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
