Chapter Five
Becca could feel Calum’s eyes on her every time she bent to pick up some shells to add to her growing collection in the pocket of her sundress. But there’d been more to it. She could have sworn he had been checking her out. Her boobs, in particular.
Normally, a guy staring at her boobs would have irritated her, but Becca wasn’t annoyed. Oh, no. She was experiencing the same symptoms Cal had described on the plane: flushed skin, swollen lips, dilated pupils. Thank God he had no idea about the reaction he caused in her girl parts. Or how unsteady her limbs felt as she bent to pick up another shell.
Suddenly, the sand shifted beneath her feet as a particularly strong undertow sucked water out to sea. Leaning over as she was, Becca lost her balance with the shifting sands and fell onto her hands and knees. She tried to get back to her feet, but the sand kept shifting beneath her.
Then she heard the roar of thunder.
“Holy shit.” Cal grabbed her hand and hoisted her to her feet just as a wall of water struck, chest high, knocking them over so that when the water retreated, Becca was lying beneath Cal, soaked and sputtering.
She gazed up into his face in wonder for what must have been a millisecond, but in that time, every inch of her was fully aware of every inch of him.
And every inch of him was erect.
The realization made her gasp. Cal blinked and then jumped to action, rolling off her, hauling her to her feet, and, before she could ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, lifting her into his arms and making his way to higher ground.
It happened so quickly, she had no time to protest. In fact, protesting did not occur to her until he set her down on a lounge chair beneath a palapa. For the short duration that he’d carried her, she’d pressed her ear against his chest and had wrapped her arms around his neck. Something she’d never done in her life.
Maybe because a man had never picked her up and carried her before.
It was all so…befuddling. The second after he’d set her down, Becca scrambled to her feet and stuck her fists on her hips. “I don’t need you to keep saving me, you know.”
“I didn’t think, I just—”
“Dude,” she said, her voice wavering. She hoped it sounded angry. “I know how to swim. I’m not some damsel in distress.”
“It was a really big wave and…” Cal’s words trailed off as his gaze dropped from her face to her chest. “Well, that answers that question,” he whispered, his voice taking on a whole new quality. Deeper. Rougher. Sensual.
His gaze dropped lower, and Becca heard him suck in a quick breath, followed by an exhaled, “Jesus.”
What the…?
She glanced down at herself and then muttered her own oath to the Almighty. The fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her dress had become glaringly apparent, and Becca crossed her arms over her chest. Had he seen?
Of course he’d seen.
He’d probably caught a glimpse of her hot-pink G-string panties, too.
“What are you doing?” she asked as Cal began unbuttoning his shirt, causing an image of the two of them rolling around naked in the sand to pop into her head.
He shrugged out of it and held it out to her. “Take my shirt.”
“I can’t…” She stopped talking because, well, Cal stood before her, bare chested. Gloriously, muscularly, wonderfully bare chested. She was so…hypnotized by the sight, she didn’t notice him draping his shirt over her shoulders until he tugged the collar together.
“You can bring it back to me later.”
“No, I…” But she slid her arms inside and pulled the front across her chest. All the while, her gaze was glued to his chest. Holy fuck. The guy was built. Not like a gross, oily-skinned bodybuilder, but like a professional athlete: all sinew and muscle, hard planes defined by lovely valleys.
She wanted to lick him.
God, Bec…what a thought!
She wiped her mouth.
“Are you okay?”
“I like your tattoo.” She reached for him. It was so weird, as if her hand was possessed, her fingertips twitching with the need to trace the Celtic pattern over his heart. She stopped herself, and her hand fluttered back to the front of the shirt.
She cleared her throat. “What is it?”
His eyes were hooded when she met his gaze again. He touched the black ink himself, making her fingers bizarrely jealous.
“It’s a Celtic knot. It means hard work, strength, wisdom, and endurance.”
“Oh.” She wet her suddenly dry lips.
“Do you want to touch?”
Had he noticed the way she’d reached for him? “No.”
He took her hands—they were cold and wet, she realized, only because his were warm and strong—and pulled her close. Oh God. Why did his body have to feel so good, and why did it feel as if she fit perfectly against him?
“Um…Calum, what are you doing?” She should probably push him away, except that now that her hands were on his chest, all she could do was stroke his strong pecs, her fingers discovering the contours of his muscles and tattoo.
For some reason, he wrapped his arm around her waist and cupped her jaw with his other hand. When she was finally able to draw her attention away from his torso, she realized that he was going to kiss her.
Oh, shit.
“Cal? We shouldn’t—”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
He leaned in and covered her mouth with his, sipping the protest from her lips.
The second it began, she forgot what she was protesting anyway. His lips were as soft as she remembered, but this kiss was different than the moment of insanity in the airplane bathroom. This time he took control, tilting her head to one side so he could kiss her more deeply, tasting her, finding her tongue and playing an introductory game of hide-and-seek. When she moaned into his open mouth, he threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of her head and twisted. His kiss turned fierce in response to…what? Adrenaline?
Who knew?
Maybe he kissed all women like this.
“Stop.” With palms on his chest, she pushed him away. “I can’t.”
Calum blinked, and his eyes took a moment to focus. “Why not?”
His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her mouth again, and Becca nearly forgot her reasons for pushing him away. God, he tasted good. So fresh and minty. Juicy and delicious.
“I—”
“Hey, Mr. Men’s Magazine himself.” A recognizable male voice called from the promenade.
Becca turned toward the voice and thought she might die. Right there. Or rather, she prayed she would. Her worst nightmare was loping along the sand toward them.
“Hey, Kevyn,” Cal called before turning back to Becca. “I’m sorry. He’s the host for the week. I’ll need to speak with him, and then I’ll be right back, okay?”
“There’s no need, Cal. There’s nothing to talk about.” She turned her back on the approaching man. “Thanks for the shirt. I’ll have it laundered and returned by tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder.
“Becca—”
She didn’t answer because she had to get away.
Kevyn Wasinski, the bane of her high school existence, was here? Would he recognize her? Did he even remember what he’d done? Probably not, but Becca couldn’t take the chance. So, without looking back, she hurried down the beach in the opposite direction.
“Becca, wait,” Cal called.
She didn’t turn. She needed to put distance between herself and Kevyn. But Kevyn had one of those annoying voices that carried over all other normal sounds, so she heard him questioning Cal about her.
“Is that one of the contestants?”
“No.”
“Who is she?”
“No one. She’s no one.”
Her legs faltered.
She’s no one.
It didn’t matter that she was never going to have any sort of relationship with Calum Price. It still felt like he’d thrown a knife at her back and it had stuck—thwack!—right between her shoulder blades.
Fuck. It was high school all over again.
Becca had vowed to herself that she would stay away from Calum and that the kiss on the airplane was an anomaly, something that was statistically unlikely to ever happen again. Except it had. She hugged his shirt to her body as she stood outside the door to her villa. Lifting a shoulder, she breathed in deeply of his scent. Vanilla and spice. One part fabric softener, two parts expensive cologne. Warm, fluttery sensations swept down her arms and thighs as the smell mixed with memory and she relived the kiss one more time before forcing herself to remember the disappointment.
She’s no one.
Exactly.
And to punctuate the sentiment, there was Kevyn Wasinski, the supreme being of all assholes, the only male who had come close to destroying her. But his presence was a reminder that Becca would never let a man bring her or her sister down again. No, sir.
With chin held high, she opened the door quietly, hoping to find Grace in the shower getting ready for tonight.
“Becca? Is that you?” Her sister’s voice came from the sitting area of the villa.
“Yep.” Becca hurried to the bathroom and stripped out of her wet dress, crumpling Cal’s shirt and her dress together before donning a robe that hung on the back of the door. Grace was in the sitting room, watching Hell’s Kitchen on TV, with something that resembled guacamole caked on her face, and eating a chocolate-covered strawberry. She’d unpacked, which meant the room looked like a wig shop: one short, blond wig hanging over a lampshade, two long wigs—one blond, one dark brown—hanging off the curtain rods, a ponytail clipped to the edge of the mirror.
“Don’t you think it’s going to be too hot for wigs?” Becca said, hoisting her suitcase onto the desk to unpack.
“I like to be prepared,” Grace said, popping the strawberry into her mouth.
“Where’d you get the strawberries?” Becca asked.
“They were delivered right after you left.” Grace pointed to a gift box on the table. “Compliments of the owner.”
Becca picked up the card that lay beside the box, expecting to see a generic welcome card. This one was hand written.
Grace,
Welcome to the Playground of Paradise Bay Resort. I hope you enjoy your stay, and if you need anything, please let me know.
Sincerely,
Jeffrey Reid
PS: Best of luck in the pageant. I’ll be rooting for you.
“Do you know this guy?” Becca asked, holding up the card.
Grace waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure everyone received them. It’s no big deal.”
Becca snagged a strawberry and popped it into her mouth. “Hey, you’ll never guess who I saw down on the beach,” Becca said, dropping the wet garments on the floor and kicking them beneath the luggage stand. She’d deal with them later.
“Calum?” Grace perked up.
Shit. She hated lying to Grace, so instead of denying it, she said, “Kevyn Wasinski.”
“No.” Grace’s eyes went wide.
“Yep. But he goes by Kevyn Khan now. I looked him up.”
“The YouTuber? The ‘Hate me or Date me’ guy?”
“That’s him. He’s going to be the host this week.”
“Are you kidding? What are the chances? Do you think he’ll remember me?”
“I doubt it.” People rarely remembered that she and Grace were sisters because they were so different. “But if he does, you need to play dumb.”
“I can do that.” Grace said it so eagerly and innocently, the irony of her statement completely lost on her, that Becca couldn’t help herself. She had to give her sister a hug.
“Are you going to be okay?” Grace asked after Becca released her.
“Of course,” Becca said, plastering a reassuring smile on her face. “What he did to me in high school was a long time ago.”
“Okay, well, I’m sorry he’s here.” She put her hands on her hips. “But, just so you know, I’m still mad at you.”
“Grace…” Guilt—of the hot and sickly variety—shot through Becca, adding to the uncomfortable mix of emotions already milling about in the pit of her stomach.
“Just think how much further ahead I would have been if I had been sitting with Calum for six hours on the airplane.”
“It was better this way, honest.”
“How?” Grace pursed her lips, making her look like a pouty avocado. “How was it better that you got to spend all that exclusive time with the man I’m supposed to impress so I can win this contest?”
“If I’m going to help you, like I always do, I need to understand him…”
So, you kiss him, not once but twice?
Becca paused and cleared her throat. “This was the perfect opportunity.” She unzipped her suitcase and put her neatly folded clothes into a drawer. In the corner of her suitcase was a small black canvas bag which she carefully placed on top of the dresser. “Plus,” she said, glancing at her sister. “In the event that the two of you jet off to Paris together at the end of the week, I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“I could have done that.”
Becca faced her sister. “You know you are not the best judge of men.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Name one guy you’ve dated who wasn’t an asshole.”
“David.”
“Grace, he stalked you.”
“It was kind of sweet.”
Becca groaned.
“There was Nick.”
This time Becca got up and stood in front of her sister. “Honey, he hit you. Remember?”
Grace’s lip trembled. “I just go out with the guys who ask me out.”
And that was the point. It seemed like the only men who ever asked Grace out were macho, misogynist losers. Becca only needed to be fooled once to know to stay far away from a certain type of man. Unfortunately, Grace was fooled over and over again.
“Bec?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think I date jerks because, well”—Grace paused, gazed down at her lap, and then continued softly— “because my dad was a jerk? You know, the way he left Mom when she was pregnant with me?”
Becca sat on the bed across from Grace and took her hands. “No. I don’t think that has anything to do with it. I think you are so good and kind and trusting that sometimes you get taken advantage of.”
“Yeah…”
Becca stood. “Let’s not worry about all this right now. What we need to do is focus on this competition.” She unzipped the black canvas bag and removed two hard-shell cases. Inside the first, lying snug in a foam lining, was a micro earpiece that Grace would wear throughout the competition. The other case held the wireless microphone and camera that were carefully hidden inside Grace’s signature flower—a red hibiscus.
“We need to test these,” Becca said, placing the items on the table beside her laptop. She set up the hotel wifi on her computer and phone and then called up the spyware software in order to sync everything.
With a sigh, Grace got up and wandered over to the desk, picking up the micro bud. “This one’s even smaller than the one we used in the Miss Wisconsin Pageant.”
“We needed something that was both smaller and with better range.” She tapped the keys of her computer. “It’s a brand-new model. State of the art.” And she’d only spent a good portion of her savings on the purchase. But it would be worth it if Grace won the hundred grand.
“Okay, I’ve got them paired and set up on the computer.” Becca showed her the image that she’d brought up on her phone, an image of Grace’s midsection.
“Awesome.” She set the earbud down and picked up the flower, inspecting it. “Are the camera and speaker new, too?”
“Yep.”
Grace turned toward the mirror and clipped the flower into her hair. “Hey, Bec?”
“Yeah?”
“So? What is Calum Price like? Is he nice or is he an asshole?”
Becca remained still because, suddenly, all she could see was Cal crouched in front of her, stroking her arms, keeping her calm in the tiny airplane bathroom. Then…lying on top of her, the entire length of his body pressed wetly against hers. Next, his arms around her as he carried her to safety. And finally…tilting her chin and tasting her mouth…
“He’s perfect,” she whispered.
“What was that?”
Keeping her head down as she focused on the app’s setting, Becca repeated, “I said he’s perfect.” She glanced up and smiled at her sister. “In fact, he might even be good enough for you.”