Snowflakes at Lavender Bay: A perfectly uplifting 2018 Christmas read from bestseller Sarah Bennett!

Mick’s eyebrows climbed high enough to disappear beneath the brim of his white trilby as Libby made a strangled noise in her throat. She coughed, then muttered, ‘This is Owen. He’s investing in Sam’s new restaurant, they were talking about their plans while I was hanging out with Beth and Eliza.’

‘The restaurant? I didn’t know Sam was looking for a partner.’ The concern in Mick’s voice was palpable and it suddenly occurred to Owen he might think it would put their own deal in jeopardy.

‘He wasn’t. I’m staying at the pub while I follow up on another investment opportunity and I kind of stumbled across the plans. I’ve got room in my portfolio for both, and Sam’s vision for Subterranean is very exciting.’ He made sure to hold Mick’s gaze as he emphasised ‘another’ hoping he would understand he was referring to his purchase of the chip shop. Bloody hell, talking about something whilst not being obvious he was talking about it was too much like hard work. Surely Mick couldn’t mean to keep this up until after Christmas?

Mick visibly relaxed, much to Owen’s relief. ‘He’s a grand cook, is Sam. I’m sure he’ll make a roaring success of the place.’

‘And he was singing your praises, too. Told me you serve the best fish and chips in the county, so I’m sure you’ll have something here to satisfy my appetite.’ Owen aimed his last remark squarely at Libby and was rewarded with a hot blush, and another of those fantastically filthy glares for his trouble. She had spirit in spades, and he wanted all that fire inside her focused on him. ‘What does the lady recommend?’

Narrowing her eyes, Libby reached for a vicious-looking two-pronged fork and used it to spear a battered sausage with enough force to make Owen glad there was a solid counter between them. Oblivious to the tension between them, Mick shook his head. ‘We can do a bit better than that. How does a large cod and chips sound, Owen?’

Not wishing to be rude, Owen turned his attention to Mick. ‘Sounds great, thanks very much.’ He watched as Libby returned the poor abused sausage to the warming container before dishing up a huge portion of chips upon which she laid a long cod fillet wrapped in a pale golden batter. His stomach gave an appreciative rumble as the scent of the hot food hit him.

‘Salt and vinegar?’

He waited to reply until she lifted her eyes to meet his. ‘Lovely.’ Her lips twitched in spite of herself and Owen wanted to pump his fist at winning even that tiny reaction from her. ‘And I’ll take a Diet Coke as well, please.’

Mick rang up the cost and Owen retrieved his debit card to pay. ‘Well, thank you both for this. I’m sure I’ll enjoy every bite.’ With a quick wink at Libby, Owen retreated to the door, clutching his drink and the large paper parcel. He didn’t go far, though. A lamppost hung above the railing running along the promenade directly opposite the shop window. Owen perched on the top rail beneath the bright light, unwrapped his meal and set it on his lap, and waited.

The chips were hot, crispy on the outside, and fluffy on the inside. In other words, perfect. Picking his way through the mountain of food, he watched Libby puttering around behind the counter, serving the next few customers. All smiles, there wasn’t a hint of the animosity she showed him, not even towards a group of noisy lads who spilled through the door clearly a little worse for wear. As they staggered out, clutching their food and laughing, her gaze followed them as they crossed in front of Owen’s position. Any second now…

Libby froze, jaw gaping and he couldn’t resist giving her a jaunty wave with the chip in his hand. He could almost see steam pouring from her ears as she very deliberately turned her back. Satisfied, he turned his attention to the melt-in-the-mouth fish and didn’t look up again until he’d finished every last morsel. It was enough that she knew he was out there. If he was a betting man, he would’ve taken any odds that she wouldn’t be able to resist watching him, and sure enough he caught a flurry of her white coat turning away the moment he raised his head.

Having crumpled up his empty paper, he drained the last of his can of drink then hopped down from the railing. A bin sat outside the chip shop, so he crossed the promenade to deposit his rubbish. The shop was empty of customers, and there was no sign of Mick, only Libby making a huge performance of spraying and wiping down the front of the counter. Waiting until she glanced over her shoulder, Owen gave her a little wave then strolled back to retake his position on the top railing. A quick check of his watch told him last orders in the pub had come and gone. He scanned the prom in both directions. Apart from a couple walking their dog, it was pretty much deserted. Not much longer to wait.

Resting his elbows on his knees, Owen watched as Libby flipped the closed sign and slid the top bolt home before disappearing out of view. The lights went out, and he waited, eyes straining for any hint of movement inside. After ten fruitless minutes, he slipped down from the railing with a sigh. He’d been so sure she wouldn’t be able to resist coming out to speak to him—even if it was only to tell him to sod off. Ah well, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and spiky, intriguing little pixies weren’t easily tamed which was probably just as well.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Owen glanced up and down the promenade. Other than security lights mounted high on their walls, the businesses were all dark. He supposed he should return to the pub, but he wasn’t the least bit tired. Maybe a walk would help to ease the restlessness inside him. He’d made it maybe half a dozen paces when a soft snick came from behind him. Not wanting her to catch him smiling, he made sure his face was in the shadows before he turned around. ‘I thought you were going to leave me out here like a stray cat.’

‘It was tempting, but then I was worried you’d start yowling underneath my window or scent marking the steps.’ She’d swapped her white coat for a black cardigan hanging loosely off one shoulder to reveal the spaghetti straps of her vest top. Tempted by the soft material, he hitched it up then smoothed his fingers down her arm to tangle with her own. She flinched back. ‘Hey, keep your hands to yourself!’ She hauled the two sides of her cardigan around her body like a shield. ‘Do you think I’m so desperate I’ll fall into bed with any man, even one who doesn’t fancy me? That you can flash your smile and splash your cash, and the poor little country mouse will swoon at your feet? I might be desperate, but I’m not that desperate.’

Owen felt his temper rise in response to her outrageous accusations. ‘Christ, you’re full of assumptions about me, aren’t you? Shame you’re wrong on every single one of them.’

‘Wrong? Don’t make me laugh. What was that all about in the shop earlier, making sure everyone heard that you’re investing in two different projects in the bay other than you showing off to all us poor locals? And then spending an hour hanging around outside my door pretending to flirt with me. What are you even doing here? Did you figure out I’ve got a stupid crush on you and decide to grit your teeth and make the best of it? It’s all the same in the dark, I suppose.’

Moving before he knew what he was going to do, he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her against him. ‘Can’t you just be quiet for one minute?’ He mashed his lips down upon hers before she could spew forth any more accusations.

Hands braced upon his chest, she shoved hard against his hold for a couple of seconds before her fingers curled up and over his shoulders to pull him closer. The stubborn moue of her lips softened beneath his to release a little gasp. Shifting his grip from her waist to her hips, her raised her higher up against his body until she hooked her legs around him, the weight of her boots thudding against the back of his thighs. His mouth still locked on hers, he took a couple of staggering steps until he had her pinned against the shadowed wall of a nearby shop.

The scent, feel and taste of her swam through his senses until nothing else existed. When he tested the seam of her lips with his tongue and she yielded for him with a hungry little noise, he feared his knees might give out from the desire spearing through him, and he kissed her like his life depended upon it. Her nails pricked his skin through the cotton of his T-shirt for a long moment before she released her grip to press once more against his chest. This time he let her ease him away.

Gasping for breath, they stared at each other through the gloom. ‘But…but you don’t like me,’ Libby said, her tone full of bewilderment.

‘I don’t know what gave you that idea, but you’re wrong.’ He shifted his body where it notched between her thighs to prove just how wrong. ‘I like you plenty, Libby Stone.’

Chapter 6 (#ulink_570cb2eb-0bec-5b5c-ada2-dae41f5de236)

Had it not been for Owen’s firm grip upon her waist, Libby might have melted into a puddle of goo right there on the promenade. Perhaps the town council would erect one of those little blue plaques on the wall to record the moment? It was here in the summer of 2018 that Libby Stone was relieved of her senses by a single kiss. Confusion wasn’t a comfortable state of mind. She liked things straightforward, to know where she stood in life. The sun rose in the east and set in the west, the tides followed the cycles of the moon, a seagull would always try and steal your chips, Owen Coburn was bad news wrapped in a very sexy package. All incontrovertible truths. Or so she’d thought. When he was being brash, she could tell herself she’d dodged a bullet, that her bruised feelings would heal soon enough. And then he showed up, flirted with her, kissed her until her head swam, even told her that he liked her.

She couldn’t think straight, and it wasn’t just from his kisses which had been even better than all those fantasies she’d spun about him. Gripped with the sudden panic that perhaps she’d fallen asleep slumped over the counter in the chippy, she unhooked her arms from around his neck and gave herself a pinch. Nope, not asleep.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Owen asked.

‘Just checking.’

He laughed. The low rich sound vibrated through her threatening to turn her already liquid insides to mush. ‘You really aren’t like any other woman I’ve ever met.’ She stiffened and would’ve wriggled free of his hold had his mouth not grazed softly across her own. ‘Damn, you’re spikier than a hedgehog. That was a compliment, by the way,’ he murmured against her lips.

She let herself melt against him once more as he traced his way from her lips to her throat in a series of butterfly soft kisses. ‘You really aren’t like any other man I’ve met either,’ she confessed.

Owen raised his head and she found herself straining to read his expression in the near dark. ‘I’m not what you think I am, Libby. Everything I’ve got in life has been earned through my own sweat and determination. No one gave me a hand up, along the way. It’s taken me eighteen years to get from being a jobbing labourer to having my name above the door of my business.’

Thankful for the shadows, Libby felt her face flush at the hint of accusation in his voice. She’d done to him exactly what she hated people doing to her—judged him by appearance. The designer suits, the confident way he talked about investing in the restaurant like it was no big deal had blinded her. From what he was saying, he’d worked his way up from nothing. She did a quick calculation in her head. ‘You must’ve started straight from school, unless you’ve got one of those Dorian Grey paintings hiding in the attic.’

‘Is that a roundabout way of asking how old I am? I’m 34.’

‘Oh.’ She’d assumed him to be a bit younger—closer to Sam’s age.

‘Oh?’ His arms slid from beneath her thighs to cup her bottom, the proprietorial hold sending shivers through her. ‘Is that going to be a problem for you?’

He was too close, the heat of him too distracting for her poor lust-addled brain, but she couldn’t back up when he had her pinned against the wall. ‘Why…why would it be a problem for me?’ Damn him for putting that breathy note in her voice. She didn’t do breathy, she didn’t do sweet, melting compliance. And she’d tell him so if he’d just stop touching her like that.

‘Because when I get you into bed, I don’t want you to suddenly decide the age gap between us is an issue.’

When. Not if. There was not even a hint of doubt in his voice and she liked it far more than she should. ‘So arrogant,’ she said, scrambling to regain the upper hand.

‘Confident.’

‘I hate you.’ But she was laughing as she said it, and he’d found that sweet spot just beneath her ear with his lips, and suddenly there was no more room for words.

She didn’t know how long they stood there in the shadows, the harshness of their breathing and the waves lapping upon the distant shore the only sounds as they kissed and caressed each other. It might have been minutes or a matter of seconds before Owen broke away with a gasp. ‘Take me home, Libby.’

Yes. She had her legs unhooked and was sliding back to the floor before reality kicked in. ‘Dad’s there.’

‘Damn.’ He smothered his own word with another round of feverish kisses. ‘Then come back to the pub with me.’

And do a walk of shame along the promenade in the morning, presuming she could even sneak in and out of there without her friends finding out? ‘That’s even worse.’

‘I need you.’ Three of the most intoxicating words she’d ever heard spilled from his lips. It was the tone of his voice as much as anything that blew the last of her common sense away. No man had ever spoken of her with such urgency, with such blatant need and just the right edge of demand.

If it hadn’t been so long since anyone had touched her like this, if she hadn’t been so bloody lonely, she might have pushed him away and run for the safety of her little bedroom above the shop with its walls still the same pale pink of her childhood. But it had. And he was making her body sing with anticipation. For the first time in her life she knew what it was to be the sole focus of a powerful man. ‘Come with me.’

Not stopping to think, she dragged Owen down the steps and along the beach to where a row of old beach huts rested against the wall of the promenade. They were a hangover from the Fifties, before the town had grown so popular with tourists. The parish council had refused permission over the years for any more to be built and put a moratorium on who could purchase them. As a result, they’d stayed in the hands of the same families for several generations.

The kids at school whose folks owned them had been some of the most popular thanks to their unfettered access to the perfect hangout spot. Libby had spent many an evening and weekend hanging out in one or other of the gaily painted huts. And if they were lucky… Pausing in front of a bright yellow hut, she stretched on tiptoe and fumbled along the top of the door frame with her fingers. ‘Ah hah!’

‘Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?’ Owen said as she unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was pitch black inside, but provided the Tanners hadn’t given the place a major overhaul she could still remember the layout.

‘Hang on to me.’ Extending her hands forward, Libby began to shuffle forward as she pictured the inside of the little cabin the last time she’d seen it. A pair of basket weave chairs on either side, a table in the far left corner piled high with the jigsaw puzzles and old board games, and along the back wall… Her shins brushed against something and she bent at the waist to find the edge of the large cushioned bench. ‘There’s a seat here.’