by Nicola Marsh
‘Typical.’
‘Of what?’
She turned her head slightly, caution deepening her eyes to sapphire. ‘Of you bolting from anything resembling emotion.’
‘Ouch.’
He clutched his heart, faked a smile when in fact her comment hit too close to home.
‘But, hey, nothing I didn’t know already, right?’
Her light tone hadn’t changed but there was something in her eyes, a hint of vulnerability bordering on hurt that made him want to snatch her into his arms and never let go.
‘Yours were rather revealing.’
She quickly averted her gaze as a blush stained her cheeks. ‘Really? I didn’t think they said much.’
‘Oh, they said plenty.’
‘Maybe you read too much into them?’
Unable to resist teasing her, he ran a fingertip across her collarbone, delighting in the instant pebbling of her skin beneath his touch.
‘That’s something I’d like to find out,’ he murmured, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek.
‘Ready?’ Elliott rubbed his hands together, glanced at his captive audience, while Jared straightened, then sneaked a hand across and squeezed Kristi’s knee in reassurance.
‘Later,’ he mouthed, relieved when she nodded and placed her hand on top of his.
Rosanna called out, ‘Roll the tape, maestro,’ as Jared slung an arm over the back of the sofa, his fingertips brushing Kristi’s left shoulder, the soft smooth skin beckoning him to continue his exploration, sending blinding need pounding through him.
She leaned into him, snuggling, and as he tightened his grip he wondered what took him so long to figure out this felt right.
As their faces filled the projector screen Elliott had set up for the preview his contentment received a serious jolt.
There she was, on the first day, staring up at him as the boat pulled away, stranding them on Lorikeet Island.
And there he was, looking down on her, his adoring expression so open, so revealing, it snagged his breath in his lungs and held it there until he exhaled in a panicked whoosh.
Heck, if his feelings were that obvious—on the first day!—what would the rest of the documentary reveal?
Over the next hour he sat there, mortified with every passing minute, wondering if the public would see past her initial prickliness, her reticence, the arguments, his jokes, his deliberate flirting, and see what he saw.
A guy in love.
A guy so obviously in love he’d let the whole world know before telling the woman in question.
As the final credits rolled, and Meg and Rosanna hooted, whistled and broke into spontaneous applause, Jared removed his arm, sat up and stared straight ahead, his back ramrod straight, his face deliberately expressionless.
Hell.
Elliott switched on the lights, worry lines creasing his brow. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘It’s fantastic!’
Meg gave a thumbs-up of approval while Rosanna’s eyes glittered with triumph.
‘Pure gold,’ Rosanna said, leaping up from her chair to grab Elliott’s arm. ‘Would you like me to put a PR package together for you? Because we’re doing one for Channel Nine’s new show shortly and…’
He tuned off, his senses on high alert, his attention focused on the woman beside him who hadn’t said a word.
Picking up on the tension, Meg cast a worried glance their way before heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ll grab the pitcher of margaritas. Back in a minute.’
Jared didn’t move, bracing his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, his gaze riveted to the screen, shell shocked.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kristi spoke. ‘What did you think?’
He blew out a long, low breath, before finally turning to face her.
‘I think we need to talk.’
‘You’re giving me the ‘we need to talk’ line?’
Her anger spiked in a second, her lips compressed, her eyes flashing fire, as he silently cursed his inability to comprehend what he was feeling let alone communicate it to the woman he loved.
The woman he loved.
Hell.
‘I wanted to talk yesterday but you gave me the brush-off. Then last night you didn’t answer your phone.’
Straightening as Meg re-entered the room and cast a curious glance their way, he lowered his tone. ‘So, yeah, we need to talk. Whether you want to or not.’
Her shoulders slumped as she nodded. ‘How soon can we beg off?’
Jerking his head towards Elliott, in his element surrounded by two beautiful women downing margaritas at a rate of knots, he said, ‘Fifteen minutes should about do it for politeness. Then we’re out of here.’
‘You’re on.’
Standing, Kristi headed towards the jolly threesome, while he sat there, stunned at what that tell-all documentary had revealed, trying to make sense of it all.
And wondering what the hell he was going to do about it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Stranded Survival Tip #13
Falling coconuts not as dangerous as ones thrown at you in exasperation by fellow island inhabitants.
Twitter.com/Stranded_Jared
Been kidding myself. About everything.
Twitter.com/Stranded_Kristi
If the camera never lies, maybe it should tell a few fibs.
JARED knew this spot.
They used to come here all the time. Picnics by the harbour, wine at dusk, strolling along the water’s edge hand in hand.
A good spot for what he had to say. If he could get the words straight in his head.
What he’d seen on that film hadn’t just confused him; it had detonated every preconceived notion he’d ever had about love clear out of this world.
‘I’m not interested in taking a stroll down memory lane.’
Jared stared out over Sydney Harbour, his gaze fixed on the lit bridge, his knee giving a twinge as he rocked on the balls of his feet.
‘Neither am I.’
He turned to face her, hoping he didn’t make a mess of this. ‘I want to discuss our future.’
‘Wow, that’s a surprise.’
Kristi’s voice held a dubious edge and he couldn’t blame her. Last night, he’d been ready to lay it all out: them dating, having fun, nothing too heavy.
All that had changed since he’d seen Elliott’s documentary. He could spout all he wanted about keeping their relationship casual, dating, hanging out, whatever he wanted to call it, but he knew without a doubt that however he dressed it up, Kristi would see right through him.
He loved her yet he didn’t want to marry, ever.
Where did that leave him? Them?
What could he say without coming across as a selfish jerk who wanted her, just not enough?
If he hadn’t seen the evidence with his own eyes, seen how much he loved her, sat through the excruciating hour of watching them interact on the island, his feelings etched on his face for the world to see, he wouldn’t have believed it.
Though that was a crock and he knew it. There’d been signs on the island: the emotions she dredged up from deep within him, his admission he cared, the certainty that when she was with him, he was a better man.
All fine and good but if they reunited for real this time, she’d want more. She’d want it all, just as she’d hinted at when he’d walked in on her in that damn wedding dress.
He couldn’t give her what she wanted and he shrivelled inside at the thought of breaking her heart all over again.
‘Jared? About the documentary—’
‘I know.’
A wary frown eased across her brow. ‘You know what?’
‘What it looked like.’
Even saying the words out loud squeezed his chest in a vice, tight, uncomfortable, strangling the very air from his lungs.
‘Like…?’
‘Don’t.’
He held up a hand, jammed the other through his hair. ‘We know each other too well to
play these games.’
‘I’m not—’
‘I looked like an idiot.’
He pronounced it like a terminal condition. Exactly how he viewed the ludicrous emotion and all it stood for: control, competition, callousness.
He couldn’t love.
It wasn’t in his genetic make-up.
His father didn’t have it: he’d spent his life at his precious men’s club, only deeming to acknowledge his wife and child to hurl put-downs or abuse their way.
His mother didn’t have it: she’d slept her way through the bridge club, the country club and the polo club before he’d won his first junior comp.
And neither of them had had the remotest love for him. Until he’d hit the big time, though their fawning couldn’t be labelled as anything other than what it was: two people trying to cash in on his fame, playing the role of proud parents when in reality they didn’t give a stuff.
The closest he’d come to feeling anything remotely resembling the ill-fated emotion was with Kristi eight years ago.
But even she’d disillusioned him at the end, putting her wishes ahead of his, placing him in that ludicrous position by making him choose between her or his career.
‘I think you looked fine.’
She sat on the concrete wall edging the path leading down to the harbour, her legs swinging, her face turned slightly to the right so he couldn’t read her expression.
Reluctantly perching a foot away from her, he braced his hands on the wall.
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Say what you think.’
He couldn’t, not without telling her the truth about his past, not without revealing too much of himself and exposing a vulnerability he barely acknowledged existed.
‘For goodness’ sake, it shouldn’t be this hard.’
She slid off the wall, dusted her butt off and swivelled to face him, her cheeks flushed, her mouth twisted in anger.
‘What’s going on with you?’ She jabbed in his direction. ‘We reconnected on the island.’
When he opened his mouth to respond, she jumped in. ‘And I’m not just talking about the sex! You admitted you cared. It was plain to see on that documentary. So why are you freaking out? Don’t you want to give us a go?’
‘I did.’
Her face fell as his past tense registered.
‘What changed?’
‘Damn, this is difficult.’
He slid off the wall too, jammed his hands in his pockets to stop reaching for her.
‘Just tell me the truth.’
Her soft sigh tugged at him, hard. She was right about one thing. He cared about her, more than she’d ever know, and he owed her some small snippet of the truth.
‘When I said I wanted to talk last night, I wanted to see if you were interested in dating.’
The glimmer of hope in her eyes had him eager to finish the rest of what he had to say. ‘Dating, Krissie, that’s it. Nothing too heavy, too involved, just the two of us seeing each other casually.’
‘Which means what?’
‘Exactly that. Hanging out together, going places, having fun.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Sleeping together.’
He nodded, hating how her less than impressed tone made it all sound so empty, so sordid.
‘Just like old times.’
He knew he’d said the wrong thing the instant the words left his mouth, her chin tilting up as she glared daggers.
‘Old times?’
Her voice ended on a shriek and she twirled around, stalked a few steps before turning around and marching straight back up to him, her palm slapping against his chest and shoving.
‘You expect me to slip back into our old pattern, waiting for when you have a free moment to call, waiting for you to drop around any time of the night just so I can see you, waiting for whatever ounce of affection you throw my way?’
She laughed, a hollow, humourless sound that chilled him. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. Again!’
‘Krissie, it’s just—’
‘Save it!’
She shoved him again, dropped her hand, her head. ‘Go.’
He couldn’t leave like this.
‘Let me take you home. We can—’
Her head snapped up, the sheen of tears slugging him. ‘There is no we! Not any more.’
That was when it hit him.
After tonight, if he walked away from her, he’d never see her again.
Ironic, in putting her needs first—her need for a full commitment, her need for the perfect marriage she craved—he’d lose the only woman he’d ever loved, leaving a giant, gaping hole in his life, his heart.
Grabbing her hands, he tightened his grip when she tried to pull away.
‘I don’t know how to give you what you want.’
Something in his tone must’ve alerted her to the seriousness of his declaration for she stilled, her wary gaze scanning his face.
What seemed like an eternity later, apparently satisfied by his sincerity, she said, ‘What do you think I want?’
His attention, his love, his ring on her finger. He could give her the first two; the last was non-negotiable.
‘All of me.’
‘Maybe I’d be happy with some?’
He shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t have to settle. You deserve more.’
‘Spoken like every other guy trying to give a girl the old “it’s not you, it’s me” claptrap.’
Needing to convince her, needing her to hear him, really hear him, he said, ‘Whatever happens between us, I can’t promise I’ll ever marry you.’
When her mouth drooped he released her hands, stepped away, hating the fact he’d made her look so sad.
‘You want the perfect love. You said so. While I’d give anything to explore what we’ve restarted between us, I can’t be that perfect guy for you.’
He rubbed the back of his neck. It didn’t help, tension tightening his muscles to the point of migraine onset. ‘There’s no such thing as perfect.’
She didn’t speak, her lips compressed, her eyes downcast, and when she finally raised them her wounded expression had him curling and uncurling his fingers to stop grabbing hold of her hands again and never letting go.
‘Krissie, I’m sorry.’
‘Not half as sorry as I am.’
He watched her walk away, clamping down on the desperate urge to run after her and take it all back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Stranded Survival Tip #14
Find humour in watching your last bar of soap float away.
Twitter.com/Stranded_Jared
Watch Stranded. Interesting doco. Gong-worthy. The producer rocks.
Twitter.com/Stranded_Kristi
Private screening party for Stranded debut cancelled.
KRISTI stared blankly at the stack of glossy brochures for the latest mobile-phone technology on her desk. At the start of a PR campaign she’d usually scour whatever promo material she could lay her hands on, get a feel for what the client wanted then brainstorm, allowing her imagination free rein to create a whizz-bang public-relations pitch she could deliver with pizzazz.
Her job was to make the client look good. Pity she couldn’t do the same for herself.
Glancing down at her drab navy shift dress and sedate pumps, she grimaced. She hated navy, hated shapeless shift dresses more. But this was her ‘I’m having a bad day’ dress and people knew it. They steered clear, exactly as she intended.
Being here was hard enough without having to field countless inane questions about her time on Lorikeet Island; or, worse, her time spent with tennis pro Jared Malone.
She’d faced them all her first hour back: what was it like being stuck on an island with a hottie? What did you do? How did you pass the time? Did anything happen off camera?
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she swung away from her desk, ignoring the stack of brochures in favour of the stunning Bondi view out of her window.
; What was wrong with these people? Did she go around asking everyone how they passed the time with their other half or if anything happened?
Besides, they’d be able to see for themselves soon enough, considering her star-struck expression would be prime-time viewing for all and sundry this time next week.
Just one look and people would know exactly how she’d spent her time on the island: swinging between moody and resentful to mooning around after a guy who didn’t want her for anything beyond casual.
‘Good to see you hard at it.’
At the sound of Rosanna’s gravely voice, she swung her chair around, hoping her smile appeared genuine.
While her boss hadn’t said anything after the preview screening, she knew curiosity must be eating away. Rosanna was never backward in coming forward and would have a host of probing questions waiting.
Kristi tapped the mobile-phone brochures. ‘Just thinking about a new angle for these.’
‘Don’t bother.’
Rosanna swept into the room, balancing a thick Manila folder in one arm and a soy chai latte in the other.
‘These are for you.’
Kristi’s eyes narrowed as she eyed off the latte. Rosanna never brought her coffee, let alone her favourite; it was always the other way around.
As for the folder, more work. Goody. Might take her mind off the monstrous mistake she’d made in assuming Jared might actually feel something for her, that they might have a future.
Picking up the coffee, she sipped, sighed, savouring the delicious creaminess sliding over her tastebuds.
‘Are you buttering me up for something?’
Rosanna perched on the edge of her desk, looking decidedly smug. ‘Nope. It’s a thank you.’
‘For?’
‘This.’
Ros tapped the Manila folder, her cat-got-the-cream smile widening.
‘Remember that promotion I mentioned? All yours.’
‘Really?’