lips.
“Don’t go, Kelly, sweetheart. Please stay.”
She looked up at him, tilting her neck to do so. In her flat shoes, he seemed to be every inch of his six‐foot‐two to her five‐foot‐six, and right at that moment, she wished she was taller, so she could simply place her lips on his and continue the kiss.
As it was, she had to stretch up on tiptoes and tug on his T‐shirt to reach her objective, and then she let her lips do the talking. His mouth was redolent of orange juice and zesty, tangy grapes—and hers moved over his, tasting, testing, savouring, before she pulled back to look up at him again.
His breathing was still fast—but then, so was hers.
“Missed me, did you, babe?” He was gazing down at her, his pupils huge, black.
“Mm,” she murmured dreamily, then realised what he’d said. “No!” And then, because she could see this conversation heading in all the wrong directions, she drank some bubbly, and held her glass out to him.
Julie Mac
“It really is delicious, thank you, Ben. Can I have a little top‐up, please?”
Normally she would have waited till more wine was offered, but her conversational efforts so far had been fairly disastrous and at least this was safe ground.
“Sure.” But he didn’t bend to pick up the bottle, and his eyes, which had been fixed on hers, had shifted fractionally, focussing on something beyond her. She turned, following his gaze.
A small child, eighteen months or two years old perhaps, was waist deep in the edge of the tide, holding her bright pink skirt up around her chest. A fat black dog was romping out into the waves and the little girl was following.
Ben turned his head, looked up the beach, back again, then thrust his glass into Kelly’s hand and ran down to the water. At the same time she registered a baby was crying loudly—no, not just crying, screaming. She followed the noise and saw what Ben had seen, twenty metres along the beach: a baby in a stroller where the sand met the grass, and a young mum bent over the screaming mite, her back to the little girl down in the tide.
Kelly shoved the bases of the two champagne flutes into the sand to hold them upright, kicked off her shoes and ran after Ben.
Little Long Bay was a gentle beach, but a cyclone in the Pacific a few days ago had produced bigger than usual waves on the east coast. She watched in horror as the child was tumbled in a white‐crested wave; she disappeared for a heart‐stopping moment, then came up spluttering.
But Ben grabbed her. He scooped her up in his arms and by the time Kelly reached the water’s edge, he was wading out of the water, talking to the child, making a game out of her foray into the sea. Miraculously, the little girl was laughing and chatting excitedly to Ben.
For a moment, Kelly stood, transfixed, the water lapping around her feet.
Ben Carter, convicted computer hacker, probable drug dealer, criminal gang associate and goodness knows what else, was good with kids.
“See if you can call the dog in,” he said quietly to Kelly when he reached her. “His name’s Jed.”
He started walking on, but paused when she reached out to touch his arm. “Hello, sweetie,” she said to the girl, who gave her a big smile. Then to Ben, “Maybe it’s better if I take her back to her mother, and you get the dog. Her mum might be scared if she sees a strange man with her daughter. She could be calling the cops before you even get to her.”
“You worry too much,” he said, simply, and walked on up the beach.
Fine, thought Kelly. You live with the consequences. She concentrated on the dog.
He rushed up when she called, shook water all over her, then obligingly followed her up the beach.
As she neared the little family, she was astounded to see Ben cuddling the baby—
A Father at Last
whose screams, she thought were a little less intense. The young mum was wrapping a baby rug around her small daughter, and as Kelly came closer,
“Don’t go, Kelly, sweetheart. Please stay.”
She looked up at him, tilting her neck to do so. In her flat shoes, he seemed to be every inch of his six‐foot‐two to her five‐foot‐six, and right at that moment, she wished she was taller, so she could simply place her lips on his and continue the kiss.
As it was, she had to stretch up on tiptoes and tug on his T‐shirt to reach her objective, and then she let her lips do the talking. His mouth was redolent of orange juice and zesty, tangy grapes—and hers moved over his, tasting, testing, savouring, before she pulled back to look up at him again.
His breathing was still fast—but then, so was hers.
“Missed me, did you, babe?” He was gazing down at her, his pupils huge, black.
“Mm,” she murmured dreamily, then realised what he’d said. “No!” And then, because she could see this conversation heading in all the wrong directions, she drank some bubbly, and held her glass out to him.
Julie Mac
“It really is delicious, thank you, Ben. Can I have a little top‐up, please?”
Normally she would have waited till more wine was offered, but her conversational efforts so far had been fairly disastrous and at least this was safe ground.
“Sure.” But he didn’t bend to pick up the bottle, and his eyes, which had been fixed on hers, had shifted fractionally, focussing on something beyond her. She turned, following his gaze.
A small child, eighteen months or two years old perhaps, was waist deep in the edge of the tide, holding her bright pink skirt up around her chest. A fat black dog was romping out into the waves and the little girl was following.
Ben turned his head, looked up the beach, back again, then thrust his glass into Kelly’s hand and ran down to the water. At the same time she registered a baby was crying loudly—no, not just crying, screaming. She followed the noise and saw what Ben had seen, twenty metres along the beach: a baby in a stroller where the sand met the grass, and a young mum bent over the screaming mite, her back to the little girl down in the tide.
Kelly shoved the bases of the two champagne flutes into the sand to hold them upright, kicked off her shoes and ran after Ben.
Little Long Bay was a gentle beach, but a cyclone in the Pacific a few days ago had produced bigger than usual waves on the east coast. She watched in horror as the child was tumbled in a white‐crested wave; she disappeared for a heart‐stopping moment, then came up spluttering.
But Ben grabbed her. He scooped her up in his arms and by the time Kelly reached the water’s edge, he was wading out of the water, talking to the child, making a game out of her foray into the sea. Miraculously, the little girl was laughing and chatting excitedly to Ben.
For a moment, Kelly stood, transfixed, the water lapping around her feet.
Ben Carter, convicted computer hacker, probable drug dealer, criminal gang associate and goodness knows what else, was good with kids.
“See if you can call the dog in,” he said quietly to Kelly when he reached her. “His name’s Jed.”
He started walking on, but paused when she reached out to touch his arm. “Hello, sweetie,” she said to the girl, who gave her a big smile. Then to Ben, “Maybe it’s better if I take her back to her mother, and you get the dog. Her mum might be scared if she sees a strange man with her daughter. She could be calling the cops before you even get to her.”
“You worry too much,” he said, simply, and walked on up the beach.
Fine, thought Kelly. You live with the consequences. She concentrated on the dog.
He rushed up when she called, shook water all over her, then obligingly followed her up the beach.
As she neared the little family, she was astounded to see Ben cuddling the baby—
A Father at Last
whose screams, she thought were a little less intense. The young mum was wrapping a baby rug around her small daughter, and as Kelly came closer,
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