Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex!

by Nicola Marsh

  Winning a few Grand Slams did that for a guy, but there was more to it. From all reports, and if she believed everything she read, he’d had a cushy life, the Aussie darling of the tennis circuit, the golden boy who couldn’t put a volley wrong.

  Yet there was a new hardened edge to him, as if life had smashed more than a few aces his way.

  ‘You’re staring.’

  ‘At the fire.’

  He prodded the fire with a long stick. ‘Nope, at me.’

  She should leave things alone but the atmosphere, the silence, was conducive to chatting. It was okay to freeze him out emotionally but surely she could make small talk?

  Curiosity egged her on; she was dying to ask if all the rumours were true, if he’d done half the things the magazines said he had.

  ‘Can’t get enough of me, huh?’

  He leaned back on outstretched elbows, the sky-blue cotton T-shirt pulled taut across his muscular chest. For someone who’d been out of the game a year, he hadn’t lost his physique. Then again, twelve months of intensive rehab would’ve kept him fit.

  ‘Your ego hasn’t changed a bit.’

  She rolled her eyes, bit back the urge to laugh along with him.

  ‘You’ve changed.’

  Despite his light tone, she could sense a serious undercurrent and, while she didn’t want to get into a deep and meaningful rehashing their past, he’d piqued her curiosity. How did he see her now?

  Playing it cool, she wound a strand of hair around her finger, checked for split ends.

  ‘‘Course I’ve changed. New hairstyle, new wardrobe—’

  ‘New attitude.’

  ‘What did you expect? For me to be the same naïve, starry-eyed girl you…hung out with?’

  She’d almost said loved but that wasn’t true. Jared had never loved her. Despite all the attention, all the good times, all the intimate moments they’d shared, he hadn’t loved her. Not enough to stick around.

  His eyes narrowed, as if he could see right through her.

  ‘You’ve got a streetwise edge these days.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  He glanced away, his answer right there before he spoke.

  ‘I liked my old Krissie.’

  She bit her tongue to stop blurting she was never his to begin with.

  Uneasy with this turn of conversation, she needed a diversion.

  ‘Tell me about Florida.’

  His shoulders tensed, an instant giveaway he didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘How was it when you first left Sydney and settled there?’

  He sat up, dusted his hands off, resumed poking at the fire, staring into the flames.

  ‘Not much to tell. I trained like the devil, hung out with other up-and-comers, did everything my coach and manager told me to, that’s it.’

  He’d told her virtually nothing. She could leave it at that but, knowing Jared, he’d swing the interrogation right back on her and there was no way she’d dwell on a time they’d been crazy for each other.

  ‘You rocketed into the top one hundred in your first year. Must’ve been some ride.’

  ‘Pretty boring, actually. Early mornings, rigorous training schedule, strict diet, limited down time.’

  He continued to stare into the fire, his face devoid of emotion, which only fuelled her curiosity.

  ‘So all those blondes came later?’

  He finally glanced her way, a flicker of a smile tugging his lips.

  ‘Don’t forget the brunettes and the redheads.’

  ‘And the princesses, the movie starlets, the supermodels.’

  She ticked them off on her fingers, could’ve easily covered both hands and feet with the reports of playboy Jared and his conquests.

  ‘Yeah, those too.’

  He smiled, instantly alleviating the reservations of moments ago.

  ‘Anyone serious among your harem?’

  ‘Hell, no!’

  His vehement response startled her but before she could respond, he rushed on. ‘Not the relationship type. You know that.’

  As if she needed reminding. The day he’d walked in on her in her room-mate’s wedding dress was embedded in her memory, an annoying spur that niggled despite the years gone by. His shocked expression, horrified and shuttered when she’d made that half-serious comment about it being their turn soon.

  When he’d initially left for Florida she’d spent many wasted hours replaying that moment, wondering if things would’ve been different if she hadn’t said it, if she’d passed it off as a flyaway comment.

  Instead, her highly strung emotions had snowballed from that moment. He’d pulled away, she’d pushed for answers he didn’t want to give. So, yeah, she knew he wasn’t the relationship type, yet hearing him articulate it now after so much time had elapsed still had the power to hurt.

  ‘Hey, if anyone knows what you’re like, it’s me.’

  She inwardly cringed as the words left her mouth, her proclamation sounding too personal, too close for comfort.

  He stood, threw his stick on the fire, took a few steps towards the wood pile before turning back to face her.

  ‘Don’t go getting any ideas.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like taking our time here as meaning anything more than what it is.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Two old friends getting reacquainted.’

  ‘Bull.’

  She leaped to her feet, marched towards him until she stood two feet away, in his face.

  ‘I bought that trite old line eight years ago but not any more.’

  ‘What line—?’

  ‘The one about you not being the settling type. About not wanting to get involved.’

  She gestured towards Sydney’s skyline glittering in the distance.

  ‘You wouldn’t be back here if you didn’t want to settle. You wouldn’t be stuck on this island with me if you weren’t already involved.’

  He swiped a hand over his clenched jaw. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about—’

  ‘Elliott told me you’re doing this because you’re backing some youth centre in Kings Cross? If that isn’t involvement, I don’t know what is! You could’ve just thrown a zillion dollars their way but, uh-uh, you’re here, being filmed for some crazy documentary, to gain some high-priced advertising slots.’

  She jabbed him in the chest, twice, for good measure. ‘That’s involvement! And it’s great. So don’t spin me some bull about you not getting involved because you do.’

  Just not with me.

  A realisation she’d come to terms with eight years earlier, yet reinforcing the knowledge didn’t make it any easier.

  He held up his hands, backed away. ‘Look, after what happened last night, I just don’t want any confusion.’

  Clenching her hands, she deliberately released them before she slugged him.

  ‘I’m not confused. You kissed me; it’s what guys like you do.’

  A frown settled between those startling hazel eyes. ‘Guys like me?’

  ‘You need me to spell it out?’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘You’re a player. A little charm here, a little flirting there, the odd heated glance, throw in a kiss or two, you like to have women adore you.’

  His frown deepened, the groove slashing between his brows not detracting from his good looks one iota.

  ‘Harsh.’

  ‘But true.’

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘You don’t know me at all.’

  The realisation slammed into her and she staggered a few steps back, stopping short of slapping her head.

  She’d never known him.

  Not the real Jared Malone; behind the driven ambition, behind the sexy smiles and laid-back attitude, behind the charming exterior.

  He’d only ever let her see what he wanted her to see, holding her at bay emotionally during the time they dated. She’d been so busy nursing a broken heart back then, she hadn’t seen the truth.
/>   That she’d never really known this man at all.

  Quelling the urge to rub at the ache nestling in her chest, she shrugged.

  ‘You’re right, I guess I don’t.’

  The prickle of tears took her completely by surprise and she blinked, damned if she’d let him see her cry over him. Spinning around, she dashed towards her hut.

  ‘Kristi, wait.’

  She didn’t.

  She was through waiting for anything associated with Jared Malone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Stranded Survival Tip #8

  Real men erect tents.

  KRISTI’S BLOG, DAY 3

  Been the epitome of a polite island companion all day.

  Haven’t talked much beyond, ‘How are you?’ and, ‘Nice cup of billy tea.’

  Safer this way. Last night’s chat? Not good. All the signs of an irrational woman cooped up on an island with a sexy ex too long.

  Kinda like that syndrome victims acquire with their kidnappers, when the proximity gives them the delusion of falling in love?

  Yeah, that’s exactly it! I’m a woman, he’s the only other guy on the island, stands to reason I want to get up close and personal, right? Want to delve into his psyche? Get to know him better?

  Problem is, have tried this before, eight years ago to be precise. Didn’t work then, what makes me think it’ll work now?

  He’s closed up tight. Even got all snotty when I mentioned his backing the youth centre. Touchy, touchy, touchy.

  With only four days to survive, must stick with plan. Avoid at all costs.

  JARED’S BLOG, DAY 3

  Have never built a campfire before. Not a bad job. Kept the bugs away.

  What is it with women and fires? They want to get all cosy and chatty? Annoying.

  Have disassembled wood pile today.

  ‘STUPID challenge, stupid island, stupid man,’ Kristi muttered, fiddling with a tent peg for the tenth time and watching the front collapse again.

  ‘Need some help?’

  She glared at Jared’s perfectly erected two-man tent, pegs spaced equally, ropes taut, royal-blue tarpaulin gaily silhouetting the sun, and bit back her first retort of where he could stick his help.

  While concentrating on keeping her distance from him was now a full-time job, she hadn’t lost sight of the prize. She needed to win that prize money so proving herself at these challenges was essential. Either that or make such a huge fool of herself people would take pity on her and vote for her anyway.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  She ducked her head, concentrated on driving the peg into the ground, only to have the darn thing slip from her fingers and the entire side wall collapse.

  She let fly a string of pithy curses under her breath and blinked back the sudden sting of tears, which had little to do with the tent and everything to do with the man offering his assistance.

  Yeah, as if he cared. He’d been distantly polite all day, responding to her remoteness with much the same and she’d been glad. If they stayed aloof she could pretend their little heart-to-heart last night had never happened.

  After his revelation, should be easy.

  ‘Don’t go getting any ideas. Like taking our time here as meaning anything more than what it is.’

  Foolishly, that was exactly what she’d done, despite her determination to keep her distance. All the logic in the world hadn’t stopped her from reading more into his charm, his flirting, his kiss.

  Damn it! The guy had kissed her and he expected her not to go getting any ideas?

  She was glad she’d blurted the truth about why he was here, despite Elliott mentioning it was a touchy subject and to not let on she knew. What he was doing was admirable, so why the secrecy?

  She knew. Just another way for him to maintain his distance, to keep her out of his life. Fine with her.

  She stood, gave the peg a childish kick and marched towards the water’s edge, grateful the cameras had whirred off a few minutes ago.

  If footage of the camping challenge Elliott had set them was interesting, it would’ve won an Emmy with her petulant outburst. Viewers lapped up all that reality-throw-a-barney rubbish.

  ‘Let me help.’

  He laid a hand on her arm and she stiffened, hating how his touch could make her crave him, hating how much she wanted to give in to him more.

  Where was her pride? Where was her plan to stay aloof? A bit hard when all she wanted to do was turn around, fling herself into his arms and sob her little bruised heart out.

  ‘Better not.’

  She shrugged off his hand, not daring to look at him. ‘I might go getting ideas.’

  ‘I knew you were still peed off about that.’

  ‘Kudos to you!’

  Blowing out an exasperated breath, she folded her arms, little protection against a guy of his calibre.

  ‘I’m just being honest with you.’

  ‘Bull!’

  She swung to face him, her plan to stay cool blowing sky-high in the face of his nonchalant self-denial.

  Jabbing a finger in his direction, she said, ‘You’re not being honest with yourself so how the heck can you be honest with me?’

  He didn’t say a word, merely looked at her with a patient expression, patronising beyond belief.

  ‘Tell me this. What did you think happened between us eight years ago?’

  Wariness crept into his eyes, turning them intriguing caramel.

  ‘We had fun.’

  ‘Fun. That’s it? Nothing more?’

  He shifted slightly, his feet shuffling in the sand. ‘I was only ever going to be in Sydney for a short time. You knew the score.’

  She thought she had. But in her romantic dreams their score had been love-all instead of deuce, a tie of crazy emotions and cool aloofness when he left.

  ‘So you’re telling me there were no emotions involved?’

  Another direct hit when his gaze slid away and focused on the shrubbery fringing the beach.

  ‘We had a great six months, Krissie. It had to end eventually. Why dredge up the past now?’

  Her eyes narrowed as she took a step towards him, enjoying the flicker of alarm as his gaze refocused on her.

  ‘Because you’re a fool if you think for one second that what happened between us in the past isn’t affecting us right now.’

  His jaw clenched, clamping down on a host of truths she needed to hear; or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

  ‘Aren’t you the least bit curious why I’m so peed off at you? The real reason?’

  His lips compressed in an unimpressed line, guilt shifting like furtive shadows darting across his face.

  ‘I know you blame me for how things ended—’

  ‘You think?’

  She calmed her loud voice with effort, rolled her shoulders to work out some of the tension, all too aware that once she started down this track she’d have to finish it.

  In a way, venting might alleviate some of her residual anger, a bitterness that ran so deep she hadn’t known it existed until he’d strutted back into her life pretending he’d never been away.

  ‘You knew our dating had a time limit.’

  Defensive to the end. Well, she had a few truths for him.

  ‘Yeah, but what I didn’t know was that once you reached that time limit you’d cut and run without even seeing me for a proper goodbye.’

  ‘I don’t like farewells.’

  Unclenching her fist long enough to jab him in the chest, she stepped closer, invaded his personal space, righteous indignation spurring her to make her point, to make the most of this opportunity after all these years.

  ‘That’s lame, even by your standards.’

  When he didn’t venture any further denials, she exhaled on a long, low whistle and pivoted away, taking several steps before swinging to face him again.

  ‘You took one look at me in that wedding dress and had a coronary. You didn’t give me a chance to tell you I was joking about us doing it fo
r real, you didn’t give me a chance to do much of anything after that.’

  Swallowing an unexpected sob bubbling in the back of her throat, she pinned him with an accusatory stare.

  ‘Throwing that ultimatum at you was stupid. But I was hurting. I hadn’t seen you. Then you just hopped on that plane and left, just like that, and I’ll never forgive you for robbing me of a real chance at closure.’

  He opened his mouth, closed it again, shook his head.

  What could he say? She’d said enough for both of them, encapsulating their break-up in a few harsh sentences.

  Strangely, she felt better, the offloading of her latent resentment cathartic. But she hadn’t finished. She’d had her say about their past; time to get the present sorted.

  ‘And you’re wrong. Dead wrong. There were emotions involved before so tell me, what’s zapping between us now?’

  ‘Sexual attraction.’

  It was her turn to flinch as he leaned forward, so close she could smell his crisp, clean cologne, could feel the heat radiating off him.

  ‘As I recall, we had that in spades. Good to see some things never change.’

  Back on safe turf for him, flirting, using his sexuality as a weapon to avoid anything remotely deep and meaningful. While she might have responded in like eight years ago, what he’d said last night had snatched the sarong from over her eyes.

  She’d loved him eight years ago, really loved him in the way a woman pictured herself walking up the aisle in a stunning white dress, having kids with him, growing old with him.

  She’d lied to him. That flyaway comment about them getting married in the future? She’d meant every word of it. But what was the point of telling him now? It would undermine her whole argument that he’d robbed her of closure by leaving without giving her a chance.

  He’d been her first love, the kind of love a girl never forgot and, while she might have kidded herself into believing those feelings were long dead, it had taken a mere three days in his company to peel away the layers and reveal the truth.