Page 28 of Her Dom's Secret Past

“Don’t worry. When her father dropped the dress off, he said he’d give us any amount as long as we could repair the dress.”

“Good. Work out a reasonable figure, Charlie, and let them know when they come to pick it up.” I shook my head. “Boy, I hope we never have to do that again.”

I yawned. It was eight-thirty and I was exhausted. I honestly couldn’t face a four-hour drive this late. We shut the salon and I went home. I knew I should have rung and left John a message, but I was too tired to even think straight. I kept yawning and rubbing my eyes yet it took me ages to fall asleep. I missed having John’s body touching mine, and the warmth of him against me.

****

By the time I woke, drove back, and got to the villa, it was eleven. Going into the reception, I let them know I was back.

“Oh, Miss Rowley, the gentleman in the next villa left a note for you.”

“Damn! He’s gone?”

“Check-out is at ten, and he waited until ten-thirty,” she chastised me with a smirk as if John being here an extra half hour was going to send the place to hell.

Disappointed, I could only thank her and take the note. “Oh. Right, thanks.”

My heart began doing this little happy dance but then I had a thought—I hoped it was good news and not a “thanks for the sex and goodbye” message. Getting back in the car, I drove to the villa. Once inside, I opened the front of the house and sat down, tearing open the envelope with shaky fingers.

My dearest Anabelle,

Obviously the best-laid plans of mice and men go astray. I’m guessing you finished too late to make the drive down. I wish beyond everything I had driven you. I honestly don’t want to lose contact with you.

I do think the two of us would make a great couple, and I hope you feel the same way. Honestly, Ana, I want to have a relationship with you. Stupidmenever got your last name, number, or address, which means I have no way of contacting you. I don’t even know if we live in the same state, all I know is that you’re about four hours away from here.

This is my phone number. Please, please ring me. I’m missing you already.

Love, John xxx

I cried with happiness. Nothing else I could do but sob. I grabbed my phone and quickly dialed the number—no reception.

Shit! Fuck! Bum!

I took my phone out onto the rocks and clambered as far as I could. One bar. I hit redial. A woman’s voice.

What?

“Hello?”

“Hi, is John there?”

“Sorry, you must have the wrong number. I don’t know any Johns.”

Oh, damn, I must have entered it wrong. I trudged over the rocks again and back to the villa to get the right one. No—that was the number written on the paper. I headed back out to the end of the rocks and dialed again, getting wet in the process. Same voice, same answer.

“I’m sorry to do this. Can I check the number please?”

Yep, the same one as written down.

Okay, maybe he’d got the last two digits back to front. I tried a few dozen different combinations with absolutely no luck. I screamed—loudly with frustration. The temptation to throw my phone into the surf was enormous, but somehow I managed to resist. Instead, I sat on a rock and cried. I had no way of contacting him and he couldn’t contact me.

Think, woman.

I couldn’t even remember what he’d told me his last name was, plus there was that little fact he’d only recently arrived in Australia. I stumbled back to the villa eventually, tears blinding my eyes, and spent the rest of the day in abject misery. I tried hard to remember where he’d said he’d bought his house. I vaguely remembered it was the same as a character name in a book. Sitting on the top step of the patio, I went through all the character names I could think of that were place names—Wellington, Simpson, Evans. I even added Old Macdonald and Doctor Foster who went to Gloucester, but nothing rang a bell.

I only had one more day here myself and then I was leaving. Right at this moment, I wished I was back in my own home, curled up and having the largest pity party I could throw for myself. I dragged myself into bed that night and howled. At some point during the night, I woke thinking of Philip Marlowe—that was it! That was the place John had said, Marlow, but of course that left me none the wiser, I’d never heard of it. I’d have to wait until I got home and look it up.

The next day, I wandered around aimlessly, trying to come up with ideas of how I could find John. Then I wondered if he’d intentionally given me the wrong number.

---