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      All about the author…

       Miranda Lee

      MIRANDA LEE was born in Port Macquarie, a popular seaside town on the mid-north coast of New South Wales, Australia. Her father was a country schoolteacher and brilliant sportsman. Her mother was a talented dressmaker.

      After leaving her convent school, Miranda briefly studied the cello before moving to Sydney, where she embraced the emerging world of computers. Her career as a programmer ended after she married, had three daughters and bought a small acreage in a semirural community.

      Miranda attempted greyhound training, as well as horse and goat breeding, but was left dissatisfied. She yearned to find a creative career that allowed her to earn money. When her sister suggested writing romances, it seemed like a good idea. She could do it at home, and it might even be fun!

      It took a decade of trial and error before her first romance, After the Affair, was accepted and published. At that time, Miranda, her husband and her three daughters had moved back to the central coast, where they could enjoy the sun and the surf lifestyle once again.

      Numerous successful stories followed, each embodying Miranda’s trademark style: fast-paced sexy rhythms; passionate, real-life characters; and enduring, memorable story lines. She has one credo when writing romances: Don’t bore the reader! Millions of fans worldwide agree she never does.

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER ONE

      SHARNI was about to have lunch in a very trendy Sydney café when her dead husband walked in!

      Her hands shook as they gripped the menu, her heart racing as she stared at Ray with shocked eyes.

      Common sense finally kicked in, steadying her thudding heartbeat and whirling head.

      Of course it wasn’t Ray. Just some man who looked like him.

      No, that was an understatement. A huge one. This man didn’t just look like Ray, he was the spitting image of him. If she hadn’t personally identified her husband’s lifeless body five years ago, Sharni might have imagined he’d somehow not been on that horrible train that fateful day.

      My God, he even walked like Ray!

      Sharni’s stunned gaze slavishly followed the man as he was shown to a table by the window, not all that far from her own. She kept trying to find something different, something out of sync with her mental memory of the husband she’d loved, and lost.

      There was nothing.

      Maybe this man was a little taller. And dressed a little better. That rusty brown suede jacket he was wearing looked very expensive. So did his cream silk shirt and smart fawn trousers.

      Other than that, everything was the same. The same body shape. The same face. The same hair, both in colour and style.

      Ray had had the loveliest hair: thick and wavy, a rich brown with a hint of red. He’d worn it longish, well down onto his shirt collar. She’d loved running her hands through his hair. He’d loved it, too.

      Ray’s double had exactly the same hair.

      Sharni’s mouth dried as she waited for him to sit down, waited to see if he would scoop his hair back from his forehead the way Ray had done every time he sat down.

      When he did, Sharni only just stopped herself from crying out.

      What cruel trick of fate was this?

      She’d been doing so well lately, finally feeling capable of moving on with her life. She was working again. Okay, only part-time, but it was better than sitting at home all day.

      This trip to Sydney had been another huge step for her. When her sister had given her a weekend package holiday in Sydney for her thirtieth birthday a couple of months ago, Sharni had initially shrunk from the idea.

      ‘I can’t leave Mozart for a whole weekend, Janice,’ she’d said straight away, even though she knew this was just an excuse.

      Admittedly, Mozart was not the easiest of dogs to mind. He still pined for Ray and could become snappy with other people. John, however—a local vet and Sharni’s employer—had a way with the sad little terrier, and would happily mind him for Sharni.

      Janice had seen through

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