PROLOGUE
SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA
Shocked to the core, Jayden wondered if this was what it felt like at that vital moment when you realized you just might die. The world stopped, or perhaps time, the world, and everything in it ceased to have meaning for him.
The richness of the Sheraton’s Ambassador Suite surrounded him as it had for the last three days, but he saw none of it. The Victorian-style decor, the luxurious furnishings, and the majestic views of Hyde Park and Sydney Harbor all faded from sight. The air, once heady with the scent of fresh roses and vanilla, now stank of betrayal. He felt a queasy sickness in the pit of his stomach as the bouquet of perfect red roses slipped from his grasp and scattered across the plush Persian carpet.
He watched, unable to tear his gaze away.
On the king-sized four-poster bed, two sweat-soaked naked bodies writhed in ecstasy—intertwining, touching, and heaving with exertion. As he stood transfixed, a female face swam into focus. It was Sarah Taylor, her long blond hair in wild disarray, her face flushed with passion, and her head pressed into the shoulder of her bedmate. Her eyes flashed open, and she gasped, pushing the man aside.
“Jayden, you’re back!” she shouted, her voice a heavy mix of shock, fear, and anger.
Jayden glanced at the man who was disentangling himself from the embrace of Sarah’s long, tanned legs. Kyle Shore, a man he treated like a brother, looked like the proverbial cat with the cream, a smug and knowing smile playing across his face.
Hurt, betrayal, disgust—empty words for the emotions churning within him, twisting and burning, a white-hot pain inside. Violence and agony surged through his trembling muscles as a million questions filled the air like a flock of frightened birds.
Why are you doing this? When did it start? What did I do wrong? Why Kyle? Why? Why?
His hand clenched the door handle, his knuckles white, his face a mask of confusion and anger.
“Happy anniversary, Sarah,” he said, his voice lost in the boom of the door slamming shut.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 1
QUEENSTOWN, NEW ZEALAND
The cell phone clattered carelessly across the glass surface of the coffee table. Jayden swore under his breath, his long, lean fingers raking through his thick hair in frustration. What the hell was he supposed to do now? This was supposed to be his holiday, and a holiday was supposed to be stress-free. No work. No family. Just peace and relaxation.
No work? Yeah, right! As a self-confessed workaholic, it was unsurprising now that his five out of eight companies had recently been floating in the international market, hitting the multibillion-dollar level on the way. That kind of money needed looking after, nurturing, and feeding. Still, he loved the job, even more so now that he didn’t need to be in the office twenty-four-seven. He could simply flick an e-mail from wherever he was, whether in a hotel room in some lush French wine valley, a Hong Kong restaurant, or even his own bed! Whenever, wherever he was, his people could handle everything he threw at them.
Sadly, the current focus of his stress was his family—more specifically, his grandmother. His mother, Gracie, married to his father, Tom McCartney, for thirty-five years, had insisted he bring his current girlfriend to attend his sister Kelly’s upcoming wedding in order to meet the whole family for the first time. Tom’s mother, Elizabeth, known to them as Granny Beth, had agreed to this with the reminder that it was high time his girlfriend was measured against her criteria of what made a suitable granddaughter-in-law.
Jay stepped back from the open window and sat on the leather sofa. He took a deep, calming breath. The fresh, apple-crisp air that seemed so unique to Queenstown filled the room with a delicious coolness. The echo of that damned phone call, however, had already destroyed any peace of mind he might have expected from this trip. There seemed to be no solution. He couldn’t beg Sarah to go and pretend nothing had happened, that he hadn’t caught her with his best friend. Even the unspoken presence of her name in his mind caused a crippling ache in his chest.
He shut his eyes, and his mind filled once again with the smoothness of her skin, the curves of her naked buttocks, and the tiny moan escaping her lips as Kyle Shore moved over her. She had been beautiful even in that moment, but that beauty was tainted now. When he tried to picture her face, it was as if a shadow lay across it. God, it seemed like such a cliché—his best friend and his girlfriend! Yet he would never have bet on such a possibility, especially as they seemed so different and there appeared to be so much hate between them. Perhaps that was it. He had only seen what they wanted him to see. Perhaps even bursting in on them in Sydney had been part of a larger plan. Either way, Jay had known in that instant the relationship was over.
In the days that followed, he told her no future existed for them. Oh, how she begged him to forgive her, to take her back, and that it wasn’t what it looked like.
“Not what it looked like!” he shouted at her, his face contorted with rage and regret. “You were screwing him!” And he told her, “I don’t know what is worse—your betrayal or his,” before refusing to listen to any more of her lies. He told her to get the hell out of his life, and she did go, telling him she had never loved him by way of a parting shot.
Further days of binge drinking had not brought the expected oblivion. Then one night, nursing a beer in a nameless yet expensive bar, Peter Thompson, a good friend from New Zealand, or Godzone, as they called it in those parts, put a strong hand on his shoulder and told him, “She’s gone. Let it go, man. Plenty more fishes in the sea.”
He laughed when Peter suggested flying halfway around the world to indulge in some interesting and somewhat suicidal sports. He agreed because he felt the need to do something—anything—and suicide by itself was not an option. Besides, even in the bleakest moments, he felt that there was much more for him in this life.
So he flew with Peter to Queenstown, the adventure capital of New Zealand, if not the world, and threw himself off bridges, out of airplanes, and into raging rivers. Once they even strapped on skis and jumped out of a helicopter over the high, snowbound southern mountains. He hadn’t killed himself, wouldn’t have counted as suicide anyway, and the combination of exhilaration and exhaustion had driven away any thoughts of Sarah or Kyle—for a little while at least. He knew the healing process would take far longer and that he found a little peace here in this isolated place.
Now Beth asked him to bring his girlfriend to Kelly’s wedding. If he didn’t bring Sarah, they would want to know what happened, in excruciating detail naturally, and they would start matchmaking again—a thought that brought a shudder to his core.
It was then that Jay heard somebody whistling in the corridor. A moment later, Peter Thompson walked in. When the man saw the look on Jay’s sour face, he queried, “Jay, mate, what’s up?”
“Just got a call from Gracie and Beth.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Well, from the look you’re wearing, it doesn’t sound good.”
“Of course it’s not good, Pete.”
“Spill it, then.”
Jay glanced at his friend he first met at Harvard University. “They’re at it again.”