Nicola Marsh - Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex

‘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.’

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?’