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Best Man And The Runaway Bride
Kandy Shepherd


Scandal at a society wedding! Can he resist the runaway bride?Helping Nikki Lucas flee her wedding, best man Max Conway never expected to be accused of having an affair with the bride! Seeking solace on a remote island, he bumps straight into Nikki. Their connection is undeniable but she’s completely off-limits…







Scandal at a society wedding!

Can he resist the runaway bride?

After helping Nikki Lucas flee her high-society wedding, privacy-loving best man Max Conway never expected to be accused of having an affair with the bride! As the media scandal dies down, he escapes to a remote island—and comes face-to-face with Nikki! Their connection is undeniable but she’s completely off-limits. Yet as the sun sets in paradise, both are struggling to resist...


KANDY SHEPHERD swapped a career as a magazine editor for a life writing romance. She lives on a small farm in the Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia, with her husband, daughter and lots of pets. She believes in love at first sight and real-life romance—they worked for her! Kandy loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at kandyshepherd.com (http://www.kandyshepherd.com).


Also by Kandy Shepherd (#ulink_b43c0b42-5012-5f9e-a3fd-ddbb05a121c7)

From Paradise...to Pregnant!

Hired by the Brooding Billionaire

Greek Tycoon’s Mistletoe Proposal

Conveniently Wed to the Greek

Stranded with Her Greek Tycoon

Sydney Brides miniseries

Gift-Wrapped in Her Wedding Dress

Crown Prince’s Chosen Bride

The Bridesmaid’s Baby Bump

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Best Man and the Runaway Bride

Kandy Shepherd






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07786-6

BEST MAN AND THE RUNAWAY BRIDE

© 2018 Kandy Shepherd

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In memory of my dear friend Patrick J Houston, married to his soulmate, my friend Louise, for more than forty years after proposing to her on their second date. Charismatic, big-hearted and very handsome, he was truly a real-life romance hero.


Contents

Cover (#u163cf928-8d96-50b3-9ef7-f8a71ce6fd97)

Back Cover Text (#ub379f96d-cf9f-56b5-b86f-392b9189b5aa)

About the Author (#u27977751-d108-5b98-9e5e-d540b26c5c93)

Booklist (#ulink_19b97807-a487-53d9-b9d0-a870a87e0589)

Title Page (#u842ce733-7863-5fcb-9673-58eac35c8a19)

Copyright (#u3a6ded88-e5bc-5e39-977c-626d8aa50ae5)

Dedication (#u62f783f5-c822-58b9-ac73-17353bbbccb9)

CHAPTER ONE (#u9d924293-71c5-5c24-b333-a69389c1f4b1)

CHAPTER TWO (#u16203c2c-2005-501b-ac53-c5cd8927e425)

CHAPTER THREE (#u13283c8d-3a0b-5962-9df8-ad66e1d87f57)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u2d56b0cb-1972-5931-896a-ef4bcc005fc5)

WHERE WAS THE BRIDE? She should have been at the church a half-hour ago. Max Conway paced back and forth on the pavement in front of the historic sandstone building. As best man at the wedding, he’d been despatched outside to report on the bride’s arrival status. Again, he glanced down at his watch. Traditionally a bride was tardy but this much late was ridiculous. No wonder the groom, standing inside all by himself at the altar, was grim-faced and tapping his foot.

Organ music drifted out through the arched windows of the church. The notes had a trill of desperation as the organist started her wedding repertoire for the third time. Anticipation levels inside would be rising as the congregation waited—and waited.

Max checked the traffic app on his phone to see if there were problems. All roads leading to the church in Sydney’s posh eastern suburbs were clear. The bridesmaids had arrived without any problem. But still no bride. He was about to turn on his heel and go back inside to give the glowering groom an update—a task he didn’t relish—when the bridal car approached. His shoulders sagged with relief. She was here.

Through the tinted window of the luxury limousine he could see a froth of white veil framing a lovely female face. Nikki Lucas. Max recognised her straight away, though he’d only met her for the first time at the rehearsal two nights before. Honey-blonde hair. Soft brown eyes. Tall and slender. A truly beautiful bride. Well worth the wait for the lucky groom.

At the rehearsal she’d greeted Max with a smile so dazzling he’d been momentarily stunned. She’d been warm and welcoming to her fiancé’s best man—a total stranger to her. If she’d realised who he was—who he had once been—she’d been too well-mannered to mention it. The rehearsal had gone smoothly and he’d got the impression Ms Lucas was efficient and organised. Not the kind of woman to be so late for her own wedding.

The wealthy father of the bride sat next to her in the back seat. Why hadn’t he hurried his daughter along? Max found such lack of punctuality unpardonable. What was Ms Lucas’s game? If this were his bride—not that he had any intention of marrying any time soon—he would be furious. The limo slowed to a halt. No doubt he’d be greeted with a flurry of excuses. He would cut her short, bustle her inside and get this tardy bride up the aisle pronto.

He ran to the bride’s door and yanked it open. ‘You’re here,’ he said through gritted teeth, swallowing the where the hell have you been.

He didn’t get so much as a smile in response. In fact the errant bride looked downright hostile. Her face was as pale as the layers of tulle that framed it, her mouth set tight. She swung her long, elegant legs out of the car, shook off the hand he offered her to help, and stood up in a flurry of fluffy white skirts.

She gave no apologies, no explanations, no excuses. Just a tersely spoken command. ‘You have to get me out of here.’

Max stared at her. ‘Get you up the aisle, you mean,’ he said. ‘You’re late. There’s a church full of guests waiting for you. Not to mention your groom.’

‘Him.’ She shook her head so vehemently her long veil whipped around her face. ‘I’m not going to marry that man. I thought I could go through with it but I can’t.’

By now her father had clambered out of the car to join them. The limo took off with a squeal of tyres, the driver muttering he was late for his next job.

‘Think about this, sweetheart,’ said the older man. He handed her the bouquet of white roses that she had left behind her on the car seat. ‘You can’t just walk out on your wedding.’

‘Yes, I can. You can’t talk me out of this, Dad. If you won’t help me, Max here will.’ She spat out his name as if it were a dirty word. ‘It’s the least he can do as best man to the creep who convinced me to marry him under false pretences.’ She glared at Max through narrowed eyes. ‘That is, unless you’re just as much lying pond scum as he is.’

Max wasn’t usually lost for words. But the insult came from nowhere. Where was the smiling charmer from the rehearsal? Behind the perfect make-up the bride was grim-faced and steely eyed. ‘I don’t consider myself to be pond scum,’ Max said through gritted teeth. ‘But my duty as best man is to get you into the church for your wedding.’

‘There isn’t going to be a wedding. Your duty as a decent human being is to help me get away from here. Now.’ Her hands shook with agitation and she kept looking anxiously towards the church.

Max’s first reaction was to back away from the bride. He wasn’t good with crazy. This was something more than pre-wedding nerves. There was no trace of the joyous, vibrant woman he’d met at the rehearsal. But then her lush pink mouth trembled and her eyes clouded with something he couldn’t quite place—fear, anxiety, disappointment? It made him swallow a retort. How well did he actually know the groom? He’d played tennis with him back in high school but had only reconnected with him just weeks before the wedding—had been surprised to be asked to be best man. The groom could well be pond scum these days for all he knew. But he’d made a commitment to be best man. That made him Team Groom.

The father took her arm. ‘Now, Nikki, there’s no need to—’

The bride turned on her father with a swirl of white skirts, glaring back at Max as she did so. ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘I can’t do it.’

She indicated the church with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand. Her large diamond engagement ring flashed in the afternoon summer sunlight. ‘Please tell everyone to party on without me. Don’t let all that food and wine go to waste.’ Her mouth curled. ‘Maybe someone could have the fun of smashing Alan’s lying, scheming face into the wedding cake—all three tiers of it.’

‘Maybe not,’ Max said, trying not to let a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth at the thought of the somewhat supercilious groom facedown in the frosting.

He made his voice calm and reassuring. ‘I know you must be nervous.’

Pre-performance nerves. He knew all about them. There was nothing more nerve-wracking than stepping out onto the centre court at Wimbledon with the world watching him defend his title.

‘Nervous?’ Her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittered. ‘I’m not nervous. I’m mad as hell.’ She brandished the cascade of white roses as if it were a weapon. Max ducked. ‘The wedding is cancelled.’

‘Why?’ At the rehearsal she’d seemed to be floating on a cloud of happiness. For one long, secret moment he had envied her groom his gorgeous, vivacious bride-to-be. Despite his success at the highest rank of his chosen sport, and all the female attention that came with it, at age thirty Max was still single.

‘You want a reason?’ She raised her perfectly shaped brows. ‘How about four reasons? His two ex-wives and two children.’

Max frowned. ‘You knew Alan was divorced.’

‘Divorced once. With no children. He lied.’ Her voice ended on a heart-rending whimper. ‘One of the reasons I fell for him was that he told me he was longing for children. Like...like I was.’ Her face seemed to crumple; all the poise Max had admired melted away to leave only wide-eyed bewilderment.

‘How did you find out?’ he asked.

‘His first ex-wife called to warn me off Alan. Didn’t want to see me get fooled and hurt by him like she had been. He called her a vindictive witch. Then the second ex-wife wife called to tell me about their three-year-old twin sons and how he’d deserted them. Oh, and warned me he was on the verge of bankruptcy now that he’d gone through all her money.’

Max gasped. The dad hissed. Nikki was a successful businesswoman. Being both beautiful and wealthy made her quite the catch—and vulnerable to a fortune hunter.

‘You believed her?’ said Max.

She shook her head. ‘I trusted my fiancé. But I had her investigated. Definitive proof she was telling the truth came just as I waved off my bridesmaids and was about to get into the limo.’ Her breath caught on a hitch, dangerously close to a sob. ‘I can’t marry a liar and a fraud.’

‘Go in there and tell him that,’ said Max.

‘I couldn’t bear the humiliation.’ She looked up at him, her eyes pleading now. ‘You know all about humiliation.’

Max grimaced. Of course he did. Evidence of his disastrous final game where he’d injured his elbow so badly still circulated on the Internet: the thrown racket, his writhing in pain on the grass court surface of Wimbledon. People had even made memes of it.

‘Yes,’ he said through gritted teeth, not appreciating the reminder.

‘Please help me get away. I can’t run down the street to hail a cab dressed like this.’

Tears glistened in her brown eyes, making them luminous. Max had a weakness for female tears. But he was also a man of his word. He was the best man. An honourable position with duties he took seriously. It would take more than tears to recruit him to Team Bride. As she looked up at him, a single teardrop rolled slowly down her cheek. He had to fight an impulse to wipe it gently away with his thumb. She was another man’s bride. She sniffed and her voice quivered as she spoke. ‘You say you’re not pond scum, now prove it to me.’

* * *

Nikki held her breath as she looked up at Max Conway for his answer. She hadn’t expected to find him standing guard outside the church, ready to corral her inside. In fact, she hardly knew the guy. Just was aware he was a celebrity athlete and had a well-publicised love life.

The first she’d known that her groom’s best man was the world’s golden boy of tennis—featured in countless ‘sexiest men alive’ media round-ups—was when she’d met him at the rehearsal. Just another of her former fiancé’s secrets, she thought with a twist of bitterness.

She could read the struggle on Max’s face—with his spiky light brown hair and blue eyes, he was every bit as handsome as his photos. Duty warred an obvious battle with gentlemanly instincts to help a bride in distress. The media did not consider him a gentleman. She didn’t care. All she wanted was his help to get away. The clock was ticking. Her father had reluctantly gone to tell everyone that the bride would be a no-show. If she was going to escape, she’d have to do it now.

‘Are you quite sure you want to do this?’ Max said.

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said, unable to keep the impatience from her voice. At any moment Alan might come raging outside. She shuddered at the thought.

‘There’ll be no going back. It’s Alan who’ll be humiliated.’

‘Huh! Finding out the truth about him from his ex-wives rates high in humiliation. Being foolish enough to have believed his lies even higher.’

She clutched Max by the sleeve of his dark best-man suit. Looked with trepidation across to the Gothic-style arched wooden doors that led to the interior of the church. People were beginning to spill out down the steps. Ahead of the pack was the wedding photographer, brandishing his camera aimed at her. Forget Max. She gathered up her skirts. Got ready to run. Risked a final glance up at him. ‘Are you going to help me or not?’

‘I don’t like liars.’

‘Is that a “yes”?’

In reply he took her by the arm. Through the sheer fabric of her sleeve she could feel the warmth and strength of his grip. ‘My car is around the corner. We’ll have to run.’

She started to run but only got a few steps before she stumbled. The combination of bumpy pavement, long skirts and high, skinny heels wasn’t conducive to a speedy escape.

‘Ditch the shoes,’ he said tersely. She kicked them off. One after the other they flew into the air and landed side down on the pavement. ‘And the flowers.’ The white flowers landed near the white shoes with a flurry of petals, forming a tableau of lost dreams on the grey of the tarmac. She didn’t look back.

They had rounded the corner from the church when she heard the first shout. More outraged bellow than civilised protest. She cringed at the anger in Alan’s voice. Max’s grip on her arm tightened as he hurried her along. ‘We’re not going fast enough,’ he said.

She wished she could tear away her long skirts. ‘I’m moving as fast as I—’

Her protest ended in a gasp as he effortlessly swept her up to cradle her in his arms. ‘Hold on tight,’ he said as he broke into a run—at twice her speed.

Max Conway was a tall, powerfully built man famed for the relentless power of his serve. Instinctively Nikki looped her arms around his neck and pressed herself close against a solid wall of muscle.

‘You...you don’t have to carry me,’ she managed to choke out.

‘I do,’ he said. She noticed he wasn’t the slightest bit out of breath even while running at full stride weighed down by the burden of a bride. ‘That is, if you really want to escape from your groom.’

The edge to his voice made her stiffen in his arms. Did he think this was some kind of attention-seeking ruse? That she would let Alan catch her and lead her triumphantly back to the wedding? She went to retort but realised he didn’t know her any better than she knew him. She would never behave like that. But he wasn’t to know.

It seemed like only seconds before he stopped by a modest sedan parked by the kerb. Wouldn’t a sports celebrity like Max Conway drive something flashier? Unless he wanted to stay under the radar for some reason. In this case, it would serve her well if Alan tried to follow her. Once in the traffic, this car would be anonymous.

Max put her down by the passenger door. The pavement was warm to her stockinged feet. She was in a wedding dress and no shoes. It made her feel vulnerable and aware of her predicament. For the first time she questioned the wisdom of begging a stranger to take her away. But there was something about Max’s assured, take-charge attitude that made her feel she could trust him.

He unlocked the car with a fob on his key ring and held open her door. ‘Jump in,’ he said. ‘And be quick.’

That was easier said than done with a voluminous full skirt to tuck in around her. With fumbling fingers, she’d just managed to fasten her seat belt when the car took off with a jolt and a screech of tyres. ‘We’ve got company,’ Max said by way of explanation.

Nikki glanced behind her to see what he meant. Heading towards the car was a red-faced Alan, followed closely by her sister, resplendent in her bridesmaid’s dress, her sweet face screwed up in anguish. The wedding photographer followed—snapping gleefully away at the runaway bride. Nikki’s heart started to race and she choked on her breath. For the first time, she realised the enormity of what she had done. How it would affect so many people other than herself. She hadn’t even told her beloved sister.

But she’d make it up to them later. Far better to offend a few people than to chain herself in marriage to the wrong man. ‘Step on it,’ she urged Max.

It wasn’t long before they’d reached her older style waterfront apartment in Double Bay. She’d bought it with her first big profits from her business.

Max pulled into the driveway. ‘Have you got keys?’

‘No need. The entry is security coded.’

She expected him to bundle her out into the courtyard and speed off. Instead, he got out of the car to come around and open the passenger door for her. She realised Alan had never done that. Not once. Why had she let herself be so swept off her feet by him?

‘Ouch!’ The gravelled courtyard was not kind to stockinged feet. She started to pick her way across it, wincing as she went.

‘Allow me,’ Max said. Before she could protest she was swept up into his arms again as he carried her across the courtyard to the front door.

‘This is very chivalrous of you,’ she said, flushing.

‘Nothing is chivalrous about the best man running off with the bride,’ he said with a wry twist to his mouth that didn’t quite pass as a smile.

‘But the bride is very grateful,’ she said. ‘More grateful than she can say.’

He continued to hold her as she coded in her password. Then kicked the door open and carried her inside. It was as if he were carrying her over the threshold like a real bride on her wedding night. The thought was way too disconcerting. She struggled to be put down. He immediately set her back on her feet. She fussed with her dress to cover her confusion.

‘What now for you?’ he asked.

‘I intend to barricade myself in my apartment.’

‘And then?’

‘I have a plan.’ She didn’t really. The plan had been to spend the night with her new husband—she shuddered at even the thought of it—in a luxury city hotel then next day set off to a honeymoon in an even more expensive hotel in Dubai. Alan’s choice. ‘But I’m not going to tell you about it. Then you can truthfully tell people you don’t know where I am.’

‘You mean Alan?’

She nodded. ‘I really and truly don’t want him to find me. And I don’t want to make things more awkward for you than I already have.’

‘I get that,’ he said.

‘Just one more thing.’ She tugged the diamond engagement ring—that she had worn with such optimism for the future—off her finger. ‘Can you give this to him, please? I have no further use for it.’

‘Like a best man’s duty in reverse.’

He took the ring from her, his warm fingers brushing against hers as he did so. She snatched her hand back, not welcoming the tingle of awareness that shot through her. She’d been about to wed another man, for heaven’s sake. How could she feel such a flutter of attraction to his best man? Especially a guy who had cheated on his tennis-player girlfriend—a woman as famous as he was—and been involved in a highly publicised paternity dispute.

An awkward silence fell between them. She shifted from one stockinged foot to another, not wanting to meet his gaze. ‘Thank you for helping me,’ she said finally. ‘It was very good of you.’

‘Good doesn’t come into it. I’m not proud of myself for helping you run away. I went against my principles. I’m not convinced it was the right thing for you to do either. I seriously hope you don’t regret it.’

The full impact of what she’d done might not hit her until Max left her alone in her apartment, surrounded by the disarray of her wedding preparations and honeymoon packing. But he didn’t need to sound self-righteous about it. It wasn’t for Max Conway to sit in judgement against her. Grateful though she was for his help.

Anger flooded through her. ‘There’s one more thing you don’t know about your friend Alan. After his twins, he had a vasectomy so he couldn’t have more children. The man who used to toss names for our future kids around with me. Spent hours discussing what colour eyes they might have. Was he ever going to tell me he was shooting blanks? Or let me go through fertility treatment when I didn’t fall pregnant?’

‘I have no words,’ Max said, tight-lipped. No criticism of his friend, of course. Not when the famous tennis player himself had cheated and lied.

‘I’ll never regret walking out on that despicable excuse for a man. But letting my family and friends down? Not doing due diligence on the man before I agreed to marry him? I suspect I’ll always regret my lapse in judgement. I wouldn’t have done a minor business deal without all the facts, yet I was prepared to commit my life to a person I didn’t really know. I wanted that life so much...the husband and kids.’

‘I can only wish you good luck in whatever you end up doing,’ he said. Looking serious suited him and it struck her again how good-looking he was. No wonder the public was so fascinated by him.

‘What I don’t regret is putting my trust in you to help me,’ she said. Max might be pond scum in his personal life and be friend to a cheating, lying fraud. But he had come through for her. That was all that counted.

On impulse she leaned up and kissed him on his smooth, tanned cheek. She was stunned by the sensation that shot through her at the contact, brief as it was. He didn’t kiss her back. Why would he? She’d just run out on his friend. ‘I won’t say I’ll return the favour for you some day because it’s not the kind of favour you want to call on, is it?’

He half smiled at that and turned to leave. She watched him as he strode back to his car, broad-shouldered and athletic. Unless she glimpsed him on television, slamming a tennis ball at his opponent in some top-level tournament, she would never see Max Conway again.


CHAPTER TWO (#u2d56b0cb-1972-5931-896a-ef4bcc005fc5)

Six months later

MAX HADN’T COME to the small Indonesian island of Nusa Lembongan for fun. On previous visits to nearby Bali he had stayed with friends in luxurious private villas the size of mansions, with all their needs and whims catered to by a team of attendants devoted purely to their comfort. Near the beach in fashionable Seminyak. Overlooking the sea on a cliff top in exclusive Uluwatu. High in the treetops of Ubud.

Not this time.

The last six months had been hell. Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong in both his professional and personal life. He had come to this small island, off the east coast of the main island of Bali, on his own. Not to party. But to make plans to reinvent himself.

Yesterday he had checked in to the Big Blue Bungalows, a small family-run hotel on the beach at Frangipani Bay on the south-west end of the island. He’d come with just a backpack and his laptop. The accommodation wasn’t backpacker basic, nor was it the five-star luxury he was accustomed to. Built as a collection of traditional-style bungalows and small villas with thatched roofs, the hotel was comfortable without being overly luxurious—and not without its own rustic charm.

Lembongan was much quieter and less touristy than Bali, with more scooters and bicycles and few cars on the narrow streets. He hadn’t been there twenty-four hours and he’d already cycled halfway around the island on a pushbike he’d borrowed from the hotel. The friend who’d recommended the island had warned Max he might get bored after a few days. Max doubted that. He just wanted to chill, far away from anyone who had expectations of him. He particularly wanted to escape media attention.

The thing he hated most about his life as a celebritysportsman—he loathed that label—was media intrusion into his private life. Ever since he’d been thrust into the public eye the media had published exaggerated and erroneous versions of events in his private life. A lunch date with a colleague blown up into infidelity. Such fake news had led to a rift with his former girlfriend and, even worse, the inciting incident that had led to his disastrous accident.

His return to Sydney had been purposely under the radar. He’d agreed to be best man to Alan in a low-key, private wedding. Now it seemed Alan had wanted his wedding out of the public eye for his own underhand reasons. Surprisingly to Max, the groom had not traded on the best man’s celebrity. It wasn’t paparazzi that had taken all those photos. It was the wedding photographer who had fully capitalised on his luck in being in the right place at a scandalous time and sold the pictures everywhere.

As a result, Max’s role in the ‘runaway bride’ story that had so captivated Sydney had catapulted him headfirst into a rabid feeding frenzy of press speculation. Right when he’d most needed his privacy. He shuddered at the memory of it. Especially the photos of him carrying another man’s bride in his arms—accompanied by salacious headlines—that had featured on magazine covers all around the world.

Boring would do him just fine. Today, he anticipated the joys of anonymity.

He’d cycled from Frangipani Bay to the village of Jungut Batu, where the fast boat service brought people from Sanur on the mainland across the Badung Strait to Nusa Lembongan.

Max had taken the fast boat ride himself the day before. On arrival, he’d enjoyed a particularly tasty nasigoreng from one of the local warungs, small family run cafés, on the road that ran parallel to the beach. He fancied trying some other speciality from the menu for lunch, washed down with an Indonesian beer. This was the first time he’d travelled so simply, blending in with the backpackers, without agenda. Already he was enjoying the slower pace.

His talent for tennis had shown up when he was barely tall enough to handle a racket. For many years afterwards, school vacations had been devoted to training. There’d been no gap years or budget bus tours around Europe with friends his own age. Later, vacations had often been linked to promoting events managed by his corporate sponsors. And always there had been tennis. Even on a luxury vacation, he’d trained every day of the year. Training on Sundays and even Christmas Day, when his rivals didn’t, had helped give him the edge.

As far as he knew, there was no tennis court on Nusa Lembongan.

Already he was starting to wind down. Felt the warmth of the sun, the sparkling of the endless aquamarine sea, even the spicy scents so different from his everyday life loosening the stranglehold concern for his after-sport career had on his thoughts. The people of this part of the world were known for their warmth and friendliness—their genuine smiles were also contributing to the gradual rebirth of his well-being.

Cycling in the tropical humidity of the day had made him hot; prickles of perspiration stung his forehead, made his T-shirt cling to his back. He decided to walk down one of the narrow alleys that led from the street to the beach to cool off, maybe even plunge into the water. His clothes would dry soon enough.

A nearby boat was offloading passengers, including backpackers and tourists from all over the world. Max paused to watch them. There was no dock. Boats were tethered to shore by mooring lines that ran up the beach. Passengers were helped off the back of the boat and had to wade through the shallow waters to dry land. As people disembarked, he heard excited exclamations in German, Dutch, French, Chinese as well as English spoken in a variety of accents. Fascinated, he gazed at the local women who got off the boat then walked away with heavy boxes of supplies balanced on the tops of their heads.

A young woman with a large backpack turned to thank the boat crew with a wide, sunny smile. Idly, he wondered where she was from, where she was going. She looked like a typical backpacker in loose, brightly patterned hippy pants pulled up to her knees in preparation for her paddle through the water, a gauzy white top and a woven straw hat jammed over wind-tangled blonde hair. As she waded through the aqua-coloured water to the sand, she turned to a fellow backpacker and laughed at something he said. Max froze. That laugh, her profile, seemed familiar.

For a moment he thought... But it couldn’t be. Then she turned to face the beach and he caught sight of her face full on. No. Not her. Not here. The last woman he ever wanted to see again. He blamed her in large part for the hell his life in Sydney had become.

* * *

‘Terima kasih.’

Nikki thanked the crew as she left the boat to wade the few metres onto the beach shore, cool waters lapping around her calves. She’d been to Sanur to pick up supplies from the pharmacy for her friend Maya. Mission accomplished and back on Lembongan, she turned her thoughts to work and the snorkelling trip she was guiding that afternoon, currents permitting. July with its excellent weather was one of the busiest months for tourism here, coinciding with school vacations in both northern and southern hemispheres.

The island didn’t get as overrun as some of the more popular areas of the main island of Bali. But in this peak season there were both day trippers and new guests arriving all the time. Tourists from all around the world seeking a more off-the-beaten-track Bali experience came to Lembongan.

As she neared the shore, she became aware of a man’s intense gaze on her. The guy standing on the beach was hot. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair bleached from the sun, a sexy scruff of beard growth. Blue shorts and a white T-shirt showcased an athletic, muscular body. But she wasn’t looking for masculine company. Not now. Maybe not ever. The experience with Alan had left her too shattered to imagine ever trusting another man again. She ignored the stranger.

But his gaze didn’t drop. In fact it turned into a distinct glare. Was he some discontented dive-boat customer? Some of the tourists were determined to swim with the manta rays or mola mola fish, no matter the time of year or conditions on the day they took a tour. They didn’t understand how unpredictable the sea currents could be here and would go away to vent their anger on Internet review sites. She’d prefer them to express their disappointment to her. How would she have forgotten a man as attractive as this?

But as she got closer she realised exactly who the man was. Max Conway.

Anger and frustration rose in her so bitter she could taste it. After six months surely Alan had given up trying to find her? Now it seemed he’d sicced his watchdog best man onto her.

She marched across the sand to confront him. There was no call for niceties. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded.

His blue eyes were intense with dislike. ‘I could ask the same of you.’

She didn’t owe him any explanations. ‘Did Alan send you to drag me back to Sydney? If so I—’

‘No. Why would he? And why would you think I’d jump to his command if he did?’

‘He hasn’t stopped hunting for me.’

Max shrugged. ‘That’s nothing to do with me. I haven’t seen the guy since your wedding day.’ His tone was so decisive, his gaze so direct, she believed him.

His hand went to his nose in a reflex action he didn’t seem to know he was doing. She noticed it was slightly crooked. The slight flaw only made him look more handsome. So it was true.

‘I believe Alan didn’t take it kindly when you returned my engagement ring to him.’ She felt bad about what had happened. All her fault for dragging the unwilling best man into her drama. Not that she regretted it for a moment. She still shuddered at the thought of how lucky she’d been to escape marriage to Alan.

‘You heard right,’ said Max. ‘His response was to try to knock me out.’

She cringed. The photos of the best man and the groom brawling had been all over the press. The erroneous implication being they were fighting over her. The photographer she had hired for her wedding had cashed in big time. ‘Did he break your nose when he punched you?’ She found herself mirroring Max’s action by touching her own perfectly intact nose.

‘I’ve had worse injuries.’ He smiled a not very pleasant smile. ‘Trust me, he was hurting more than I was when I punched him back.’

Secretly, she was glad Alan had been hurt. After all he’d done to her, his ex-wives, and others she’d since found out had been damaged by his underhand behaviour, her former fiancé deserved more than a whack on the nose.

‘But you were friends,’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t go so far as to call it friendship,’ he said. ‘I met him at tennis camp when we were teenagers and we became mates of a kind. He wasn’t good enough to make the grade competitively. When he stopped playing tennis we pretty much lost touch. Until recently. I was back in Australia after years of living abroad. He’d returned to Sydney after living in Melbourne for a long time. I was surprised when he asked me to be his best man, but he said his friends were in Melbourne.’

‘By marriage number three—thwarted marriage number three, I mean—he might have run out of best-man options.’ Nikki couldn’t help the cynical edge to her voice.

He frowned. ‘Perhaps.’

‘I didn’t mean that as an insult,’ she said hastily. ‘He was lucky to have you.’

He shrugged. ‘I was the sucker who said yes.’

‘So you weren’t pond scum after all. Not that I ever really thought you were.’ It was a small white lie. She’d thought him pond scum by association. But when he’d picked her up and run with her in his arms, Max had redeemed himself in her eyes. There was still his media reputation as a love cheat but that had nothing to do with her.

‘No. But he proved to be particularly unpleasant.’ Should she offer to pay for plastic surgery on his nose? Perhaps not. He might be insulted. Besides, she hadn’t been the one to swing that punch.

She looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry if—’

He caught her arm. ‘Can we move somewhere more private? I don’t want an audience.’

She followed him to a quieter part of the beach, taking care not to trip over the mooring ropes that snaked along the sand. Max stopped under the shade of a spiky-leaved Pandanus tree. She slung off her backpack and placed it by her feet. A backpack was best for carrying shopping to keep her hands free when hopping on and off boats. ‘I’m sorry for being confrontational,’ she said. ‘I associated you with Alan. Even though you were so kind about helping me.’

He nodded in acknowledgment of her apology. He looked so good with that beard. ‘So why are you here if not to track me down for Alan?’

‘Why does anyone come to tropical islands?’ he said. ‘But I don’t want people to know I’m here on vacation. I’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet.’

‘How long are you here for?’ she asked. Most people only stayed a few days. There wasn’t a lot to do if you weren’t into surfing or snorkelling.

‘Two weeks.’

Nikki didn’t know whether to be concerned by his reply or not. Only her family and very closest friends knew where she’d fled to six months ago. She’d prefer to keep it that way.

He indicated her backpack. ‘What about you? Are you here just for the day?’ He didn’t have to say I hope so. She could see it on his face, hear it in the tone of his voice.

‘I live here.’ There was no way she could conceal it.

‘What?’ She could take his alarm as an insult. But their last meeting hadn’t exactly led to sunshine and moonbeams for him. The media had been ruthless in their pursuit of him after the scandal of the wedding. Determined to drum up a romance, at the very least an affair, between the runaway bride and the best man. She’d run all the way up here. He’d been left in Sydney to bear the brunt of the intrusive attention.

‘Do you remember I said I had a plan?’

He nodded.

‘Well, I didn’t. I escaped up here the day after the wedding to stay with my Indonesian friend while I thought about what to do. She was a boarder at the girls’ school I went to in Sydney. We’ve been great friends ever since. She’d come to Sydney for the wedding, one of my bridesmaids, and I went home with her. I knew she’d keep my whereabouts secret. What I didn’t know was that she was pregnant and suffering severe morning sickness that went on and on. She and her husband run a hotel here. I stayed to help her. And I’m still here.’

He shrugged. ‘The island is small. Just four kilometres long, I believe. But large enough so we can stay out of each other’s way,’ he said.

‘True,’ she said. ‘I promise to keep your whereabouts secret if you do the same for me.’

‘Done,’ he said. His shoulders visibly relaxed. She hadn’t realised how tense their chance meeting had made him. If it weren’t for what she had dragged him into six months ago she might feel hurt by his aversion to her.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked. ‘So I’ll know which resort to steer clear of.’

‘The Big Blue Bungalows in Frangipani Bay,’ he said.

Nikki’s mouth went suddenly dry and her heart sank somewhere below sand level. She couldn’t look at him. ‘It...er...might be difficult for you to avoid me. That’s the hotel run by my friend Maya and her husband, Kadek. Not only do I work there, I live there.’


CHAPTER THREE (#u2d56b0cb-1972-5931-896a-ef4bcc005fc5)

EVER SINCE HE’D helped Nikki flee her wedding, Max had been haunted by dreams of the lovely runaway bride. Dreams, not nightmares.

The real-life nightmares had been played out in his waking hours with the photos of the best man and the runaway bride splashed all over the media, rabid with speculation about a relationship between them. ‘Cheater Best Man’ was one of the most innocuous. His past dating history had also been dragged out and picked over—again and again. Would they ever leave him alone?

He was, in his own way, famous. The media had become interested in him when he was still a teenager and had snatched the glory of winning the Australian Open from a much older international player. Then he’d dated a rising female tennis star until their conflicting commitments and ambitions had ended it.

Though apparently, it wasn’t a juicy enough story that he and Ellen didn’t make it because of their careers clashing. In London, a reporter had used an intrusive lens to shoot him and a female friend having a quiet lunch together and blown it up into a ‘Love Cheat’ scandal. The resulting headlines had made it impossible for him and Ellen to retain any kind of friendship. She’d been convinced he’d cheated on her while they were still together. If he ever played against her in a doubles game it was always a ‘grudge match’, according to the press. His love life—or lack of it—was of continuing interest.

What he hadn’t realised was that Nikki had a public profile too, as daughter of a wealthy property developer and in her own right as a successful entrepreneur. That had ramped the interest in them as an illicit ‘couple’ up to a higher level. Those few weeks after the wedding when they were hot news had been nightmarish.

His ongoing dreams of Nikki might not be nightmares but they were unsettling.

The dream always started at the same moment. He was back at the wedding rehearsal in the church on the Thursday night before her wedding. As best man, he was standing next to Alan near the altar. Nikki walked down the aisle, slowly and gracefully, just as she had that night. She was wearing the same short, sleeveless blue dress and silver sandals. Her hair was tied back off her face in a ponytail. She carried a bunch of fake flowers so she could practise handing it to her sister, the chief bridesmaid. All just as it had been.

What differed in the dream was that Nikki veered away towards him not Alan. Her smile, the loving anticipation in her eyes, was for him. He was the groom. As she neared him he held out both hands to her and drew her close with a possessive murmur. She looked up to him and raised her face for his kiss. He dipped his head to claim her mouth—

And that was when he always woke up. Confused. Yearning. Disconsolate. Until he shook himself into consciousness and a return to common sense.

The dream was all kinds of crazy. For one thing, he had no interest in getting married. Not now when his injury had turned his life upside down. Not until his life was sorted. And not until he could be sure his marriage was for keeps. He’d seen the stresses the life of an elite sportsperson could place on a relationship. He wanted the for ever kind of happy marriage his parents had. That meant stability and certainty. Right now all his energies were single-mindedly focussed on his new post-tennis direction.

Besides, he wasn’t interested in Nikki Lucas in that way. He couldn’t be. She was attractive, yes. Not just in her looks but also her warm, engaging personality. If they’d met in other circumstances perhaps he would want to pursue that attraction. But she’d impulsively stood up her groom and left him standing at the altar. That showed a certain messiness of thought that alarmed him. Max had abandoned all the rules that had governed his life to aid and abet the runaway bride. And paid the price with his name all over the scandal sheets. They’d both paid the price. The only way he could deal with the adverse press was the knowledge that he had nothing to hide. He could truthfully plead he was innocent of any romantic intent towards Nikki. No affair. No ongoing relationship. Just those cursed dreams.

And yet here she was. Not the Nikki of his memory or his imagination. But just as lovely. Just as appealing. Just as off-limits. With the uncertain future that lay ahead of him, he needed to stay scandal free with no appearances in the press for the wrong reasons. His behaviour that day had been quite out of character for him. To get where he had in the ultra-competitive world of international tennis, he’d had to stay focussed. He planned. He strategised. He drove himself with iron self-discipline. He did not let his emotions get the better of him.

Now Nikki looked up at him, not with the loving gaze of his dream but eyes again narrowed with suspicion. ‘How did I not know you were staying at Big Blue?’ she asked. ‘I help out at the check-in desk. I didn’t see your name.’

‘I’m checked in as Maxwell James. James is my second name. It’s a privacy thing.’

Her feet were firmly planted in the sand. She looked as combative as someone could in billowing hippy pants with the light breeze blowing her hair around her face. He noticed she didn’t wear any make-up. She didn’t need it. ‘Why the Big Blue? Why Lembongan island? Isn’t it a remarkable coincidence that you should end up here?’

‘That’s all it is. A coincidence. I’d never heard of the island until recently. And my travel agent booked me into the hotel. It ticked all the boxes for what I wanted.’

Her brows drew together. ‘You really didn’t know I was staying there?’

‘Absolutely not. I would have steered clear if I’d had any idea.’

Hurt flashed across her face at his words. Max mentally slammed his hand against his forehead. ‘Please don’t take offence. I didn’t mean to be rude. But you must realise that after our time in the headlines, I wouldn’t want to see you again. To risk all the media speculation starting up afresh. That was hell.’

She took a moment to reply. ‘It must have been awful for you. Being up here, I escaped the worst of it. Though my unavailability for comment sent them into a frenzy. I stopped reading after someone claimed to have sighted me with you hiding in a...in a love nest in Fiji.’ She flushed high on her cheekbones at the words love nest. Max had to force himself not to conjure up images of how it might play out if that were actually true.

He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah. I stopped reading them after a while too. Then, thankfully, the stories dwindled away when the next big beat-up scandal took over. I don’t want to give them something new to gossip about.’

‘Me neither,’ she said fervently.

‘I’ll move to another hotel. Maybe you can recommend one.’

She shook her head. ‘No need for that. Big Blue is a great place to stay this end of the beach. My friends only took it over not so long ago. They won’t want anyone cancelling a two-week booking. I especially don’t want that to be because of me.’

Max didn’t know how to talk about avoiding her without sounding offensive. He remembered how he’d felt—as if his heart were melting—at the sight of her tears on the day of her wedding. He didn’t want to upset her, or feel any urge to comfort her. He didn’t want any kind of relationship with the woman who had thrust him back into those hideous headlines. ‘We’ll have to steer clear of each other.’

But she didn’t sound offended—in fact it seemed she wanted to avoid him as much as he wanted to avoid her. ‘We can do that. For one thing I’m part of the staff, unofficially that is, and you’re a guest. That means few opportunities to mingle. What room are you in? One of the lumbung on the beach?’

‘Lumbung?’

‘Over two levels, the traditional thatched roof, the woven bamboo ceilings, the open bathroom.’

‘No. I’m in one of the two larger new villa-style bungalows further back from the beach. Number two. I have my own lap pool. I thought it would be more private than facing the beach.’

‘Oh,’ she said, her blush deepening. ‘That...well, that could be another problem. I’m staying in the adjoining villa.’

Not just on the same island. In adjacent rooms. Nikki lying in bed just a stone wall away from him. What kind of dreams might that inspire? He swallowed a curse. ‘Imagine if the media got hold of that? They’d have a field day. I must move to another hotel.’

She put up her hand in a halt sign. ‘No. Don’t do that. I’ll move to the staff quarters at the back of the resort. I can have a room there. It’s pretty basic but—’

‘I can’t allow you to do that.’

She scowled. Which made her look cute rather than fierce. ‘It’s not a matter of you allowing me to do anything. It’s only for two weeks. I’m not such a “spoiled Sydney princess” that I can’t deal with it.’

Her voice wobbled on the words. So she’d read that offensive story too. It had been immensely unflattering about both of them. He’d felt outraged on her behalf. Had thought about contacting her to offer his commiserations. Had decided against it. He could not be linked to her again. Besides, no one had known where she was. Now he did.

‘And after the two weeks? What then for you?’ he asked.

‘Back into my own room, I guess,’ she said.

‘I mean, what are you doing up here?’

‘Helping my friend Maya. Making plans. You know I sold my business?’

‘I saw that,’ he said.

The night of the rehearsal, when he’d first met Nikki, he had looked her up and read about her success story. How her sister had a very sensitive skin and couldn’t use any of the commercial products. How Nikki had developed a range of products that worked for her sister. How she hadn’t sought conventional distribution but got in early with her online store, stocking first her own products then other brands. Word of mouth and canny marketing had made it a very profitable hit. Just days after the wedding debacle he’d been surprised to see she’d sold out to one of the huge international cosmetic conglomerates under the headline ‘Runaway Bride Cashes In’.

‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘Did you sell because of what happened with Alan?’

She shook her head. ‘The sale was put in motion before the wedding I thought offloading my very demanding business would give me more time to devote to...’ Her voice hitched. ‘To family life.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not sure what else he could say.

She shrugged. ‘As it turned out the timing was right—after all I needed a sabbatical from work, some time to put myself together again. Everything had fallen apart. I... I wasn’t coping very well with the aftermath.’

‘Understandably,’ he said carefully.

She raised her eyes to his. ‘You know, I really thought I loved Alan. And that he loved me. I’m nearly thirty. I wanted to get married and start a family. It was devastating to find out the truth about him. How horribly he’d lied. That he wasn’t at all the person I’d thought he was. I didn’t run away from the wedding on a whim, you know.’ She scuffed the sand with the toe of her sandals, averting her gaze.

‘I know you didn’t,’ he said. She’d been too desperate for it to have been whim. When the media speculation had been at its fieriest, he had asked himself whether, if he had the time again, he would have aligned himself with Team Groom and refused to help her. He hadn’t had to think long.

‘Almost to the time I got to the church I thought I’d go through with it,’ she said. ‘That he’d change. That I’d be the one to make him change where other women had failed. Deep down I knew that wouldn’t happen. My father came good when he went into the church to tell Alan and the guests. But in the car he wouldn’t hear of helping me bolt. My behaviour would have reflected badly on him. Then I saw you and—’

‘And the rest is history,’ he said drily. ‘I don’t regret helping you. I’d do it all again.’

She looked up, her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Despite the aftermath?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

There were two defining moments that had made him certain he’d done the right thing that day. The first was when she’d kissed him. A polite kiss of thanks. And yet for these few seconds her soft lips had been pressed against his cheek and he’d breathed in her scent he’d felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time. An awareness. A stirring of excitement, more thrilling perhaps because it was forbidden. Out of bounds. He couldn’t share that moment and the feelings it had aroused in him with her. But the second moment he could.

‘When Alan went for me, there was a moment when his eyes went dead,’ he said. ‘All the charm and bonhomie gone, unable to mask a ruthless violence that I suspect was habitual. I was very glad I’d helped you escape marriage to the man.’

Nikki gasped and her hand went to her heart. ‘You recognised that? His first ex-wife hinted at abuse on that first phone call. Then confirmed it afterwards when I sent her flowers in gratitude for the warning.’

He pushed away the unimaginable dreadful thought of Nikki suffering at the hands of her ex. Thank heaven he had been there for her. ‘You had a lucky escape.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thanks to the people who helped me.’

Max couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman would be so generous as to send flowers to the woman who had warned her off her ex-husband? She was something, Nikki Lucas.

‘Why didn’t I recognise him for what he was?’ she said. ‘How could I have been so blind?’

‘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.




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