Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex

‘There’s a glut of reality TV at the moment. Cooking, dating, singing, dancing, housemates, you name it, there’s a reality show filming it. I want Stranded to be more than that. I want it to show two people interacting, without social distractions, without direct interference, without the fanfare, without judges, and see how they get along. I want honest feedback.’

She nodded, gestured to her folder. ‘That’s where the daily blog and Twitter updates come in?’

‘Uh-huh. It’ll give the public instant access to your immediate feelings, build anticipation for when I screen the documentary a week after you return. Building hype and viewer expectation makes for more interesting viewing.’

‘So we’re filmed all the time?’

She screwed up her nose, as enthralled with the idea as he was.

Elliott steepled his fingers like a puppet master looking forward to yanking their strings.

‘No, the cameras are motion-activated, and only situated on certain parts of the island. If you want privacy or time out, there are designated areas.’

Her relief was palpable, as Jared wondered what would make her desperate enough to do this. Sure, she’d said the money, but she’d never been money-driven so there had to be more to it. Then again, it had been eight years. How well did he really know her?

It was different for him. His life had been laid out for public consumption the last seven years, what he ate, where he went, what car he drove, all open to interpretation.

He’d learned to shut off, to ignore the intrusion, was now using it to his advantage for the rec centre.

But what did she get out of this apart from a chance to win the money?

‘Good to know.’ Jared tapped the side of his nose, leaned towards her. ‘Just in case you feel the urge to take advantage of me, you can do it off camera.’

‘In your dreams, Malone.’

‘There’ve been plenty of those, Wilde.’

To his delight, she blushed, dropped her gaze to focus on her fiddling fingers before she removed them from the table, hid them in her lap. He gave her five seconds to compose herself and, on cue, her gaze snapped to his, con fi dent, challenging.

‘You really want to do this here?’ he murmured, grateful when Elliott jerked his head towards the restrooms and made a hasty exit.

‘Do what?’

She was good, all faux wide-eyed innocence and smug mouth. Well, she might be good but he was better. He’d always lobbed back every verbal volley levelled his way, had enjoyed their wordplay as much as their foreplay.

She stimulated him like no other woman he’d ever met and the thought of spending a week getting reacquainted had him as jittery as pre-Grand Slam.

‘You know what.’

He leaned into her personal space, not surprised when she didn’t flinch, didn’t give an inch.

‘You and me. Like this.’ He pointed at her, him. ‘The way we were.’

‘Careful, you’ll break into song any minute now.’

‘Feeling sentimental?’

‘Hardly. I’d have to care to want to take a stroll down memory lane.’

‘And your point is?’

She shrugged, studied her manicured nails at arm’s length. ‘I don’t.’

He laughed, sat back, laid an arm along the back of his chair, his fingers in tantalisingly close proximity to her shoulder.

‘You always were a lousy liar.’

‘I’m not—’

‘There’s a little twitch you get right here.’ He touched a fingertip just shy of a freckle near her top lip. ‘It’s a dead giveaway.’

She stilled, the rebellious gleam in her eyes replaced by a flicker of fear before she blinked, erasing any hint of vulnerability with a bat of her long eyelashes. ‘Still delusional, I see. Must be all the whacks on the head with tennis balls.’

‘I don’t miss-hit.’

‘Not what I’ve seen.’

‘Ah, nice to know you’ve been keeping an eye on my career.’

‘Hard to miss when your publicity-hungry mug is plastered everywhere I look.’

She paused, her defiance edged with curiosity. ‘Is that why you’re doing this? Publicity for your comeback?’

‘I’m not making a comeback.’

The familiar twist low in his gut made a mockery of his adamant stance that it didn’t matter.

He’d fielded countless questions from the media over the last year, had made his decision, had scheduled a press conference. And while he’d reconciled with his decision months ago the thought of leaving his career behind, turning his back on the talent that had saved him, niggled.

Tennis had been his escape, his goal, his saviour, all rolled into one. While he’d originally resented being dumped at the local tennis club by his narcissistic parents, he’d soon found a solitude there he rarely found elsewhere.

He’d been good, damn good, and soon the attention of the coaches, the talent scouts, had made him want to work harder, longer, honing his skill with relentless drive.

He’d had a goal in mind. Get out of Melbourne, away from his parents and their bickering, drinking and unhealthy self-absorption.

It had worked. Tennis had saved him.

And, while resigned to leaving it behind, a small part of him was scared, petrified in fact, of letting go of the only thing that had brought normality to his life.

‘You’re retiring?’

‘That’s the plan.’

He glanced at his watch, wishing Elliott would reappear. Trading banter with Kristi was one thing, fielding her curiosity about his retirement another.

‘Why?’

Her gaze, pinpoint sharp, bored into him the same way it always did when she knew he was being evasive.

He shrugged, leaned back, shoved his hands in his pockets to stop them from rearranging cutlery and giving away his forced casual posture.

‘My knee’s blown.’

Her eyes narrowed; she wasn’t buying his excuse. ‘Reconstructed, I heard. Happens to athletes all the time. So what’s the real reason?’

He needed to give her something or she’d never let up. He’d seen her like this before: harassing him to reveal a surprise present, pestering him to divulge the whereabouts of their surprise weekend away. She was relentless when piqued and there was no way he’d sit here and discuss his real reasons with her.

‘The hunger’s gone. I’m too old to match it with the up-and-coming youngsters.’

‘What are you, all of thirty?’

‘Thirty-one.’

‘But surely some tennis champions played ‘til they were—?’

‘Leave it!’

He regretted his outburst the instant the words left his mouth, her curiosity now rampant rather than appeased.

Rubbing his chin, he said, ‘I’m going to miss it but I’ve got other things I want to do with my life so don’t go feeling sorry for me.’

‘Who said anything about feeling sorry for you?’

The relaxing of her thinned lips belied her response. ‘You’d be the last guy to pity, what with your jet-set lifestyle, your homes in Florida, Monte Carlo and Sydney. Your luxury car collection. Your—’

‘You read too many tabloids,’ he muttered, recognising the irony with him ready to capitalise on the paparazzi’s annoying scrutiny of his life to boost the rec centre’s profile into the stratosphere.

‘Part of my job.’

He laughed. ‘Bull. You used to love poring over those gossip rags for the hell of it.’

‘Research, I tell you.’

She managed a tight smile and it struck him how good this felt: the shared memories, the familiarity. He knew her faults, she knew his and where that closeness had once sent him bolting, he now found it strangely intriguing.

‘We need to get together before we leave for Lorikeet Island.’

Her smile faded, replaced by wariness.

‘Why?’

‘For old times’ sake.’

He leaned closer, crooked his finger at her. ‘Surely you don’t want to rehash our history in front of the cameras?’

With a toss of her hair, she sipped at her mineral water, glancing at him over the rim.

‘The only thing happening in front of the cameras is me pretending to like you.’

Laying a hand on her forearm, pleased when she stiffened in awareness, he murmured, ‘Sure you need to pretend? Because I remember a time when—’

‘Okay, okay, I liked you.’

She snatched her arm away, but not before he’d seen the responsive glimmer darkening her eyes to sapphire. ‘It was a phase in my early twenties that passed along with my passion for leg warmers and spiral perms.’

Not backing off an inch, he shifted his chair closer to hers.

‘Didn’t you hear? Leg warmers are making a comeback.’

‘You aren’t.’

Her stricken expression showed him exactly how much she still cared despite protestations to the contrary. ‘With me, I meant. Not your career. Sorry. Damn …’

‘It’s okay.’

Her discomfort, while rare, was refreshing. ‘So, about our pre-island catch up?’

She sighed. ‘I guess it makes sense.’

‘Eight, tonight?’

‘Fine. Where?’

Not ready to divulge all his secrets just yet, he said, ‘You’ll find out.’

CHAPTER THREE

Stranded Survival Tip #3

Pack all your troubles in your old kit bag; but don’t forget protection … just in case.

‘YOU owe me an ice cream for making me wait in the car.’

Kristi grabbed Meg’s arm and dragged her away from the all-seeing front window of Icebergs. ‘You weren’t in the car, you were strolling on the beach.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I saw you craning your neck to get a squiz at Jared and me through the window.’

‘I wasn’t craning. I was trying to stand on tiptoe.’ Meg shook her head, disgusted. ‘Still couldn’t see a darn thing.’

Perking up as they neared the ice-cream stand, Meg grinned. ‘So, is he still as gorgeous in real life as all those dishy pictures in the papers?’

‘Better,’ Kristi admitted reluctantly, her head still reeling with the impact of twenty minutes in Jared’s intoxicating company, her body buzzing with recognition.

She hadn’t expected such an instantaneous, in-your-face, overwhelming awareness of what they’d once shared, the memories bombarding her as fast as his quips.

Every time he looked at her, she remembered staring into each other’s eyes over fish and chips on Manly beach.

Every time he laughed, she remembered their constant teasing and the resultant chuckles.

Every time he’d touched her, she remembered, in slow, exquisite detail, how he’d played her body with skill and expertise, heat flowing strong and swiftly to every inch of her.

‘I could strangle Ros for putting me in this position.’

‘And which position would that be? Stranded on an island with Jared? Or maybe back in his arms or—’

Kristi gave her sister a narrowed look.

‘If Ros hadn’t dangled the promotion, I never would’ve gone through with this.’

‘Even for a chance to win a hundred grand?’

‘Even for that.’

A lie, but she didn’t want to tip Meg off to her plans for the prize money. Her little sister hated pity, hated charity worse.

When her no-good son-of-a-gun fiancé fled upon hearing news of her pregnancy, it wasn’t enough he took her self-respect, her trust, her hopes and dreams of an amazing marriage like their parents had shared.

Oh, no, the low-life scumbag had to take every last cent of her money too, leaving Meg living in a one-bedroom hellhole in the middle of gangland Sydney, footing bills for their cancelled wedding and working two jobs to save enough money to take a few months off after the baby was born.

Life sucked for her pragmatic sister and, while Meg pretended to be upbeat for the sake of the adorable little Prue, she couldn’t hide the dark rings of fatigue circling her eyes or the wary glances she darted if any guy got too close.

Trusting the wrong guy had shattered Meg’s dreams, her vivacity, her hope for a brilliant future, and Kristi would do anything—including being holed up with her ex for a week—to bring the sparkle back to her sister’s eyes.

‘What are you going to do with the moula if you win?’

‘You’ll find out.’

Stopping at the ice-cream stand, Kristi placed an order for two whippy cones with the lot, her gaze drifting back to Icebergs.

She’d left Jared sitting there, all tanned, toned, six four of tennis star in his prime. He’d always been sexy in that bronze, outdoorsy, ruffled way many Aussie males were, but the young guy she’d lusted after wasn’t a patch on the older, mature Jared.

Years playing in the sun had deepened his skin to mahogany, adding character lines to a handsome face, laugh lines around his eyes. He’d always had those, what with his penchant for laughter.

Nothing had fazed Jared; he was rarely serious. Unfortunately, that had included getting serious about a relationship, resulting in him walking away from her to chase his precious career.

He’d been on the cusp of greatness back then, had vindicated his choice by winning Wimbledon, the French Open and the US Open, twice. The Australian Open had been the only tournament to elude the great Jared Malone for the first few years of his illustrious career and she’d often pondered his apparent distraction in exiting the first or second round of the Melbourne-based tournament.

The ensuing pictures of him with some blonde bombshell or busty brunette on his arm went a long way to explaining his early departures and she gritted her teeth against the fact she’d cared.

Not any more.

She’d seen the evidence firsthand of what choosing the wrong man to spend your life with could do and, considering Jared had run rather than build a future with her, he had proved he wasn’t the man for her.

‘Your ice cream’s melting.’

Blinking, Kristi paid, handed Meg her cone and headed for the sand.

‘You’re walking down there in those?’

Meg pointed at her favourite Louboutin hot pink patent shoes with the staggering heel.

‘Sheesh, hooking up with tennis boy again must really have you rattled.’

‘I’m not “hooking up” with anybody, I’m just going to sit on the wall, take a breather before heading back to work.’

Meg licked her ice cream, her suspicious stare not leaving her sister’s face.

‘You two used to date. Stands to reason there is a fair chance of you hooking up again on that deserted island.’

‘Shut up and eat your ice cream.’

They sat in companionable silence, Kristi determinedly ignoring Meg’s logic. The sharp sun, refreshing ocean breeze, packed beach were reminiscent of countless other days they’d done this together as youngsters and, later, bonded in their grief over their parents’ premature death.

While their parents might have left them financially barren, they could thank them for a family closeness that had always been paramount, ahead of everything else.

‘What do you really think about all this, Megs?’

Crunching the last of her cone, Meg tilted her face up to the sun.

‘Honestly? You’ve never got over tennis boy.’

‘That’s bull. I’ve been engaged twice!’

Meg sat up, tapped her ring finger.

‘Yet you’re not married. Interesting.’

Indignant, Kristi tossed the rest of her ice cream in the bin, folded her arms.

‘So I made wrong decisions? Better I realised before traipsing up the aisle.’

Meg held up her hands. ‘Hey, you’ll get no arguments from me on that point. Look at the farcical mess my short-lived engagement turned into.’

A shadow passed over her sister’s face as Kristi silently cursed her blundering insensitivity.

‘Forget I asked—’

Meg made a zipping motion over her lips as she continued. ‘But Avery and Barton were both decent guys and you seemed happy. Yet the closer the wedding got both times, the more emotionally remote you were. Why’s that?’

Because she’d been chasing a dream each time, a dream she’d had since a little girl, a dream of the perfect wedding.

The dress, the flowers, the reception, she could see it all so clearly, had saved pictures in a scrapbook.

What she couldn’t see was the groom—discounting the magazine pic of Jared Meg had pasted there as a joke when they’d been dating—and while Avery and Barton had momentarily superimposed their images in her dream, they ultimately hadn’t fit.

Avery had entered her life six months after her parents died, had been supportive and gracious and non-pressuring. She’d been lost, grieving and he’d helped her, providing security at a time she needed it most.

It had taken her less than four months to figure out their engagement was a by-product of her need for stability after her parents’ death and she’d ended it.

Not that she’d learned.

Barton had been a friend, supportive of her break up and the loss of her parents, so supportive it had seemed natural to slip into a relationship eight months after Avery had gone.

While their engagement had lasted longer, almost a year, she’d known it wasn’t right deep down, where she craved a unique love-of-her-life romance, not a comfortable relationship that left her warm and fuzzy without a spark in sight.

She’d been guilt-ridden for months after ending both engagements, knowing she shouldn’t have let the relationships go so far but needing to hold onto her dream, needing to feel safe and treasured and loved after the world as she knew it had changed.

Her family had made her feel protected and when she’d lost that she’d looked for security elsewhere. She just wished she hadn’t hurt Avery and Barton in the process.

‘You know why you really didn’t go through with those weddings. It could do you good to admit it.’

Meg nudged her and she bumped right back. She knew what Meg was implying; after Jared, no man had lived up to expectations.

While she’d briefly contemplated that reasoning after each break-up, she’d dismissed it. Jared had been so long ago, had never entertained the possibility of a full-blown relationship let alone a lifetime commitment and he’d never fit in her happily ever after scenario.

Liar. Remember the day he walked in on you in your room-mate’s wedding dress while she was away on her honeymoon? The day you joked about it being their turn soon?

Not only had she envisioned him as her perfect groom, she’d almost believed it for those six months they’d dated.

Until he’d dumped her and bolted without a backward glance.

‘I guess the closer the weddings came on both occasions, the more I realised Avery and Barton didn’t really know me. Sure, we shared similar interests, moved in similar social circles, had similar goals but it was just too … too …’

‘Trite.’

‘Perfect …’ she shook her head, the familiar confusion clouding her brain when she tried to fathom her reasons for calling off her much-desired weddings. ‘… yet it wasn’t perfect. It was like I had this vision of what I wanted and I was doing my damnedest to make it fit. Does that make sense?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Meg paused, squinted her eyes in the Icebergs’ direction. ‘So where does tennis boy fit into your idea of perfection?’

‘Malone’s far from perfect.’

As the words tripped from her tongue an instant image of his sexy smile, the teasing twinkle in his eyes, the hard, ripped body, flashed across her mind, taunting her, mocking her.

Crunching loudly on the tip of her ice-cream cone, Meg sat up, dusted off her hands.

‘You need to do this.’

When Kristi opened her mouth to respond, Meg held up a finger. ‘Not just for the promotion or the possibility of winning all that cash. But for the chance to confront tennis boy, finally get some closure.’

The instant denial they’d had closure eight years ago died on her lips.

He’d walked in on her in that dress, had reneged on their dinner plans and avoided her calls afterwards. Except to call her from the airport before boarding his plane for Florida; and she preferred to forget what had transpired during that gem of a phone call.

Meg was right. While the promotion and prize money were huge incentives to spend a week with Jared stranded on an island, getting closure was the clincher.

Standing, Kristi shot Meg a rueful smile. ‘Remind me never to ask for your advice again.’

‘Don’t ask if you don’t want to hear the truth.’

That was what scared Kristi the most. In confronting Jared, would she finally learn the truth?

About what really went wrong in their relationship all those years ago?

Elliott ordered another double-shot espresso, slid his wire-rimmed glasses back on, peered over them.

‘What gives between you and Kristi Wilde? I’ve never heard you mention her.’

Jared dismissed Elliott’s curiosity with a wave of his hand.

‘Old history.’

‘A history I have a feeling I need to know before we get this project underway.’

Elliott tapped his stack of documents. ‘There were enough sparks flying between the two of you to set this lot alight and I don’t want anything threatening to scuttle this documentary before it’s off the ground. So what’s the story?’

‘I met her when I first moved to Sydney. Spent a few months hanging out, having fun, before I headed for training camp at Florida. That’s it.’

‘All sounds very simple and uncomplicated.’

‘It is.’

Jared downed a glass of water before he was tempted to tell Elliott the rest.

The way she was totally unlike any of the women in his usual social circle back in Melbourne. Her lack of pretence, lack of artificialities, lack of cunning. The way she used to look at him, with laughter and warmth and genuine admiration in her eyes. The way she made him feel, as if he didn’t have a care in the world and didn’t have the responsibility of living up to expectation hanging around his neck like a stone.

No, he couldn’t tell his mate any of that, for voicing his trip down memory lane might catapult him right back to a place he’d rather not be: hurting a woman he cared about.

Elliott rested his folded arms on the table, leaned forward with a shake of his head.

‘Only problem is, my friend, I know you, and simple and uncomplicated are not words I’d use to describe you or any of your relationships.’

‘It wasn’t a relationship,’ he said, an uneasy stab making a mockery of that.

While they’d never spelled it out as such, they’d spent every spare moment in each other’s company, had spent every night together, had painted this city red, blue, white and any other damn colour, and belittling what they had to assuage his friend’s curiosity didn’t sit well with him.

‘Then what was it?’

The best time of his life.

The first woman he’d ever been involved with.

The first person he’d allowed close enough to care.

The first time he’d allowed himself to feel anything other than caution and judgement and bitterness.

He’d been numb after escaping his parents’ bizarre turnaround when they suddenly started acknowledging he existed, had been driven to succeed, to utilise the talent he’d uncovered through their neglect.

Melbourne had held nothing but bad memories and newly clinging parents for him and moving to Sydney had been as much about fresh starts as fostering his career.

Though she hadn’t known it at the time, Kristi had been a saviour: a friend, a lover, a distraction, all rolled into one.

And when she’d got too close … well, he’d done the only thing he could.

He’d run.

‘Kristi and I dated casually. We had fun.’

‘And you didn’t break her heart?’

He hadn’t stuck around long enough for that; had made sure of it.

‘Would she be taking part in your little social experiment if I had?’

Apparently satisfied, Elliott nodded, his glasses sliding down his nose as he absent-mindedly pushed them back up.

‘Good point. She seemed feisty. I reckon she would’ve skewered you if you’d done a number on her.’

‘Too right.’

Not that he agreed with his friend’s assessment. Back then, Kristi had had vulnerability written all over her. She’d acted as if she didn’t care but he’d seen the signs, had caught the unguarded longing stares she’d cast him when she thought he wasn’t looking.