CHAPTER TWO

      ZOE’S VILLA HAD suffered minimal damage from the tremor—just a few glasses she’d left out had smashed to the tiled floor. Still, it was a shock—a reminder of how much worse it could have been. Might yet be.

      She wanted to clear up the broken glass. But she felt awkward dressed only in the towel and she still felt very shaky. For every piece she picked up, she dropped another.

      Mitch insisted he do it for her. Thanking him, she escaped into her bedroom and pulled closed the door that divided the room from the living area. The villa was like a roomy one-bedroom apartment, with all the external doors folding back to access the enclosed courtyard and private lap pool.

      Her heart was thumping like crazy. Residual fear from the earthquake? More likely the effect of being in close proximity to Mitch Bailey.

      She hadn’t stalked him over the years. Not that. But when a boy she’d gone to school with had shot to fame she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t read the magazine stories, watched the television interviews, cheered for him when he’d been the youngest ever player in the Australian Socceroos team for the World Cup.

      All the while she’d been getting on with her life—first studying, then working, dating, and only ever thinking about him when the media brought him to her attention.

      Now he’d been thrust into her life again. And she was clad in a towel, with no make-up on and her hair all mussed up with massage oil.

      Hastily she pulled on a sleekly cut black bikini, then slid into a simple sleeveless dress in an abstract black-and-white print. It fell to just above her knees. The humid tropical heat made anything else uncomfortable. She pulled a brush through her hair and slicked on a natural toned lipstick.

      Did she want to look her best for Mitch? Her ‘best’ involved twenty minutes in front of a mirror with a make-up kit and heated hair tongs. She shouldn’t be worried about how she looked now; he’d seen her at her worst ten years ago. She shuddered at the memory of what she’d looked like back then. The mono-brow. The bushy hair. The prone-to-eruption skin.

      But still, she wished today she could look her usual polished, poised self. Her best self. There was no denying she’d feel more confident with straightened hair and more make-up. But she didn’t want to waste time fussing over her appearance when she could be catching up with Mitch. Who knew when she’d see him again—if ever?

      He’d switched on the television in the living area and was watching the screen when she came back out of her bedroom.

      ‘The manager was right—there’s minimal disruption,’ he said. ‘Seems like Bali gets small tremors like this quite often. But the risk of aftershocks is real.’

      Aftershocks. She knuckled her hand against her mouth to suppress a gasp; she didn’t want to appear too fearful. Not when Mitch seemed so laid back about the risk.

      He switched off the TV and turned to face her. Had he grown taller since she’d last stood so near to him? They were both in their bare feet. He seemed to stand about six-foot-one to her five-foot-five.

      Six-foot-one of total hotness.

      Mitch was an elite sportsman in his prime, and he had celebrity status with as many fans as any actor or musician.

      Her proximity to his bare chest was doing nothing to slow down her revved-up heartbeat. If she’d had a T-shirt big enough to stretch over all those muscles, she would have offered to lend it to him. But wouldn’t it be a crime to cover that expanse of buff body?

      She wanted to take a step back, but didn’t want to signal how disconcerted she felt by said buff body being so close to her. Instead she stood her ground and forced her voice to sound controlled and conversational.

      ‘So this region sometimes gets harmless tremors? That didn’t stop it from being frightening, though, did it?’ she said. ‘I huddled under the massage table, making all sorts of bargains with myself about what I’d do if I got out safely.’

      ‘What kind of bargains?’ he asked.

      ‘Spend more time with friends and less at work. Give more to charity.’ She shrugged. ‘Stuff that wouldn’t interest you.’

      His eyes were as green as she remembered them, and now they looked intently into hers. ‘How do you know they wouldn’t interest me?’ he said, in a voice that seemed to have got an octave deeper.

      A shiver of awareness tingled through her. Sexiest man alive, all right.

      ‘Our lives are so different. It’s like we inhabit different spaces on the planet,’ she said.

      ‘What do you think is my space on the planet?’

      ‘Spain? I believe you play for one of the top Spanish teams. I’ve never been to Spain.’

      ‘I live in Madrid.’

      ‘There you go. I still live in Sydney. Fact is, the air you breathe is way more rarefied than mine.’

      ‘I don’t know if that’s true or not. We’re both staying in the same hotel.’

      ‘My booking was a last-minute bargain on the internet. Yours?’

      He smiled. The same appealing, slightly uneven smile he’d had at the age of seventeen. ‘Maybe not.’

      ‘That’s just my point. You’re famous. Not just for being a brilliant football player but for being handsome, wealthy, and photographed with a different gorgeous woman on your arm every time you’re seen in public.’

      And they were all tall, blonde and beautiful clones of Lara, back in high school.

      ‘That’s where you have an unfair