She would have a five-minute conversation with him, wishing him well for the future, and then walk off into the distance with a little swing of her hips.
She would be composed, controlled. He would never guess that her heart was breaking all over again. He would have no idea at all.
But most of all there would be absolutely no touching. No touching at all. Because, in her head, that was the thing that would always break her.
And she’d been right.
Her hand started to shake. Rubbing it against her thigh was no use. No use at all.
Her footsteps quickened on the descending path. The beach was only a matter of minutes away. A few of the crew members were already on the beach, sitting on the chairs. But the truth was she couldn’t stay here for long. In an hour’s time the celebrities would be split into two teams and dropped into the middle of the ocean.
Their first challenge would be to row to the island. The winning team would be rewarded with better sleeping facilities and more edible food. The others would spend a night sleeping on the jungle floor. Just the thought of it made her shudder. The rangers had already pulled a few spiders as big as her hands from the ‘camp’ and a few snakes she had no intention of identifying. The book that Lewis had given her on poisonous creatures had photographs of them and then notes on antidotes, treatments and antivenoms. It wasn’t exactly fun bedtime reading.
She climbed up onto one of the bar stools, which gave a little wobble. It seemed to be designed for people of an Amazonian stature. She looked down to the sandy matting beneath her.
‘What’ll it be?’ asked the guy behind the bar. He didn’t look like a traditional bartender. He looked like a guy running between about five different jobs. Most of the crew seemed to be doing more than one thing.
‘Remind me not to get too drunk. I don’t fancy falling off this bar stool. It’s a long way down.’
The bartender smiled. ‘It’s okay. I know a handsome doc that will be able to patch you up.’
She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not.’ She held out her hand. ‘Rachel Johnson. The other doc. And, believe me, he’s the last person who’d be patching me up.’
‘Len Kennedy. You don’t like Nathan? I’m surprised.’ He set a glass in front of her. ‘Don’t tell me. Diet soda or fruit juice?’
She nodded ruefully. ‘You guessed it; I’ll be on duty soon. A diet cola will be fine.’ She watched as he poured and tossed in some ice, a slice of orange and a couple of straws.
He watched while she took a sip. ‘Nathan seems like a good guy. What’s the problem?’ The bartender’s voice was steady with a curious edge. But it felt as if he’d just drawn a line in the sand as to where his loyalties lay. Great. She couldn’t even come to the bar for a drink.
She gave her shoulders a shrug and took a sip through her straw. ‘Some might say it’s ancient history.’
Her eyes met the guy in front of her. He was handsome, but a little rough around the edges. A scar snaked from his wrist to his elbow, he had a closely shorn head, a few days’ worth of stubble and eyes that had seen things they shouldn’t. She wondered what his story was.
He gave her a knowing kind of smile. ‘Then maybe that’s the best place to leave it. Sometimes history should be just that—history.’
She’d been wrong. He didn’t seem like a crazy crew member. He was a typical bartender. The kind that seemed to be able to read your mind and tell you exactly what you didn’t want to hear.
She looked out at the perfect ocean. This place might not have the luxury facilities she’d been promised. But it was an incredibly beautiful setting. The kind of place where you should relax and chill out. The kind of place that probably had the most gorgeous sunsets in the world. She gave a sigh. ‘Sometimes history is too hard to let go of.’
Len put another glass on the bar and filled it with lemonade. He held it up to hers. She hesitated, then held up her glass and chinked it against his. He smiled. ‘Maybe you should look at this a new way. Maybe it was fate that you both ended up here at the same time.’
Fate. More like an interfering friend. She arched her back, her hand instantly going to the skin there, tracing a line along her own scar. She hadn’t thought for a second Nathan would be here. Her backpack had two bikinis that she’d never wear in front of him; they’d have to spend the next three weeks languishing at the bottom of her bag. She didn’t want him asking any questions. She didn’t want to explain her scar. It went hand in hand with her relationship with Darius. Things he didn’t need to know about.
She didn’t really want to consider fate. It didn’t seem like her friend.
She smiled at Len. ‘So what are your duties around here? I haven’t had a chance to look around much yet.’
‘Apparently I tend the bar, refill the drinks, supply ice and help the crew with setting up some of the tasks.’ He took another sip of his drink. ‘I’ve got experience in rock climbing. They said it would be useful for one of their tasks.’
Rachel’s eyes widened. ‘You might have experience rock climbing but I’m betting none of the celebrities have. How safe is it to make them do something like that?’
Len shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. I’m just the extra pair of hands. I’m assuming they’ll have a safety briefing before they start. At least I hope they will.’
Rachel gave a sigh and looked out over the perfect blue Coral Sea. This place really could be an island paradise. She rested her head on her hands. ‘What on earth have I got myself into?’
Len laughed. He raised his glass again and gave her a worldly-wise gaze. ‘Probably a whole load of trouble.’
She lifted her glass again and clinked it against his. She had a sinking feeling he could be right.
RACHEL WATCHED AS the celebrities rowed towards the island. At least that was what she thought they were trying to do.
‘There’s going to need to be some serious editing,’ said the quiet voice behind her. ‘This is really quite boring.’
She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. She could actually feel his presence right behind her.
He was right. The journey to the island didn’t seem like much of a journey. They’d been put into two boats and asked to row ashore as if they’d done it from the mainland. The truth was they were only a few hundred yards away. The boat with the sportsman Frank Cairns was already miles in front of the other. On a hot day his patience was obviously at an all-time low and he’d decided to do most of the rowing himself. His fellow celebs arrived onshore with big smiles on their faces.
The second boat arrived filled with long, grumpy faces and instant moans. ‘My agent said I wouldn’t have to do anything like this,’ moaned Dazzle.
‘Your agent lied,’ muttered Pauline Wilding, the politician. ‘Haven’t you learned anything yet?’
The male and female TV presenters appeared, trying to placate the celebrities and keep the atmosphere light. Rachel scanned her eyes over them all. One of the older women was limping already. The trek through the forest to the campsite wouldn’t help.
Darius appeared comfortable. The row didn’t seem to have bothered him in the slightest. It made her feel a little easier. Everywhere she looked she could see potential problems. Scratches and bites that could become infected. Lack of proper nutrition. Contaminants from the horrible toilet the celebrities would need to use. If Darius had asked her