gave him away most—his cottage was overflowing with books. Stuffed into every available crevice. ‘You probably bring women here. Maybe you stay here when you have late meetings. But you don’t live here.’

      ‘I did,’ he murmured, reaching into the enormous stainless-steel refrigerator for bottled water. She got glimpse enough to know the only other thing in there was a long-life milk carton. Unopened. ‘For quite a few years.’

      She slid onto a white leather stool. ‘When did you move out to the cottage?’

      His hand paused on the steel lid of the ornate designer water bottle, then flicked it off carelessly. Its tumble clattered and echoed in the big house. ‘Couple of years ago. When I scaled back at the office.’

      ‘Why was that?’

      ‘I needed time to reassess.’

      Their lives were so different. The idea of just dropping off the grid for two years to reassess. ‘And how did everyone at the office feel when you recently reappeared?’

      ‘I took the front-of-house team to lunch. Made their managers sit on reception.’

      She grudgingly smiled. ‘I’m sure that was popular.’

      ‘It got their attention. One coped just fine and the other knows where his knowledge gaps are.’

      ‘And the receptionists?’

      ‘Had a lovely lunch, got sloshed and betrayed everything that was really going on while I was away.’

      Away. As if he’d been off travelling. Maybe that was what they thought. ‘Their existence should be hellish once you start firing people,’ she murmured.

      He slid a glass of water towards her.

      ‘No one’s getting fired. I’m not going to punish anyone for something that was my doing. I was too focused on keeping the clients happy; I neglected the team. The people who helped me deliver it. So that’s my mistake, not theirs.’

      She stared at him for long moments, unease at discovering these new aspects to him fuelling her confusion. Working with NGOs, owning his mistakes, hand-making boats.

      What was he doing—trying to be irresistible?

      She shook her head. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘Maybe a better question would be “who was I?”‘ He leaned back on the kitchen island, tall and strong, his hips turned squarely towards her, ankles crossed. ‘And the answer was “blinkered and self-involved”.’

      ‘Past tense?’

      ‘Somebody helped me to see things a little differently. To widen my lens.’

      ‘Would that someone be me?’ She dropped her eyes, then glanced up at him.

      He winced. ‘See, somebody is bound to get full of themselves and become unbearable if I answer that.’

      A smile slipped past her careful barriers. ‘Not that you’d recognise the signs of that.’

      His own lips parted in a reciprocal smile. ‘Not at all.’

      ‘Huh. Shame,’ she said, leaning back as far as she could on her white stool and matching his body language. ‘I find self-confidence extremely appealing.’ He paused with the glass of water halfway to his lips. ‘Almost as appealing as that whole bad-boy thing you have going on.’

      But only because she was starting to understand it was just a mask he wore. Maybe only another mask-wearer would notice.

      ‘I didn’t realise the bad-boy thing was part of the attraction.’ He placed his glass on the spotless benchtop and moved towards her. ‘Being a jerk will certainly save me a heap of time and effort.’

      She laughed and tipped her head up to face him. ‘You’ve exposed yourself as a decent guy now. Damage is done.’

      His grin turned feral. ‘It’s only just gone noon. I have hours yet to disappoint you.’

      God, she adored this man’s brain. She knew plenty of smart men who left her cold, so it wasn’t just an IQ fetish. Hayden did intellectual foreplay like no one else on this planet. He barely had to try. No wonder she’d fallen for him.

      She spluttered her first sip of water.

      Realisation and despair flooded her in equal measures.

      Hayden relieved her fingers of her own half-drunk glass and Shirley used the moment to curl her other hand around the leather top of the seat and steady herself while her world rocked. Like balancing in the gondola in stilettos. She kept her eyes fixed on him, convincing herself that if he wasn’t stumbling then the intense rocking couldn’t be real.

      Fallen for him? Was she that stupid?

      He helped her down off the stool and led her across the lower floor of the property. ‘Where are we going?’ she murmured past the tight choke in her chest.

      Love. The one thing she’d promised herself she would not do. Not with him.

      He turned back to her, oblivious to her crisis. ‘I thought you might like to see the view from the bedroom.’

      She forced air back over her lips and into her tight lungs, determined to give nothing away as his fingers curled more securely into hers and they stepped onto the central stairway. ‘That’s subtle. Has that worked for you in the past?’ She forced another breath in.

      That was the key—in, out, in, out. Until breathing felt normal again.

      ‘It’s working for me now. You’re still moving.’

      She made herself laugh. Light and casual. Nothing like she actually felt. ‘It’s in my best interests to follow you. We don’t have much time together. I wanted this.’

      But she didn’t want to love him. She hadn’t meant to.

      ‘See. You’re an influence natural. I should recruit Shiloh.’

      That actually achieved the impossible, distracting her slightly from the momentous bad news of just a moment before. The one starting with L …

      She stopped midway up the stairs and stared at him. He turned back and looked down at her.

      ‘It hasn’t dawned on you yet, has it?’ he said. ‘How similar our jobs are.’

      ‘They’re nothing like each other.’

      ‘Come on,’ he challenged. ‘You didn’t write that article on Russell’s group to get him a swag of new supporters? To raise awareness about dolphins?’

      ‘I