Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex!

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘So where to from here? Are you doing a special preview screening just for us?’

  Elliott blushed as she added a beguiling smile to the mix.

  ‘And any family and close friends you’d like to bring along.’

  Her smile slipped a fraction, but enough for him to recognise the loss of her parents must’ve hit her hard. Divulging their idyllic marriage to him on the island explained a lot. Her quest for love, for the perfect man, for marriage, all centred on what she’d grown up with.

  Which went a long way to explaining his own aversion to the institution.

  The marriage he’d been privy to was filled with screaming matches and vitriol and abuse; emotional, psychological, worse than physical.

  His parents had been ratbags, certainly not cut out for parenthood and, while he acknowledged not every marriage was a trial, he’d seen enough to know the whole ‘’til death us do part’ thing was not for him.

  ‘I’ll bring my sister, Meg, and my boss, Ros. They’ll get a laugh out of it.’

  Pathetically eager to bustle in on the conversation between the two, Jared leaned his forearms on the table. ‘Surely my acting wasn’t that bad?’

  Her eyes twinkled as she turned towards him, the impact of her dazzling smile hitting him in the chest as only a smile from her could.

  ‘Acting? You mean you were acting all those times you preened and ponced around in front of the cameras?’

  She crooked her finger at Elliott, who practically fell over himself trying to lean across the table.

  ‘Have you seen the part where he erected the tents? And gathered wood? And built a bonfire? True he-man stuff. All that posing and muscle flexing had to be staged.’

  Elliott grinned, rubbed his hands together. ‘You should see the footage now. I’ve added sound effects and music and—’

  ‘Can you two quit it? You’re giving me a complex.’

  ‘That’ll be the day.’

  Her cute scoff formed her lips into a delicious pout, instantly transporting him back to last night and exactly what she’d done with those talented lips.

  The thought had him reaching for his water and draining the entire glass in four gulps.

  Elliott closed his laptop. ‘Seriously, you two did a great job. Your blogs and Twitter updates have generated loads of talk and interest, so the public are hankering for our official screening next week.’

  Elliott reached into his top pocket, pulled out an envelope, handed it to Kristi.

  ‘Here’s your cheque. Money well spent if I get another gong for the documentary and guaranteed funding for my next project.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Kristi quickly slipped her cheque into the bag at her feet, but not before Jared had seen the sheen of tears.

  Though she hadn’t told him what she’d do with the money if she won, he’d bet she’d share some of it. She was that type of person, had a generous heart, a heart he had no intention of breaking this time around, clear warning they had to have a ‘talk’ before this thing between them went any further.

  Sculling the soy chai latte that had been placed in front of her while they’d been chatting, Kristi leaped from her chair, hooked her bag over her shoulder and darted a quick glance at the door.

  ‘It’s been a blast, guys, but I have to get back to work.’

  Not wanting to let her go so soon, not before they’d had a chance to talk privately, Jared stood.

  ‘It’s your first day back and almost four. Surely you can skive off the rest of the day?’

  Annoyance contorted her mouth before she slipped a smile back in place. ‘No, sorry, gotta go.’

  Grabbing her arm before she bolted, he leaned down to murmur in her ear.

  ‘We haven’t had a chance to talk after last night.’

  ‘Call me later.’

  She tried to twist out of his grasp but he held firm. ‘Are you okay? You seemed fine with Elliott but now—’

  ‘I have to get back to work.’

  He couldn’t hang onto her without causing a scene and he reluctantly released her. Before she could take a step he swooped down for a snatched kiss, his lips meeting hers all too briefly before she stepped away, staring at him with bemusement, shock and just a little fear.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he said, holding her answering tremulous smile close to his heart.

  When she’d gone, he finally registered he was still standing, while Elliot lounged back in his chair with an aggravatingly patronising smile on his smug face.

  ‘Well, I guess that answers my question.’

  Reluctantly taking a seat, he said, ‘What question’s that?’

  Elliott’s grin broadened. ‘The one about what happened off camera.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘And the one about bachelor boy falling.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Elliott toasted him with water. ‘I won’t say another word. Besides, you’ll see for yourself once you take a look at the footage.’

  Ignoring the niggle of foreboding he’d let on more than he’d wanted to on the island, Jared suddenly couldn’t wait for the pre-screening of Elliott’s masterpiece.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Stranded Survival Tip #12

  The camera never lies.

  Twitter.com/Stranded_Jared

  Good to be back to civilisation.

  Twitter.com/Stranded_Kristi

  Christian Louboutin, oh, how I love thee. Can you tell I missed my shoes?

  ‘SINCE when did you become addicted to Twitter?’

  ‘Since the island.’

  Kristi barely glanced at Meg as she slipped her mobile into her handbag, wishing Jared’s last tweet had been more informative.

  ‘So I have tennis boy to thank for moving you into the twenty-first century?’

  ‘He may have had something to do with it.’

  Along with fast-tracking her heart forward eight years and landing her right back where she’d been when they’d first met.

  Star-struck. Mooning. Just a tad in love.

  She’d had it confirmed the second she’d entered Icebergs two hours ago, locked gazes with him and lost her breath. They’d only been apart a few hours and the heavy weight of missing him pressing on her chest had lifted the moment she’d seen him sitting oh-so-casually at the table.

  It had little to do with a white polo shirt hugging a broad chest, muscular arm draped across the back of his chair or the model-handsome face that had broken hearts of sports fans across the globe, and everything to do with his sense of humour, his sense of honour, his sense of decency.

  He made her laugh, he made her cry; with the yearning to get to really know him and, hopefully, keep him in her life this time. For ever.

  ‘Did you two get it on?’

  Used to Meg’s bluntness, she picked up her sangria, raised the glass in her sister’s direction. ‘Oops. Did I fail to mention private details of my sex life on Twitter? Silly me.’

  Meg chuckled, clinked glasses. ‘Ah-ha! So there was sex involved?’

  Kristi made a zipping motion across her lips.

  Meg sculled half her glass, blinked her eyes at the sting of alcohol, before jabbing a finger at her.

  ‘You better hope there weren’t any hidden cameras in your room, that’s all I can say.’

  Dismissing her spurt of panic as irrational—Elliott would never do that to them—she sipped at her drink.

  ‘Why not? After my documentary experience, I quite fancy a stint on YouTube.’

  ‘You’re insane.’

  ‘Right back at you, sis.’

  They grinned at each other, their closeness the one thing that had got her through their parents’ death all those years ago.

  The Bobbsey Twins, everyone had called them, and despite their age difference they’d been best friends and confidantes from a young age.

  It irked what her sister went through every day, all because she’d been foolish enough to chase the same dream Kristi had: craving the perfect marriage, the perfect man, the perf
ect life. Sadly, in Meg’s case, the dream became twisted, leaving her abandoned and pregnant without a wedding ring in sight.

  While Jared had broken her heart eight years ago, at least she hadn’t been left to raise a baby. Prue was adorable but raising a child didn’t fit into her career plans right now.

  Thanks to her stint on Lorikeet Island she could now give Meg and her adorable niece some much-needed help.

  Reaching into her handbag, her fingers clasped the crisp envelope, pulled it out and handed it over.

  ‘Here. This is for you.’

  ‘What is it? A summons?’

  ‘Better. Go on, open it.’

  Meg ripped open the seal, withdrew the cheque, confusion creasing her brow as she scanned it, her eyes widening as she held it up to the light, reread it.

  ‘It has my name on it.’

  ‘That’s because it’s yours, silly.’

  Meg’s mouth opened and closed several times, before she dropped the cheque on the table as if burned.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Picking up the cheque, she unfurled Meg’s rigid fingers and pressed it back into her hand. ‘It’s yours. For you and Prue.’

  Giving her sister a hug, and swallowing back tears, she said, ‘Take it, Megs. Give that gorgeous girl everything her heart desires.’

  ‘B-but it’s a hundred grand!’

  ‘I had to go without Christian Louboutin’s latest black ostrich sandal and pitch a tent and suffer a sprained ankle for that money so you sure as hell better use it. I don’t want my short-lived television debut to be in vain.’

  Meg clutched at the cheque, stared at it for an eternity, before flinging her arms around Kristi’s neck.

  ‘You’re the best! How can I ever thank you?’

  Squeezing Meg tight, she said, ‘By being happy and continuing to do a fabulous job raising the cutest niece in the world.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Meg hiccuped, sniffled, enough to set off her own crying jag.

  ‘Hey, you’re supposed to be doing cartwheels, not bawling.’

  ‘Your fault.’

  Meg pulled away, swiped at her nose, her eyes red and puffy. ‘You sure about this? You can’t use the money?’

  ‘Apart from the promotion, the only reason I agreed to do Stranded was for a chance to win the money. I intended to give it to you all along.’

  Kristi picked up their glasses, handed one to Meg. ‘So drink up. And start planning. Maybe consider changing apartments? Invest some of it? An education fund? How about—?’

  ‘Thanks, sis, I’ve got it covered.’

  Kristi clamped her lips shut. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  As they sipped at their sangria and Meg’s eyes took on a starry gleam, a tiny sliver of apprehension intruded on her magnanimous good feeling.

  What if Meg chose to move interstate, where the rentals were much cheaper? Rosanna was a good buddy but she was also her boss and Kristi had held back on loads of personal stuff in the past, not wanting to blur the lines and appear unprofessional.

  She’d handled both break-ups with Avery and Barton in the same way: thrown herself into work, attended as many PR parties as humanly possible, filled her wardrobe with new shoes and hung out with Meg and Prue on the weekends.

  What would she do this time?

  That was her real worry, the expectation she’d break up with Jared and would have to deal with the devastation alone.

  The thought had her sculling her drink, her hand shaky as she replaced the glass on the table.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she lied, not wanting anything to mar Meg’s happiness.

  ‘It’s tennis boy, isn’t it? You never did get around to telling me what happened on the island, what with waving six figures around and distracting me from the goss. How did the closure thing go?’

  ‘Jury’s still out on that.’

  She could tell Meg nothing, or she could give her the abbreviated version. ‘He hasn’t changed a bit. Still charming. Still gorgeous.’

  ‘Still has the power to reduce you to mush.’

  Kristi nodded ruefully. ‘That too.’

  Peering over the rim of her glass, Meg mumbled, ‘You know he’s the love of your life, right? And the reason you didn’t hook up with banker boy and number cruncher?’

  Kristi laughed. ‘Wish you’d called Avery and Barton those nicknames to their faces.’

  ‘I did. Didn’t help them get the message though.’

  ‘What message?’

  ‘The one where they didn’t have a hope of getting you up the aisle because neither of them could hold a tennis racket.’

  ‘You’re harping.’

  ‘I’m also dead right.’

  That was the problem. Meg was one hundred per cent right and now she’d finally admitted—if only to herself—that she loved Jared, she could see it so clearly.

  She’d given her all to both engagements, had been emotionally invested, had wanted to love Avery and Barton with all her heart. They’d been great guys, cute and reliable and steady.

  And not a patch on a charming, confident playboy tennis pro with a hint of something dark and dangerous beneath his smooth veneer.

  Had she tried hard enough with Avery and Barton? She’d thought so at the time but something they’d both said niggled… ‘Can any guy live up to your expectations?’

  Maybe they’d got it right? Maybe she’d been subconsciously comparing them to Jared? Then again, Jared hadn’t lived up to expectations either, dumping her in favour of his career.

  She’d worked through her guilt at ending both engagements, had analysed them to death. Maybe this time round with Jared, she could put some of what she’d learned to good use?

  ‘You need to talk to him, sis. Make it clear what you want from the start.’ Meg patted her cheek. ‘You don’t get many second chances in a lifetime. Better make the most of this one.’

  Kristi had every intention to.

  When she plucked up the courage to tell him she’d been foolish enough to fall for him, again.

  ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’

  Kristi jumped as Jared whispered in her ear, taking advantage of their proximity, inhaling her sweet, spicy scent that evoked so many visceral reactions his gut clenched.

  ‘Shh. The documentary’s about to start.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  He vaulted the sofa and plopped into the empty space beside her, desperate to talk after reading her blog and Twitter entries from Lorikeet Island.

  They revealed so much and after what had happened their last night on the island…yep, they definitely needed to talk.

  ‘Should you be doing that with your knee?’

  Flexing it to prove a point, he said, ‘As I recall, my bung knee held up just fine on the island. It was your dodgy ankle that made you wimp out of the hiking challenge.’

  ‘I didn’t wimp out! I was injured, you unfeeling—’

  He kissed her before she could say another word, a quick, brief kiss that barely lasted a second but enough contact to sizzle his synapses.

  ‘That always was the best way to shut you up,’ he murmured as Elliott strode into the room, closely followed by two women.

  ‘You’ll keep.’

  She bumped him with her shoulder, shared an intimate smile that reminded him so much of the past his chest ached. They’d been in sync back then and he fervently wished they could slip back into an easy-going relationship.

  After reading her blog entries, he didn’t know what to think. One particular entry stuck in his head.

  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.

  He cared about Kristi, wanted to give them a shot but if he didn’t open up, tell her all of it, would she have a bar of him?

  He’d spent a lifetime suppressing his childhood memories, channelling all his energy and frustrations i
nto whacking a ball around a court.

  He didn’t know what he feared most. Feeling too much for her or opening up an old wound to find he hadn’t healed at all. Or, worse, what she might think of him because of it.

  They had to talk. When he’d called last night, she’d let it go through to her message bank, probably too physically and emotionally drained to face him yet. Not that he could blame her.

  Spending the week with her had seriously disturbed his equilibrium and he’d needed space to think, time to figure out what he wanted to say before blurting the truth and ruining any chance they had before they really got started.

  Nudging her right back, he jerked a thumb at the two women standing in front of them, knowing grins making them look like twin cats that’d swallowed an aviary of canaries.

  ‘Introductions?’

  ‘Jared. Meet Meg, my sister.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’

  He stood, shook Meg’s hand and bent to kiss her on the cheek, a gesture that registered approval if Kristi’s wide grin was any indication.

  ‘Krissie’s told me a lot about you.’ Meg smirked, and Kristi shook her head in warning, only serving to stir Meg up. ‘Your past together and—’

  ‘And this is Ros, my boss.’

  He laughed at her diversion, sending her a wink for good measure.

  Pumping his hand, Rosanna pursed her Botoxed lips. ‘If you’re ever in need of a new PR firm, you know who to call.’

  By the predatory sparkle in Rosanna’s greedy gaze, PR wasn’t the only reason she hoped he’d call. While he hated the term ‘cougar’ for older women dating younger men, there was something about Rosanna and the way she eyeballed him as prime devouring material that made the analogy apt.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.’

  He pulled out nearby chairs for Meg and Rosanna before resettling beside Kristi, his thigh brushing hers, the heat radiating from it sending an answering spark through his body.

  Leaning across to whisper in her ear so the others couldn’t hear, he said, ‘What did you think of my blogs?’