It took them another ten minutes to reach the relative cool of the clearing next to the dam. Like last time, Amy inspected it in silence before walking forward. Taking his baseball cap off to smooth a hand over his damp scalp and letting the backpack slide off his shoulders to rest on the ground by his feet, Ben watched on as warmth bloomed in his chest. Damn, but he loved this woman.
‘Ben?’ Amy turned and held out a hand for him. She was standing right next to the gnarled tree she’d told him was the site of her old childhood hidey hole.
He walked forward, wondering at the sparkle in her eyes while being completely charmed and gratified by the happiness in her expression. He’d been a little worried that this place would still hold shadowy memories for her, not only of her childhood but of his much more recent stupidity that had nearly been the end of them.
He took her hand. ‘Are you happy?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded emphatically.
‘You’re not feeling down about the partnership?’ he asked, referring to Amy selling forty per cent of her business to her friend and colleague, Mel. The decision had been a hard one but both Ben and Mel had finally convinced Amy it was the right thing to do, along with hiring a second barber, Cathleen, who was turning out brilliantly.
Be that as it may, Ben couldn’t help but notice that Amy had experienced a few pangs of anxiety during her first ever trip overseas last month to see Alex in the opening night of Gaetano Donizetti’s La Fille du Régiment with the Metropolitan Opera in New York.
‘I was feeling a bit flat, but I’m not now,’ she replied. ‘I’ve done the right thing.’
‘You have.’ Ben saw she was rubbing her thigh with the palm of her hand, the way she always did when she was nervous or anxious. Something was up. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Even after six months of close proximity, he was still not fully versed in all her moods. She kept him on his toes.
‘Ben?’ She looked up at him, her expression earnest. Too earnest.
‘Yes?’ he asked warily.
‘There’s something I want to ask you. Could you promise me you’ll be quiet for a few seconds and not say anything?’
He felt a small curl of apprehension. ‘This isn’t going to be depressing, is it?’
She shook her head, a small smile playing around her mouth. ‘Nope.’
He nodded. He would have shut up for a bloody year if she’d keep smiling.
She pulled her hand out of his, looked up into his eyes, then bit her lip. ‘Close your eyes.’
He opened his mouth to protest but quickly snapped it shut when she raised her brows. He heaved a massive sigh instead and did what she’d asked, feeling a full wave of apprehension wash over him.
‘You still with me?’
He nodded and felt two warm hands pressing on his already overheated chest through his T-shirt. His mind was buzzing. What the hell could his little barber be up to?
‘Will you marry me?’
It took a few seconds for the words to register and when they did Ben’s eyes snapped open, his words coming out in an indignant roar. ‘You devious wench!’
Amy’s wide grin turned into hearty, full blown, head-to-toes laughter. ‘You’re supposed to say yes.’
‘No!’ Ben exclaimed in outrage. Six months he’d been asking and now the woman springs this on him. As if he hadn’t been sweating bricks the entire time. He shook his head emphatically. ‘Oh no. No way. You made me wait for six months and turned me down four times. Four times. And then you—’ He paused, momentarily lost for words. ‘Apoplectic, sweetheart, there’s no other description for how I feel right now. Start running because when I catch you, your backside’s going to be too damn sore for you to move for weeks.’
‘So yes, then?’ Amy stood on tiptoes, planted a quick kiss on his firmly closed lips, then turned to sprint away, her laughter trailing behind her.
Ben let her get a little bit ahead to keep things interesting, then gave chase, hounding her steps through the trees, across a patch of dry grass and up along the bank of the dam. Amy ran ahead of him, her head thrown back, her gleeful laughter filling the air, ending with a choked giggle as he picked up his speed, grabbed her around her waist and threw her over his shoulder.
‘Put me down!’
‘No. I’m afraid you’re getting what you deserve this time.’ Ben strode determinedly down the bank. ‘It’s not like my shoes aren’t already ruined, so trust me, this is going to hurt you far more than it does me.’
It took Amy a few seconds to gauge his intent before she really started struggling. ‘No! My hair—’
‘Will bloody well survive, never mind that my ego is in tatters,’ he said indignantly, holding her just at the water’s edge. It did look blessedly cool. ‘I want a “yes” in retrospect. No, bugger that. I want four in retrospect, or you are going to have a bath within the next thirty seconds.’ He made as if to let go.
Amy squealed. ‘Yes, yes, yes and yes – now put me down.’
‘Okay.’ Ben promptly dropped her in the water.
When she finally picked herself up, spluttering and cursing him, he was sitting on the bank only a few feet away, holding up a ten-carat diamond engagement ring between thumb and forefinger. ‘Love me?’
She stood on one foot, pulling off one sodden sneaker, then another. Her hair was a bedraggled mess around her cheeks; her dress was plastered to her body. She was perfect.
Ignoring the ring, she sniffed. ‘I can’t answer that until I get an answer to my proposal.’
He pretended to look thoughtful, angling the ring so the diamond caught the sunlight and sparkled. ‘Which one was that?’
His answer was a massive splash of water fair in the face, then another that hit his chest. Before long he was dripping wet, feet sliding on the slippery clay bank as he struggled unsuccessfully to get to his feet.
‘Yes, yes. Bloody well stop – stop that! Yes!’ he managed, spluttering in between the laughter, hands coming up to shield his face.
The water abruptly stopped.
‘Good.’ With a satisfied nod, Amy walked over, plopped herself in his lap and took the ring, sliding it on her finger while Ben watched on in a blissfully silent moment of pure happiness.
A massive thanks to my wonderful editor, Sarah Fairhall, for believing in Amy’s story. You are, as always, amazing. Also an equally huge thanks to Carol George for being so supportive over the years and for the chats about the cats!
Tony Johnson, thanks so much for putting up with me, for kicking me up the pants when I need it and making me belly laugh every single day of this journey.
Anja, Theresa and Jo thanks for your honesty and awesomeness.
Rex Kingston, you’re a legend. An extra special thanks for the advice about Ben’s car.
And finally, my all-encompassing gratitude to everyone who has supported me over this book’s journey. You’re all exceptional, extraordinary people and my life is so much better for having you guys in it.
Georgina Penney first discovered romance novels when she was eleven and has been a fan of the genre ever since. It took her another eighteen years to finally sit in front of a keyboard and get something down on the page but that’s alright, she was busy doing other things until then.
Some of those things included living in a ridiculous number of towns and cities in Australia before relocating overseas to Saudi Arabia, Bahrain and Brunei Darussalam.
In between all these travels, Georgina managed to learn to paint, get herself a Communication and Cultural Studies degree, study Psychotherapy and learn all about Hypnotherapy. In the early days she even managed to get on the IT roller-coaster during the early noughties boom, inexplicably ending the ride by becoming the registrar of a massage and naturopathy college. There was also PhD in the mix there somewhere but moving to Saudi Arabia and rediscovering the bodice ripper fixed all that.
Today she lives with her wonderful husband, Tony, in a cozy steading in the Scottish countryside. When she’s not swearing at her
characters and trying to cram them into her plot, she can be found traipsing over fields, gazing at hairy coos and imagining buff medieval Scotsmen in kilts (who have access to shower facilities and deodorant) living behind every bramble hedge.
ALSO BY GEORGINA PENNEY
Fly In Fly Out
Summer Harvest
Summer Harvest
English dog trainer Beth Poole is having trouble getting her life back together after beating a life-threatening illness and divorcing her husband. When her Aussie-soap-obsessed grandma sends her to Australia to recover, it seems a great opportunity for some rest and relaxation while she figures out what’s next.
But when Beth arrives in Australia things get off to a rocky start. To begin with, she’s on the wrong coast and there are deadly creatures everywhere. And if that weren’t enough, her neighbours are driving her crazy. She’s staying in the beautiful Margaret River wine region, right next door to a family-owned vineyard. It should be perfect, but the boisterous Hardy clan just don’t seem able to leave her alone. The usually reserved Beth is soon reluctantly embroiled in their family disputes and romantic entanglements. And eldest son Clayton Hardy is proving surprisingly persistent.
The more Beth gets to know Clayton and the Hardys, the more she sees what she wants for her future. But as the end of summer approaches, her past comes back to haunt her and will test her newfound relationships to the limit.
Fly In Fly Out
After months working on an oil rig in the Atlantic Ocean, engineer Jo Blaine can’t wait to get home. Her job is tough, and she is desperate for some long-overdue girl time. When she walks through her front door to find an unexpected man in her house, she’s tempted to head straight back out to sea.
Stephen Hardy has always felt guilty for the part he played in Jo’s leaving home years earlier and jumps at the chance to make amends. It takes some fast talking, but he finally convinces Jo to let him look after her apartment and her giant cranky cat while she’s away on the rig. And by the time she leaves for her next shift, they’re both eagerly anticipating her return.
But balancing family and friends with a new relationship when you’re never around is tricky, and Jo is also keeping secrets about her past. After a lifetime of taking care of herself, Jo isn’t used to sharing her problems – especially when they involve her messy family history. Picking up the pieces every time she comes home is getting harder, and Jo begins to wonder if a fly-in fly-out lifestyle is really worth it . . .
Don’t miss Fly In Fly Out by Georgina Penney
‘What the hell?’
Jo Blaine’s motorbike helmet bounced off antique pine floorboards with a dull plastic thud as she took in the state of her Fremantle penthouse apartment.
This was so not the way she’d left it when she’d flown out to her offshore oil job in Mauritania. No way.
There was a rumpled tartan throw rug and a pillow on one of her cream leather couches, a bright-red coffee cup – her favourite damn coffee cup – was sitting on her hand-cut glass-and-jarrah coffee table and the books in her bookshelves looked as if they’d been rifled through.
She took a step further inside, kicking a pair of expensive-looking, size-fourteen men’s leather shoes out of her way, and immediately felt a cool breeze against her cheek.
The sliding door leading to the balcony was wide open, letting in the scent of a recent summer shower on bitumen. The sounds of distant traffic and boats going up and down the Swan River filtered in, an incongruous backing track to her growled exclamation.
Definitely not how she’d left it before.
‘Hello? Anyone here?’ She turned back around, narrowed eyes searching for a coffee-loving, couch-sleeping, male Goldilocks but only saw her massive silver Maine Coon cat, Boomba, who chose that moment to waddle past with a pair of men’s undies firmly clasped in his mouth. His fat furry backside moved side to side as he disappeared into the kitchen, where Jo could see stacked Domino’s pizza boxes on the counter. Her temper, always on a short fuse after a long, sleepless flight, began to sizzle and fizz as she put the clues together.
She only knew one man with size-fourteen feet. That same man had a key to her apartment and was about to experience the flaming wrath of a jetlagged woman. ‘Scott? Where the hell are you?’ She called out her best friend’s name as she kicked off her steel-capped boots and reached into her pocket for her phone. She held it to her ear, hearing nothing but dial tone, feeling herself getting more and more worked up.
Boomba waddled past her again, chirruping around his mouthful. His expression said clearly that as far as he was concerned, she should forget her house invader, admire the thing he’d killed and give him a pat.
‘And what the hell are you doing here, fuzz ball?’ Jo reached down and plucked the underwear out of his mouth, throwing it away. ‘You’re supposed to be at Amy’s. Want to tell me what’s going on?’ The cat gave her his usual entitled feline stare and then butted his head into her shin.
‘You’re no help.’ She walked through the living room, kicking a pair of socks out of her way, and stopped short in front of the vibrant blue-and-green abstract painting she’d bought last time she was in town. It was askew, as if someone had knocked it, and she felt something inside her snap.
This was not cool. Not. Cool. Her house was supposed to be empty. Her cat was supposed to be at her sister’s and there wasn’t supposed to be a . . . man anywhere within a good twenty metres of her right now, even if he was her best mate. She’d spent the last sixteen weeks surrounded by Y chromosomes and all she’d been looking forward to was a blessedly empty, male-free environment.
Scott finally answered, his tone suitably shocked. ‘Jo? What time is it over there?’
‘It’s eight in the morning. I’m home. In Perth. Where are you?’
‘Home?’ Scott’s deep voice momentarily took on choirboy heights he hadn’t achieved since pre-puberty. ‘You’re supposed to be on holiday in Brazil!’
Jo squeezed her eyes tightly shut. ‘Yes. Home. I cancelled the holiday because I wanted to be home. You know, that place I like to come when I’m not on some rusting oil rig in the middle of nowhere? You know that place? The place you were looking after. The place currently being lived in by someone who has feet the size of yours. The place currently containing my cat, who should be at Amy’s.’
‘Ahh. Yeah. About that.’
‘Yeah, about what? What the hell is going on?’
There was a moment of silence and then a dull thud as if something had been hit, quite hard. ‘I’ll explain, but it’s probably better I do it in person.’
‘What? Why? I just want an answer and I want it now!’
‘You’ll get one . . . just . . . just stay there. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. We’ll get all this sorted out. I’m sorry, Jo.’
Jo scowled, turning around, taking in the disorder and feeling a renewed sense of outrage. ‘You bloody well better be. And bring me some goddamn coffee. I haven’t slept properly for days and all I wanted was to have a shower and fall into bed and instead—’
‘Ten minutes,’ he said with an edge of frustration in his tone that had better not be aimed at her. Given the mood she was in at the present moment, she’d be able to take Scott on one-on-one. They didn’t call her Krakatoa out on the rigs for nothing.
Jo hung up, looking around until her eyes settled on her bedroom door.
There was no way Scott would make it in ten minutes, let alone fifteen, and she was tired.
Shooing Boomba out of the way with her foot, she headed for her room.
The feeling of tiredness was blasted to smithereens the minute she pushed the door open, took in the contents of her bed and roared with rage. ‘Who the hell are you?!’
‘AAGGHH! Gnph.’ The very naked, very buff and all-over tanned blond man who’d until that moment been sleeping spreadeagled on her bed shouted in surprise, leapt to his feet, tripped over Jo’s cat and fell facedown on the floor.
MICHAEL JOSEPH
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
India | New Zealand | South Africa | China
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies
whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published as Irrepressible You by Penguin Group (Australia), 2014
This edition published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, 2017
Text copyright © Georgina Penney, 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover and text design by Louisa Maggio © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Cover photograph by Jelena Simic Petrovic/Arcangel
penguin.com.au
ISBN: 978-1-76014-323-7
THE BEGINNING
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The Barbershop Girl Page 29