Читать книгу Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex - Nicola Marsh - Страница 10

Stranded Survival Tip #4

They’re playing our song. Pity it’s the theme song from Titanic.

AS KRISTI spritzed her custom-made patchouli perfume behind her ears, on her pulse points, her hand shook, the infernal buzz of nerves in her tummy hard to subdue.

No matter how many times she mentally recited tonight was about fine-tuning details for their week on Lorikeet Island, she couldn’t ignore the fact catching up with Jared reeked of a date.

She didn’t want to think of it as a date. A date implied intimacy and excitement and expectation, feelings she’d given up on a long time ago where he was concerned.

Jared Malone might have once rocked her world, but she’d got over it. He could flash that sexy smile and charm her with witty wordplay all he liked, it wouldn’t change a thing.

She’d seen the way he’d looked at her during their brief meeting at Icebergs; as if he remembered everything about her and would love to take a fast sprint down memory lane.

If he tried, she had four words for him.

Not in this lifetime.

Leaning into the mirror, she tilted her head to one side to fasten an earring. The long, straight silver spiral shimmered as she turned, caught the light, reflected, matching her sequinned halter top perfectly.

She loved the top’s funkiness, had offset it with low-slung black hipster formal pants. Chic, without trying too hard. Not that she’d dithered too long on her wardrobe choice. She wanted to speed through this evening, speed through the seven interminably long days on the island and regain equilibrium.

For while she might not have feelings for Jared any more, seeing him again had her on edge, a strange combination of anger, fear and reservation. While he could act as if things hadn’t ended badly between them, she couldn’t, unable to shake the foreboding that the longer she spent in his company, the more chance she had of making a fool of herself again.

For that was exactly what she’d done last time around.

Made an A-grade ass of herself.

She’d known he’d had to leave eventually, yet had started to cling the closer his departure grew, culminating in that silly, angry ultimatum during their last phone call.

She’d made him choose. Her or tennis. How young and stupid had she been?

When he’d walked in on her in that wedding dress the week before he left, she’d been glad. She’d wanted him to see how she looked, wanted him to envisage the dream of happily-ever-after as much as she wanted it.

So she’d made that flyaway comment about it being their turn next, half hoping he’d sweep her into his arms and take her with him.

Instead, he’d withdrawn, closed off, the last week before he departed, leaving her morose, desperate and hurt, incredibly hurt.

Her ridiculous ultimatum had been born of anger and resentment and rejection, something she should never have done.

But she couldn’t change the past; the memory of her naivety made her cringe and seeing Jared again only served to resurrect those old feelings of embarrassment and mortification.

He’d appeared unfazed by their past while she’d sat through their meeting mentally kicking herself all over again.

Now she had to spend a week on a deserted island with him.

Her humiliation was complete.

The intercom buzzed and with one, last quick glance in the mirror she trudged across the room, grateful her platform T-bar metallic sandals only allowed her to move at a snail’s pace, and hit the button to let him in downstairs.

She’d wondered if he’d call her at work to get the address, surprised when he hadn’t. It meant he remembered, leading to the next obvious question: what else did he remember?

Much to her chagrin, she hadn’t forgotten a thing about him.

Avery’s shoe size? Erased from her memory banks for ever.

Barton’s preferred margarine? Gone.

Yet she could recall in startling clarity how Jared liked his eggs—poached; his coffee—white with one; his side of the bed—right.

Maybe that had been half the problem with both engagements? The guys had been fine, upstanding citizens with good jobs, good looks and good credentials, but they weren’t Jared.

The thought had crossed her mind both times she’d broken off the engagements but she’d dismissed it as a young girl’s whimsical memory of a brief romance that had been too good to be true.

She’d had genuine feelings for both fiancés, had gone through her version of grieving both times: intermittent crying jags, locked away at home for a week, consumed copious tubs of her favourite Turkish delight ice cream.

She’d pondered their relationships at length, had tried to erase the final departure from both engagements each time: the shock, the bewilderment from the guys, the guilt, the sadness from her.

It had taken her a while to recover from Avery, then Barton, and each time she’d started reminiscing about Jared and hated herself for it.

The girls at work discussed their first loves all the time: the thrill, the newness, the heady sensation of being on heightened awareness every second of every day, how it all faded.

That was the problem. The buzz between her and Jared hadn’t had a chance to fade. He’d absconded before the gloss had worn off, left her embarrassed she’d read so much into their relationship, furious how he’d ended it yet pathetically pining when he hadn’t looked back.

The memory of their parting doused any simmer of sentimentality she might have felt towards this meeting, annoyance replacing her memories as she yanked open the door.

‘Good. You’re here. Let’s go.’

Her brusqueness evaporated when she saw him leaning against the jamb, wearing a wicked grin that made her facial muscles twitch in eager ness to respond.

‘Wow.’

She stiffened as his appreciative gaze roved over her freely, the naughty twinkle in his eyes undermining her as much as that damn smile.

Ignoring the responding quiver in her knees, she dropped her gaze, discovering his designer loafers, dark denim, and cotton shirt the colour of her favourite butterscotch didn’t help re-establish her immunity.

He’d always been a great dresser, could wear anything and make it look like haute couture. Yet another thing she’d loved about him. A love that meant jack considering how fast he’d run.

‘You ready to go?’

Scanning her face for a reason behind her snippiness, he chuckled, held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

Ignoring his hand, she nodded, needing to wipe that twinkle from his eye, to establish she wouldn’t engage in whatever game he intended for tonight.

‘If you’re planning on flirting your way through dinner, forget it. I’m doing this so we get everything straight before we’re stuck on the island. Understand?’

His mock salute and wide grin spoke volumes: he’d do as he damned well pleased tonight, regardless.

‘Perfectly.’

She shook her head, frowned. ‘I mean it. I’m immune so don’t waste your breath—’

‘Did it ever strike you I’m uncomfortable about all this and flirting is the only way I know how to ease back into how we were before?’

His honesty surprised her, for, while his tone was light-hearted, she saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

A sliver of guilt penetrated her prickly armour. If she was feeling uncomfortable about this whole scenario, why shouldn’t he?

‘We can’t go back to how it was before.’

His answering smile elicited a twinge of remembrance, a yearning to do just that.

‘We laughed a lot back then, were easy in each other’s company. Wouldn’t it be great to recapture some of that on the island, especially in front of the cameras?’

Of course, that was what this was about: re-establishing some kind of rapport so they didn’t embarrass themselves on camera. She should’ve known, but for a split second she’d almost wished he were flirting with her because he wanted to recreate some of the other magic they’d shared back then.

‘I guess you’re right.’

‘That’s my girl.’

She wasn’t, had never been really.

Maybe Jared could ignore the past, could don his smooth, funny, adorable persona and hope she’d forget how things had ended between them, but she had as much hope of that as scaling the Opera House in her favourite four-inch Louboutin’s.

Hurt faded but it wasn’t forgotten.

Not when the man who’d broken her heart would be in her face for the next week.

Grateful he hadn’t chosen any of their old haunts, Kristi stepped through the enormous glass door of Sydney’s newest East meets West fusion restaurant and nodded her thanks at Jared. Another thing that hadn’t changed about him: his impeccable manners.

‘Have you been here before?’

She shook her head, tried not to look suitably impressed as she glanced around at the soaring ceilings, steel beams and enough chrome and glass to build an entire suburb.

‘Rumour has it you have to be the prime minister or an Oscar winner to get a booking for the next year.’

She paused, quirked an eyebrow. ‘Or apparently a star tennis player?’

Chuckling, he tapped the side of his nose. ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’

‘Obviously.’

She swanned through the restaurant, aware of the not too subtle envious glances cast their way. Not that she could blame the women.

Jared Malone, world-renowned playboy, was a serious babe.

Voted number one sexiest sportsman for three years running in all the top women’s magazines.

Not that she’d kept count. Flicking through glossies was a fabulous part of her job, keeping abreast of the latest PR strategies, and while she’d quickly flipped over pages wherever Jared appeared she’d still noticed.

Any woman with a pulse would have to be half dead not to notice him.

And she’d be stuck with him, on a deserted island, for a week. Gain a promotion out of it. Possibly win a hundred grand. So why the reservations?

As they reached the table, his hand guiding her in the small of her back, his breath the barest whisper against her heated skin, she knew exactly why she wasn’t doing cartwheels over the next week.

It would’ve been bad enough spending seven days on an island with some stranger, but a week with a guy she’d once loved, who knew her weaknesses, who knew her intimately?

Heck.

‘You’re nervous.’

She feigned ignorance as he held out her chair and she sat, grateful for the support when his hand grazed the back of her neck, a particularly sensitive spot as well he knew.

‘About our little island jaunt.’

She winced. ‘It shows?’

Chuckling, he ran a fingertip just above her top lip. ‘You get this little wrinkle right about here when you think too much.’

Brushing his hand away, she gulped from the crystal water glass thankfully filled to the brim.

‘Aren’t you the slightest bit uncomfortable about all this?

He sat back, folded his arms, that familiar cocky grin making her heart jive and jump and jitterbug.

‘No.’

‘So it doesn’t matter we had …’

‘A past?’

His grin widened. ‘Surely you’d rather be stuck on Lorikeet Island with me than some stranger?’

She’d debated the fact, hadn’t reached any conclusions yet. She could’ve been distantly polite with a stranger, could’ve faked enthusiasm for the documentary, could’ve been totally and utterly un involved.

Spending a week with Jared, just the two of them, would render it impossible to stay distant.

She knew so much about this man, remembered details she should’ve forgotten: how he bounced out of bed every morning and stretched five times, how he hated orange but loved mango juice, how he made adorable little snoring/snuffling sounds when asleep after an exhausting game.

How he devoured sushi like a man starved, how he preferred swimming in the ocean to a swimming pool, how he liked sporting magazines over novels.

So many memories, all of them good. Except the one where he walked away from her without a backward glance.

‘If you have to think that long, maybe I’ve lost my charm.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Nothing wrong with your charm and you darn well know it.’

He wiped his brow. ‘Phew, for a second there you had me worried.’

When he’d left, she’d missed many things, his sense of humour being one of them. They’d always sparred like this, swapping banter along with huge chunks of their lives. She’d loved it, loved him.

Which brought her full circle back to her original dilemma: how dangerous would it be being stuck on an island with Jared?

Her sorrow at their break-up and any residual humiliation should ensure immunity to him after all this time. She’d moved on since, had two engagements to prove it.

Broken engagements, her insidiously annoying voice of reason whispered.

Guys she’d fallen for enough to think she wanted to marry, just not enough to take that final step and actually say, ‘I do.’ She’d loved both Avery and Barton, loved their gentleness and patience and understanding. They’d reminded her of her high-school boyfriends, the nice guys who’d carry her books and write corny love letters and give her a lift on the handlebars of their bikes.

She’d been horrid to those boys, demanding and snooty and condescending, thrilled to have their attention yet secretly craving the Prince Charmings she read about in her mum’s romance novels.

Thankfully, she’d grown up enough to treat her men better, but a small part of her wondered if she didn’t end up treating her fiancés as badly in the end.

Yes, she’d definitely moved on from Jared, couldn’t have loved those men if deep down in her heart she secretly pined for her first love. Besides, he’d shattered her grand illusions of loving him by choosing his career over her, by not being willing to work out a compromise.