Page 1 of Her Dom's Secret Past

Chapter One

Anabelle

After I’d unpacked and had acuppa, it was finally time to do nothing more than relax. I’d come to a nice secluded private beach resort to recharge for a few weeks. The landowner had built seven luxury villas along a one and a half kilometer of beautiful beach shoreline, each villa separated by plenty of trees and shrubs. From every place it was impossible to see another, and it gave the impression of being in the middle of nowhere and all alone. Exactly what I needed. It was mid-May, Monday the fourteenth, to be exact. Two whole weeks of relaxation. When I’d signed in and collected my key, I’d been told two villas had occupants—a couple who would be leaving the next day while the only other villa in use was booked from tomorrow until my last week.

Perfect!

These were not the sort of cabins you’d find in a caravan park—these were the epitome of luxury. Each one as large as a two-bedroom house, fitted out with no expense spared. I’d been assured that nothing was too much trouble. The manager had confidently told me if there was anything I wanted, all I needed do was pick up the house phone and it would be delivered—twenty-four hours a day.

In the online brochure, when I had been searching for somewhere to stay, the villas had looked lovely, but now, in real life, they were even better. Large, discretely hidden among the trees, the whole front open to the beach and a “couples or singles only” policy. I was assured the place was safe and secure. I could confidently leave the building open with no concerns of anything being stolen or of anyone entering.

Built on the headland, and open to the general public, was also a restaurant tucked at the entrance to the complex.

I’d parked my car in the undercover garage, gone up the stairs, and walked onto the long, wide, covered patio facing out onto the clean sands of the beach, complete with a table, chairs, sun lounges, and a barbecue. With each step, my body unwound from the tight spring I’d kept it in for over a year. While unlocking the glass front door, I discovered I could push the whole front wall of glass to one side and it folded magically away.

The entire house was open planned with large, polished off-white floor tiles except for the bedroom and bathroom.

A split level meant I had to go up three stairs to the kitchen, a sleek masterpiece of dark wood and light marble. A well-appointed pantry was hidden away and a big double-doored fridge was well-stocked with food. When booking, I’d been asked about my food preferences, foods liked and disliked. It meant looking into this pantry and fridge was like looking into my own. Milk, fresh meat if I ate it, and vegetables would be delivered every three days—perfect. Freshly baked breads, cakes, and pastries would be delivered daily—all I needed to do was ring in my order early in the morning.

A beautiful fruit basket stood on the counter with three bottles ofMoscato, my choice, as well as a lovely arrangement of fresh flowers. I put theMoscatoin the fridge after picking a tuberose from the vase and tucking it behind my ear.

One side of the house had sliding doors which opened onto a small tiled patio with a heated lap pool and a Jacuzzi. I’d definitely be taking advantage of them!

Investigating further, I went up a dozen steps leading into an enormous bedroom with a king-sized bed. A thick, plush, and very soft beige carpet had me scrunching up my toes in delight. I stood with my back to the bed then flopped backward onto it, a huge grin on my face. More gifts—chocolates on the bed bounced across it as I landed on a fluffy bathrobe. The view of the beach took up the whole glass wall which could also be pushed aside. Getting to my feet, I ate one of the chocolates while I discovered another covered patio above the main living areas of the house. Close to the window, two chairs set either side of a low coffee table.

The whole place was light and airy with high ceilings and simply reeked of opulence.

The bathroom shone as the final jewel in the crown. Beautiful marble and gleaming glass, with an enormous shower and a free-standing bath which was set in front of a huge window. Again, the wall folded opened. Here, the glass was frosted, and if I was worried someone could see in, I could keep the glass closed. Although being on the second floor of the house, I doubted anyone could.

The bathroom was on the corner alongside the bedroom. I could imagine myself lying back in the tub, sipping a glass of wine while watching the waves roll onto the sand or studying the wildlife in the forest alongside. The enormous shower had glass walls so I could see all the tree ferns and shrubs. I thought it would give the illusion of showering outside. Unlit candles were scattered on the benches and the sides of the tub.

The large covered patio stretched across the front of the house, tiled with the same tiles throughout the lower levels of the house. With only four steps down, I would be able to crunch the sand under my toes. I’d certainly be sitting and reading if I didn’t feel like going down onto the beach. In my mind, these few weeks would re-invigorate me. I hoped to recharge my batteries, accept what had been happening over the past few years and move on. I intended to come back a whole newme, one who no longer cowered behind the door or who looked a people with distrust.

I’d selected the villa on the very end because it butted up to the National Park. I’d been told each morning and evening the local wildlife came out to feed on the grass alongside. It would be wonderful to see later, but now it was time to forget the rest of the world and soak up the atmosphere. It was time to forget the past and relax.

I changed into a pair of ragged shorts—cut-off jeans, actually, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. After tossing my shoes under a chair on the patio, I headed down to the beach and stood admiring the view for at least ten minutes. It was almost three in the afternoon and the view was spectacular. This private beach had a headland of rocks either end. As I was close to one end, I had a myriad of rock pools, as well as beach front to choose from to investigate. It delighted me to see an enormous rock at the mid-tide point attached to the long rock shelf. It was large enough for at least two dozen people to sit, and on one end it had been worn away enough to have formed a sort of backrest. It would be perfect to sit and read on, providing it didn’t get covered by the incoming tide. I’d have to check.

Wandering down to the water’s edge, I gingerly let the gentle waves leap about my feet. It was cold but not unbearably. This year the summer in Eastern Australia had been the hottest on record and had lingered through March and April with temperatures in the high twenties and early thirties. Even now in May it was still warm, and I figured it was the reason why the water wasn’t so cold. In fact, I probably could have swam comfortably, even though this beach was on the far south coast of New South Wales.

Wading along to the start of the rocks, I began poking in rock pools while keeping one eye on the incoming tide. As I clambered about, I found a sun-heated rock pool to sit and paddle my toes in. Tomorrow, if I could remember, I’d bring my camera down and get some shots of the Tasman Sea, the waves, and the rocks, but today was all about exploring.

I worked my way along and over the headland until I came to a high buff that blocked my way.

I stretched and began to unwind. I needed this big time. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly switched off. My work had been tiring for a great many years. I was thankful I now had excellent staff and could safely leave things in their capable hands. After decades of hard work, I’d made it as a successful high-end bridal designer and dressmaker. My boutique was based in Hornsby, and my staff were generally run off their feet with all our orders.

At last, I could pick and choose who I designed for and how much I charged. I was in demand. My business had gone from strength to strength, until now—at fifty-five, I had eight on my staff, a home, well, an apartment, actually, in Asquith, no debts, and a decent bank balance. Enough money to splurge on this holiday in such an exclusive place.

In my mind, it was the perfect place to get away from everything and everyone.

And one person topped the list—my stalker—Ed Baines.

Just over a year and a half ago, I had dated Ed for maybe a month. We went out maybe three times, at the most four—and before you ask, no, I didn’t sleep with him. It didn’t take long to discover he was a manipulative, arrogant bastard, and I quickly got out of the relationship before it even got started. Unfortunately, he didn’t like the fact I said no whenever he asked me out again.

At first it was the odd phone call or email saying ‘hello’, ‘would I like to go out for a meal’. But with each refusal, he got angrier and angrier. The next six months he stalked me in earnest.

After the first month, I started living on my nerves, waiting, wondering when he’d do something. In the end I went to the police, but not much could be done without proof.

Ed was interviewed but expressed surprise and sorrow that I was being subjected to stalking.

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