of course it was him. Nobody else came even close to Ethan in looks or ability. He had sailed on his own around the world non-stop! Little wonder that he could moor a small boat on a floating pontoon in an English winter.
Ethan … She was looking at Ethan Chandler.
A bolt of energy hit her hard in the stomach and punched the air from her lungs. The blast was so physical that Mari clutched hold of the edge of the stone wall of the marina with both hands to stop herself from sliding onto her knees. Frozen with shock.
She could not believe this was happening. It had to be some sort of crazy nightmare brought on by lack of sleep and far too much caffeine and wine last night over dinner with Rosa.
There was nothing else to explain it.
The man-boy she had last seen ten years ago looking back at her from the backseat of his father’s car as they drove out of Swanhaven, leaving her behind, clinging to the wreckage of her life, was blocking her way back into town. Mari sucked in oxygen to feed her racing brain and the frantic pulsing of blood.
This must be what it felt like to have a heart attack.
The last person on the planet she had expected to see again was dressed in chinos and a pale blue shirt, under a luxurious all-weather jacket the colour of the smoothest latte.
Ethan Chandler. International Yachtsman of the Year. The boy whose family had rented the house next to her home each summer holiday and in the process became part of Swanhaven and the star of the sailing club for a few weeks and her home town’s only true claim for a celebrity. The village shop even sold bottles of the delectable designer aftershave he’d promoted a few years earlier.
The stylist who had chosen his shirt had done an excellent job and that particular shade of blue was a perfect match for the colour of his eyes, even in the grey February light which took the edge off a suntan cultivated under the Florida sunshine.
At the age of seventeen Ethan Chandler had been the best-looking boy in town. A natural athlete and champion yachtsman destined for greatness. Ethan at twenty-eight was a revelation. Of course she had seen his photo on TV and on the cover of magazines, clean and polished and with all of his rough edges smoothed out to create the perfect image. Male-model handsome, rugged and broad-shouldered.
But there was a world of difference between seeing Ethan standing behind the wheel of an ocean-going yacht, or modelling board shorts on the cover of a sailing magazine, and having the man himself standing so close that she could see the stubble on his cheek on the side of his face.
Ethan had always had that cocky and easy confidence in his own charm—but this was taking it to a completely new level. Six feet of broad-shouldered, tousle-haired hunk could do that to a girl.
The blood rushing to her cheeks and neck was so embarrassing. And Marigold Chance did not blush. Ever.
And then, almost as if he knew that someone was watching him, Ethan stopped walking, paused, and started to turn around to look in her direction.
Instantly, without thinking about what she was doing or hesitating more than a split second, Mari pulled the hood of her coat high over her head and whirled on one heel so quickly that she was walking back the way she had come along the beach path before her hands were back by her sides, punching the air with each step.
Determined to get as far away from Ethan Chandler as possible.
Grains of sand flew up beneath her feet as she strode forward, too terrified to look back just in case Ethan had recognised the crazy woman power walking along the beach. Her head was spinning with a confusion of thoughts and feelings. Some deep part of her was secretly hoping that he had seen her, and he was even now running to catch up with her, ready to calm her nerves and tell her that he’d never meant to hurt her feelings all those years ago when they had kissed and he had walked away without a single word of goodbye.
But that would mean that he had cared about her back then. And still did. This was impossible.
No. Ethan was always destined to be her brother’s unobtainable best friend and the boy who’d survived the accident when Kit had not.
Her feet slowed but her heart was pounding inside her chest and she felt the blood flare in her face despite the icy-cold wind from the sea. A few more steps and she would be around the corner of the bay and out of sight from Swanhaven marina. And Ethan would not be able to see her tears.
Mari’s left hand pressed against the damp cliff wall.
After all these years, she had fooled herself into thinking that she had finally come to terms with Kit’s death.
Idiot.
All it took was one sight of Ethan—not even a word—just seeing him again, and she was right back to being sixteen again and those terrible few months after the accident when all she wanted to do was be alone. Grieving, scared, frozen and numb and so very alone. Trapped inside her thoughts, withdrawn and traumatised.
Only one person had been able to challenge her enough to break through the prison doors of her anguish and that person was Ethan. He had done something no one had ever done. He had kept challenging, kept on asking her forgiveness, kept on forcing her to engage with him, until her self-imposed barriers had finally broken down. And for one hour of one day she had clung to Ethan like a drowning girl with every single emotion raw and open and exposed for him to see. This was the boy who had made her brother go out in a race he was not ready for. This was the boy who had teased her and ridiculed her every summer holiday. This was the boy she had secretly had a crush on, but said nothing. Because he was so perfect, so admirable and so very, very unobtainable.
And in that moment when she had been most vulnerable, he had kissed her. And she had kissed him back. And she might have been sixteen, and this was her first kiss, but she knew that he meant it.
And it had destroyed her.
The guilt of kissing and wanting Ethan after he had brought about her family’s ruin had been too much for her to bear. She had felt so weak and angry and disgusted with herself.
When he’d left town the following day, without even saying goodbye, she knew that she had deluded herself into thinking that Ethan could ever care about her. She wasn’t even worth taking the time to speak to.
Mari closed her eyes and took a couple of long breaths. She was twenty-six years old, a trained IT professional and an adult who was used to handling computer crises. Ethan was probably only passing through with his parents. She could cope with seeing him again over the next few days before she went back to work. It was all going to be fine. Just fine.
Only at the exact same moment she allowed herself to breathe normally, there was the sound of footsteps on the cobblestones and sand and, as she turned her head sideways, Ethan Chandler jogged around the corner.
He tried to slide to a halt on the uneven path, arms flailing at the same time as Mari pushed herself back against the wall.
So the only thing he had to grab hold of to stop himself from falling … was her.
Seconds later, Mari’s brain connected to the fact that Ethan Chandler was holding her by both arms, pressing her against his jacket, and she looked up into the blue eyes of the boy who had broken her heart. Words were impossible. Mari inhaled a heady mix of aromatic spices, leather and freshly laundered linen as her own hand moved instinctively to press against the soft fabric and feel the warmth of the man beneath.
‘Hello, Mari. Are you okay there? I wondered if it was you.’ Ethan flicked his head back towards the shore. ‘I only caught a glimpse so I couldn’t be sure but … wow … I had no idea you were back in town. I … er …’ he broke off as their eyes locked; it was only for a second but she knew that he had recognised the total confusion and disbelief and anger that was whirling around inside her head at seeing him again ‘… wasn’t expecting to see you.’
His iron grip relaxed on the sleeve of her jacket and she almost fell back onto the rocks.
‘Ethan,’