The lowlife, would-be thief that she’d tossed out of her room had reminded her of Ben. The resemblance – plus his really sexy Australian accent – had caught her attention, and they’d made frequent eye contact across the largely empty bar last night. That still hadn’t been enough to tempt her into breaking her dry spell, however. It hadn’t been until that half-drunk idiot Chris had double dared her to approach the guy, taunting that she didn’t have the nerve to actually do it. And when Lauren had still refused to pick up the gauntlet, Chris had upped the ante by calling her a tease, a spoilsport, and, worst of all, a chicken.

That had done it for Lauren. Nobody called her a chicken, no matter what the circumstances, and so she’d bolted down another shot of vodka - since the bar didn’t stock what she considered a decent brand of tequila – and then approached the hot Australian surfer-type dude. And considering what a piss poor decision that had turned out to be, she figured she was due for a much longer dry spell to commence.

***

Stefan’s optimism about the weather had been short-lived, for the heavens had opened up about half an hour before their final shoot at an elephant reserve wrapped up. Lauren, who’d been standing in thigh-deep water taking her shots, had borne the brunt of the downpour, and was thoroughly drenched by the time they’d bundled back into the Range Rover. She’d wasted little time hurrying into the shower upon their return to the guest lodge, thankful that Nadine had at least booked them decent accommodations this time – with clean, hot showers, plush bath towels, and brand name toiletries.

As she dried off, she took a brief glance at the permanent reminder of Ben that she’d impulsively had inked on her body – a very small but nonetheless exact replica of his own intricate tattoo. It had hurt like fuck to have the super sensitive skin of her inner thigh inked, but she’d insisted on having it applied to that particular spot. When Ben had left her all those months ago, it had been incredibly difficult to fight past the pain, to go on with her life as though nothing had happened, and to never reveal to her family or friends how stupidly naïve she’d been.

The tattoo served as a painful reminder to never, ever let anyone hurt her that way again – and especially not a gorgeous, hunky man with dark blue eyes and three-day stubble. Lauren only wished with vengeful malice that she had thought to carve her initials on his skin so that he, too, would have a constant reminder of the girl he’d left behind.

Chapter Six

New York City, 2½ years later

October

It was her. He was sure of it this time. Unlike the dozen or so other occasions when he’d been certain the woman he had spied dashing across the street or entering a restaurant was Lauren – only to realize it had been merely wishful thinking on his part – this time he was convinced it was really her. Who else walked with that particular swagger, or had hair that exact shade of light brown – like creamy, melted caramel? And unlike some of the other women he’d spotted over the last months, this one was dressed as he’d imagine Lauren would be on a crisp autumn day in Manhattan – tight jeans, long-sleeved thermal top, quilted down vest, and high-top sneakers.

And then she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared, swallowed up in the sea of humanity that seemed to be a constant here in the city. Ben cursed himself silently for not having moved faster, at having remained frozen in place as he’d tried to determine if the girl he had glimpsed was really Lauren. Now it was too late.

But, no. It had been too late to run after Lauren more than three years ago. Less than twenty four hours after sneaking out of her cabin like a gutless coward, he’d regretted his actions, had waged a fierce internal battle with himself about whether to retrace his footsteps and run back to her, begging her to forgive him and doing whatever he had to in order to make things right.

But each time he’d reminded himself that he still had nothing to offer her, that his bank account was shrinking alarmingly with each passing day, and that he didn’t even know if this current article he’d spent so many weeks researching would even sell.

So he’d stayed away, had forced himself not to contact her, and thus ensure she would have the opportunity to have the sort of future she deserved. He’d forced himself to finish the article, even though his heart hadn’t really been in it ever since he had left Big Sur.

But to his surprise the article had sold, and rather quickly at that. Outdoor Magazine had liked his writing so much, in fact, that they’d offered him a staff position at their headquarters in Santa Fe. The pay hadn’t been great, and most of the assignments he’d received not especially exciting or challenging, but at least he’d gained both a steady income and enough experience to pad his resume. He’d continued to live frugally, sharing a house with three other guys, and trying hard not to feel like he was back in college again.

But it was now two and a half years later, and he had a relatively healthy bank account as well as a much better paying job with Conde Nast here in New York City. He’d moved in May, and was currently living in a tiny Brooklyn apartment that wasn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet. But given that he’d had precious few belongings to move in, Ben hadn’t minded, especially since he still kept himself on a strict budget. Not to mention the fact that he seemed to be traveling on assignments three weeks out of every five, and hardly spent any time in town.

It hadn’t been a requirement of the job to live in New York, but given the amount of time he spent at the magazine’s offices or at the airport, moving here had made sense. Despite the conveniences, though, Ben knew he could never make New York his permanent home. There had really only been one place that he’d wanted to call home for the rest of his life.

The memory of those ten life-changing days in Big Sur were still as vivid as ever, and scarcely a day went by when he didn’t long to be back in that magical cabin by the sea. And as for Lauren – well, the memories of his feisty, passionate young lover alternately thrilled and tortured him. In the years since he’d last seen her, there had been no other women for him, not even the temptation to hook up for a night or two. That little green-eyed witch had ruined him for other women, had captured his heart and refused to release it, even though they hadn’t seen each other for more than three years.

He’d told himself on more than one occasion that he was just too busy these days to date, much less have a relationship, even joking to co-workers that he was married to his job. But the real truth was that he simply didn’t want anyone else, no matter how lonely he felt at times. Any woman that might briefly catch his attention would just as quickly be dismissed when he realized she wasn’t Lauren. That was one of the reasons, perhaps, why he thought he’d seen her so many times since moving here. He knew that her aunt lived in Manhattan, and that her grandparents had owned a home in the city before their deaths. It was entirely possible, therefore, that the slim, graceful girl he’d just spotted striding along with a confident swagger a few moments ago had really been Lauren this time – in town, perhaps, to visit her aunt.

The quiet, discreetly appointed restaurant he entered a couple of minutes later was very much like the person he was meeting here for lunch. Ben was only two minutes late, but he knew from past experience that Elle would have arrived at least five minutes early. She was already sitting at the table he was ushered to, her napkin already spread neatly across her lap. As usual, she looked perfectly put together, the epitome of the sophisticated, ladylike professional. She wore one of her typical work outfits – crisp, white linen blouse, slim navy skirt, sensible leather pumps. Her glossy black hair was drawn back from her lovely face into a neat chignon, her pale gold skin and large, dark brown eyes subtly made up.