awkward silence fell between them. Zoe was the first to break it. ‘I’m going to head back to my villa,’ she said.
‘How about I come with you? Who knows what we’ll find when we get back to our rooms.’
Her response was more of a cynical twist than a smile, but it was nonetheless attractive. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need a big strong man to protect me. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ he said. ‘But I... Well, I don’t really want to be on my own if we get any aftershocks.’
He wasn’t afraid to admit to vulnerability. Just never on a football pitch.
‘Oh,’ she said.
For the first time she seemed flustered.
‘You’re not...you’re not with someone?’
‘You mean a girlfriend? No. What about you? Are you on your own?’
‘Yes,’ she said, with no further explanation.
He glanced down at her hand. No wedding ring. Though that didn’t necessarily mean no man in her life. ‘I’d like to catch up, Zoe. Find out what you’ve been doing in the last ten years.’
She paused. ‘I don’t need to ask what you’ve done since we last met,’ she said. ‘You’re quite the sporting hero. The media loves you.’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah... That... Don’t believe everything they dish up about me. But seriously, Zoe, I’d really like to spend some time with you.’
* * *
Zoe looked up at him and her heart gave a flip of awareness. Mitch Bailey. Still the same: so handsome, so unselfconscious, standing before her in just a pair of swim shorts that did nothing to hide the athletic perfection of his body. So full of the innate confidence that came with the knowledge that he had always been liked, admired, wanted. So sure she’d want to spend time with him.
And she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t.
He was the best-looking man she’d ever met. Had been then—still was now. She couldn’t deny that. But all those years ago she’d seen a more vulnerable side of Mitch that had endeared him to her before he’d pushed her out of his life. Had it survived his stardom? It was difficult to resist the chance to find out.
‘I’d like to catch up too,’ she said lightly. ‘After all, it isn’t every day an earthquake brings long-lost school buddies together.’
He didn’t seem to remember the circumstances of their last meeting. It had been a long time ago. Devastating to her at the time. Insignificant, it seemed, to him.
Had she had a crush on him back then? Of course she had. A deeply hidden, secret, impossible crush. He’d been so out of her league she would have been relentlessly mocked if anyone had found out.
‘Great,’ he said with a smile.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was tinged with relief.
‘The manager said it was business as usual. We can order drinks. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a beer.’
‘Me too,’ she said.
And the first thing she’d do before she spent any more time alone with Mitch Bailey would be to put on some clothes.
ZOE’S VILLA HAD suffered minimal damage from the tremor—just a few glasses she’d left out had smashed to the tiled floor. Still, it was a shock—a reminder of how much worse it could have been. Might yet be.
She wanted to clear up the broken glass. But she felt awkward dressed only in the towel and she still felt very shaky. For every piece she picked up, she dropped another.
Mitch insisted he do it for her. Thanking him, she escaped into her bedroom and pulled closed the door that divided the room from the living area. The villa was like a roomy one-bedroom apartment, with all the external doors folding back to access the enclosed courtyard and private lap pool.
Her heart was thumping like crazy. Residual fear from the earthquake? More likely the effect of being in close proximity to Mitch Bailey.
She hadn’t stalked him over the years. Not that. But when a boy she’d gone to school with had shot to fame she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t read the magazine stories, watched the television interviews, cheered for him when he’d been the youngest ever player in the Australian Socceroos team for the World Cup.
All the while she’d been getting on with her life—first studying, then working, dating, and only ever thinking about him when the media brought him to her attention.
Now he’d been thrust into her life again. And she was clad in a towel, with no make-up on and her hair all mussed up with massage oil.
Hastily she pulled on a sleekly cut black bikini, then slid into a simple sleeveless dress in an abstract black-and-white print. It fell to just above her knees. The humid tropical heat made anything else uncomfortable. She pulled a brush through her hair and slicked on a natural toned lipstick.
Did she want to look her best for Mitch? Her ‘best’ involved twenty minutes in front of a mirror with a make-up kit and heated hair tongs. She shouldn’t be worried about how she looked now; he’d seen her at her worst ten years ago. She shuddered at the memory of what she’d looked like back then. The mono-brow. The bushy hair. The prone-to-eruption skin.
But still, she wished today she could look her usual polished, poised self. Her best self. There was no denying she’d feel more confident with straightened hair and more make-up. But she didn’t want to waste time fussing over her appearance when she could be catching up with Mitch. Who knew when she’d see him again—if ever?
He’d switched on the television in the living area and was watching the screen when she came back out of her bedroom.
‘The manager was right—there’s minimal disruption,’ he said. ‘Seems like Bali gets small tremors like this quite often. But the risk of aftershocks is real.’
Aftershocks. She knuckled her hand against her mouth to suppress a gasp; she didn’t want to appear too fearful. Not when Mitch seemed so laid back about the risk.
He switched off the TV and turned to face her. Had he grown taller since she’d last stood so near to him? They were both in their bare feet. He seemed to stand about six-foot-one to her five-foot-five.
Six-foot-one of total hotness.
Mitch was an elite sportsman in his prime, and he had celebrity status with as many fans as any actor or musician.
Her proximity to his bare chest was doing nothing to slow down her revved-up heartbeat. If she’d had a T-shirt big enough to stretch over all those muscles, she would have offered to lend it to him. But wouldn’t it be a crime to cover that expanse of buff body?
She wanted to take a step
