How To Catch Crabs

Love and babies: two things Lucy doesn't have time for in her life. It's 1926 and this young West Australian woman is happy as an accountant. And she intends to stay that way.

Until Giorgio, an Italian migrant fisherman sent to Australia in disgrace. The moment their eyes meet across the fish market, he knows Lucy's the girl for him. If it weren't for his reputation as a rake, he's certain he could catch more than just her eye - perhaps even her heart, too.

A tale of crabs, cricket bats and catching your heart's desire in Jazz Age Western Australia.

A tiny taste of what's in store:

As I approached the counter, he rose from beneath it, unfolding to a height several inches taller than me. And my eyes met...a pair that were much darker than Paolo Merlino's. Then one of them winked.

I blinked furiously, backing up to put some distance between me and this...rake, I realised, as I took him in. Well-muscled arms strained at his shirt sleeves as he folded them across his chest, making his knitted sweater tighten just enough to show the outline of more muscles beneath. He said something in Italian, his voice rich and deep, though he looked much younger than his brother.

His voice felt like it rumbled through my chest as much as his and his second wink said he knew it, too.

Don't be silly, I told myself. Rakes are good for gardening and that's it.

"I don't understand Italian," I told him. "Where's Mr Merlino? I need crabs and I understand he can help me."

His eyes seemed to widen as he heard my broad Australian accent. Had the fool thought I was Italian? "If it is crabs you want, streghetta, I will give you those and much more besides."

"English," I insisted. "If you're going to insult me, then I'll go elsewhere." I turned to go, but I had no idea if anyone else stocked crabs. If Maria didn't have them, I'd be lucky if anyone did.

"I called you a little witch, miss, because you have enchanted my senses. I am at your service."

Something inside me was melting. The tone of his voice was melting things that should not be capable of liquefying.

"Don't call me that," I snapped. "Do you have crabs or don't you?"

He chuckled and reached under the counter, bringing up a half-filled bucket of ice that he set in front of me. A claw emerged from the ice before sliding out of sight. "What do you think, miss?"

Turbulence and Triumph