Page 5 of Her Dom's Secret Past

“Or Zorro.”

We laughed and chatted about the seal as I finally relaxed. I found myself mesmerized by his accent—very British but not upper class, more down to earth, like that lead actor inLuther. Actually, that was who he reminded me off—both with the voice and his handsome appearance. Wherever the accent was from, it was lovely. Maybe about ten minutes into our conversation, he introduced himself.

“Gee, I’m rude. My name is John, John Ethan. In case you hadn’t guessed, I’m English, but now I live here in Australia.”

Being super careful, I didn’t give my last name. But maybe I was being over-cautious.

“Hi John, I’m Anabelle. I thought your accent was English but couldn’t tell where.”

“I’m an East Londoner, Hackney.”

While I wasn’t completely sure of where Hackney was, I could place London. I just nodded. He asked me what I thought of this place.

“It’s lovely. I’ve only been here a few days but already I know I could get very used to living this way.”

“Know what you mean. It’s the perfect place to recharge.” He nodded his head toward the horizon. “Although I think we’ve had the best part of today as far as the weather’s concerned.”

While I’d been reading and we’d been chatting, the sky had started clouding over. The air had a distinct chill, and the breeze grew stronger. That forecast storm appeared to be rolling in. As well, the tide was coming in. Pretty soon, my rock would be surrounded by water. The waves now wore white caps and looked more threatening as they crashed nearby.

I gathered my book and stood the same time as John did. Now I was on my feet, I realized John wasn’t just tall, he was huge. I was about one hundred and seventy-seven centimeters but John stood at least two hundred, maybe even two-oh-five. He was also well-muscled. The t-shirt he wore over jeans was well and truly filled out. He also had a neatly close-trimmed beard, and I could see quite a few gray hairs among the black. His black hair was cropped tight against his skin.

If I were to hazard a guess, I would have put his age somewhere around mine, although he may have been older or even younger—I wasn’t that good at guessing ages. Up close, his skin took on the hue of rich dark chocolate and his eyes were almost black like pools of hidden mystery. I couldn’t help being attracted to him. He ticked every box on the list of imaginary ideal boyfriends every girl had.

He looked down at me, and with a smile, held out his hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, especially under such wonderful circumstances. I’ll copy those photos and give them to you next time I see you. I’m here for nearly two more weeks.”

As I shook his hand, I got that tingle of attraction I got when someone turned me on. I thanked him and offered up the fact I’d be here for about two weeks also.

“Great, then I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

We slowly walked across the rocks together. Then John said goodbye and headed down the beach toward one of the other villas. As I climbed up the sandbank and onto my patio, I couldn’t help peeking back to see if John was still in sight. I noticed he seemed to limp. He must have felt me looking because he turned and waved as he disappeared behind the trees. Caught, I could only raise my hand in reply.

After brushing the sand off my feet, I went inside. Glancing down, I gave a groan. I’d worn my worst pair of raggedy cut-off jeans and they were certainly not very flattering—I hadn’t thought I’d meet anyone. My only consolation was my legs were smooth, thanks to my laser treatment, as were my underarms and bikini line.

I had been toying with the idea of getting more personal with the laser because my more intimate area had overgrown badly. The truth was a guy would need a guide, map, compass, and a machete to find his way through the dense jungle.

It seemed I was suddenly coming back to life because I rushed into the bathroom and searched in my wet pack in the hopes I’d packed a razor. With a huge sigh of relief, I found not only had I included one but I’d even popped in my personal trimmer—I’d definitely need it to get through the thick undergrowth.

Ten minutes later after some very interesting contortionist moves, I inspected myself in the mirror, trying to decide whether to shave it all off or leave a landing-strip rather than the neat trim I’d just given myself. In the end, I thought it would take too much work. I was definitely gettinglaseredwhen I got back home.

Standing naked in the bathroom, I twisted this way and that to admire my plus-sized shape.

A lot of people wouldn’t like it, but I did. I loved all my curves and wobbly bits. I loved having big boobs, although gravity was making them lower and lower each year. Maybe I could do with losing a few kilos, but I was fit and, more importantly, I was happy. I wasn’t one of those women who hated their body, I embraced mine. If people considered me fat, that was their problem, I considered myselfRubinesque. I didn’t think I looked my age either. Maybe it was the crazy hair, maybe it was the wrist tattoos—I had Sanskrit sayings on both wrists to celebrate my Buddhist beliefs. Whatever it was, I knew most people thought I was in my mid- to late-forties, which I found extremely flattering.

My thoughts turned to that gorgeous hunk of man—was he single or was there a beautiful partner lying on the chaise, waiting for him to come back from his stroll along the beach?

Regretfully, a man like that certainly wouldn’t be single. I thought he’d held himself as if he were in pain, remembering the way he had stood then sat. I’d also noticed a rather bad limp when we walked. I wondered if perhaps he was recuperating from an injury or illness. Would his partner jump up and show concern when he returned, or would they merely act as if he were fine?

He was very handsome.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I couldn’t remember another man affecting me the way he did. Of course, that sexy British accent helped. I thought back to other relationships I’d had.

In my thirties, I’d had a few but none lasted more than a month or so. Maybe I was picky, maybe my expectations were too high, but there really wasn’t that spark, that overwhelming sensation of adoration that I’d been told people have when they’re in love.

Becky and Cass were prime examples—they’d been married forever and yet it was obvious to everyone they were still in love. Neither could keep their hands off the other, they still wrote love notes to each other, and still kept the fires raging. It was the same with Charlie and Justin—their love for each other was so obvious to anyone. I, on the other hand, had never experienced that blinding burst of magic when I touched a person, I had barely raised a miniscule ember until now.

I closed my eyes, pretending to sense the spark of electricity from John’s hand. I imagined how his fingers would caress my skin and ran my own hand up my body. Even the thought of him touching me made my nipples hardened.

Hell, now I was faced with a hunk that pushed a hell of a lot of buttons and a lot more, who was probably at this very moment making love to his soul mate…Fuck, just my damn luck!

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