The weather, the hottest vacation spots, or the who's who in New York Fashion Week were all suitable topics for the young wife of one of Manhattan's top financial gurus. Mentioning you didn't like the woman your husband was turning you into, or how the cost of designer gowns and jewels worn by the charity gala's female contingent could refurbish the poorest public schools in the district was just gauche.

But Nate wasn't content to chat about the unseasonably wet summer, and he kept changing topics, challenging her views on the latest current affairs or a movie being shredded by critics. She found herself having way more fun than she'd had in ages.

By the time he found a parking spot in front of the department store, she'd nearly forgotten her dislike of coming to town. She climbed out of his car, and he leaned across, pa.s.sing over her purse and sunhat.

"Leave Drew's bike at the store and we'll pick it up on the way out of town. I'll meet you back here in an hour," he said. "I'm buying lunch. No arguments."

"Okay." She jammed on her hat and ducked away, hoping Nate wouldn't notice her goofy smile at the idea of spending more time with him.

Lauren walked to the rear of the department store, dodging past summer holidaymakers toting armfuls of last-minute Christmas bargains. Being tall for a woman, she naturally turned a few heads, but she could only pray no one would see past her huge dark sungla.s.ses and sunhat.

Celebrities past and present were stuck on ridiculously high pedestals in a small country like New Zealand, and remaining anonymous was wishful thinking. A year ago, an episode of a popular, national soap was filmed in the area. Fans mobbed two actors on Bounty Bay's main street-according to Kathy's detailed report. A month went by after that before Lauren risked venturing into town again, just in case.

But almost thirty minutes after Nate dropped her off, the James Bond theatrics of sneaking around had drained Lauren of energy. Then three young blonde women clutching Vogue, Harper's Bazaar and Allure magazines headed toward her on the crowded sidewalk. Her photos had once featured in all three magazines, so the risk of the fashionista trio recognizing Lauren was intolerably high.

She tugged her hat lower and slunk into a craft shop. The bright embroidery cottons and fuzzy b.a.l.l.s of yarn always soothed her. Lauren hurried away from the shop entrance to browse through sampler patterns. Kathy had organized a baby shower for her youngest sister in a few weeks' time; maybe Lauren could find a birth announcement pattern to cross-st.i.tch. On the nights when sleep got sucked away by horrible memories, the gentle motion of forming tiny X shapes helped her relax.

She selected a baby-themed sampler pattern and idly flicked through the remaining leaflets. Funny...after Nate's arrival, her insomnia wasn't caused so much by nightmares as it was by thoughts of a certain green-eyed photojournalist and a blow-her-brains-out kiss.

Her fingers hesitated over a leaflet ent.i.tled A Cla.s.sic Heart-Warmer.

Lauren slid it from the basket and examined the list of silk requirements on the back. She had every single color in her sewing kit. But why make a gift for someone who obviously disliked the holidays and the family closeness a.s.sociated with it?

The image of a little boy in a foreign land, everything strange and unfamiliar, overrode her good sense. Before she could talk herself out of it, she purchased both patterns.

Nate waited in the shade under the department store awning. Lauren walked toward him, head stooped and shoulders hunched. He unlocked the car with the key remote and she tossed her shopping bags into the back seat.

"Hungry?" he asked her.

"I'm too hot to be hungry."

She flapped her shirt hem, sucking his gaze down to the smooth expanse of her stomach.

"Let's just pick up Drew's bike and grab a sandwich on the way out of town."

He shook his head, blurring his view of her luscious curves. A smart move, considering his shorts were an ineffective item of clothing to conceal his growing interest.

"I'd rather find somewhere out of this heat and sit down.'"

She sighed, but didn't smile. "Got a place in mind?"

"Of course." He gestured in the opposite direction. "This way."

They strolled along the main street, past fake-snow-sprayed window designs and cheesy Christmas music piped out of a few stores' sound systems. Nate snickered. A Christmas winter wonderland in the Southern Hemisphere? Please. The temperature had to be in the eighties.

He turned, ready with a sarcastic comment about the silly season, but his mouth clicked shut at the sight of Lauren's floppy-hat-covered head swinging from side to side, scanning the sidewalk.

Weird. Who was she looking for?

He stopped outside the only-and therefore most popular-full-service restaurant in town. Gla.s.s accordion doors opened onto the sidewalk, and the rumble of conversation spilled out from the nearly full dining area beyond.

"Kai Moana?"

Her tone lacked enthusiasm. Anyone would think he'd taken her to a run-down burger joint.

"Best seafood in town."

Her gaze shot left, and she backed away from the entrance. "I'm allergic to seafood."

"They do steak and salad too."

"Can't we find somewhere else? I hate crowds."

Her sungla.s.ses masked her eyes, but the wobble in her voice, her teeth nibbling on that lush bottom lip, all showed the emotion behind her impa.s.sive expression. The answer hit him like a lightning strike on a summer's day. The furtive glances while walking through town, the dark shades and oversized hat, the balking at a busy restaurant-she didn't want to be seen in public with him, the smarmy New Zealand Bachelor of the Year entrant who'd punched Savannah Payne's husband.

She took another step backward, but he pressed a splayed hand to her lower back. "The lunch hour is nearly over; it'll empty out soon."

Lauren flinched from his touch as a small group of people left the restaurant. His jaw involuntarily tightened as a couple gave them a bemused once over.

Yeah, that was her problem, all right.

"We can argue in the hot sun or we can go inside to that table in the back corner," he said.

"Fine."

She stalked ahead and flung open the door, which gave him a truly superior view of her legs but didn't do much to moderate his temper.

To say conversation became stilted while they waited for his scallops and her grilled steak was an understatement. He may as well have been sitting with a cardboard cut-out.

He stopped fidgeting with the saltshaker. "Seriously? You're going to sit through our whole lunch with sungla.s.ses and that ugly d.a.m.n hat on?"

"The glare is hurting my eyes."

"Bulls.h.i.t. The sunlight is nowhere near us back here."

Even through the brown-tinted lenses, her gaze shredded him. His gut tightened, but he told himself he was not hurt by her behavior, just insulted.

Lauren pulled off the hat and dropped it on the empty chair beside her. After a pause, she slid the gla.s.ses from her face and placed them on the table. "Happy?"

"Are you really that embarra.s.sed to be seen with me?"

The popped-open eyes and perfect "O" of her mouth was almost comical.

"I'm not embarra.s.sed to be-"

The buzzer above the restaurant door signaled new customers entering, and Lauren's eyes grew wider. A trio of blondes in teeny-tiny shorts sauntered inside, chattering like magpies. Two of the women picked up a menu from the serving counter. The third glanced over in their direction, looked away briefly, then did a double take and elbowed one of her friends.

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, shielding 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, pushing 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 flushing 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 shirt.

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."