The young, fair-haired cop shifted from foot to foot. He flushed under his deep tan. “Mr. Slade, I’m arresting you for kidnapping.”
“What the—?” Matt took a step forward but stopped when the man he’d called Pete pulled out handcuffs from behind his back.
Matt’s eyes blazed with fury. The cop brandished the handcuffs threateningly. Cristy noticed his hands were trembling—the younger man was nervous of Matt. “I don’t want to use these, Mr. Slade. But you’re under arrest. Better cooperate.”
“For kidnapping who?” asked Cristy, stepping forward.
“You ma’am,” the cop said.
Cristy stared disbelievingly at Sergeant Nicholls, then leaned forward and snatched the handcuffs from his hands before he realized what she was doing. “I have not been kidnapped. I ran away and Matt rescued me.”
The young cop was by now red in the face. “Mr. Templetton reported you had been kidnapped.”
Matt cursed impressively.
Howard! Why would he have done that? To save face before a congregation of expectant wedding guests?
“That’s nonsense,” said Cristy. “I was not kidnapped. Matt rescued me when I ran away from my wedding. He was taking me to the airport at Hibiscus Island when the boat ran aground in the storm. We’ve been stranded here since.”
“So… there’s no kidnapping,” said the cop.
“No.”
“And you haven’t been hurt?” He was beginning to sound silly and he knew it.
“No,” she said resoundingly.
He looked to Matt. “No ransom or anything?”
Matt swore again and the tide of color on the young cop’s face turned darker.
“No kidnap. No ransom,” said Cristy.
The pilot had been looking on, but now he turned to Pete. “I’d listen to the lady, Pete.”
The young cop shifted from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, Mr. Slade. I didn’t think you’d do anything like that but I had my orders. There’s obviously been a mix up.”
Cristy was astounded when, after an awkward pause, Matt clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “No hard feelings, mate,” he said.
“Thanks, Mr. Slade,” the cop mumbled.
Unable to believe what she was seeing, Cristy looked from one man to the other. Wasn’t there a case of unlawful arrest here?
Matt shrugged. “Pete’s a fishing buddy,” he said, as if that were explanation enough.
Then he turned to Cristy. “Aren’t you going to give him back his handcuffs?”
Still astounded at the way Matt had reacted, Cristy realized the handcuffs were still dangling from her hand. “Uh, sure,” she said.
“Unless,” Matt whispered so the others couldn’t hear, “you’ve got other plans for them?”
Cristy flushed at the sensual expression in his eyes and quickly handed the cuffs back to the cop.
The young cop thanked her and then told her they’d better get going.
“Sure,” she said and then hesitated. “But I have to go back to the hut.”
“For the chocolate supply?” said Matt.
“No,” she said, “I just want to check everything is okay.”
“Better hurry, ma’am,” said the pilot.
Cristy walked as fast as she could in her uneven flip-flops. She didn’t want to admit that she wanted to go back for Seth’s diary pages—and also because she felt a need to make some sort of farewell to the place where she’d fallen in love with Matt.
She pushed open the door with a feeling of sadness. Already the hut looked abandoned, desolate. The makeshift bed was a tangle of sheets, twisted and rumpled from their night of lovemaking. As best she could, she pulled them smooth. She didn’t want the next person who came to the hut to know what had happened there. It was too private. Too special.
She picked up Seth’s diary pages and tucked them in her bodice. They were something she would cherish forever. Both as a reminder of her time on his island and in gratitude that his story had, she felt, helped awaken the capacity for love and passion that had lain dormant for so long in her heart.
She hesitated at the panic bag. There were still chocolates left but the condom supply had run low. She picked it up and then put it hastily back down again. That would be too painful a reminder of Matt if this were the end of their relationship—if you could call a shared shipwreck and some hot sex a relationship.
But she couldn’t help smiling at the thought of what the person who found the panic bag would think.
I hope it serves you as well as it did me
, she wished for them.
The irony was that here she’d found happiness in the kind of simple, self-sufficient life that was her parents’ dream. Maybe the organic apple hadn’t fallen so far from the tree, after all.
With one last look behind her, she slammed the door and hurried toward the helicopter.
The rotors were going full speed again, the noise deafening. Pete Nicholls and the pilot were already on board along with another pilot.
Matt surprised her by kissing her swiftly, wordlessly on the mouth. Then he made her crouch low out of the way of the blades before helping her clamber up into the cabin. They sat on rough seats behind the others and the pilot handed them a set of earmuffs each. “For the noise,” he mouthed, somewhat unnecessarily.
As she sat beside Matt, their thighs touching, Cristy felt the lowest she’d felt since the day she’d run out on her butt-groping bridegroom. When he couldn’t hear a word you said, how could you confess your feelings to the man you loved?
Her heart sank further as she realized the helicopter was flying in over Starlight Island. So much for running away. But surely Howard would not still be there? He had a business to run in Sydney—and no honeymoon to take.
But her worry over Howard dissipated as she looked down and saw the uprooted trees and storm-driven damage. She gasped and Matt mouthed a curse. The storm that had touched their island had blitzed this one.
The resort lay below them, the heliport on the grassy patch between the sand and the grounds of the resort, away from the storm-torn palm trees.
Within minutes they had landed. Pete Nicholls clambered down and held out a hand to help her. She hesitated, wanting more time next to Matt. This might be the end, the last moment of intimacy before their farewells. Or had that kiss been goodbye?
But Matt nudged her and she got up and took Pete’s hand. Crouching down away from the blades she ran out of range of the helicopter, then tripped on her flip-flops and stumbled.
She felt Matt from behind help her to her feet and she looked up—only to be blinded by a sudden flashing of lights. She blinked, bewildered, like a deer caught in headlights. The drone of the helicopter diminished as it took off and she found herself facing a crowd of people aiming cameras at her and waving microphones.
“Miss Walters,” one shouted. “Tell us how if feels to be free?”
“Over here, Cristy,” urged another. “Did he hurt you, did—?”
“Ohmigod!” screamed another. “Look at the bruises on her, he’s beaten her.”
The cameras swiveled wildly in the direction of her thighs. Shutters clicked and motor drives whirred.
Dumbly, Cristy looked down. Her shredded skirt had gotten rucked up and the vicious bruises, from her fall when the bed had collapsed, glared purple and ugly.
With shaking hands, she tugged her skirt down. Feeling hunted, she turned back to Matt to find him looking as disconcerted as she was. The media pack switched its attention to Matt but he folded her toward him, shielding her with his body. The cameras flashed.
Then she was wrenched away from him at the same time he was pulled away from her. A large, luridly colored beach towel was flung around her breasts and bare shoulders to protect her from the prying cameras.
“Matt,” she screamed, reaching out for him.
But he had turned away and was talking with a shorter, plumpish man who punctuated their intense conversation by shouting “no comment!” at the media who pressed in on them.
She tried to break away from the hands that gripped her elbows and pulled her further away from Matt. “Let me go!” she cried, frantically twisting to be freed.
“Cristy it’s okay,” came a reassuringly familiar voice.
Startled, she looked up to see Howard, his face creased with concern, his pale eyes anxious.
“Cristy, thank God you’re safe,” he said, taking her into his arms.
She stopped her struggling and, in relief, let herself relax into the security of his embrace, barely aware of the barrage of flashguns that went off as she did so.
“Smile for the camera, lovebirds,” someone called out.
“Howard,” Cristy whispered hoarsely. “What’s going on?”
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get you away from this pack of hyenas.”
Cristy let him walk her forward a step then she stopped and shrugged him away. “Wait!” She didn’t want to be with Howard. Where was Matt?
Frantically she pulled away from Howard. She screamed out Matt’s name. But all she could see of him was his dark head above the crowd of reporters surrounding him as, accompanied by the shorter man, he walked rapidly away from her.
M
att stared over the shoulders of the baying press pack. Cristy was enfolded tightly in her fiancé’s arms. Matt’s fists clenched by his sides and he gritted his teeth. His thoughts were bitter. How could he have ever thought this would end any differently?
The bride was back with her society bridegroom, just—no doubt—as she’d always intended. He’d wanted to believe differently, but the proof was there before his angry, jealous eyes.
Had the whole running-away scenario been some kind of test for Howard to prove his devotion? The ginger-haired guy looked devoted all right, his sunburned face creased with concern and gratitude that Cristy was back by his side.
Matt spun on his heel and turned away without a backward glance. He strode after Danny—who had been there to meet him, full of apologies and repentance—away from the media and toward the opposite end of the hotel.
What a fool he’d been. That damn white charger was getting sent straight to the glue factory. At a fast trot.
The storm meant he could no longer take time out from the driver’s seat of his business. Responsibilities had to be shouldered again. And there were tough conversations ahead with Danny that would take some time.
In the meantime, he’d do his best not to bump into Mrs. Templetton-To-Be until she flew right away from this island and out of his life.
But as for that idiot Howard with his false accusation of kidnapping—he’d be seeing him again. With his lawyer. In court.
C
risty let Howard hustle her away from the reporters. “No comment. Miss Walters has nothing to say,” he kept repeating.
After the third time he said it, Christy twisted a step away from him. “Actually, I do have something to say,” she said, tightly wrapping the beach towel around her.
“I was not kidnapped,” she said as firmly as her voice, hoarse from shouting over the helicopter, would let her.
“Matt Slade kindly gave me a ride on his boat. We were headed for the airport on Hibiscus Island and we ran aground in the storm. That’s it. End of story. He was kind to me, looked after me. He… Matt Slade…” Her voice began to break. “He’s one of the good guys.”
She turned to walk away. Where was Matt? They should be facing this together.
“How much for your story, Cristy? Exclusive?” shouted one reporter.
“Where did you sleep on that island?” leered another.
This was a nightmare.
“I said, end of story,” she managed to get out before letting Howard lead her away, glaring at the media as he did so.
Howard kept one step ahead of the pursuing crowd until they got to a side door to the hotel. There, hotel staff barred the way to the reporters and camera crews.
Cristy stumbled inside and gulped in the cool, air-conditioned air. She looked up at Howard. “Thanks for that,” she said.
His face contorted with anguish. “It’s the least I could do. Cristy, I’m so sorry. About the wedding. About Miriam. I never meant to hurt you. I feel so guilty, so—”
He looked over her shoulder and Cristy became aware that someone else was in the room. Miriam stood behind them, clutching the back of a sofa for support. Her best friend, Miriam.
Her bridesmaid looked as though she hadn’t slept for days, her dark, curly hair a mess, her face tear-stained and her brown eyes red-rimmed. She seemed as though she wanted to run toward her but didn’t dare.
“Oh Cristy, I’m so glad you’re safe. Alive. I’ve been sick with worry.” She started to sob, her usually cheerful, pretty face crumpled and tear stained. “It was all my fault and I’m so sorry.”
Miriam looked toward Howard, and Cristy saw something pass between them, a message that didn’t require words. Big tears rolled down Miriam’s face and Cristy could see that Howard longed to comfort her.
Why, they love each other, Cristy realized. Where had that come from? And where the heck was Phil?
“It’s okay, Miriam, truly okay,” Cristy said.
“How can you ever forgive me?” Miriam sobbed.
Cristy looked from Howard—buddy, pal, never lover—to Miriam. She thought about the last time she’d seen her friends together in that passionate clinch. And knew it didn’t hurt a bit. In fact, she was glad for them. If there was jealousy, it was jealousy that they had together what she longed for with Matt. Certainly not with Howard.
Quickly she took the few steps that took her to Miriam and hugged her. “Of course I forgive you,” she said. She looked over her friend’s curly head to Howard. “And you too, Howard.”
Howard looked disbelieving. Miriam clung to Cristy, still sobbing.
“Getting married would have been a big mistake,” Cristy said to Howard. “I realize that now.” She turned to Miriam. “Howard and I are good friends. And that’s all we should ever have been.”
“Oh Cristy,” wailed Miriam. “How can you be so nice about it?”
Gently, Cristy disengaged herself from her friend’s arms. “Go on,” said Cristy with a little nudge. “Go to him.”
Howard put his arm protectively around Miriam and she snuggled against him. Cristy felt her heart spasm as she saw the loving expression in Howard’s eyes and the adoring way Miriam looked up at him.
But the heartache wasn’t for the loss of Howard. It was for Matt. And what she yearned to share with him.