Читать книгу Best Man And The Runaway Bride - Kandy Shepherd - Страница 11
ОглавлениеEVER SINCE HE’D helped Nikki flee her wedding, Max had been haunted by dreams of the lovely runaway bride. Dreams, not nightmares.
The real-life nightmares had been played out in his waking hours with the photos of the best man and the runaway bride splashed all over the media, rabid with speculation about a relationship between them. ‘Cheater Best Man’ was one of the most innocuous. His past dating history had also been dragged out and picked over—again and again. Would they ever leave him alone?
He was, in his own way, famous. The media had become interested in him when he was still a teenager and had snatched the glory of winning the Australian Open from a much older international player. Then he’d dated a rising female tennis star until their conflicting commitments and ambitions had ended it.
Though apparently, it wasn’t a juicy enough story that he and Ellen didn’t make it because of their careers clashing. In London, a reporter had used an intrusive lens to shoot him and a female friend having a quiet lunch together and blown it up into a ‘Love Cheat’ scandal. The resulting headlines had made it impossible for him and Ellen to retain any kind of friendship. She’d been convinced he’d cheated on her while they were still together. If he ever played against her in a doubles game it was always a ‘grudge match’, according to the press. His love life—or lack of it—was of continuing interest.
What he hadn’t realised was that Nikki had a public profile too, as daughter of a wealthy property developer and in her own right as a successful entrepreneur. That had ramped the interest in them as an illicit ‘couple’ up to a higher level. Those few weeks after the wedding when they were hot news had been nightmarish.
His ongoing dreams of Nikki might not be nightmares but they were unsettling.
The dream always started at the same moment. He was back at the wedding rehearsal in the church on the Thursday night before her wedding. As best man, he was standing next to Alan near the altar. Nikki walked down the aisle, slowly and gracefully, just as she had that night. She was wearing the same short, sleeveless blue dress and silver sandals. Her hair was tied back off her face in a ponytail. She carried a bunch of fake flowers so she could practise handing it to her sister, the chief bridesmaid. All just as it had been.
What differed in the dream was that Nikki veered away towards him not Alan. Her smile, the loving anticipation in her eyes, was for him. He was the groom. As she neared him he held out both hands to her and drew her close with a possessive murmur. She looked up to him and raised her face for his kiss. He dipped his head to claim her mouth—
And that was when he always woke up. Confused. Yearning. Disconsolate. Until he shook himself into consciousness and a return to common sense.
The dream was all kinds of crazy. For one thing, he had no interest in getting married. Not now when his injury had turned his life upside down. Not until his life was sorted. And not until he could be sure his marriage was for keeps. He’d seen the stresses the life of an elite sportsperson could place on a relationship. He wanted the for ever kind of happy marriage his parents had. That meant stability and certainty. Right now all his energies were single-mindedly focussed on his new post-tennis direction.
Besides, he wasn’t interested in Nikki Lucas in that way. He couldn’t be. She was attractive, yes. Not just in her looks but also her warm, engaging personality. If they’d met in other circumstances perhaps he would want to pursue that attraction. But she’d impulsively stood up her groom and left him standing at the altar. That showed a certain messiness of thought that alarmed him. Max had abandoned all the rules that had governed his life to aid and abet the runaway bride. And paid the price with his name all over the scandal sheets. They’d both paid the price. The only way he could deal with the adverse press was the knowledge that he had nothing to hide. He could truthfully plead he was innocent of any romantic intent towards Nikki. No affair. No ongoing relationship. Just those cursed dreams.
And yet here she was. Not the Nikki of his memory or his imagination. But just as lovely. Just as appealing. Just as off-limits. With the uncertain future that lay ahead of him, he needed to stay scandal free with no appearances in the press for the wrong reasons. His behaviour that day had been quite out of character for him. To get where he had in the ultra-competitive world of international tennis, he’d had to stay focussed. He planned. He strategised. He drove himself with iron self-discipline. He did not let his emotions get the better of him.
Now Nikki looked up at him, not with the loving gaze of his dream but eyes again narrowed with suspicion. ‘How did I not know you were staying at Big Blue?’ she asked. ‘I help out at the check-in desk. I didn’t see your name.’
‘I’m checked in as Maxwell James. James is my second name. It’s a privacy thing.’
Her feet were firmly planted in the sand. She looked as combative as someone could in billowing hippy pants with the light breeze blowing her hair around her face. He noticed she didn’t wear any make-up. She didn’t need it. ‘Why the Big Blue? Why Lembongan island? Isn’t it a remarkable coincidence that you should end up here?’
‘That’s all it is. A coincidence. I’d never heard of the island until recently. And my travel agent booked me into the hotel. It ticked all the boxes for what I wanted.’
Her brows drew together. ‘You really didn’t know I was staying there?’
‘Absolutely not. I would have steered clear if I’d had any idea.’
Hurt flashed across her face at his words. Max mentally slammed his hand against his forehead. ‘Please don’t take offence. I didn’t mean to be rude. But you must realise that after our time in the headlines, I wouldn’t want to see you again. To risk all the media speculation starting up afresh. That was hell.’
She took a moment to reply. ‘It must have been awful for you. Being up here, I escaped the worst of it. Though my unavailability for comment sent them into a frenzy. I stopped reading after someone claimed to have sighted me with you hiding in a...in a love nest in Fiji.’ She flushed high on her cheekbones at the words love nest. Max had to force himself not to conjure up images of how it might play out if that were actually true.
He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah. I stopped reading them after a while too. Then, thankfully, the stories dwindled away when the next big beat-up scandal took over. I don’t want to give them something new to gossip about.’
‘Me neither,’ she said fervently.
‘I’ll move to another hotel. Maybe you can recommend one.’
She shook her head. ‘No need for that. Big Blue is a great place to stay this end of the beach. My friends only took it over not so long ago. They won’t want anyone cancelling a two-week booking. I especially don’t want that to be because of me.’
Max didn’t know how to talk about avoiding her without sounding offensive. He remembered how he’d felt—as if his heart were melting—at the sight of her tears on the day of her wedding. He didn’t want to upset her, or feel any urge to comfort her. He didn’t want any kind of relationship with the woman who had thrust him back into those hideous headlines. ‘We’ll have to steer clear of each other.’
But she didn’t sound offended—in fact it seemed she wanted to avoid him as much as he wanted to avoid her. ‘We can do that. For one thing I’m part of the staff, unofficially that is, and you’re a guest. That means few opportunities to mingle. What room are you in? One of the lumbung on the beach?’
‘Lumbung?’
‘Over two levels, the traditional thatched roof, the woven bamboo ceilings, the open bathroom.’
‘No. I’m in one of the two larger new villa-style bungalows further back from the beach. Number two. I have my own lap pool. I thought it would be more private than facing the beach.’
‘Oh,’ she said, her blush deepening. ‘That...well, that could be another problem. I’m staying in the adjoining villa.’
Not just on the same island. In adjacent rooms. Nikki lying in bed just a stone wall away from him. What kind of dreams might that inspire? He swallowed a curse. ‘Imagine if the media got hold of that? They’d have a field day. I must move to another hotel.’
She put up her hand in a halt sign. ‘No. Don’t do that. I’ll move to the staff quarters at the back of the resort. I can have a room there. It’s pretty basic but—’
‘I can’t allow you to do that.’
She scowled. Which made her look cute rather than fierce. ‘It’s not a matter of you allowing me to do anything. It’s only for two weeks. I’m not such a “spoiled Sydney princess” that I can’t deal with it.’
Her voice wobbled on the words. So she’d read that offensive story too. It had been immensely unflattering about both of them. He’d felt outraged on her behalf. Had thought about contacting her to offer his commiserations. Had decided against it. He could not be linked to her again. Besides, no one had known where she was. Now he did.
‘And after the two weeks? What then for you?’ he asked.
‘Back into my own room, I guess,’ she said.
‘I mean, what are you doing up here?’
‘Helping my friend Maya. Making plans. You know I sold my business?’
‘I saw that,’ he said.
The night of the rehearsal, when he’d first met Nikki, he had looked her up and read about her success story. How her sister had a very sensitive skin and couldn’t use any of the commercial products. How Nikki had developed a range of products that worked for her sister. How she hadn’t sought conventional distribution but got in early with her online store, stocking first her own products then other brands. Word of mouth and canny marketing had made it a very profitable hit. Just days after the wedding debacle he’d been surprised to see she’d sold out to one of the huge international cosmetic conglomerates under the headline ‘Runaway Bride Cashes In’.
‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘Did you sell because of what happened with Alan?’
She shook her head. ‘The sale was put in motion before the wedding I thought offloading my very demanding business would give me more time to devote to...’ Her voice hitched. ‘To family life.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not sure what else he could say.
She shrugged. ‘As it turned out the timing was right—after all I needed a sabbatical from work, some time to put myself together again. Everything had fallen apart. I... I wasn’t coping very well with the aftermath.’
‘Understandably,’ he said carefully.
She raised her eyes to his. ‘You know, I really thought I loved Alan. And that he loved me. I’m nearly thirty. I wanted to get married and start a family. It was devastating to find out the truth about him. How horribly he’d lied. That he wasn’t at all the person I’d thought he was. I didn’t run away from the wedding on a whim, you know.’ She scuffed the sand with the toe of her sandals, averting her gaze.
‘I know you didn’t,’ he said. She’d been too desperate for it to have been whim. When the media speculation had been at its fieriest, he had asked himself whether, if he had the time again, he would have aligned himself with Team Groom and refused to help her. He hadn’t had to think long.
‘Almost to the time I got to the church I thought I’d go through with it,’ she said. ‘That he’d change. That I’d be the one to make him change where other women had failed. Deep down I knew that wouldn’t happen. My father came good when he went into the church to tell Alan and the guests. But in the car he wouldn’t hear of helping me bolt. My behaviour would have reflected badly on him. Then I saw you and—’
‘And the rest is history,’ he said drily. ‘I don’t regret helping you. I’d do it all again.’
She looked up, her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Despite the aftermath?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
There were two defining moments that had made him certain he’d done the right thing that day. The first was when she’d kissed him. A polite kiss of thanks. And yet for these few seconds her soft lips had been pressed against his cheek and he’d breathed in her scent he’d felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. An awareness. A stirring of excitement, more thrilling perhaps because it was forbidden. Out of bounds. He couldn’t share that moment and the feelings it had aroused in him with her. But the second moment he could.
‘When Alan went for me, there was a moment when his eyes went dead,’ he said. ‘All the charm and bonhomie gone, unable to mask a ruthless violence that I suspect was habitual. I was very glad I’d helped you escape marriage to the man.’
Nikki gasped and her hand went to her heart. ‘You recognised that? His first ex-wife hinted at abuse on that first phone call. Then confirmed it afterwards when I sent her flowers in gratitude for the warning.’
He pushed away the unimaginable dreadful thought of Nikki suffering at the hands of her ex. Thank heaven he had been there for her. ‘You had a lucky escape.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thanks to the people who helped me.’
Max couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman would be so generous as to send flowers to the woman who had warned her off her ex-husband? She was something, Nikki Lucas.
‘Why didn’t I recognise him for what he was?’ she said. ‘How could I have been so blind?’
‘If it’s any consolation I was taken in by him too. Why else would I agree to be best man to a guy I hardly knew? He was persuasive. Played on a long-ago friendship. The fact I was back in Sydney after a lengthy absence and looking to establish a new circle of people.’
‘Did you know I agreed to marry him after only a few months? He knew exactly how to play me,’ she said with a bitter twist to her mouth. ‘Made me believe that everything I wanted from life, he wanted too.’
What did Nikki want? Max realised how very little he actually knew about her. And how tempting it would be to find out more.
* * *
Nikki had not intended to confide in Max about The Abominable Alan, the nickname Maya had given her former fiancé. But it was a relief to discover that his best man had been fooled by him as well. Alan had probably had an ulterior motive in his dealings with Max, as he had with her. Max was a very wealthy man. A multimillionaire. That fact had come up again and again in the media stories about him. She wondered if Alan had approached him to invest in some dodgy enterprise.
She didn’t dare ask. Max had given her the impression of being contained—a private person, in spite of his public persona as a love cheat. There were tennis players who threw tantrums, were known for bad behaviour. Not Max. He was renowned for being courteous and well-mannered on the court, the smiling assassin with his killer serve. That first night at the rehearsal, once she’d got over the shock that her groom’s best man was a tennis superstar, she’d found him surprisingly reserved. She’d done her best to make him feel comfortable in a room full of people who were strangers to him. Not that it had been a hardship. Not only was Max heart-stoppingly handsome in that strong, athletic way, he’d also made her laugh with his wry comments about wedding procedure. She’d liked him. A lot.
It was ironic, she thought now, that her groom had turned out to be a stranger to her while the unknown best man had done her a favour. But even one moment of her brainpower directed towards Alan was a moment too many. Seeing Max here had brought back feelings that she’d believed six months away from her old life had insulated her against. The discovery of Alan’s perfidy, the shattering of her happy-ever-after illusion had left her broken. Her time on the island had helped the healing process. She didn’t want the plaster ripped off old wounds. Or any controversy about her and Max stirred up again. They each had much to gain by staying out of each other’s way.
‘You know we really shouldn’t be standing here chit-chatting,’ she said. ‘I doubt anyone on this beach would recognise me. But you could be a different matter. I know your hair is longer and you’re growing a beard—which by the way looks really good and suits you—but you’re famous in a way I’m not. It would only take one fan to spot you and—’
‘Disaster,’ he said, taking a step back from her.
‘May I suggest you wear a hat as a kind of disguise?’ she said. ‘You’ll need to wear one anyway for the heat. The weather gets really steamy here.’
‘It gets so hot on the uncovered courts at the Australian Open that players have hallucinated and collapsed during a game,’ he said.
‘But not you?’ she said with a challenging tilt of her head.
‘Not me,’ he said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
‘You laugh at the heat?’
In response she had the full impact of the slow, lazy grin he was famed for. Her heart beat a little tattoo of awareness. He was hot.
‘I wouldn’t say that. But I grew up in the central west of New South Wales where the summers are blazing. When I wasn’t playing tennis I was helping my dad on the family farm.’
She’d like to ask him about that too. ‘Boy from the bush made good’ was a popular description of him. She would have to content herself with looking him up on the Internet rather than engaging in the kind of first-date conversation she could never have with him.
‘It’s a different kind of heat here. It took me a while to get acclimatised.’ Though the temperature seemed to rise just standing near him.
‘I’ll take your advice and buy a hat,’ he said.
She bit her tongue to stop herself from offering to help him choose a style that suited him. Not a good idea.
Instead she gave impersonal advice. ‘There are a few shops selling hats up on the main street. Well, it’s the only street, really.’
‘I saw a place that seemed to sell everything including hats near the warung where I plan to have lunch.’
‘You’re having lunch here? I was going to have lunch in the village as well. I like to have a change from eating in Frangipani Bay.’
They fell suddenly, awkwardly silent. Nikki looked up into his blue, blue eyes. She was aware of the gentle swishing of the water on the sand. People from the boats calling to each other in Indonesian. Laughter that would soon turn to squeals from the tourists decked out in orange life jackets climbing aboard the banana float that would be towed out to sea at speed by a small boat.
The words hung unspoken between them. Why not have lunch together?
When she finally spoke she knew her words were tumbling over each other too fast. ‘Obviously that plan is out the window. I’ll go straight back to Big Blue and grab a bite there. But I have a favourite café here. Excellent food. You must try it. I’ll tell you the name.’
He frowned. ‘Why should you miss your lunch? You go to your café. If my warung is too close, I’ll find another one. I’m sure it’s not the only one serving nasi goreng.’
Again the nervous giggle. What was wrong with her? ‘It most certainly wouldn’t be the only one. Nasi goreng and mie goreng are probably the most commonly served meals on the island.’
‘What’s the difference?’ he asked.
‘Nasi goreng is a spicy fried rice served with vegetables and maybe prawns or chicken and usually an egg. But then you know that as you’ve already tried it. Mie goreng is fried noodles made in a similar way. I actually prefer it.’
‘Do you speak Indonesian?’
‘A little. Quite a lot, actually. Maya taught me when we were at school. I’m much better at it than I was when I first arrived.’ Well, that was stating the obvious. ‘There are differences in Balinese and Lembongan, of course. You won’t need to worry. Everyone dealing with visitors speaks English. They learn it in school.’
If Max thought she was gabbling he didn’t show it. Again that slow, lazy smile. ‘That’s useful to know. I wish—’
‘You wish what?’
Time seemed to stop as he looked down into her face. ‘You could be my guide to all things Lembongan,’ he said slowly.
A dangerous thrill of anticipation shot through her. She would like that very much. ‘But that can’t be,’ she said, stamping down firmly on that feeling.
‘I know,’ he said, regret underscoring his words.
‘We both know we can’t spend time together. Not if we don’t want to risk ending up sharing headlines again. I don’t think I could deal with a new onslaught of that kind of attention.’
‘If we had met under different circumstances, if we were different people, perhaps—’ She felt her heartbeat trip up a gear. What was he saying?
‘Perhaps?’
‘It would be a different story,’ he said abruptly. Nikki wasn’t sure that was what he had intended to end his perhaps with but there was little point in pursuing it. It was enough to know that the spark of interest wasn’t completely one-sided. Not that she could do anything about it.
‘So how should we handle this, Maxwell James? Pretend we don’t know each other?’
‘That could work,’ he said.
‘We’ll make it work,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to take Maya and Kadek into our confidence. She was there on the church steps. She saw it all.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Can you trust her?’
‘Absolutely without question,’ she said. She took a deep breath, took a step back from him. ‘We need to start as we mean to continue. You go your way and I go mine. Strangers who happened to chat with each other on the beach about the difference between fried rice and fried noodles.’
‘Yes,’ he said. Was that regret shadowing his eyes? Or just the reflection of her own feelings?
‘How did you get here to the village?’ she asked.
‘I rode one of the hotel’s mountain bikes.’
‘That was brave of you. The roads in some places are more potholes than surface and there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of road rules.’
‘I noticed,’ he said in the understated way she was beginning to appreciate. ‘You?’
‘The hotel truck will come to pick me up when I’m ready.’
‘The troop carrier?’
She smiled. ‘That’s one way of describing the taxis here.’
Transport on the island comprised mainly open-backed trucks where the passengers sat facing each other on parallel benches in the back. No seat belts. No safety rules like back home. It had taken some getting used to. But the drivers were considerate and courteous. And now Nikki never gave the fact she could be risking her life every time she climbed on board a second thought. That was how you lived here and there was a certain freedom to it that she liked. There were different risks and perils back in Sydney.
She reached down to pick up her backpack from where it rested on the sand. Max leaned down at the same time. ‘Let me carry that for you.’ Their hands brushed just for a moment as he reached for the strap but long enough for that same electric feeling that had tingled through her when he’d carried her over the threshold. She snatched her backpack back to her.
‘That’s very chivalrous of you. Again. But to see you carrying my bag might kind of give the game away, mightn’t it?’
‘I get that,’ he said. ‘But it goes against the grain to let you lift that heavy pack.’
‘Must be your rural upbringing,’ she said. It was part of the Max Conway mythology that he’d started playing tennis on a rundown community court in a tiny town in the central west of New South Wales.
‘There’s that. But I grew up seeing my father treat my mother well. He would have done that wherever we lived.’
‘How refreshing,’ she said, unable to suppress the note of bitterness from her voice. She seemed to have spent a good deal of her twenty-nine years around men for whom treating women well was not a priority. Like her father—now divorced from wife number three. Like her cheating high-school boyfriend with whom she’d wasted way too many years in a roller coaster of a relationship. And then there was Abominable Alan.
‘It’s not always appreciated,’ he said. Nikki remembered that as part of the ‘best man betrayal’ frenzy, one of the big women’s magazines had run an interview with Max’s hometown girlfriend who had nursed a grudge against him. Just another in a line of ‘love cheat’ stories about him.
‘Trust me, I would appreciate it,’ she said with rather too much fervour. ‘But I’ve been looking after myself for a long time and am quite okay about carrying my own backpack.’
She picked up the bag and heaved it onto her back. It would have been crass to shrug off his help with getting the straps in place across her back. Even if she did have to grit her teeth against the pleasurable warmth of his touch through the fine cotton fabric of her top.
‘Feel okay?’ he asked as he adjusted the strap.
‘Fine,’ she said as nonchalantly as she could manage with the sensation of his fingers so close to her skin. It wasn’t the balance of the backpack that felt fine but his touch. ‘It’s not very heavy, anyway.’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘Now you need to go your way and I need to go mine. You head off up the alley through those two shops. It will take you onto the street. The café I like is to the right, so you turn to the left. About six shops down there’s a great little warung serving Balinese food.’
‘Hey, that’s the place I was heading for with the great nasi goreng. Seems you know what pleases me.’
‘Just a lucky guess,’ she said, flustered by his tone, not wanting to meet his gaze.
‘If I see you on the street, I ignore you, right?’ he said. ‘No hard feelings?’
‘No hard feelings,’ she said. ‘I’ll do the same.’
She watched him as he strode away. His back view was as impressive as his front—broad shoulders tapering to a tight butt, lean muscular legs. He was a spectacular athlete on court, leaping and twisting high in the air to connect with the ball in an incredible reach. Not that she’d ever taken much notice before their encounter at her wedding. But in her down time here on the island, she’d discovered there were many online videos of Max Conway’s greatest sporting achievements to enjoy.
As he headed towards the street, she realised she wasn’t the only one admiring his good looks and athletic grace. A group of attractive girls watched him too, through narrowed, speculative eyes. For a heart-stopping moment Nikki thought they recognised him. But no. They just thought he was hot.
