Chapter Two
Nothing was going to plan.
Zan stood outside Daisy’s bungalow at seven fifty the next morning and pounded on the door.
He’d endured a shit night’s sleep. Images of Daisy lying naked on a rug in front of a fire, wearing only a silky gold thong that he’d be removing with his teeth, had crept into his head. She’d smiled up at him and murmured his name.
At five a.m. he’d hit the gym for another round of weights, ran the circumference of the resort, inhaling coconut and salt air, then he’d hit the warm ocean and had pounded out freestyle until his muscles fatigued. After a protein shake from the still setting up breakfast staff, Zan had a long shower and now stood at her door. They’d be late, and he intended on winning every challenge.
The door opened.
Not much shocked him, but Daisy all sleep crumpled, wearing light purple babydoll lingerie that hit the top of her thighs, rendered him mute. His mouth dropped open, and blood headed south to its favorite spot.
He drank her in.
Some men went straight for the legs and chest, some butts, but soft curves were his addiction. What man on the planet didn’t like lingerie? The sound of male voices growing louder on the path behind him pushed him into action. He brushed past her and in doing so came into contact with her breasts. He’d have to be the Pope or three weeks dead to not notice that her nipples hardened at the touch. As for him? He’d been hard since she opened the door.
That brought a whole new level of awareness to his body. He shut the door and scanned the room, anywhere but at the woman he wanted to drop on the bed and completely tangle in rumpled sheets. He studied the bed for a beat. The bed wasn’t rumpled, it was destroyed.
He walked to a chair, sat, and crossed an ankle over knee, darkness hovering on his horizon.
“Oh no. I overslept. I never oversleep. Must be all this tropical air.” Her hand came to her mouth, and her eyes widened. “I’ll be five minutes.” She pulled open a set of drawers, muttering something foul, grabbed clothes, and ran to the bathroom then abruptly stopped and turned. “Can you wait outside? I won’t take long.”
“Did you have a man here last night?” He stared at the bed, his blood pressure spiking.
“What? No.” She shook her head. “I don’t have time for this.”
She ran into the bathroom. The sound of water hitting the tiles followed. He wasn’t letting his brain go to Daisy in the shower soaping herself in slow circles. He walked toward the open drawer and his mouth dried. Piles of silk thongs, still in their wrappers, were stacked next to boy-cut underwear, but his eyes were drawn to the three bikinis neatly folded. Christ, he hoped she’d wear the red one. The shower cut off, and he walked out of her suite, still sporting a raging boner, hoping the first challenge would involve standing in a freezer.
Minutes later she shuffled out, hair wet and clumped to the top of her head. A pair of Daisy Dukes hugged her butt. A white string of a bikini top laced around her neck. A white tank top two sizes too small covered the bikini top. Disappointment slid through him that she hadn’t picked the red, but his brain bounced back that he had it to look forward to.
“I’m sorry.” One hand gripped his shoulder. She dropped a pair of flip-flops she’d been carrying to the ground and used his shoulder as balance while she shoved her feet into them. Her delicious scent of jasmine, soap, and her, washed through him on a minefield. The warmth of her hand burned through his cotton T-shirt and seared his flesh.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
He held his body still. “Bad dream?”
He only slept when his body demanded it.
She stopped, one hand on her hip. “No, worried about family stuff.” Her eyes hardened, and she leaned into him.
He blanked his features.
“And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Her hand dropped from his shoulder.
“Looking forward to your public apology.” He was going to be standing on the sidelines applauding.
“Poppy didn’t steal anything from your family.” Dark eyes gave him an insulting once-over. “She’s…she’s…” She waved a hand. “I know my sister.”
“Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do.”
Daisy shot him a look that she’d prefer him six feet under or orbiting space without a suit.
She walked at a brisk pace. “For the sake of us getting through this challenge, I think we should leave family members out of any conversations,” she said over her shoulder. She walked with purpose toward the reception area where people stood in groups, heads bowed, quietly chatting.
“Alexander, catch up, you’re making us late.”
He opened his mouth to remind her that she was the one who’d made them late, but it was too early to start another heated argument with her. He could have five minutes of peace before that mouth of hers fired into action.
He followed her legs and the sway of her hips along the path like Hansel. She’d rounded a corner, but he knew where she was by her scent.
He arrived by her side. Her teeth snagged her bottom lip. She leaned into him.
“We’re screwed.”
…
“How screwed?” Zan had lowered his Ray Bans so Daisy couldn’t read his face. Actually, it was hard to read his face. He had the blank thing down to a fine art. His expression could go from grinning to blank in a second.
Zan Gillard was one complicated man. Well, four days with him was going to be the longest four days of her life. She’d be lying if she didn’t feel the zap of attraction between them yesterday, and it was kind of weird because they couldn’t be more different. He wasn’t the complacent, calm, friendly man she was attracted to and who was listed on her profile.
She stifled a yawn then fought the need to bash her hand against her head, repeatedly. The real reason she hadn’t slept? Her stupid mouth that hadn’t consulted with her brain about agreeing to the fifty-grand bet. Oh, she had fifty grand if it came in Monopoly money. She’d caught the sweep of his gaze over her body. He didn’t even try to hide it but did it in an insolent, arrogant way. He’d removed her clothes with his eyes alone, and her temper had flared. She’d taken his bait and played straight into his hands. She couldn’t bail now and admit she didn’t have the money. She’d be accusing her sister of a crime she didn’t commit.
Cold sweat coated her body.
What an idiot.
Yeah, he had money pouring out of him, but she and her sisters were investing everything they had to pour money back into the company and try and stop their share price sliding and shares being snapped up. Their one shot at saving their hotel chain was buying the Levi resorts.
After he’d taken off rather abruptly last night, she’d written her to-do list for today, then she’d let her mind wander and had written:
One: find out everything about Zan so we can win the challenges.
Two: get through four days without killing him.
Three: don’t picture Zan naked and walking toward you while you’re shackled to his bed.
The man was attractive, but he was also an arrogant ass, with a tight, muscled ass. After tossing and turning about the stupid bet, she must have drifted off. Images, where she’d supposedly broken down by the side of the freeway popped into her head and wouldn’t let go. Without saying a word, a man stopped, fixed something under the hood while she watched, then he’d cupped her ass, spun her around, and taken her on the hood of the car. The fantasy that was on high-rotation in her dreams now had a face with assessing green eyes, ink, a nipple ring, and blond hair she wanted to drag her hands through to see if it were as soft and thick as she imagined.
She’d had woken with the bed a twisted mess as usual. This was ridiculous. She didn’t even like the man. Yeah, he had a mouth made for sin, and a body built for a long night ahead, but straight out, the man was a dick.
Her mouth watered.
Oh, he had a dick. She’d felt the hard, long length of him when she’d mashed against him.
Huh.
Speaking of dicks. That was an entirely inappropriate comment of his about her having a man here. She’d possibly even seen a flare in his eye.
She was looking for a real grown-up relationship, with a man who didn’t care she was a terrible cook, didn’t own an iron, loved The Bachelorette and Star Trek, didn’t care about the ten pounds that were heading to twelve she wanted to lose. A man looking for a future. Her ovaries weren’t sending signals yet, but she did see a family in her future.
Her mind drifted to the stranger wearing a Captain America costume who’d kissed her like he owned her at a masquerade party. A party she shouldn’t have been at. She’d lost her breath, lost her mind when she’d melted into a long, hard body that flexed under the costume. She’d hightailed it out of there before she dragged him to the closet and devoured him. She hadn’t found Poppy who wouldn’t tell her why she was there, but she’d never forgotten that one stolen kiss. She wondered if he remembered her, if one day they’d lock eyes over a crowded restaurant and they’d both know.
Yeah, and I’m about to go and pet my rainbow unicorn.
She tightened the strings of her bikini top. If by any chance she was going in the water, she’d do a dog paddle or throw in some breaststroke moves. Pools being more her thing than oceans.
“Earth to Daisy?”
She jumped, completely lost in her head.
“Daisy, how screwed?” His tone barbed.
He dragged a hand through his thick, dirty blond hair. Dark stubble covered his face in a way that she wondered if his stubble would leave a rash on her face and other places.
She swallowed hard.
What is wrong with me?
His full lips needed taming, but not by her. A white T-shirt pulled tight over imposing shoulders and the thick metal of the ring cut through his nipple.
Damn.
A swirling sensation started deep in her belly and panned out, making her heart race. She’d never been into piercings, but something about that thick metal ring made her want to suck the metal into her mouth until he moaned.
She let her eyes roam.
A flat stomach, which had gym-junkie written all over it. You didn’t achieve a stomach like that with a dusty sit-up machine sitting in your garage next to a deflated Swiss ball. Narrow hips and long, lean, but muscular legs in a pair of black surf shorts completed the package. But there was more to him than good looks. It was his green eyes that captivated her. Blank and soulless one moment, dangerous and glittering the next with an undercurrent she couldn’t read.
Yet.
He cleared his throat, his eyebrows raised.
“Are you finished?”
Her face flamed.
Oh dear God. Totally caught checking him out.
“How screwed?” Impatience undercut every word.
She cleared her throat and pointed to their host. “Sunshine Sally has allocated today’s task. We’re doing the cooking one. The list isn’t in order, so the water one is off.”
She thought she heard him say “pity.” His eyes moved to where her bikini top strings lay on her neck, but she wasn’t sure. She’d double knotted the strings so the girls stood no chance of bursting out and making a surprise appearance.
She gnawed the corner of her finger. “One person has to go in, read a recipe, and start cooking. They have twenty minutes, but that person can’t say what they’re cooking. Then the next person goes in for twenty minutes.” She chewed at a cuticle. “I think it was on MasterChef or something.”
The rest of the couples were talking excitedly about their award-winning meal.
“We’ve got this. I’ll go in and start.”
She could argue with him about letting her go first, but in her head she was pulling out all three of her recipe books and flicking through the pages.
Another thought stopped her. She clutched a muscled bicep and absorbed his flinch.
Whoa. That kind of stung.
Well, he was going to have to suck it up, because if they wanted their charity to win they’d have to be convincing. Very convincing.
“Wait. What if it’s meat?”
He stared down at her. “So? What’s the problem?”
“I don’t eat flesh. Or handle it, but I’ll give your meat a go.”
The smell of meat turned her stomach. She’d become a vegetarian when she’d had to do a project on ham in elementary school, once she’d drawn the line back to the pig on Babe, there was no way she was eating anything with legs again.
He blinked, and a smile transformed his face before he chuckled.
Oh please.
She cocked an eyebrow, realizing what she’d said and warmth hit her face. “Seriously, is that all men think about?”
“Women handling their meat? Yeah, pretty much.” His eyes sparkled, and she rolled her eyes.
“Go,” she said when a line of people started walking to the resort kitchen. She went over recipes in her head, coming up blank. She then went through her mind thinking of cooking shows with Gordon, but she was mostly caught up in the drama to see what they cooked. Panic started twitching her stomach.
She glanced at the clock and the worried faces of the people waiting for their partners to return. A tall blonde to her left smiled. A redheaded guy to her right looked green. She gave him an encouraging thumbs-up and was rewarded by a weak smile.
I know how you feel.
Why was the clock going so fast?
Twenty minutes later Zan stalked back to where she stood. “We’ve got this,” he murmured in her ear, ignoring Sally who called for quiet.
She swallowed, gave Zan a quick nod, then bolted through the doors of the industrial kitchen where she found the workstation with hers and Zan’s name written and stared down in horror.
What am I supposed to do?
She’d been honest about the Lean Cuisine. It was a Carter thing. None of the women cooked. Daisy stocked enough Lean Cuisines to last until next year. Poppy lived on Trader Joes. Rose ate enough sushi to have a table named for her at her local sushi joint.
Daisy breathed in through her nose and out her mouth, as practiced in yoga, and looked down at six pieces of chicken and a whole heap of peeled onions and potatoes. Glass jars of dried herbs were to her left. A deep-fryer to her right. The oven wasn’t on. She stared down at the ingredients, rocking back and forth on her heels of the industrial boots she’d had to pull on before the challenge
The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
She turned to find Zan who’d snuck to the corner window. His gaze was locked on her, one finger pointed to stabbing in the direction of his fly.
I know you’re a dick. A hot dick, but still a dick.
He pulled his hand away and made a tiny triangle with his forefingers and thumbs. Mystified she continued to stare at him. He continued to point to his groin and made a little A. Sweat gathered under her breasts. Her eyes flew to the clock announcing that there were only fifteen minutes left, and she had nothing.
Pot lids clanged, the sound of boots hitting the floor, an “oh no” from somewhere down the line, followed by “If anyone has parsley I’ll pay them fifty bucks.” The woman next to her flipped something effortlessly. The aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs made her mouth water.
Time for action.
The chicken and potatoes gave her an idea. It wouldn’t be the prettiest thing on the plate, but at least she’d be putting something on the plate. With grim determination, she turned on the deep fryer, checking the instructions, and amazed herself fourteen minutes later when Sally called time.
“Smells fantastic.” A gorgeous blonde woman smiled at her, and she returned the favor. Aromatic herbs filled the air along with onions and creamy potato.
“So does yours.” Daisy wiped the side of the plate like Gordon Ramsay did on his cooking show, a sudden flutter of nerves swooping in her stomach. “Do you know what you were supposed to be making?” she asked.
“I think so. My partner and I are pretty much in sync.”
She didn’t have to turn to know that Zan was behind her. His spicy scent announced his presence. She turned, pushing her hands into her cutoffs.
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
“I made KFC style chicken on a bed of mash and tiny onion rings.” She ignored his tone. Little rivers of pleasure ran through her. “My roommate lived on Colonel Sanders’s finest going through college, except for the onion rings. That was all me. I didn’t know what else to do with them.” She cocked her head to the side. “I think we’ve got a winner.” She shoulder-bumped him, noting that his shoulder was rock hard and he hadn’t moved an inch even though she’d bumped harder than she’d meant to.
“It’s supposed to be Coq au vin.” His hands on his hips.
Her heart rate started to spike. “Which is?”
He folded tanned muscular arms across his chest. “You’ve never eaten Coq au vin before?”
Her spine straightened, her head snapped back, and her hands went to her hips. “I don’t eat meat, so I’ve never made or eaten Coq au vin before so I wouldn’t know. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing, so I went with what you left me. Chicken and a whole heap of potatoes and small peeled onions.” She threw her hands in the air. “I didn’t know onions grew that small.” She stared at the deep fryer. “Is Coq au vin cooked in an oven that isn’t on?”
His gaze flew to the cold oven. “Shit, forgot that.”
“Yeah, well, I assumed as the oven wasn’t on, I’d be using the deep fryer.”
“I don’t cook.” Frustration danced in his dangerous eyes.
“Neither do I!”
Tension swirled around them, thick and heavy. Daisy could reach out with her tongue and taste its bitterness. “If I could fly away from here and you, I would,” she gritted out.
Stormy eyes cut to her. “Anytime you want out, cut me a check.”
Her jaw locked. “You wish.”
She wished she held the winning Powerball ticket, then she’d swap him out in a heartbeat.
After minutes of tense silence, Zan exhaled. “I’m used to working on my own.”
She hugged her torso. “I’m used to working in a team.”
“What have we here?” Sally bustled over.
“Daisy and Zan’s version of KFC, mashed potatoes, and onion rings.” She kept her head high, ignoring the broody, slab of man next to her. God, she sounded like she was twelve and someone had run over her cat.
“It smells heavenly,” her blonde cooking neighbor chimed in. Daisy gave her a sisters-helping-sisters-out smile.
“It will be down to the judging panel of the resort chefs.” Sally frowned then consulted her notes.
Flushed couples presented plates to a group of white-hatted chefs. Daisy wiped sweat from her brow, gathered her plate, and with shaking hands, walked to the presentation area and presented her offering. She prayed that the first proper meal she cooked wouldn’t cause mass vomiting.
The judges turned their backs and started murmuring. Daisy held her breath as if her child was up for a prize. Her fingers started drumming on her arms, and she resisted the urge to move closer to hear the judges. Sally nodded as forks whirled in the air like conductors’ batons, and she and the chefs moved between plates. Daisy held her breath when they paused before her plate, each cutting off the crispy coating and dunking the fork into the creamy potatoes. She let out a shaky breath when they moved away.
“I think we’ve got a great shot.” She beamed at Zan.
“Are you always this optimistic?” he asked, head to one side, smoky emerald eyes assessing.
“Always.” If chaos ruled, she presented the serene face of positive reason, which is why she ran on lists and rules. She turned to Zan. “Why are you so pessimistic?”
He shrugged an impressive shoulder. “It’s better to be rooted in reality than be disappointed.”
Pretty cynical from a guy who must have the world at his feet.
“I guess the song ‘Happy’ isn’t on your playlist?”
He looked at her with his face blank, before a smile transformed his face, slipped under her skin, and shimmied straight through her.
That is one devastating smile. I bet he can walk through a door, not say a word, smile, and panties would fall down of their own accord.
Sally tapped a spoon against a wineglass. Daisy’s mouth dried in anticipation and she bounced up and down on the spot.
“We’ve got this.” She squeezed his hard bicep.
This was it. The moment of truth. Daisy would blush. She and Zan would smile knowingly at each other.
“And the winner is…”