Best Man And The Runaway Bride. Kandy Shepherd
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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