CHAPTER ONE

HOPE HADN’T QUITE DIED. Carrie Barrett glanced again at the door. A blind date with her workmate’s cousin. Agreeing had been a terrible people-pleaser moment—second only to doing that reading at her sister’s wedding. Since that horror fest she’d been trying to train herself out of the habit. But today she’d not just wanted to agree to a favour for someone else, she’d wanted to fit in. She’d even wanted to meet someone new.

It was a full year since she’d been jilted. Six months since she’d travelled from her home to the other side of the world. It was time to at least try and have some fun. But her date was late and a lifetime of punctuality meant Carrie was now sitting in a not-quite-fitted summer dress that wasn’t even hers, conspicuously alone in the rooftop restaurant of the plushest waterfront hotel in Auckland, New Zealand.

At least she could avoid the waiter’s enquiring looks by admiring the gleaming super yachts moored in the marina. The Waitematā harbour was especially stunning at sunset. But, despite the postcard perfection, she couldn’t help glancing back to the door as more people arrived.

Please show up. It would be so great if someone would just show up. Just this once.

Her stomach somersaulted as a man walked in just as she willed it. Impressive height. Broad shoulders. Brilliant eyes—their focus landed directly on her. Just for a second.

It wasn’t him, of course. Her date would be wearing a red jacket. This guy was entirely in black and the hold of his head, his all-encompassing gaze and his wholly confident stance sealed his command of the room. His arrival electrified everyone. They all turned, immediately straightening, eyes brightening, literally lip-licking.

Carrie wasn’t miraculously immune. Goose bumps shimmied over her skin. Allergic, right? He was high performance personified. She’d been around the type long enough to instantly recognise the aura. Doubtless he’d be ruthlessly driven. As were her law-partner parents and champion-athletics stars sisters. Worst of all, her ex-fiancé too. Carrie intimately understood that the fight for success at the highest level meant other things got sacrificed—time and attention always, people often and sometimes someone wanted to win so badly they cheated.

Despite knowing this, she wasn’t repelled by the new arrival but as transfixed as everyone else. He was a pirate, plundering hearts with the sheer authority of his presence. Even the ultra-professional and discreet maître d’ took half a second to recover.

A murmured word and a moment later, the man followed the restaurateur. Only one empty table separated hers from his—now the last empty table. Apparently he felt no discomfort going solo in such a convivial setting. Of course, if he wanted company, he only needed to toss a glance at anyone crowding that bar and he’d be accosted in seconds. But he obviously didn’t want, because he chose to sit with his back to them.

Which meant he faced her. Which meant she now had to look anywhere but straight ahead because otherwise she’d be staring right at him. It was as if they were at the same table—stretched apart by only a little distance.

So awkward.

She wanted to surreptitiously slither away. Instead, she watched the door. A woman arrived and another couple of men. They all went to the bar. She drew a disappointed breath and her gaze inadvertently slid over him and stopped. Because, just like that, time ended. He was more than a pirate. He had the beauty of an angel and the tempting gleam of a devil. And he was taking in far more than the colour of her hair.

Her cheeks heated as his gaze slowly swept over her features. Utterly fanciful thoughts filled her head. And, worse, her body actually reacted—heating as sensation zinged along her veins, tightening, softening. Shocking. Super-embarrassing. Also unstoppable.

The spell was only broken by the arrival of the maître d’ at the man’s shoulder. Her devilish pirate-angel angled his head to listen to the man but didn’t take his eyes off her. But the interruption recalled her brain from its whimsical, sensual flight.

So, so awkward. Had he seen her reaction? Read her mind? But something had started unfurling inside and it couldn’t be stopped. He said something in a low voice, and the maître d’s eyes widened, but he nodded. Of course. Because this man got what he wanted. Every. Time.

But he wouldn’t want her. She was way too ordinary. Like attracted like—superstars bonded with other superstars and that was as it should be. Because the less bright got burned to bits when they got too close to stars like him.

‘Would madam like to order or wait a while longer for her guest?’

The maître d’s question mortified her. She’d been stood up. And she’d not ordered yet because this restaurant was not travelling-temp budget-friendly. But a random hit of pride made her refuse to walk out in front of the guy who had it all. The one who was still watching her. There’d be no slithering out without him noticing because he’d already noticed. For once, for this worst of moments, she was not invisible.

She wasn’t his type. But Massimo Donati-Wells listened to the conversation between the maître d’ and the strawberry blonde at the opposite table anyway. He’d already succumbed to the inexplicable urge to instruct the man not to allow anyone to be seated at the table between him and the petite woman with the pouting lips and soft-looking skin. He’d spotted her when he’d walked in and deliberately sat with his back to the rest of the room. She’d noticed him and, while that was hardly unusual, his shockingly instant response to her hyper-aware stare?

Very, very physical. It wasn’t unwelcome. It had been a long few days, and after the satisfaction of securing his latest contract a reward wouldn’t go astray. So he sat back and didn’t try to stop the current flowing. The electricity that had arced the moment he’d locked eyes with her had an addictive burst.

Her attention again flickered to the door over his shoulder. She was waiting for someone. A date? His muscles tensed. Foolish date for being late. Her phone pinged. Massimo unashamedly watched her read the message. She blinked rapidly and her mouth compressed.

‘Actually, I will order something, please.’ She called the maître d’ back.

Pink-cheeked, the blue-eyed princess was clearly trying not to run. She was scraping together pride. Good for her.

‘Um...’ She didn’t bother to scan the menu. ‘A pina colada, please.’

He bit the inside of his cheek so he didn’t smile. The beach cocktail classic wasn’t even on the menu at this bar. It was known for its champagne selection. But the maître d’ was too professional even to blink.

‘Of course.’

She really wasn’t his type. Too fresh. Too soft. The sort that blushed and probably dreamed of one true love. He selected the sort who played quick and never expected him to stay. The streetwise sort who were the same as him. But something kept him staring. Not just her smooth skin and soft curves, but the defiant courage shimmering in her sapphire eyes—and the vulnerability that underpinned it.

She shouldn’t have been stood up. His ribs tightened, making his heart beat more forcefully against the constraints while his imagination slipped its chain and plotted just what she should be getting tonight. Touch. Definitely touch. The kind of touch to make her smile, sparkle, scream.

And he wanted her to look back at him so he’d feel that jolt of electricity again.

‘Mind if I join you?’ He called across the slight distance, shocking himself with his inability to resist temptation. ‘My guest cancelled on me last minute.’

He’d wanted to dine alone. He’d had people seeking his pleasure and approval all day. This was supposed to have been an evening of peace before flying home tomorrow. And the strawberry-blonde sweetheart wasn’t stupid. She pointedly glanced at the single place-setting at his table. Yeah, he’d just lied to her, and she knew it.

‘Just a drink until your guest arrives...’ he murmured, not used to having to ask anyone a second time.

In her heart-shaped face her smile twisted. ‘He’s not coming.’ She didn’t even try to lie.

‘Then he’s an idiot.’ Massimo stood and moved seats before she could say anything more. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said equably. ‘Are you?’

For a second he wondered if she was about to refuse. If he’d misread the arc of attraction that had bewitched him moments ago. If his customary boldness was too much for her. She was, after all, too soft.

But her chin lifted. ‘I’m not sure. I can’t actually think right now.’

The hit of honesty amused him. ‘Let’s find out.’

He glanced to his side and the maître d’ materialised as if by magic. Massimo murmured his order.

‘They serve tapas,’ he explained after the man hurried away. ‘I ordered some of everything.’

She assessed him with the clearest, bluest eyes he’d ever looked into and, despite the sizzling energy, there wasn’t exactly approval shining in them.

‘Everything? You must be hungry,’ she said, sharpness edging her tone. ‘You didn’t want some big, juicy steak with a rich sauce and all the trimmings?’

A hint of challenge, of censure. She probably thought him a jerk and maybe he was. But there was another jolt of fire. Massimo wanted more because it warmed him in a way he hadn’t felt in an age.

‘Sampling lots of things is more fun than being stuck with only the one dish, don’t you think?’ He played up the arrogance she clearly read in him.

Suspicion firmed in her eyes. ‘You mean you like to try all the different meats available on the charcuterie board?’

Her tart riposte burned in the best way. ‘Absolutely. A nibble here, a nibble there. Sometimes, however,’ he acknowledged swiftly, ‘It’s nice enough just to look.’

Because she probably shouldn’t be on the board. He’d devour her and, despite her little push-back, he wasn’t sure she’d handle it.

‘Just looking leaves you satisfied?’ she queried, disbelief audible. ‘Your appetite is fully assuaged by little more than a glance?’

His ribs tightened even more. ‘I guess it depends. What about yours?’

She looked at him for a long moment. ‘I’m still developing my palate. There’s a lot I haven’t tried.’

A ball of heat exploded in his loins. Hadn’t she? Did she want to?

‘You’re very used to getting your own way,’ she added after a moment. ‘Do you choose from the board before anyone else gets a chance?’

He smiled. ‘You think I would do that?’

‘You don’t bat an eyelid when ordering absolutely everything on the menu, having walked into a place and taking a seat at a table as if it were your own...’

He saw the moment she realised and her mouth formed an ‘O’. It was a very luscious mouth. Massimo’s watered.

‘Is it your own?’ She gazed at him intently. ‘This hotel?’

‘I’m only an investor.’ Massimo had made so much money, he spent his days finding things to invest in. Well, fighting off the people who came to him asking for his investment and advice. His private equity empire was renowned for identifying future successful entities, meaning he simply kept making more money. He was not going to lie—he liked it. He liked success, liked living on his own terms. He also liked seducing pretty women who knew the score. This woman didn’t.

‘Only,’ she echoed. ‘So you only invest in high-end luxury hotels?’

‘Actually, I’m currently focussing on renewable energy projects.’

A hint of humour stole into those blue eyes. ‘Oh, how worthy.’ She nodded. ‘Do you hope to create a more sustainable future for your children?’

He stared back at her, appreciating the totally passive-aggressive niggle. No one had dared deal to him in a long while and he badly wanted to strike back with something inflammatory to provoke a reaction from her. The judgement got beneath his skin. ‘Actually,’ he said silkily. ‘I have no intention of having children.’

‘Naturally.’ She smiled.

He shot her a look. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning, it is a truth universally acknowledged that every wealthy man feels a driving need to warn every female he meets that he’s not in the market for either marriage or children.’

He looked at her, his mouth twitching. ‘Quite.’ He nodded firmly, appreciating her distortion of the famous literary line. ‘So glad you readily understand my position.’

‘I’m not in the market either, in case you were curious.’ Her arrogance was completely faked.

He smirked. ‘Which is why you’re sitting here waiting for...?’

She eyed him severely but spoilt the look with an eventual smile. ‘I was doing a friend a favour.’

‘Oh, really? That’s what you’re going with?’

‘It happens to be the truth.’ She shrugged. ‘But please, fear not, I’m only using you as a foil against public humiliation and for free food.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Glad we’re able to be so frank. Equally, glad I’m able to oblige.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Who was he?’ He was stupidly curious now. ‘The idiot?’

‘I don’t even know. It was a set-up. I said yes for a friend but apparently the guy’s been caught up at work.’ The bitterness in her tone ran deep.

‘Oh, workaholics.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Need to steer clear of those.’

A flash of disbelief widened her blue eyes, then her smile blossomed and a little laugh escaped. ‘Indeed.’

That laugh was everything. He wanted more. He wanted that laugh in his bed.

‘What about your date?’ she asked.

‘There wasn’t one. I lied.’ The pretence fell away and he was honest.

‘Yes.’ Her lashes lifted and those blue eyes lanced through him. ‘You’ve experience with that.’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Now he was the one who couldn’t keep a splinter of bitterness back. ‘Both ways.’

‘Apparently so.’

The connection between them suddenly flared and he felt a wave of empathy. He knew exactly how awful it was to be lied to.

A waiter arrived with her pina colada and a bottle of wine for him, severing the surprisingly solemn connection that had formed so suddenly.

‘You’re English,’ he noted when the waiter was gone.

‘You’re Australian,’ she countered with a smile.

Accents were the least of what they were noticing about each other.

‘So we’re both far from home, but you’re the farthest. What brings you all the way to Auckland?’ he asked.

He didn’t want to know too much. He didn’t want to get invested. He never did with women. He knew relationships ended up too intense. Too devastating. He just wanted to touch. But at the same time, for the first time, he wanted to know what it was that had made her look so alone.

‘Adventure.’ She sipped her drink. ‘You?’

‘Business. I’m heading back to Sydney first flight in the morning.’

Carrie looked into his eyes and saw the challenge lurking. He expected her to call him out on that and she wasn’t able to resist. Because he was oh-so-not-very-smoothly letting her know he was here for only one more night. It was a form of arrogant weaponry, his arsenal against the threat of a woman wanting more.

Of course, this was a guy who needed defence, he was that attractive. And of course he would want children one day, once he met the right woman. She wasn’t that woman—that was what had made her laugh. The ridiculousness of it. She was so far from his league, she’d been amused he’d felt the need to mention it.

‘Gosh, what a shame you’re not here for longer,’ she said. ‘I can’t put my trap-you-into-marriage plan into action.’

He inclined his head. ‘I find I’m devastated.’

‘Indeed?’ She stifled a laugh.

She usually didn’t flirt so badly with anyone. She didn’t flirt at all. But this was silly easy. That he’d commandeered the spare seat at her table and saved her from the indignity of dining alone, when all the staff knew she’d been waiting for a date. That he didn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off her. That beneath that outrageous arrogance there was a core that called to something equally deep within her own soul.

‘I’m Massimo.’ He extended his hand across the table. ‘Thank you for graciously allowing me to dine with you.’

‘I’m Carrie. I’m not sure that you gave me much choice.’ She put her hand in his.

A jolt sizzled along her skin at the contact. His fingers tightened.

‘Allow me to correct that.’ He looked across at her with total seriousness in his stunning eyes. ‘Would you like me to stay or would you prefer to be left alone? I’ll do whatever you wish.’

Whatever she wished? Carrie’s breath vanished. Palm to palm, feeling that sizzle up her arm, she never wanted him to let go.

Any anxiety was vanquished by his touch and the vibrancy of his green eyes. Richly emphasised by lush lashes, the colour was striking enough from a distance. Up close, it was mesmerising. No wonder he needed to warn women away.

But, while he was confident, there was more to him than money-man arrogance. More depth, more humanity than the stereotype she’d pinned on him. No caricature, he was flesh and blood, hot and hurt. Quite how she knew that, she wasn’t sure. But she was certain of its truth. In this one moment, Massimo needed her as much as she needed him. Just for company at dinner.

‘You can stay,’ she said flatly.

‘Thank you.’

Massimo released her hand as the maître d’ approached, flanked by two waiters. All three carried wooden platters that they placed on the table. She diverted herself from the shocking intensity of her feelings by taking in the vast array. There was fresh oysters, each kept cool in its open shell with a spoonful of champagne granita. There was a dish of baked brie, as well as a trinity of boards—cheese, charcuterie and chocolate.

‘There’s a lot of food here,’ she said.

‘We can take our time.’ He shrugged. ‘But is there something to tempt that elusive appetite of yours?’

She took in the other offerings. Olives. Ceviche. Vegan tartlets and tempura vegetables. Even salted potato crisps. There was something to tempt almost anyone.

‘What are you doing in Auckland, Carrie?’ Massimo couldn’t resist the urge to find out more about her. He wanted to know everything.

‘Working as a temp,’ she said. ‘Office administrator. I plan to head somewhere warmer soon.’

‘Sydney?’ he immediately suggested with a smile.

‘Too big.’ She dismissed it just as instantly with a laugh. ‘I want smaller and more isolated.’

He glanced at her cocktail. ‘Fiji? The Cook Islands?’

She nodded, her enthusiasm building. ‘Paradise.’

His brows lifted. ‘You think?’

‘Don’t you?’

The topic was light and breezy and he didn’t quite believe everything she was saying. But then, he didn’t believe everything anyone said.

‘An island holiday wouldn’t be paradise, it would be boring,’ he said blandly.

‘Boring?’ She laughed. ‘You disappoint. I thought you’d have a better imagination.’

Massimo’s imagination was firing up most unhelpfully right now. ‘How would you fill your days?’

‘A walk early in the morning. Then a swim. Fresh fruit to awaken the palate...’

Fresh fruit and awakenings of palate made him laugh. ‘You’ve thought about this.’

‘Often.’ She nodded with perfect seriousness before stunning him with a wide smile.

‘Are we talking meditation and yoga poses along the shoreline?’ he teased. ‘Shots for your social media?’

‘Walking is meditative,’ she agreed. ‘But no socials. They don’t keep one present. I would read. A book a day.’

‘If it doesn’t inform me on investments, then I’m not reading it,’ he said blithely.

‘No novels? No history? No philosophy?’ She shot him a look as he shuddered theatrically. ‘No poetry? Reading can inform your soul.’

‘You assume I have a soul.’

‘I do believe you’re human,’ she countered dryly. ‘Therefore, have imagination. And I bet yours is good.’ She cocked her head. ‘So I don’t believe you about the books.’

His gaze intensified on her. ‘Why do you think I have a good imagination?’

‘Because success takes more than brains and business acumen. It takes vision and creativity.’

‘And you understand this...?’

‘Because I’ve been around other successful people.’

He paused. The edge to her tone suggested she wasn’t that thrilled to have known these successful people. She classed them as belonging to a group other than her. ‘Yet you don’t seem to want to stick around them. You want to escape to an isolated island.’

She stiffened. ‘I’m not escaping. I’m enriching my life with adventure.’

‘Are you?’ He shook his head. ‘Or are you enriching your life with someone else’s dreams and adventures in their books?’

‘So you’re an adrenalin junkie rather than a beach-read, relaxation holiday sort, or—?’ She suddenly broke off as she realised the even worse truth. ‘No. I’ve got it wrong. You don’t holiday at all.’ She sat back and looked at him as if he were a lost cause. ‘You’re a fully paid-up member of workaholics not-so-anonymous.’

‘Well,’ he drawled not-so-apologetically. ‘The demands on my very expensive time are too great.’

‘And of course you prioritise the demands that pay over those that are personal.’ Bitterness underlined her scorn. ‘What do you do exactly—spend your days deciding which exciting new companies you should invest your pots of gold into?’

‘That’s not far off the mark, actually.’

‘And everyone wants to be your friend because you A, have the gold, and B, can pick the winners?’

‘Hence my wariness when it comes to women...’ He shot her a smug glance.

Her laugh was reluctant. ‘Yes, you’re clearly such a wallflower. While I’m clearly a gold-digger.’ She shook her head. ‘Super-successful people make great personal sacrifices.’

‘Now you think I don’t have balance in my life?’

‘I’m sure of it.’

He pressed his hand to his chest in mockery of being wounded. But, in truth, his heart was pounding too hard for comfort. ‘Contrary to your judgement, I do know how to relax.’ He leaned closer. ‘But I can assure you, copious amounts of sand aren’t part of a good time.’

‘But there might be good sustainability projects in the islands for the future of those children you’re not having.’ She parodied his worthiness.

‘Perhaps I should investigate.’ He smiled. ‘I like a challenge.’

‘Reading on the beach all day can be a challenge,’ she informed him with faux earnestness. ‘The angle of the sun, ensuring you’re not getting burned...’ She shook her head at him sadly. ‘But you can’t get past the need to accumulate, to score that thrill—high risk and high reward, high speed, need to win at all costs...’

‘There’s nothing wrong with chasing the best rewards.’ He shrugged. He’d make no apology for driving for success. It was how he’d survived. ‘But you shouldn’t read on the beach all day. You’ll get sunburned.’

Her lips twisted in a little smile. ‘I promise to cover up.’

Fierce heat hit him low down. ‘People shouldn’t make promises,’ he muttered, trying to joke but failing. ‘They tend not to keep them.’

Her blue gaze shone at him. Her voice was soft. ‘Actually, on that we agree.’

That thread pulled, tugging him closer to her. It was moored to an elemental weight within him, something raw that he recognised she also had deep inside. Something sore.

‘Here’s to no promises, then,’ he said quietly.

‘No promises.’ She lifted her glass, the bright cocktail at odds with the sombre note in her voice. ‘No lies.’

How was it that one look had sparked madness to life? Carrie had turned into someone she didn’t recognise—her awkwardness melted, she laughed easily and joked lightly. Yet humour barely hid the chemistry pushing them closer—beneath the frothy flippancy, that killer electrical current pulsed with tempting, decadent danger.

With the grazing platters between them, there were no interruptions from the staff. After she’d finished her cocktail, Massimo leisurely filled her glass with the warming red wine at required intervals. There was no natural conclusion of each course, so time, that had ended the moment when she’d first enmeshed her gaze with his, now raced, spinning on an invisible loom. Long stretches disappeared between breath, look and teasing banter, soft, silly arguments that neither of them really meant yet weren’t entirely untrue. Hours evaporated into the atmosphere, unrealised, unseen, so easily sucked away.

It was the clatter of crystal in the kitchen that brought her back to reality. Glancing around, Carrie realised they were the only two diners remaining. The staff had cleaned and put away everything from the other tables. Even the bar at the other end of the rooftop terrace was now quiet. Yet there was still food on their platters, still wine in their bottle. They’d barely begun. A glance at Massimo’s expensive watch showed the hands well on the other side of midnight. She had work tomorrow. He had a flight home. This flirt would never lead to anything more.

It wouldn’t have anyway—even if he’d lived in town. Massimo was way beyond her earthly plane, up in the stratosphere somewhere. Superstars didn’t stick with mortals like her. She’d learned that the hard way. But that meant it didn’t matter what she said or did right now. Because there was only now. It was stupidly easy to talk, tease him and say things she’d not normally mutter aloud. Growing up in a house of success stories, with people who couldn’t understand why she didn’t set her expectations higher, who didn’t have time for dinner because they were too busy training, too busy pushing, and for whom spending time together wasn’t a priority...it hadn’t just been lonely. It had been hard.

Don’t interrupt my focus... Don’t be a fool...

And Massimo was one of them, wasn’t he? A driven workaholic who prioritised performance over the personal. Carrie should have broken out in hives already. But she hadn’t, because he wasn’t working now. Now, humanity lurked in his eyes. Hot, hurt, lonely. Surely she was wrong? Surely this guy lacked nothing?

‘I ought to get going,’ she murmured.

She didn’t want to. Beneath that easy fun, regardless of their differing lifestyle goals, they’d connected. It was just lust, right? They had stellar chemistry despite being so strikingly different. It was new to her. And shockingly powerful.

Massimo reluctantly nodded. He could suggest she come back for a drink. She would understand the implication...she would say yes and he could, would, win. But as much as he ached for it—because he ached for it so unbearably—he found this wasn’t a game. Not tonight. This was imbued with something other than the usual quest of catch and release and short-lived, decadent hedonism. Oddly, this was more precious. He’d enjoyed simply talking to her. Talking frippery and teasing nonsense. Yet they’d both known something serious simmered underneath at the same time.

He was not taking advantage. She wasn’t his type. She was not a carefree, experienced woman who understood someone like him. She’d been hurt—tonight was the least of it, he suspected. She was emotionally vulnerable, right? Which meant she was out of bounds. Because high emotion wasn’t something he could manage.

Besides, the intensity of the driving urge to pull her close...the compelling need to brand her as his, somehow... That sharp ache wasn’t just foreign, it was too strong. He would resist simply to prove he could. Because it was a near-run thing.

But he accompanied her in the lift down to the dark street, where a taxi waited to take her away. Carrie faced him, her old awkwardness filling her fast. ‘Thank you for dinner,’ she mumbled.

It sounded inadequate. Worse, she knew she sounded forlorn.

This wasn’t a pick-up. He’d merely been amusing himself. He’d felt sorry for her and had been filling in time during a boring business-trip dinner. The ease with which they’d laughed was now lost in a jelly-like slop of mortification. She couldn’t get out of here soon enough because otherwise she was going to do something stupid. But he reached out and took her hand and that electricity sparked again. He looked into her face but said nothing. For a second, he didn’t seem able to move, as if he didn’t want to let go of her hand.

But then he did.

She quickly climbed into the taxi. He leaned down to the open window, only it was too dark for her to read his expression.

‘Bye, Carrie.’ The stark thread in his voice pulled taut an answering thread within—like a leash tethering them at the very core. It tugged up temptation. But it was too late.

As he stepped back, the street light illuminated his face. The bleak, unbearable expression of loneliness shocked then echoed within her. It gave name to the seriousness that hadn’t been absent but unacknowledged until now.

Desolation.

The taxi was already carrying her away. She twisted in her seat to keep her gaze on him, wanting to catch a glimmer of his lighter charm. Wanting to know she’d been mistaken. But the last impression she had of him was of pain.

For a few minutes she could hardly think and then slowly a sense greater than regret filled her. Urgently she leant forward to speak to the driver. ‘Please, would you mind turning around?’

She would just drive by. He’d have gone back into the hotel. But, illuminated by the lights along the waterfront, was a tall, lone figure. Hands deep in his pockets, he faced the inky, almost invisible sea. He glanced round at the sound of the car. Then he glanced again. His gaze held and suddenly, swiftly, he walked over as it approached the kerb, ready to open the door as soon as it pulled up.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand to her.