Lawrie Bennett jumped as the mocking tones jolted her out of her stunned contemplation of the ultra-modern building clinging to the harbour’s edge. Turning, half convinced she had conjured up his voice along with her memories, she saw him lounging against the arty driftwood sign, the same crooked smile lurking in familiar blue eyes.

‘Jonas?’

No, not a ghost. Subtle changes showed the passage of time: the surfer-blond hair was a little shorter, and a few lines round the eyes added new character to the tanned face.

Embarrassment, guilt, humiliation. Lawrie could take her pick of any of that ugly trio. Being caught hanging around outside her ex-husband’s business like a gauche teenager with a crush was bad enough. To have been caught by her ex-husband really was a fitting end to what had been a truly terrible few weeks.

Trying to summon up an illusion of control, Lawrie switched on her best social smile—the one that had seen her through numerous meetings and charity balls. But her eyes hadn’t got the ‘cool and collected’ memo, and flicked quickly up and down the lean body facing her.

The black tailored trousers and short-sleeved charcoal shirt were a startling change from the cut-off jeans and band T-shirt uniform of her memories, but the body underneath the sharp lines was as surfer-fit as she remembered. He still looked irritatingly good. And even worse—judging by the smirk that flared briefly in the cool eyes—he was fully aware of both her perusal and approval.

So much for control.

Jonas quirked an eyebrow. ‘So, are you...planning to come in?’

How, after all this time, could his voice be so familiar? It was such a long time since she had heard those deep, measured tones tempered with a slight Cornish burr. Yet they sounded like home.

‘I was just wondering if I was in the right place,’ she said, gesturing at the wood and glass building behind him; so shiny and new, so unfamiliar. ‘Everything’s different.’

And that, Lawrie thought, was the understatement of the century.

‘I’ve made some changes. What do you think?’ There was pride in his voice underneath the laid-back drawl.

‘Impressive,’

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