‘If it’s any consolation I was taken in by him too. Why else would I agree to be best man to a guy I hardly knew? He was persuasive. Played on a long-ago friendship. The fact I was back in Sydney after a lengthy absence and looking to establish a new circle of people.’
‘Did you know I agreed to marry him after only a few months? He knew exactly how to play me,’ she said with a bitter twist to her mouth. ‘Made me believe that everything I wanted from life, he wanted too.’
What did Nikki want? Max realised how very little he actually knew about her. And how tempting it would be to find out more.
* * *
Nikki had not intended to confide in Max about The Abominable Alan, the nickname Maya had given her former fiancé. But it was a relief to discover that his best man had been fooled by him as well. Alan had probably had an ulterior motive in his dealings with Max, as he had with her. Max was a very wealthy man. A multimillionaire. That fact had come up again and again in the media stories about him. She wondered if Alan had approached him to invest in some dodgy enterprise.
She didn’t dare ask. Max had given her the impression of being contained—a private person, in spite of his public persona as a love cheat. There were tennis players who threw tantrums, were known for bad behaviour. Not Max. He was renowned for being courteous and well-mannered on the court, the smiling assassin with his killer serve. That first night at the rehearsal, once she’d got over the shock that her groom’s best man was a tennis superstar, she’d found him surprisingly reserved. She’d done her best to make him feel comfortable in a room full of people who were strangers to him. Not that it had been a hardship. Not only was Max heart-stoppingly handsome in that strong, athletic way, he’d also made her laugh with his wry comments about wedding procedure. She’d liked him. A lot.
It was ironic, she thought now, that her groom had turned out to be a stranger to her while the unknown best man had done her a favour. But even one moment of her brainpower directed towards Alan was a moment too many. Seeing Max here had brought back feelings that she’d believed six months away from her old life had insulated her against. The discovery of Alan’s perfidy, the shattering of her happy-ever-after illusion had left her broken. Her time on the island had helped the healing process. She didn’t want the plaster ripped off old wounds. Or any controversy about her and Max stirred up again. They each had much to gain by staying out of each other’s way.
‘You know we really shouldn’t be standing here chit-chatting,’ she said. ‘I doubt anyone on this beach would recognise me. But you could be a different matter. I know your hair is longer and you’re growing a beard—which by the way looks really good and suits you—but you’re famous in a way I’m not. It would only take one fan to spot you and—’
‘Disaster,’ he said, taking a step back from her.
‘May I suggest you wear a hat as a kind of disguise?’ she said. ‘You’ll need to wear one anyway for the heat. The weather gets really steamy here.’
‘It gets so hot on the uncovered courts at the Australian Open that players have hallucinated and collapsed during a game,’ he said.
‘But not you?’ she said with a challenging tilt of her head.
‘Not me,’ he said. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
‘You laugh at the heat?’
In response she had the full impact of the slow, lazy grin he was famed for. Her heart beat a little tattoo of awareness. He was hot.
‘I wouldn’t say that. But I grew up in the central west of New South Wales where the summers are blazing. When I wasn’t playing tennis I was helping my dad on the family farm.’
She’d like to ask him about that too. ‘Boy from the bush made good’ was a popular description of him. She would have to content herself with looking him up on the Internet rather than engaging in the kind of first-date conversation she could never have with him.
‘It’s a different kind of heat here. It took me a while to get acclimatised.’ Though the temperature seemed to rise just standing near him.
‘I’ll take your advice and buy a hat,’ he said.
She bit her tongue to stop herself from offering to help him choose a style that suited him. Not a good idea.
Instead she gave impersonal advice. ‘There are a few shops selling hats up on the main street. Well, it’s the only street, really.’
‘I saw a place that seemed to sell everything including hats near the warung where I plan to have lunch.’
‘You’re having lunch here? I was going to have lunch in the village as well. I like to have a change from eating in Frangipani Bay.’
They fell suddenly, awkwardly silent. Nikki looked up into his blue, blue eyes. She was aware of the gentle swishing of the water on the sand. People from the boats calling to each other in Indonesian. Laughter that would soon turn to squeals from the tourists decked out in orange life jackets climbing aboard the banana float that would be towed out to sea at speed by a small boat.
The words hung unspoken between them. Why not have lunch together?
When she finally spoke she knew her words were tumbling over each other too fast. ‘Obviously that plan is out the window. I’ll go straight back to Big Blue and grab a bite there. But I have a favourite café here. Excellent food. You must try it. I’ll tell you the name.’
He frowned. ‘Why should you miss your lunch? You go to your café. If my warung is too close, I’ll find another one. I’m sure it’s not the only one serving nasi goreng.’
Again the nervous giggle. What was wrong with her? ‘It most certainly wouldn’t be the only one. Nasi goreng and mie goreng are probably the most commonly served meals on the island.’
‘What’s the difference?’ he asked.
‘Nasi goreng is a spicy fried rice served with vegetables and maybe prawns or chicken and usually an egg. But then you know that as you’ve already tried it. Mie goreng is fried noodles made in a similar way. I actually prefer it.’
‘Do you speak Indonesian?’
‘A little. Quite a lot, actually. Maya taught me when we were at school. I’m much better at it than I was when I first arrived.’ Well, that was stating the obvious. ‘There are differences in Balinese and Lembongan, of course. You won’t need to worry. Everyone dealing with visitors speaks English. They learn it in school.’
If Max thought she was gabbling he didn’t show it. Again that slow, lazy smile. ‘That’s useful to know. I wish—’
‘You wish what?’
Time seemed to stop as he looked down into her face. ‘You could be my guide to all things Lembongan,’ he said slowly.
A dangerous thrill of anticipation shot through her. She would like that very much. ‘But that can’t be,’ she said, stamping down firmly on that feeling.
‘I know,’ he said, regret underscoring his words.
‘We both know we can’t spend time together. Not if we don’t want to risk ending up sharing headlines again. I don’t think I could deal with a new onslaught of that kind of attention.’
‘If we had met under different circumstances, if we were different people, perhaps—’ She felt her heartbeat trip up a gear. What was he saying?
‘Perhaps?’
‘It would be a different story,’ he said abruptly. Nikki wasn’t sure that was what he had intended to end his perhaps with but there was little point in pursuing it. It was enough to know that the spark of interest wasn’t completely one-sided. Not that she could do anything about it.
‘So how should we handle this, Maxwell James? Pretend we don’t know each other?’
‘That could work,’ he said.
‘We’ll make it work,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to take Maya and Kadek into our confidence. She was there on the church steps. She saw it all.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Can you trust her?’
‘Absolutely without question,’ she said. She
took a deep breath, took a step back from him. ‘We need to start as we mean to continue. You go your way and I go mine. Strangers who happened to chat with each other on the beach about the difference between fried rice and fried noodles.’
‘Yes,’ he said. Was that regret shadowing his eyes? Or just the reflection of her own feelings?
‘How did you get here to the village?’ she asked.
‘I rode one of the hotel’s mountain bikes.’
‘That was brave of you. The roads in some places are more potholes than surface and there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of road rules.’
‘I noticed,’ he said in the understated way she was beginning to appreciate. ‘You?’
‘The hotel truck will come to pick me up when I’m ready.’
‘The troop carrier?’
She smiled. ‘That’s one way of describing the taxis here.’
Transport on the island comprised mainly open-backed trucks where the passengers sat facing each other on parallel benches in the back. No seat belts. No safety rules like back home. It had taken some getting used to. But the drivers were considerate and courteous. And now Nikki never gave the fact she could be risking her life every time she climbed on board a second thought. That was how you lived here and there was a certain freedom to it that she liked. There were different risks and perils back in Sydney.
She reached down to pick up her backpack from where it rested on the sand. Max leaned down at the same time. ‘Let me carry that for you.’ Their hands brushed just for a moment as he reached for the strap but long enough for that same electric feeling that had tingled through her when he’d carried her over the threshold. She snatched her backpack back to her.
‘That’s very chivalrous of you. Again. But to see you carrying my bag might kind of give the game away, mightn’t it?’
‘I get that,’ he said. ‘But it goes against the grain to let you lift that heavy pack.’
‘Must be your rural upbringing,’ she said. It was part of the Max Conway mythology that he’d started playing tennis on a rundown community court in a tiny town in the central west of New South Wales.
‘There’s that. But I grew up seeing my father treat my mother well. He would have done that wherever we lived.’
‘How refreshing,’ she said, unable to suppress the note of bitterness from her voice. She seemed to have spent a good deal of her twenty-nine years around men for whom treating women well was not a priority. Like her father—now divorced from wife number three. Like her cheating high-school boyfriend with whom she’d wasted way too many years in a roller coaster of a relationship. And then there was Abominable Alan.
‘It’s not always appreciated,’ he said. Nikki remembered that as part of the ‘best man betrayal’ frenzy, one of the big women’s magazines had run an interview with Max’s hometown girlfriend who had nursed a grudge against him. Just another in a line of ‘love cheat’ stories about him.
‘Trust me, I would appreciate it,’ she said with rather too much fervour. ‘But I’ve been looking after myself for a long time and am quite okay about carrying my own backpack.’
She picked up the bag and heaved it onto her back. It would have been crass to shrug off his help with getting the straps in place across her back. Even if she did have to grit her teeth against the pleasurable warmth of his touch through the fine cotton fabric of her top.
‘Feel okay?’ he asked as he adjusted the strap.
‘Fine,’ she said as nonchalantly as she could manage with the sensation of his fingers so close to her skin. It wasn’t the balance of the backpack that felt fine but his touch. ‘It’s not very heavy, anyway.’
She straightened her shoulders. ‘Now you need to go your way and I need to go mine. You head off up the alley through those two shops. It will take you onto the street. The café I like is to the right, so you turn to the left. About six shops down there’s a great little warung serving Balinese food.’
‘Hey, that’s the place I was heading for with the great nasi goreng. Seems you know what pleases me.’
‘Just a lucky guess,’ she said, flustered by his tone, not wanting to meet his gaze.
‘If I see you on the street, I ignore you, right?’ he said. ‘No hard feelings?’
‘No hard feelings,’ she said. ‘I’ll do the same.’
She watched him as he strode away. His back view was as impressive as his front—broad shoulders tapering to a tight butt, lean muscular legs. He was a spectacular athlete on court, leaping and twisting high in the air to connect with the ball in an incredible reach. Not that she’d ever taken much notice before their encounter at her wedding. But in her down time here on the island, she’d discovered there were many online videos of Max Conway’s greatest sporting achievements to enjoy.
As he headed towards the street, she realised she wasn’t the only one admiring his good looks and athletic grace. A group of attractive girls watched him too, through narrowed, speculative eyes. For a heart-stopping moment Nikki thought they recognised him. But no. They just thought he was hot.
So, heaven help her, did she.
CHAPTER FOUR
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Max sat out by the lap pool under the shade of a frangipani tree in the small, private courtyard outside his room. He was trying to concentrate on a proposal from his agent for a new role—something very different that had potential to be either an exciting new direction or a monumental sell-out. But the words on the screen blurred before his eyes.
There was no reason he should feel so distracted. This place was a private paradise. His one-bedroom suite was spacious and comfortable, traditional with its thatched peaked roof and woven bamboo ceiling, modern in its stylishly appointed open-air shower and air-conditioning.
The courtyard was surrounded by high stone walls and planted with a profusion of lush, tropical plants. The pool was long enough to swim laps, the water cool and sparkling. It was quiet, with just the occasional cooing of doves and echoes of distant laughter coming from somewhere else in the resort to break the silence. The place had everything he’d wanted for his vacation. Seclusion. Privacy. Time alone with his thoughts.
Trouble was his thoughts were no longer his own. Nikki Lucas. Since their encounter earlier in the day she had been flitting in and out of his mind, getting in the way of everything else, tripping up his concentration.
As if the recurring dream weren’t bad enough, now he was haunted by the image of her on the beach, laughing up at him, the turquoise sea behind her, green glints in her warm brown eyes, her gauzy shirt clinging to her curves. She had agreed so readily to stay out of his way. As wary, it seemed, as he was about adverse publicity. It was refreshing that she wasn’t grasping after him.
He was used to women who, when it came to him, had an agenda. He was wealthy. Wealthier even, thanks to canny investments, than many people suspected. Reasonably good-looking. And, until the elbow incident, at the top of his game. That brought with it a lot of female attention. Not all of it the right type. At first he’d been dazzled by the attention—what red-blooded young man wouldn’t be? But he’d soon learned he wasn’t a bed-hopping kind of guy. He wanted more, a real relationship, a partnership, but his dedication to his career made that something for the future. Along the way, he’d been burned by women with no interest in him as himself, as just Max, but instead only as a celebrity sports star and what they could get from him.
Even his high-school girlfriend, Lisa, had proved herself to be not immune to the lure of his bank account. From the get-go he’d made it clear he could not commit to her. That his career, with its arduous training schedules and constant travel, came first and would for a long time. He’d broken up with her when he’d moved away for good.
But he’d held happy memories of her and in a moment of nostalgia had hooked up with her on a whirlwind visit to his parents. Only later to be hit by news she’d had a baby
and a demand for child support. If it had been true, he would have totally stepped up to his responsibilities. But a DNA test had proved he was not the father. How the episode had leaked to the press he had no idea. But the speculation had not been pleasant. Though how they’d made him out to be the ‘love cheat’ in that case had been beyond him.
Perhaps Lisa’s resentment of him had been behind her recent hostile interview where she’d claimed he was selfish, without scruples, and exactly the kind of man who would run away with his friend’s bride just because he could. He shuddered at the memory of it—her words, untrue though they were, had hurt. No wonder he was wary, didn’t easily place his trust in women. No wonder he hated the intrusion of the media.
But Nikki seemed different. After all, she’d already got what she’d wanted from him—help to escape from her wedding. He had done so and moved on. She needn’t have any further role in his life. Avoiding her should be easy.
He forced his attention back to the screen. All of his adult years had been devoted to tennis—and a good deal of his young years as well. His tennis career had meant a tight schedule where every minute of every twenty-four hours was arranged and accounted for. Others had laughed to discover that he practised even on Christmas Day—but he’d felt the joke was on the people who didn’t train at his level of intensity. It gave him the edge.
But deciding on a new direction that would satisfy his need to excel was not proving to be straightforward. It wasn’t that he needed the money. He need never work again if he didn’t want to. But he wanted a purpose, something to drive him forward, a focus. Sitting still had never been his thing. By the time he’d spent two weeks here he was determined to have made a final decision.
Just minutes later, he was surprised by the chiming of the wind chimes hanging by the gate that acted as a doorbell. He hadn’t ordered room service. And it was too early for the bed to be turned down.
He opened the ornately carved wooden doors at the entrance to the courtyard. Nikki stood at the threshold. She was carrying a circular wooden tray of snack-sized foods wrapped in banana leaves and an array of sliced fruit, which she held out in front of her like an offering. Max was too surprised to do anything but stare.
Best Man and the Runaway Bride Page 4