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question didn’t surprise her. She lifted her mug and drank the last of her coffee. This time she didn’t taste it either. ‘I don’t know.’ She set the mug back on the table.

      ‘I don’t believe you.’

      ‘That can’t be helped. I guess it’s even fair enough, because even if I did know where she’s staying, I wouldn’t tell you.’

      His mouth turned grim then. His nostrils flared. ‘So that’s that then, is it?’

      ‘I’m afraid so.’ A sigh of regret stole through her. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, but Felice is of age and, I believe, capable of making her own decisions.’

      He folded his arms and scowled.

      Kate had liked the charming stranger with the to-die-for accent, empathised with the worried big brother with the clear grey eyes…but this scowling, thwarted man made her shift in her seat and wish herself elsewhere. She wondered what face he showed most often to Felice?

      She recalled the panic in Felice’s voice and found her answer.

      And then it hit her—the scowling and the glaring; it was just a foil for his fear. It was obvious he’d spent the last few months worried sick about his sister. Instead of telling Felice he loved her and was glad she was okay, he’d lashed out at her as if…

      As if he expected rejection.

      What on earth had happened between them?

      ‘What now?’ he demanded. ‘What the hell is she doing, anyway?’

      She’d bet more people bowed and scraped to His Lordship than stood up to him. She wanted to tell him to stop acting like a spoilt child, only when she looked at him there was nothing of the child in the sensual firmness of his lips, or the broad, lean strokes of his body.

      ‘She’s seeing some of the world, back-packing like she always intended. She’ll be home in a fortnight.’

      ‘Home?’ He pounced on the word. ‘Her home is in England!’

      Oh, dear. ‘Back, then. She’ll be back in a fortnight.’

      Kate’s back started to tighten and ache—like it always did when she felt torn. She loved Felice and had given her word. Yet it didn’t stop her from feeling an enormous surge of empathy for this man sitting opposite her. She knew what it was like to fret over a sibling. She knew what it was like to worry about a child.

      And Simon’s expression told her he still thought of Felice as a child.

      His expression also told her he needed to loosen up.

      ‘What am I supposed to do in the meantime?’ he demanded.

      ‘You could return home to England,’ she offered. ‘I promise to make sure Felice calls you when she gets back.’

      He shook his head once decisively. ‘I’m not leaving till I see her.’

      Good. Instinct told her he should stay if he wanted to mend his relationship with Felice.

      ‘Well, then.’ She gestured to the view. ‘You’re in the centre of a tourist Mecca, my Lord.’ He was in Nelson’s Bay, one of the main towns of Port Stephens—three hours north of Sydney and, in Kate’s opinion, one of the prettiest places on earth. ‘If you’re intent on staying, have a holiday.’

      ‘I don’t have time for a holiday!’

      She took in the tight set of his shoulders. ‘Why not?’ She might not be a doctor, she wasn’t a nurse, but she had a first aid certificate and she could tell a holiday was precisely what he needed.

      ‘I have an estate to run. I—’

      ‘Is that more important than hanging around here and waiting for Felice?’

      ‘No.’

      Right answer. And he hadn’t even hesitated. It made her lips curve into a grin. He blinked. His eyes narrowed, but she ignored his suspicion. ‘Have you forgotten how to have fun? I bet all you do is work and sleep.’

      And worry about Felice. She’d met men like this before. Men like her father, who thought they’d find relief in work. Hard work had helped her father up to a point. If only he’d put as much effort into winning back Kate’s mother—the love of his life. Maybe then he’d have been happy.

      ‘I—’

      ‘You need to loosen up, Simon. You need to stop and smell the roses. Do you have rose gardens on your estate? I bet you do. Roses aren’t our specialty here in Nelson’s Bay, but salt is. And coconut oil.’

      He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You want me to stop and smell the…coconut oil?’

      ‘Absolutely. Everyone should stop and smell the coconut oil.’

      He kept staring at her as if she’d just confirmed her craziness. Perhaps she had, but she couldn’t help it—she wanted to make Simon laugh and forget his troubles like she did when Jesse came home from school glum, with the weight of the world pressing down on his seven-year-old shoulders.

      ‘C’mon.’ She stood. ‘You need to feel sand between your toes and be at the centre of a lot of squawking.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘I…WHAT?’

      Simon stood too, but he looked far from decisive. That was okay because she’d be decisive enough for both of them. If Simon wanted to rebuild his relationship with Felice, he had to learn to loosen up. ‘First things first.’ She twinkled at him. ‘We need to get you out of that suit.’

      A giggle! For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t twelve. And that skippety-skip in her pulse had nothing to do with anything.

      There was no denying, though, that the blood surged through her veins with a new kind of vigour.

      Maybe that was a bad omen, not a good one?

      She pushed the thought aside. This was about him, not her.

      ‘I’m guessing you don’t want to ruin that gorgeous Italian suit?’

      ‘Bond Street,’ he said automatically, as if he couldn’t help it.

      ‘That’s a no then, is it?’ She didn’t wait for him to answer but tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and tugged him towards a rack of clothes outside a nearby shop front. He was far too polite—or was that stunned—to resist.

      ‘Ooh, end of season sales. We’re in luck.’ She pulled out a pair of board shorts for inspection. ‘These look like they’d fit you.’

      ‘I’m not wearing those!’

      They were pink and white candy-striped. ‘Pity.’ She hung them back up and pulled out another pair in loud red and yellow. She took one look at the expression on his face and shook her head. ‘No,’ she agreed. Then a bolt of pure mischief shook her. ‘Stop press! I’ve found the perfect pair.’ She pulled them out and held them triumphantly aloft.

      Simon’s jaw dropped. ‘That’s the Union Jack.’

      ‘It is,’ she said, eyeing them with satisfaction. ‘And I think they’d suit your Lordship down to the ground.’

      She suddenly found her shoulders seized in strong hands and Simon glaring down at her. His fingers curved into the soft flesh of her upper arms, firm but not hurting her. The barely contained power of the man transferred itself through his fingers to her arms…and then her brain. It made her pulse leap and jerk. For one fateful moment she thought he meant to kiss her.

      If he did, she had an awful feeling she might just kiss him back.

      Bad omen! Very bad omen.

      ‘Can we drop the Lordship thing?’ he growled. ‘Will you please just call me Simon?’

      She swallowed and nodded.

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