Chapter Two
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of all the people to have as a seatmate, he had to get some mousy Chatty Cathy. If there was one thing Calum Price loathed, it was useless babble.
“I’m still waiting.”
Really? She was the one who had run into him because she hadn’t been looking where she was going. But he still had—he checked his Rolex—five hours and forty-seven minutes left in the flight. Fine.
He turned to her and said calmly, “I’m sorry.” Then he shook out his newspaper and opened it so that it shielded him from the woman’s blatant stare.
Mentally, he brought up the contract his publicist had made him sign with Men’s Magazine. Though he’d only skimmed it, he could see each paragraph as if it were an HD photo in his brain. He had no idea how he was able to do it, it was just something he’d always been able to manage. His “super power,” as his mother had called it.
Provision 2.1 The Contest: The Miss Temptation Pageant will commence upon arrival, and the client agrees to engage with all contestants equally, amicably, and without bias…
Little did he know that he was considered to have “arrived” once the flight was in the air. With a sigh of resignation, he folded the newspaper and fit it into the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him.
“Looking forward to Paradise?” he asked with a fake smile.
“Honestly?” She set down her glass—what was that, her fourth glass of champagne?—and shook her head. “No.”
“No? Then, why…? Are you entered in the pageant?”
She snorted.
It was not a feminine sound. It did, however, evoke an unexpected smile from him.
“I’m not really pageant material.” She gestured to herself. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Oh…I don’t know,” he said, trying to muster up a compliment.
“It’s okay.” She patted his arm. “Don’t feel the need to patronize me.” She pressed the call button again and then wriggled in her seat. When the flight attendant arrived, the woman asked for a blanket and pillow.
Thank God.
Hopefully she’d sleep the rest of the way and leave Cal in peace. Ignoring her, Calum pulled out his laptop and opened it, calling up the legal documents he would be presenting to the shareholders of the resort during the vote at the end of the week.
He’d only agreed to the whole Miss Temptation Pageant as a cover for a business deal, so when Cal negotiated the contract of the web-based production with Men’s Magazine, he’d insisted on the location and the timing of the event. His reason? He was buying the property where the contest would be taking place.
After spending eight months searching for his next big investment, Cal had finally found the Playground of Paradise Bay. It was prime real estate on a relatively untouched tropical island. All he had to do was secure more than 50 percent of the shares, take over the board of directors, dismantle the resort, and construct luxury condos in its place.
The return would be astronomical. It was a no-brainer.
He perused the contract again, though he already had it emblazoned in his mind’s eye. However, the constant wriggling and sounds coming from the woman beside him were distracting. Fluffing out her blanket, taking the pillow out of its plastic, adjusting her seat—backward.
Then forward.
Then back again.
And forward once more.
Jesus.
Once she had finally stilled, the thin blue blanket covering her, the white paper pillow behind her head, Calum realized she’d arranged everything so that she was facing him, eyes narrowly observing.
She had admitted she wasn’t a contestant, so he wasn’t contractually bound to be nice to her. “Can I help you?” he finally said when he glanced her way and she unabashedly met his gaze.
“You are quite fascinating to watch,” she said.
“Oh?”
“Did you know your lips move when you’re thinking?”
“Excuse me?”
“Not all the time, just when you’re concentrating. Or, maybe when you’re annoyed.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
“No, they don’t.”
“Oh, yes, they do.” She pointed to his computer, which he shut immediately. “I assume that was some business document you called up. Probably something written in legalese.” She paused to see if he would corroborate her words. When he said nothing, she continued. “Anyway, as you were reading, or thinking—or whatever you were doing—your lips were moving.” She flashed a smile. If not for the fact that this conversation was at his expense, her smile would have been rather infectious, because it was the kind that reached all the way up into her sparkling hazel eyes.
Though the sparkle in her eyes was more likely a product of four (maybe five?) alcoholic beverages.
Speaking of…Cal swallowed a mouthful of Scotch. He had a feeling he was going to need more than one to help get him through this flight. “Whatever you say.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“No.”
“So, no one has ever mentioned it to you before?”
“Of course not. Because I don’t do it.”
She laughed. “It’s because you’re surrounded by yes-people.”
“What?”
She crinkled her nose. “You must know that people tell you what you want to hear, right?”
“That’s not true. I am surrounded by competent individuals who challenge me all the time. I can be hard to please, but I’m not a tyrant.”
“If you say so.” Her smile widened as she finally turned to face forward. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” She shut her eyes.
Cal blinked. Why did a silly comment from an infuriating woman make him feel itchy inside? “I’m not ashamed. Why would I be ashamed?”
With eyes still closed, she said, “I don’t know. You tell me.”
He made a derisive sound. “You’re—”
“Perceptive?” she interrupted. Opening her eyes again, she said, “Listen. I’m not laughing at you. I simply find it interesting—”
“And by interesting, you mean amusing,” he interjected. Her smile told him he was correct.
Lolling her head across the headrest to face him, she said, “I find it interesting because I do the same thing when I’m thinking. Though my peers—and my sister—have no problem bringing it to my attention.”
“I assure you, you are mistaken.”
“And I assure you, that I just watched you do it. You sat there, reading whatever it is that’s on your computer, and your lips were moving. It’s no big deal.”
She was right. It was no big deal. Or it shouldn’t be. So why did he feel like he couldn’t let it go? Maybe because no one had ever brought this fact to his attention, though he had a memory from childhood where a bully from fourth grade, Jake Miskey, had made fun of him. A playground skirmish resulting in a bloody nose for Jake had been the end of that.
Did he still do it? Why wouldn’t anyone have said anything? Why did this woman think she was entitled to tell him? For the first time since the plane had taken off, Cal studied the woman beside him. Her hair was a light-brown color and straight to her shoulders. Her face was well proportioned, but there was not one feature that really stood out. Hazel eyes. A regular nose. Lips that were neither full nor thin. She had a slim figure, possibly athletic, but it was hard to tell while she was covered in an airline blanket.
She wasn’t mousy, as he’d earlier thought, she was simply average. Nondescript.
She opened her eyes and caught him staring. Something happened to her when her lips stretched across her face into a smile, however. It was like a light went on beneath the surface of her skin and she glowed.
“I’m Becca, by the way.” She stuck out her hand.
He shook it, surprised by the firmness of her grip. “I’m Cal—”
“I know who you are.” She snorted again.
It was kind of a cute sound.
“So, tell me, Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor in The Entire Galaxy…”
She was mocking him, obvious by the way she overemphasized every word of his embellished title. No one mocked him. Ever.
It was surprisingly refreshing.
“Are you looking forward to Paradise?” she asked.
“Actually?” He swirled his Scotch before taking a sip. Perhaps it was her candor that made him answer honestly. “No.”
…
“No?” She could read regret on his face the second the word came out. Fascinating. Almost as fascinating as his honest answer. Becca was strangely impressed.
“I mean, I’m looking forward to it, of course,” he said, backpedaling. “I’m just really busy, and I’ll have to work while I’m there, and I’m not really accustomed to so much…” He stopped mid-sentence, as if he was on the verge of revealing another hidden truth about himself and then thought better of it. He drained his Scotch and said, “The break will be good. I love the ocean.” He flashed a smile.
A fake smile.
Wow. The man did not want to go to the resort. In fact, Becca had the feeling he wasn’t a big fan of the whole pageant thing, either. Maybe not even of the media attention and the title. This was all important information that she would store away in her memory banks to call up later when she was helping Grace win the contest.
Since he was the sole judge, the more she understood what made him tick, the better.
“You’re not a reporter, are you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“No,” she answered. “I’m not a reporter.” She carefully observed his reaction.
Tension eased from his jaw. Hmm. So, Calum Price appreciated privacy more than media attention? She liked that.
“So, what is it that you do?” he asked cautiously.
Wow. Showing interest in another human being? Score another point for Mr. Price. “Guess,” Becca said, cryptically. She loved playing this game with people—no one ever guessed correctly.
“Guess?”
“Yes. Let’s see how astute your powers of deduction are, Sherlock.”
The fact that his lips twisted in genuine amusement, and not some forced smile, gave Becca an unexpected sense of pleasure.
“Hmm.” He rubbed his jaw. “High school teacher.”
“No.”
“Nurse.”
“Uh-uh.”
“Librarian.”
“Seriously?”
“What?” His eyes flashed.
“Are you purposefully spouting off every stereotypical occupation for a woman just to irk me?”
“No.” His smile said otherwise.
“Okay, why don’t we make this interesting?”
“How?”
“A bet.”
“What kind of bet?”
“The kind where you can ask five yes-or-no questions to determine my occupation. If you’re right, you win. If you’re wrong. I win.”
“Interesting. And what are the terms of this wager?” He rubbed his hands together in interest.
She had him. Now to figure out an appropriate ante. She gave herself a few seconds to think.
“Huh, you’re right,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your lips do move when you think.”
She shrugged. “It’s a sign of intelligence.”
“Really?”
She poked his arm. “Are you seriously going to deny it, when you do the same thing?”
The man was incredibly sexy when he smiled, like he was right now, his lips slanting up at the corners while little crinkles radiated from his dark eyes. Becca gazed at him as if seeing him for the first time.
“Back to the stakes…” he said softly.
The timbre of his voice sent goosebumps racing down her arms. God. She hadn’t reacted to a man like this in…well, she couldn’t remember the last time.
Must be the mimosas.
“So…what are your terms?” he asked, the left side of his mouth twisting with amused anticipation.
Jesus, the man was sexy. Too sexy.
Remember why you’re here, Becca. It’s to glean info about this bastard…to help Grace win. Besides, there’s no way in hell a man like Calum Price would ever be interested in you, so…
“If I win, you have to choose my sister as the winner of the pageant.” There. Mission accomplished.
“No can do.”
“Why not?”
“My contract is very clear. I am required to give all contestants a fair and unbiased opportunity to win.”
“Top three, then.”
He considered for all of two seconds. “Done.”
Becca smiled, and yet something in her tummy twisted unexpectedly.
Definitely too many mimosas.
She cleared her throat. “And what is at stake for me?”
“Hmm.” He studied her closely.
Becca held his gaze even when her cheeks blossomed with heat under the intensity of his assessment. His lips twitched, whether in a suppressed smile or because he’d mouthed a thought that had just come to him, Becca would never know.
He glanced around to see if anyone was listening and then lowered his voice. “Are you a member of the Mile High Club?”
Thank God she’d finished her last drink, otherwise Becca would have spewed whatever was in her mouth into Calum’s face. “Excuse me?”
“Simple question. Yes or no?”
When Becca didn’t answer, because, quite frankly, she was too stunned by his question to formulate thoughts, let alone words, he answered for her. “Oh. You are a member.”
“No-oo.” The single syllable word ended up having two syllables. “Of course I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“Well, let’s see.” She ticked one finger. “It’s unromantic.” She ticked a second finger. “Uncouth.” Then a third. “And, I would imagine, incredibly uncomfortable.”
“That’s a lot of ‘uns.’”
“Not to mention unsanitary.”
He grinned. “So, not interested in joining, huh?”
She didn’t need to mention the fact that no one had ever invited her to partake in such an unlikely activity. Not that Calum Price was doing so now.
He was baiting her. Why?
Why do you think, Bec? He’s making fun of you.
With that, Mister Wonderful just lost a whole bunch of points in the “are you a decent human being” category.
If he thought to throw her off by making fun of her, he had another thing coming. She was much too thick-skinned to let a jibe about her lack of feminine wiles get her down.
“Then again,” she said, placing her hand on his forearm where he’d rolled up the cuffs of his designer shirt. “Maybe I’ve just never been asked…by the right partner.”
She waited for him to jerk out from under her hand and withdraw the bet. But his eyes gleamed irreverently. “Good. Let’s play.”