Part 12 (2/2)
s.h.i.+t.
s.n.a.t.c.hes of their shrill remarks turned the muscles between his shoulder blades to concrete. He glanced back at Lauren, who had one hand cupped to her cheek, s.h.i.+elding her eyes, and her lips pressed bloodlessly together.
Then the first blonde arrived in a rush of sun-lotion-scented air.
”'Scuse me, aren't you the guy who was in the Bachelor of the Year contest? The one who smacked down Savannah Payne's husband?”
The woman jiggled with excitement, her backup blondes crowding around their table.
He'd kill his old university-days mate, Glen, again for nominating Nate to be a contestant in that stupid contest. A couple of nearby diners craned their necks toward their corner table.
”Ladies, I don't-”
”O.M.G.” The second blonde cut him off, pus.h.i.+ng forward and staring at Lauren. ”You're Alexandra Knight! I loved you in Michael Kors' fall collection a couple years back-”
”She totally is!” Blonde-Number-One chimed in.
Blonde-Number-Three gushed, ”Why'd you dye your hair, s.e.xy Lexy? You rocked as a blonde.”
Lauren's skin had gone pale and waxy, her eyes like those of a small creature caught in a hunter's spotlight. ”No, you're wrong. Please-” Her voice was a choked rasp over the women's rapid-fire questions.
Nate sat frozen in place, ice water flus.h.i.+ng through his veins, lowering his internal temperature into the realms of hypothermia.
Alexandra Knight.
The New Zealand girl who made it big on the world's catwalks then mysteriously disappeared. He had few preconceived ideas about her, mainly because runway models didn't figure much in his world of military coups and genocide.
Alexandra Lauren Knight. s.e.xy Lexy.
Of course she was. Subst.i.tute the brown hair for a waterfall of long, blonde locks, remove her lovely curves and replace them with the skeletal shape designers thought appealed to the ma.s.ses, erase the scar from her cheekbone and voila! His Lauren became a model.
One of the women produced a smartphone and tapped the screen. ”Can we get a photo with you?”
The other two cl.u.s.tered at Lauren's side in antic.i.p.ation.
”I'm not who you think I am.” Lauren's gaze locked onto the phone's bright pink cover, and it was as if defibrillator paddles slapped onto her chest. She bolted upright, her wild glance careening off his. ”Sorry.”
Then she darted around the startled waitress delivering their lunch and slammed out of the restaurant.
While the blondes bl.u.s.tered in indignation, Nate approached the service counter. Apologizing for the commotion, he paid for their meals and left a generous tip.
He wanted answers. So finding Lauren-Alexandra-Lexy, or whoever the h.e.l.l she was, had become his top priority.
Chapter 6.
Lauren pressed against the shop wall opposite Nate's Range Rover and did her best to blend in to the window display of summer tops and patterned bikinis. The Art of Being a Chameleon 101.
Two years, dammit. Two years she'd kept herself and her son away from unwanted publicity. Two years blown in one moment by three giggly teens.
What on earth would Nate think of her now?
Bad enough the stunned look on his face, then the shuttering of his gaze as recognition poisoned his system. She turned her head slowly as her peripheral vision located him striding along the sidewalk. She'd know soon enough what Nate Fraser thought of her.
He unlocked the car with his remote and moved around to the driver's door.
Lauren hurried into the vehicle, tugging her hat even lower over her face-but not before she caught Nate's grimace at the action.
He climbed in and pa.s.sed over one of the bags he was holding. ”Eat this before you pa.s.s out.”
She opened the bag and stared at the plastic-wrapped sandwiches with a mouth bereft of saliva. Choking them down would be like trying to swallow dry crackers. But it was sweet of him to buy her something after she'd completely ruined their lunch.
”Thanks,” she said.
He held out a hand. ”Where's the store slip. I'll go get Drew's bike.”
She didn't consider arguing; all she wanted was to get home and figure out what the h.e.l.l to do now.
Once Nate returned and stowed Drew's new bike in the rear, he got back into the driver's seat. He didn't start the vehicle, just stared straight ahead. His expression was stiffly neutral, his arms folded across his chest, which only emphasized the breadth and power of the muscle beneath his s.h.i.+rt.
Lauren's heart tripped over itself, her mind racing to find a way to diffuse the situation. Each time she opened her mouth with a word about to fall off her tongue, she'd close it again, the remains of the sentence slipping from her grasp.
”She's not me.” She finally gasped the words out, keeping her gaze directed at the dashboard. ”At least, not anymore.”
Silence from the other side of the car.
”Alexandra and s.e.xy Lexy, that is.”
”Who was she then?” His voice was pitched low, with a cool edge that had her fingers locking together in her lap until it felt as if her knuckles would shatter.
”Alexandra was the girl my mother wanted me to be. A graceful, elegant model who'd strut the catwalks of New York, Milan and Paris. Alexandra was the woman who Jonathan Knight married and molded. s.e.xy Lexy was the embarra.s.sing nickname the press knew would sell more copies of their sleazy papers. Alexandra and s.e.xy Lexy allowed other people's expectations to dictate who they were.”
”So who is Lauren?”
Tears stung the corner of her eyes and she furiously blinked them back. ”Lauren is me. The girl happy to hand her father grease-covered tools in his garage, working on his Caddy. She grew into someone who never wanted to be a famous model or a trophy wife-she's a woman who loves her son, her family, her life in Bounty Bay.”
He unfolded his arms and gripped the steering wheel. ”That's the Lauren I know.”
”I'm sorry I didn't tell you.” She bit her lip and swiped away an errant tear streaking down to her jaw.
”Given your situation having a nosy reporter move next door-”
She sniffed. ”Photojournalist.”
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