Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex. Nicola Marsh

she’d given up on a long time ago where he was concerned.

      Jared Malone might have once rocked her world, but she’d got over it. He could flash that sexy smile and charm her with witty wordplay all he liked, it wouldn’t change a thing.

      She’d seen the way he’d looked at her during their brief meeting at Icebergs; as if he remembered everything about her and would love to take a fast sprint down memory lane.

      If he tried, she had four words for him.

       Not in this lifetime.

      Leaning into the mirror, she tilted her head to one side to fasten an earring. The long, straight silver spiral shimmered as she turned, caught the light, reflected, matching her sequinned halter top perfectly.

      She loved the top’s funkiness, had offset it with low-slung black hipster formal pants. Chic, without trying too hard. Not that she’d dithered too long on her wardrobe choice. She wanted to speed through this evening, speed through the seven interminably long days on the island and regain equilibrium.

      For while she might not have feelings for Jared any more, seeing him again had her on edge, a strange combination of anger, fear and reservation. While he could act as if things hadn’t ended badly between them, she couldn’t, unable to shake the foreboding that the longer she spent in his company, the more chance she had of making a fool of herself again.

      For that was exactly what she’d done last time around.

      Made an A-grade ass of herself.

      She’d known he’d had to leave eventually, yet had started to cling the closer his departure grew, culminating in that silly, angry ultimatum during their last phone call.

      She’d made him choose. Her or tennis. How young and stupid had she been?

      When he’d walked in on her in that wedding dress the week before he left, she’d been glad. She’d wanted him to see how she looked, wanted him to envisage the dream of happily-ever-after as much as she wanted it.

      So she’d made that flyaway comment about it being their turn next, half hoping he’d sweep her into his arms and take her with him.

      Instead, he’d withdrawn, closed off, the last week before he departed, leaving her morose, desperate and hurt, incredibly hurt.

      Her ridiculous ultimatum had been born of anger and resentment and rejection, something she should never have done.

      But she couldn’t change the past; the memory of her naivety made her cringe and seeing Jared again only served to resurrect those old feelings of embarrassment and mortification.

      He’d appeared unfazed by their past while she’d sat through their meeting mentally kicking herself all over again.

      Now she had to spend a week on a deserted island with him.

      Her humiliation was complete.

      The intercom buzzed and with one, last quick glance in the mirror she trudged across the room, grateful her platform T-bar metallic sandals only allowed her to move at a snail’s pace, and hit the button to let him in downstairs.

      She’d wondered if he’d call her at work to get the address, surprised when he hadn’t. It meant he remembered, leading to the next obvious question: what else did he remember?

      Much to her chagrin, she hadn’t forgotten a thing about him.

      Avery’s shoe size? Erased from her memory banks for ever.

      Barton’s preferred margarine? Gone.

      Yet she could recall in startling clarity how Jared liked his eggs—poached; his coffee—white with one; his side of the bed—right.

      Maybe that had been half the problem with both engagements? The guys had been fine, upstanding citizens with good jobs, good looks and good credentials, but they weren’t Jared.

      The thought had crossed her mind both times she’d broken off the engagements but she’d dismissed it as a young girl’s whimsical memory of a brief romance that had been too good to be true.

      She’d had genuine feelings for both fiancés, had gone through her version of grieving both times: intermittent crying jags, locked away at home for a week, consumed copious tubs of her favourite Turkish delight ice cream.

      She’d pondered their relationships at length, had tried to erase the final departure from both engagements each time: the shock, the bewilderment from the guys, the guilt, the sadness from her.

      It had taken her a while to recover from Avery, then Barton, and each time she’d started reminiscing about Jared and hated herself for it.

      The girls at work discussed their first loves all the time: the thrill, the newness, the heady sensation of being on heightened awareness every second of every day, how it all faded.

      That was the problem. The buzz between her and Jared hadn’t had a chance to fade. He’d absconded before the gloss had worn off, left her embarrassed she’d read so much into their relationship, furious how he’d ended it yet pathetically pining when he hadn’t looked back.

      The memory of their parting doused any simmer of sentimentality she might have felt towards this meeting, annoyance replacing her memories as she yanked open the door.

      ‘Good. You’re here. Let’s go.’

      Her brusqueness evaporated when she saw him leaning against the jamb, wearing a wicked grin that made her facial muscles twitch in eager ness to respond.

      ‘Wow.’

      She stiffened as his appreciative gaze roved over her freely, the naughty twinkle in his eyes undermining her as much as that damn smile.

      Ignoring the responding quiver in her knees, she dropped her gaze, discovering his designer loafers, dark denim, and cotton shirt the colour of her favourite butterscotch didn’t help re-establish her immunity.

      He’d always been a great dresser, could wear anything and make it look like haute couture. Yet another thing she’d loved about him. A love that meant jack considering how fast he’d run.

      ‘You ready to go?’

      Scanning her face for a reason behind her snippiness, he chuckled, held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

      Ignoring his hand, she nodded, needing to wipe that twinkle from his eye, to establish she wouldn’t engage in whatever game he intended for tonight.

      ‘If you’re planning on flirting your way through dinner, forget it. I’m doing this so we get everything straight before we’re stuck on the island. Understand?’

      His mock salute and wide grin spoke volumes: he’d do as he damned well pleased tonight, regardless.

      ‘Perfectly.’

      She shook her head, frowned. ‘I mean it. I’m immune so don’t waste your breath—’

      ‘Did it ever strike you I’m uncomfortable about all this and flirting is the only way I know how to ease back into how we were before?’

      His honesty surprised her, for, while his tone was light-hearted, she saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

      A sliver of guilt penetrated her prickly armour. If she was feeling uncomfortable about this whole scenario, why shouldn’t he?

      ‘We can’t go back to how it was before.’

      His answering smile elicited a twinge of remembrance, a yearning to do just that.

      ‘We laughed a lot back then, were easy in each other’s company. Wouldn’t it be great to recapture some of that on the island, especially in front of the cameras?’

      Of course, that was what this was about: re-establishing some kind of rapport so they didn’t embarrass themselves on camera. She should’ve known, but for a split second she’d almost wished he were flirting with her because he wanted to recreate some of