Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex! Page 6

  Despite the bitterness following their break-up, despite the anger that infused every part of her trusting soul until she wanted to wring his neck, after spending a day with him, she was forced to acknowledge the truth.

  A small part of her still cared.

  Always had, and spending time with him reinforced Meg’s theory: maybe she hadn’t gone through with her two marriages because of this man and the mark he’d left on her all those years ago.

  Call her crazy, call her corny, but she suddenly understood the quaint term ‘being spoiled for any other man’. Jared had branded her heart as surely as if he’d taken a heated iron bar and pressed it there, leaving her burned, marked as his.

  Her hand fell from his shoulder and she stepped away, surprised when he turned to face her, his expression inscrutable in the shadows.

  ‘Ever had someone have a profound effect on your life?’

  Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that and she cautiously nodded, not wanting to turn this into a conversation about her.

  ‘My folks, I guess. They were amazing.’

  ‘You would’ve done anything for them, right?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  She had no idea where he was going with this, assuming he was indebted to a mentor, maybe a coach, which had influenced his decision to retire.

  Dragging a hand through his hair, he shook his head. ‘Getting injured, going through rehab, seeing all those injured and partially disabled kids gave me time to think about where my life was heading. Through all those boring hydrotherapy sessions I figured it was time to do something else than hit a ball around a court.’

  ‘Something you were darn good at, mind you.’

  ‘I was, wasn’t I?’

  His proud grin warmed her heart. ‘Now that’s the modest Jared Malone I know and love.’

  Yikes! She’d spoken too quickly, made a gaffe of monumental proportions.

  To his credit, his smile didn’t slip but she saw caution creep into his eyes.

  ‘Glad to hear I haven’t lost any of my multitudes of adoring fans.’

  She could’ve left it there, should’ve left it there, but she’d never taken the safe option when it came to this man.

  ‘Is that all I ever was to you?’

  ‘You know better than that.’

  Did she?

  They’d had a whirlwind romance that lasted six months. He’d moved to Sydney, they’d met at a PR event; she’d been smitten the first time he’d smiled at her. And while he’d lavished her with compliments, spent every spare moment off the courts with her, she knew she’d fallen harder.

  He’d never said he’d loved her, never made any promises, and watching him walk away had broken her heart. Her gullible, impressionable heart that used to leap into the palm of his hand every time he was near.

  Thank goodness she’d grown up, wised up, toughened up.

  ‘It’s late. Think I’ll turn in.’

  She hadn’t taken two steps before his hand slid around her waist and she stopped, held her breath, aware of the inky darkness, the soft lapping of waves on the shore and the heat, so much heat, from his simple touch.

  ‘We were good together.’

  What the heck did that mean? They could be again? Not bloody likely!

  She spun around, expecting to brush off his hand. It didn’t move and she found herself tantalisingly close to a body she’d once known intimately, a body giving off signals she didn’t have a hope of ignoring.

  ‘What do you want from me, Jared?’

  She watched a million responses flicker across his face, before his mouth quirked into that familiar, sexy, heart-rending smile.

  Tugging her close, he gazed into her eyes and she knew right that very second, she was in trouble. Big Trouble.

  ‘What do I want?’

  His gaze dropped to her lips as anticipation fizzed through her like expensive champagne.

  ‘This.’

  His kiss catapulted her back to a time filled with special memories and the sweetness of first love, a time where a charming, gregarious and utterly devastating man had swept her off her feet. A time she’d lost all sense of reason until it was too late.

  Which begged the question: what on earth was she doing letting him kiss her now?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Stranded Survival Tip #7

  Avoid board games to pass time. Arguments assured.

  KRISTI’S BLOG, DAY 2

  One down, six to go. Honestly, how long can one week drag?

  As fellow ‘strandees’ can’t read each other’s blogs I’m going to be blunt.

  Being stuck on this island is KILLING me!

  No Italian milk hot chocolates from Max Brenner, no Caesar salads from my favourite café in Bondi, no lunchtime retail therapy dashes to check out shoes.

  Worst of all? No peace of mind.

  Word of advice to anyone contemplating a similar madness? Don’t do it.

  Being cooped up with an ex is similar to getting a bikini wax: pure torture.

  Wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t like him but we’re talking about THE Jared Malone. Ladies, you know what I mean. You’ve seen him with his shirt off courtside a thousand times, you’ve seen him interviewed and heard his snappy one liners, and you’ve seen that killer smile.

  Say no more.

  I’m a wreck.

  Pretending like everything is just oh-so-casual is tough. Staying immune to the damn charmer tougher.

  See, this is the problem with no TV. You’re forced to read or talk and there are only so many back issues of Vogue I can skim. Which leaves me back at square one: talking to the guy, laughing at his jokes, acting all matey when…when…heck, I’m not supposed to like him any more!

  Repeat after me: six days to go…

  JARED’S BLOG, DAY 2

  Hanging out with Kristi is cool. Like being with an old buddy and not having to make an effort. Next six days going to be a blast.

  SHE was killing him.

  With every squirt of the suntan lotion tube, every slow, deliberate rub down her arm, down her long legs, with every wriggle of her cute butt as she got comfortable on her beach towel, she was killing him.

  So much for a week of banter, flirtation, nothing too heavy.

  As Kristi rolled from her back to her front, inadvertently squeezing her breasts together, spilling over the top of the tiniest green bikini he’d ever seen, Jared bit back a groan and resumed the mundane task of gathering kindle.

  This was all his fault.

  He’d never meant to kiss her, had intended on having a little fun while on the island, had wanted to keep things light-hearted.

  Then she’d gone all serious on him, probing into his reasons behind quitting the tennis world, had opened a chasm in his heart he ignored every day, and he’d lost it.

  Kissing her had been the lesser of two evils, for he had no intention of delving into his psyche and the constant reminder he would never play tennis again.

  His manager and coach had pushed him to see a psychologist after the injury, mandatory for any pro cut down in his prime.

  He’d faced the usual questions: how do you feel about your injury? Are you resentful? Angry? Liable to go off the deep end?

  Okay, so that last one hadn’t been phrased quite like that, but the uptight geek in his fancy glass-enclosed office that hadn’t spent a day on a court in his life had prodded and probed his mind until he would’ve said anything to get out of there.

  The thing was no amount of therapy sessions with an elite sports psychologist would ease the ache of losing a part of himself, the only part of him linking him to his flaky parents.

  And that was what peed him off the most.

  The fact he cared.

  After living through the nightmare of their dysfunctional relationship, after surviving their total oblivion to having a son, the second he’d been discovered and won Junior Wimbledon his parents had done an about-face.

  He’d initially hated their sudden fawni
ng, had doubted every overture they’d made, until the locked away part of him that had always craved their approval cracked and let them in.

  The smart, cynical side of him knew why they’d done it. To bask in the reflected glory of his triumphs, to share in his fame.

  Yet the vulnerable little boy desperate for a smidgeon of affection from his parents thrived under their long-overdue attention, enjoyed having them courtside, applauding him, fist-pumping along every hard-fought victory, sharing in his Grand Slam titles.

  So what would happen to their tentative relationship now he’d quit? Considering the sparse visits during his rehab, the lack of phone calls recently, he knew. Whoever had coined the phrase the truth hurt had a courtside seat to his life.

  Now this.

  Kristi made an impolite slurping as she guzzled her favourite soda and he raised his head, watching her.

  He didn’t give a damn what the cameras picked up, didn’t care if they captured an image of a schmuck blinded by the only woman to ever get remotely close to him.

  He’d flirted with the world’s most beautiful women, from film stars to royalty, and contrary to paparazzi reports hadn’t slept with them all. He hadn’t had the time, focused solely on being the best and obtaining the number-one ranking.

  Tennis had consumed his life for so long. Now it was gone. And while his priorities had shifted into the business arena, a small part of him was terrified he’d revert back to that lost kid who wasn’t good enough unless he held a racket.

  Kristi knew nothing of his past and he’d like to keep it that way. She might be the closest thing he’d ever had to a relationship but that didn’t mean he’d lose his head again.

  As for his heart, he’d locked that away a long time ago, safe from trust and inevitable pain when people you loved didn’t give a toss either way.

  ‘Done with the caveman routine?’

  The organ he refused to acknowledge lurched as he glanced up, saw Kristi on her side, propped on an elbow, wearing that sinful green bikini and a reluctant smile.

  She’d been frosty towards him over dinner, with more of the same since they’d arrived on the island, but under his constant barrage of teasing she was finally starting to thaw.

  Not that he blamed her. From her angry outburst when he’d picked her up the other night, she hadn’t forgiven him for choosing his tennis career over her all those years ago.

  But he’d had no choice.

  Not that he’d go delving into his reasons why now.

  For their time on the island he wanted to recapture some of their old magic, wanted to make her laugh and fire back those scathing one-liners as she used to, wanted to see her eyes sparkle just for him, for old times’ sake.

  Hands on hips, he wrenched his straying gaze away from the tempting expanses of flesh on display. ‘Weren’t you the one who wanted to toast marshmallows tonight?’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  She pressed a hand to her chest and his gaze followed, shooting down his intentions to keep his distance.

  ‘Do you even have any?’

  She chuckled, lowered her sunglasses to stare at him over the top. ‘Maybe you should’ve asked that before planning to build a bonfire that can be seen in New Zealand.’

  Adding another branch onto the growing pile, he feigned indifference.

  ‘I’m surprised you could fit any marshmallows in your case, what with that mobile shoe shop you carry around.’

  Her eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth twitching. ‘Are you dissing my shoes?’

  ‘Merely making an observation.’

  With a little huff that was so adorable he wanted to kiss her senseless, she pouted.

  ‘I’ll have you know it takes effort to look this good.’

  His gaze raked her from top to toe, lingering on her curves, the hollow of her hip, the dip of her collarbone, remembering how he’d traced every inch of her once, how he hadn’t been able to get enough.

  Logically, he knew it would be foolish to resurrect the past, when nothing fundamental had changed. Kristi was a relationship type of girl. He was a guy who had no intention of getting emotionally involved with anyone.

  Physically, his body was on memory overload, sifting through every incredible, erotic encounter the two of them had ever had.

  ‘You’re not looking at my shoes.’

  Dragging his gaze to meet hers, he raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re not wearing any.’

  She scooped up a spangly flip-flop, dangling it from a finger.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Suitcase filler?’

  ‘Heathen,’ she muttered, sliding her sunglasses back into place and rolling onto her back. ‘Get back to your wood gathering. It’s what you Neanderthals are good at.’

  ‘Sticks and stones,’ he said, much more at ease with this banter than last night’s emotion-charged discussion.

  Pointing at the diminutive wood pile, she smirked. ‘More sticks. Less stones.’

  Dusting off his hands, he planted them squarely on his hips, glared her down.

  ‘If someone spent less time criticising and more time helping, we might actually get this fire built before dusk.’

  ‘And ruin your he-man reputation? Not likely.’

  With a shooing wiggle of her fingers in a dismissive wave, she rolled over onto her tummy and turned her head the other way, leaving him with an ideal view of her great butt.

  He’d like nothing better than to march over there, grab her and pick up where they left off last night. Instead, he clenched his hands several times, shook them out before turning on his heel and heading off in search for more wood.

  His sole intention for being stuck on this island for a week might revolve around priceless free publicity for the rec centre, but the more time he spent sparring with Kristi, the further his intentions would evolve.

  Into something he couldn’t contemplate.

  Grateful he’d dropped out of a camera’s vision, he roundly cursed as he picked up a piece of wood and hurled it as far as he could.

  Twitter.com/Stranded_Jared

  Playing best buddies with an ex sucks.

  Twitter.com/Stranded_Kristi

  Cosy campfire, toasted marshmallows, hot guy. What?

  A girl can look, right?

  ‘Don’t go getting any ideas.’

  ‘Huh?’ Kristi stretched, rubbed her tummy and moaned as Jared popped a marshmallow off the end of the stick, juggling it between hands and blowing on it.

  ‘We are not doing this every night.’

  ‘Considering I’ve just consumed half a bag of marshmallows and can barely move, you won’t get any complaints from me.’

  Throwing the marshmallow in the air, he tilted his head back, caught it in his open mouth first try.

  ‘That’s what you say now but I bet you’ll be back to your bossy best tomorrow, making me gather firewood while you loll around.’

  Shaking her head as he offered her the last marshmallow, she said, ‘Think of the ratings. All those women viewers out there will be glued to their screens, starry-eyed over your flexing muscles as you gather wood.’

  Flicking his glance over her denim cargo shorts and white ribbed singlet top, he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I think you’re doing more than your fair share for ratings, what with that scrap of material passing as a bikini you wore today.’

  He’d noticed! She’d been furious after that kiss, angrier with herself than him. She’d expect something like that from him considering his blasé attitude, as if they could pick up their relationship and run with it.

  But her responding to the kiss…now that was another matter. Oh, she’d been resistant at first. But the longer his lips had coaxed her, plied her with a skill that still left her breathless after all this time, she’d lost her mind, forgetting every sane reason why she shouldn’t respond.

  She didn’t know what was worse: her mortification that she’d kissed him back or the discovery her resilience against this man was under
serious threat now she’d let him in a fraction.

  Like any woman scorned, she’d mulled over payback. And deliberately worn the most provocative bikini she owned today. Foolish, maybe, but she wanted to rattle him as much as he’d rattled her last night with that unexpected kiss. What she hadn’t banked on was the heat of awareness prickling her body every time he glanced her way.

  She’d moved on eight years ago, had two diamond solitaires to prove it, but when Jared looked at her in that special way he catapulted her right back to a time when she’d once been crazy for him.

  ‘It’s supposed to be realistic. What else is a girl supposed to wear on an island?’

  She only just caught his muttered ‘a neck-to-knee bathing suit’.

  Oh, yeah, she was getting to him.

  She should feel vindicated. Instead, a strange sense of deflation crept over her. What was she doing? Playing some silly tit-for-tat game when she’d vowed to keep her distance.

  Her response to his kiss had been an aberration, a reaction of a woman who hadn’t had a date let alone a peck of a kiss in ages. Best she ignored it, reverted to her original plan: ignore, ignore, ignore.

  Hugging her knees to her chest, she folded her arms, rested her chin on them, watching the shadows from the fire play across his face, highlighting a cheekbone here, a jaw line there.

  He’d always been handsome but there was something about him now…an assuredness he’d never had when they’d first met.