The Australian sun beats down on my skin as I walk along the shore, shoes in hand, feeling the cool water lapping at my ankles. After months of driving, this remote beach feels like the first place I've truly been able to breathe since quitting my job. The weight of that failed case still hangs over me, but here, surrounded by nothing but ocean and sky, it feels manageable.

A sudden splash and excited barking draw my attention. Up ahead, a golden retriever is bounding through the waves, shaking water everywhere as his owner laughs— a sound so warm and melodic it sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.

As I get closer, I freeze. The man standing in the surf with the dog is... breathtaking. Tall with broad shoulders, damp blond hair falling across his forehead, and a smile that could probably bring about world peace. When he turns toward me, his blue eyes lock with mine, and something inside me stirs— a strange sense of recognition, like I've known him before.

The dog— a beagle, I realize now— notices me and comes bounding over, tail wagging furiously. His owner follows more slowly, wiping water from his face with a hand that reveals elegant, long-fingered hands.

"Sorry about him," he says with a British accent that makes my pulse quicken. "He's rather friendly."

The dog— David, according to the tag on his collar— sits down in front of me, tongue lolling expectantly. I laugh, dropping to one knee to scratch behind his ears, and when I look up, the man is standing right in front of me, those stunning blue eyes fixed intensely on my face.

"Cute dog," I say, realizing too late how inadequate that sounds. My heart is racing, and I can't look away from him. There's something about him— something familiar in the set of his shoulders, the way he tilts his head when he's thinking, the slight furrow between his brows.

He smiles, and it's devastating. "Thank you. He takes after his father."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling a sudden surge of boldness. "Is that so? And where is his father now?"

"Right here," he says, his voice dropping lower, those blue eyes darkening with something that looks suspiciously like desire. "Henry." He offers his hand.

"Alex," I reply, taking it. His skin is warm against mine, and when our fingers touch, electricity sparks between us. This is a mistake. A beautiful, dangerous mistake. But as I look into his eyes, I can't bring myself to care.