The Price of Fame

by Anne Oliver

  The utter betrayal of everything she’d ever believed in about him. About them.

  She jolted awake as the aircraft hit turbulence. Or maybe it was her stomach still tying itself in knots over his harsh words. So she concentrated on watching the twisting ribbon of surf along the coast as the aircraft began its descent into Nadi. Flynn had used her position in society to build connections, then tossed her aside.

  Little grey mouse.

  She ground her teeth together as a patchwork of different greens came into view. Last night she’d proved she was confident and capable of being whoever she wanted to be. She should thank Flynn for the wake-up call.

  She watched the brown river snake below them—palm trees rippling in the afternoon breeze, hazy smoke spirals towards the bony ridges of distant highlands—and drew in a deep breath. New horizons and some time to blow away the cobwebs.

  She stepped out into the moist tropical air and followed her fellow passengers across the hot tarmac and into the terminal. Four locals in bright shirts with hibiscus flowers behind their ears welcomed them with white smiles and their pretty yellow banjos, dreamy island harmonies blending.

  ‘Bula!’ Welcome.

  ‘Vinaka.’ Thank you.

  Smiling at the pretty ground staff member in her Sulu Jaba, the traditional long skirt topped with a bright fitted dress, Charlotte headed for the baggage carousel and collected her luggage. She loved Fiji already. A place where she knew no one and no one knew her …

  That thought vanished with a sharp inhalation when she caught sight of a pair of broad shoulders encased in a familiar dark shirt near the carousel. Her heart jumped into her mouth and every muscle seemed to melt. She watched him pull his bag off the conveyor, bronzed forearms, muscles twisting.

  Nic.

  She couldn’t move, and against her will her eyes drank in the sight. His tall, tanned, testosterone-packed body, the long lanky stride as he walked towards Customs. What was he doing in Fiji? A connecting flight? Except he’d collected his luggage already.

  Conflicting emotions tore through her like a summer cyclone. The swoon effect of remembering that body naked and stretched over hers and the chill factor of realising he’d deliberately misled her about Hawaii. Heat flared like a furnace, burning her cheeks.

  She didn’t want to see him again. But her body had other ideas and called her a liar. Her breasts tingled with remembered pleasure, her inner thighs quivered with the memory of the warm dampness of his mouth there.

  No. Yes. No. She really tried to look away but it was as if her eyes were pre-programmed to follow him. The one-off fantasy man she’d allowed herself to indulge in.

  Hadn’t he indulged in her too? Seemed, like her ex, he was also one of those smooth-talking rogues who knew how to seduce a woman and make it seem as if it was all her idea. She didn’t know how he’d managed it but he had.

  She proceeded through Customs keeping well behind him but damned if he wasn’t standing smack bang in front of the exit doors talking on his mobile when she emerged. How was she going to get past him? Or was that his intention?

  Then, as if sensing her watching—condemning—he looked over his shoulder and met her eyes, and she wished she’d turned away already because now it was too late, she was powerless against the pull.

  Not taking his eyes off her, he spoke to whoever he was talking with on the phone and disconnected. He started walking towards her.

  Was he smiling when he knew she didn’t want anything more to do with him? They’d had an arrangement, they’d said goodbye … No—she’d said goodbye, she remembered. He’d made a point of saying au revoir. She didn’t know how he’d found out her intended destination, but he’d known and he’d said nothing.

  Her head spun. Was he a reporter too and she’d just been totally made a fool of …?

  She was ready when he reached her. She was strong. She was cool. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He slung his backpack to the floor, all charm and smiles. ‘What one usually does here in Fiji—relax and enjoy.’

  ‘You lied to me.’

  His brow furrowed, those eyes all innocence. ‘Lied?’

  ‘You said you were going to Hawaii.’

  ‘No. You assumed I was going to Hawaii.’

  She tried to recall the conversation but right now her mind wasn’t operating at full capacity because it was too busy looking at the way his gorgeous lips curved ever so slightly. Teasing her. Or was he mocking her? ‘And you let me,’ she clipped out. ‘We talked about it, you let me believe—’

  ‘You asked if I’d been there before. I said I try to get there every couple of years. Just not this year, as it happens.’

  ‘You knew exactly what I meant.’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t tell me you were travelling to Fiji when we talked about Hawaii.’

  ‘Why would I? No exchanging personal information. Your rules, Charlotte, remember?’ he said softly. Seductively. The way he’d whispered how good she felt and what else he’d like to do to her.

  ‘I didn’t see you in the airline lounge in Melbourne or in Customs …’

  ‘That was my intention. You were adamant you only wanted one night, no further services required.’

  She felt herself colour at his crude assessment of the evening. Obviously it would seem that way to him and why should he believe her if she tried to explain? But rather than special, he made their night together sound cheap and sordid and ruined the memory and she resented him for that.

  ‘I’d have been better off facing up to that reporter,’ she said tightly.

  He gave her a grin that twisted her insides into a tight little ball again. ‘Charlotte, come on. Loosen up a bit.’

  She could read it in his eyes—the way you were twelve hours ago. Her chin lifted. ‘What about now? You’re not trying to avoid me now. In fact you’re making it your business to catch up with me.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe you’re a reporter too and you were in on this together.’

  ‘You don’t really think that.’ He blew out a breath, looked about them. ‘Why don’t we find somewhere more private to talk—?’

  ‘No more private.’ She would not give in to the temptation and tightened her fingers on the handle of her suitcase. ‘Right here’s fine.’

  ‘Okay.’ He raised a hand as if to touch her face, then changed his mind, lowered it again. ‘I’ve been thinking about you for the entire flight. And I wondered if maybe you’ve changed your mind. Because I’d really like to see you again while we’re both here.’

  ‘I didn’t come to Fiji to meet someone. I came here to be alone.’

  ‘A shameful waste of romantic sunsets, don’t you think?’

  ‘No.’ She could enjoy sunsets; she didn’t need a man for that. And she refused to think what she did need a man for … So she didn’t think about how hard and hairy his forearm would feel if she reached out and touched it. She ignored his familiar masculine scent, arousing now in the humid air wafting through the exit doors. And she totally didn’t think about the dark, drugging taste of his kisses, the way his eyes had glittered down at her in the dark, jaw clenched as he came inside her.

  ‘Admit it, Charlotte, you enjoyed our time together as much as I did.’ His voice was deep velvet and pure seduction. ‘It could be even better on a balmy tropical night with the windows open, the breeze wafting over hot damp skin …’

  ‘Yes,’ she snapped, not allowing herself to be tempted by the images he conjured. ‘Not the bit about better—’ she waved a jerky hand in front of her ‘—I meant last night. I admit it, okay? But that was last night.’

  ‘And you’re thinking how much you’d like to do it again.’

  ‘You … you’re way too sure of yourself.’

  ‘You prefer a less confident man?’

  ‘I prefer to be alone as I already told you. Men are not on my agenda right now.’

  ‘Yet you made an exception for me.’ He grinned. ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ She pushed the wo
rds out. ‘You were available, you were convenient and I used you. I used you shamelessly. A one-off. Nothing more.’ She forced herself to look into his eyes and not crumple into a mindless mess. She even managed a smile—not too difficult when escape was just beyond those doors. ‘I hope you enjoy your vacation. Goodbye.’

  ‘I’ve got a car waiting. At least let me give you a lift to your hotel. Where are you staying?’

  ‘I’ve organised for a car from the resort to collect me. In fact, he’ll be wondering where I am.’ She started walking, made a show of looking at her watch while noticing most of the passengers from their flight had already left the terminal.

  ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  Trailing her suitcase, she headed for the exit, not looking at Nic walking beside her. While she scanned the area for her ride, she saw Nic signal a shiny limo, which immediately drove to the kerb. The chauffeur who stepped out was middle-aged and wore smart traditional clothing.

  He grinned, teeth white against his dusky skin. ‘Hey, Nic. Bula vinaka!’

  ‘Malakai, bula.’

  Charlotte watched on, surprise mingling with confusion as the pair clasped hands and greeted each other as if they were old friends. ‘Another resort guest on your flight is riding with us,’ she heard the chauffeur say, looking about. ‘I don’t see her yet.’

  Nic looked her way and said slowly, ‘Vaka Malua Resort by any chance?’

  Oh, no. She couldn’t believe it. Then she noticed the colours of the hotel’s logo in the man’s attire—turquoise, black and ivory. Of all the resorts she could have chosen … She nodded once. Fate was truly punishing her.

  Nic said something to the other man in a low voice, then stepped up and took her bags, swung them into the limo’s boot and said, ‘Charlotte, this is Malakai.’

  Malakai flashed his wide smile for her and opened the car door. ‘Bula, ma’am. Welcome to Fiji.’

  ‘Hello. Bula.’ She forced a smile for him but her mind was scrambled as she walked towards the vehicle.

  Maybe she’d make some sense of it when she could finally close the door to her suite and block out the rest of the world. Vaka Malua was a new luxury resort and, according to its website, spacious and private. She had her own personal plunge pool and a view overlooking the sea. If she chose, she could avoid the other tourists. Nic, for instance.

  Nic waited until she’d climbed into the vehicle, then made a snap decision and slid in beside Charlotte, ensuring plenty of space between them. She was giving off vibes that would have most fellow passengers diving for the seat next to the driver, and under normal circumstances he would have enjoyed catching up with Malakai. But he knew it was all a front designed to keep him at a distance when what she really wanted was for him to touch her again.

  As they headed south from Nadi towards the Coral Coast and Natadola Beach he carried on a running conversation with Malakai, but his mind was on the passenger sitting stiffly beside him.

  He didn’t believe Charlotte’s talk about a convenient fling for a second. He knew women and she wasn’t the type. He’d manipulated the situation to his advantage. So she was understandably annoyed with him, but even behind her invisible shield he could feel the pull between them.

  Unlike him, she obviously came from old money. A rich babe with something to hide? He’d seen the emotion cloud her pretty grey eyes when she’d talked about her mother’s pearls and the family holiday in Hawaii. Family was obviously important to her.

  She claimed she didn’t want anything to do with him. He had forty minutes or so to work on that. He pressed the button and the limo’s window slid partway down, letting in the welcome fragrance of the tropics. ‘Have you been to Fiji before, Charlotte?’

  ‘No.’

  He laid an arm across the back of the seat and angled himself so he could see her better. ‘First impressions?’

  ‘Friendly. Relaxing … I hope.’ She sniffed the inrushing air. ‘What’s burning?’

  ‘Sugar cane. They burn off before harvesting.’ Her hair was tied back but strands were escaping and twirling around her temples. He only had to lift a finger and he’d be able to touch it but she was just starting to relax. ‘Is the breeze bothering you?’

  She shook her head. ‘You know the driver,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’m a regular visitor to Fiji and Vaka Malua. Malakai’s worked there since the resort opened.’

  ‘Okay … so what does Vaka Malua mean?’

  He looked into her eyes and said, ‘It means to linger, or stay awhile.’

  Of course it did—he could read the scepticism in her eyes. She held his gaze a split second longer, then turned away to let the air blow on her face.

  He smiled to himself and turned to watch the Fijian green slide by before looking back at her. ‘Do you travel a lot?’

  ‘Not for the past couple of years.’

  ‘How long are you here?’ How long do I have to convince you to change your mind?

  ‘Two weeks.’

  ‘Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

  She didn’t reply.

  Sensing she wasn’t going to open up, he used the rest of the journey to provide a running commentary of the area they were passing through. Large cream dwellings set back from the road amongst encroaching vegetation, purple and red flamed bushes and stands of banana palms. The regular abundance of locals walked along the side of the road.

  The resort came into view, a cluster of steep-pitched grey roofs in the traditional way of Fijian architecture, the Vaka Malua Club’s deluxe bures perched on the top of the hill, the rest of the resort sweeping down to the beach.

  Malakai pulled under the portico and the wide open-air reception area. ‘You getting out here too?’ he asked Nic.

  ‘No.’ He turned to Charlotte as Malakai slid out to open her door. ‘Here we are. I have something to take care of elsewhere.’ He nodded towards the staff approaching with smiles and banjos and shell necklaces. ‘Looks like the welcome party’s ready to cater to your every wish and command.’

  She looked quickly at him and her eyes flashed hot—as he’d intended them to with his mention of wishes—before her gaze darted away to her handbag, which she’d strategically placed on the seat between them. ‘I hope you enjoy your visit,’ she said, climbing out.

  ‘You too.’ He watched her departure, unable to stop his gaze from wandering. She had the sexiest backside he’d ever come into contact with.

  She was going to be here two weeks.

  ‘Wait.’ Flipping open his wallet, he pulled out an Aussie fifty-dollar note and scrawled his phone number across the bottom. He jumped out, came around to her side of the limo and tucked it in the top of her handbag. ‘In case you change your mind.’

  Without waiting for her response, he climbed back into the limo and shut the door. ‘Take me home, Malakai.’

  Smiling, he wondered who’d give in first.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘THE new furniture arrived safely?’ Nic talked freely now they were alone and heading for Nic’s residence adjacent to the resort along a private road crowded with lush vegetation.

  ‘Ni mataka,’ Malakai told him. Tomorrow. ‘It was sent to the resort by error this afternoon. They promised to come back in the morning.’

  ‘And the artwork’s finished?’

  ‘Io.’ Yes. ‘Tenika likes the paintings very much.’ Malakai spoke with shy fondness of his wife. ‘We hung it like you said. Very nice.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing it.’

  Nic was also looking forward to catching up with the couple who occupied a separate wing of his home, keeping the whole place spotless and liveable whenever he was down south, which was often weeks at a time. It was so satisfying to be in a position to provide two people he cared about with employment and accommodation. He knew how it was to live in poverty.

  Moments later they drove through the high gates and onto the property. His contentment rubbed alongside pride as his luxury white home with its tim
ber-louvred shutters open to the afternoon breeze came into view. He’d bought it several years ago as part of an ageing hotel. Then he had negotiated with the owners to bring the whole resort into the twenty-first century by becoming a silent partner.

  It had been a gamble, sinking his first million into something he knew little about, but it had paid off, providing an ongoing income for locals. He hadn’t done too badly out of it himself. He didn’t get involved with the day-to-day business but he spent time at the resort when he wasn’t working, knew the staff, attended festivities, checked on its overall efficiency.

  But his private home was a sanctuary he guarded fiercely with high walls and monitored security. He didn’t entertain here and no woman ever came within these walls. Not since Angelica. If he wanted female company while he was in Fiji, he found it elsewhere at another resort, preferably away from the main island.

  The car stopped and Nic stepped out, leaving Malakai to park it undercover and bring in his luggage as he always insisted on doing as part of his job.

  Luxuriant foliage and tropical flowers lined the path. He noticed a couple of recently planted hibiscus bushes and one of Tenika’s personal touches—a Fijian carving, the equivalent of a garden gnome.

  Over the next few hours he caught up with Malakai and Tenika over refreshments, admired the new kitchen garden they’d planted in his absence.

  Later, refreshed from a swim and a shower, he checked his computer. Twilight settled over the bay with purple and vermilion hues. The smell of the resort’s kerosene torches wafted through the window. The nightly traditional Meke on the lawns down by the sea was in full swing. Distant singing and drumming throbbed on the air. Nic sat back, satisfied the five massive screens reflecting a three-dimensional wrap-around image of the Utopian world he’d created were ready to work on.

  Utopian Twilight had been his first major success, written—inspired—after The Angelica Incident. It had taken three years in the courts to reclaim the earlier works she and her lover on the side had plagiarised. Retreating from real life’s raw deal into his alternative world had saved him.