There were worse gigs than working cleanup for the big TV show that had come to Namara Island for filming, TJ thought as he sprayed down the pots and pans before placing them on the rack that would feed them automatically into the giant dishwasher.

The cleanup room, as he called it, was quiet. No one ever came here. It was usually just him and the hum of machinery. He liked it that way. No pressure. Nobody bugging him. The job was simple. Maybe years ago he would have been disgusted with it, but now he was grateful.

“Are you almost done? Those need to be back to the set. Why does it take so long to wash this stuff? This isn’t rocket science, for crying out loud!”

He cringed as soon as he heard the screeching voice. Almost no one bugging him. Turning around, he saw Veronica, the always-stressed blond show organizer.

The irony was amusing. He had left New York City for several reasons, the main one being to escape stress. He had needed to be someplace where there wasn’t a lot of pressure. Where he could recover without people constantly pulling at him. Not to mention that he’d had to disappear for a while until he’d made good on a debt. What better place than Namara Island?

Several months ago he’d managed to scrape together the money for a cheap summer flight, and he’d never looked back. He didn’t have anything or anyone keeping him in New York, and this island was the perfect place for him to pull his life back together. Except now this woman was driving him nuts every ten minutes.

“I thought the next taping wasn’t until tomorrow?” he asked her, knowing that would send her into yet another tizzy.

“You listen to me!” she screeched at him. “Get all that cookware clean and back to the set in fifteen minutes, or I will make sure it’s the last thing you do. The whole reason you have this oh-so-illustrious job is because of this production team. So move it!”

TJ smirked as he watched her turn and stalk away, her ample hips swaying. Veronica St. James bugged the crap out of him, and she was wound way too tight for his liking, but still there was something about her that he kind of liked.

Maybe it was just his natural instinct of wanting to save those he could see heading for disaster. Or maybe not. Either way, he had enough of his own problems to deal with to spend any time worrying about Veronica St. James.

* * *

Sarah fidgeted in the back seat of the cab as it pulled through the tall scrolling black wrought iron gates of the Casa Del Mara Resort. She wondered if Raffe was already here and how they would manage to pull off living together in a romantic bungalow.

The thought of mingling with the other contestants at the resort made her nervous. Surely someone would notice they weren’t a real couple? Maybe if they kept their heads down and stayed to themselves they could pull it off.

The cab drove slowly past lush tropical plants. Vibrant greens, pinks, purples and reds. Up ahead she saw the coral-colored stucco of the main hotel. Beyond that, the pristine white sand beach stretched out to meet the aqua-blue sea.

They stopped under a covered portico, and Sarah recognized two of the other contestant couples piling out of cabs in front of hers. They walked toward a path on the side of the resort. Sarah took her time collecting her luggage and paying the cab fare before following them at a distance safe enough to discourage conversation.

The humid air clung to her as she dragged her suitcase down the stone path. She paused every so often to wrench her suitcase back on course. The clack-clackity-clack of the lopsided wheels mixed with the buzz of insects. The path was lined with colorful flowers and shaded by tall palm trees, and the floral scent of hibiscus and jasmine mingled with the salty tang of the ocean.

As she neared the beach, the path opened up to reveal a vast courtyard with scattered seating areas. Stone benches and huge cushioned sectionals were grouped together in conversation areas. Rope hammocks swung lazily between palm trunks. Further into the trees, love seats were hidden away in intimate settings. The entire area was punctuated with five-foot-tall terra-cotta pots massed with colorful flowers exploding from the top and lush vines trailing down the sides.

Set back from the courtyard, and located on the sugar-white sands of the beach, were ten tropical-style bungalows. They were scattered so that each one was offset from the other for privacy. Each featured a small deck at the front.

Discreet arrow-shaped, knee-high signposts made of teak provided directions toward each bungalow. The one she would share with Raffe was bungalow eight, and a flurry of nerves beat against her rib cage as she realized she was almost there. Her whole body tensed, the edge of the plastic key card she’d been given by one of the contest staff members dug into her sweaty palm. What in the world was she getting herself into?

Walking onto the small wooden deck, she fumbled with the card, jostling her purse, the contents almost spilling onto the deck. She lunged to retrieve it as Raffe opened the door.

“Come on in,” he said cheerfully, gesturing with his hand like a maitre’d inviting her into a fine restaurant. Or was it like a spider inviting a fly into his web? Marly had claimed Raffe was a gentleman, but Sarah couldn’t be entirely sure what he was thinking now that they had to live together.

The bungalow was light and airy. An open concept with a large living room featuring double sliding glass doors revealed an expanse of frothy sea-green water beyond the private beach. On the far right, a row of cobalt blue cabanas dotted the beach in front of the main resort.

Raffe had opened the sliding doors, and a breeze wafted in, bringing with it a tinge of briny sea air. The cry of gulls punctuated the crashing of surf pounding the beach.

The living room sported a comfy-looking rattan-and-white-linen sofa and two matching chairs. Pillows in bright shades of coral, yellow, and lime green added a splash of color. In front of the couch, a funky, modern coffee table sat low to the floor, and matching side tables held tall lime-green vases, each with a beautiful purple orchid.

To the immediate right was a small kitchen with a granite breakfast bar and two stools. It was decent sized, maybe even bigger than the one in her dinky apartment back in New York.

“Wow, this place is great!” Sarah dragged her suitcase past the kitchen to a short hallway with a door on either side. The one on the right led to a lavishly appointed bathroom with a walk-in shower and modern aqua-glass bowl sinks. The entire room was done in soothing sand-colored matte tile. Accents and towels in aqua and blue added a tropical vibe.

Opposite the bathroom was the bedroom, at the heart of which sat a king-sized four-poster bed, strewn with rose petals in the shape of a heart.

Jeez, this was something out of a cheesy romance novel.

Marly will love this.

She laughed as she stood at the foot of the bed to snap a few photos for her friend.

“What’s so funny?” Raffe stepped into the bedroom just as Sarah was making a goofy pose and pointing to the rose petals for a selfie to send to Marly.

Shit! Sarah jerked the phone away and straightened, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“Oh. Uh. Umm. Nothing. It’s just, I mean the rose petals are funny. Not that they aren’t nice, it’s just, given our situation, they are kind of funny.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess. Anyway, I already assumed I’ll sleep on the couch.” Raffe said, pointing toward the living room. “By the way, the rose petals were already there when I came in.”

Sarah’s cheeks burned even hotter. Did Raffe think that she thought he had put them on the bed and she was taking the photo to show off?

“Oh, okay. Thanks. So I guess we should put our stuff away before we head to the meet and greet?” She swept a bunch of the rose petals aside, their sweet floral scent wafting up as they floated to the ground. She hefted her suitcase onto the bed.

The meet-and-greet party was scheduled to begin soon in the courtyard so the contestants could get to know each other. Sarah was anxious about going to the party, but she knew that trying to get out of it would only call attention to her and Raffe. They didn’t need any added scrutiny.

She worried about being able to pull off their fake engagement, but going to the party did have a benefit: She wouldn’t have to hang around in the bungalow alone with Raffe and the gigantic bed.

“Yeah, there are some drawers in the funky side tables in the living room, and I’ll put my clothes in there so I don’t have to disrupt you here in the bedroom,” Raffe disappeared, and Sarah unzipped her suitcase. She didn’t have much in it. Unlike most women, she’d never felt the need to pack a complete wardrobe. She had her chef’s clothes, some T-shirts, shorts, a few capri pants, and two dressy outfits. And, of course, flip-flops.

She kicked off her shoes, the tile floor cool on her feet as she padded around the room taking her neatly packed things out of the suitcase and putting them in the drawers. Even though the bedroom was not on the ocean side, she still heard the lulling sound of the surf through the open window. The muted-green and sky-blue tones of the bedroom were soothing, and the king-sized bed, with its fluffy, crisp, white comforter, looked inviting. No time to nap now, though.

Unzipping the side pocket of the suitcase, she pulled out her toothbrush, shampoo, soap, and a small makeup case. Sarah had been a tomboy growing up and had never really gotten into the whole makeup and beauty regimen. She’d only started wearing makeup when she had gone to work at Draconia Fashions before her chef job a few years ago, and even then it was only some light bronzer with the occasional dab of lip gloss.

Maybe she should put in a little more effort for this party tonight?

She unzipped her makeup case, taking inventory as she crossed the hall to the bathroom. Mascara. Lip gloss. Should she have brought eyeliner?

Ooof! She smacked into something solid. Raffe.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Raffe laughed as they jostled around each other in the doorway.

Sarah squeezed past him into the bathroom.

“Is that all yours?” Sarah pointed to the miscellaneous products neatly tucked onto one side of the large marble vanity. Various skin creams and hair care items. Though Raffe had chopped off his long hair for the contest, he had more personal care items than a girl. Certainly more than she did.

“Yeah,” Raffe mumbled, his face reddening. “Hey, guys need to look good too.”

“I know, I know. I’m just feeling foolish because you have more than me!” Sarah winced as his cheeks grew more crimson. His usual arrogance was gone, and she almost felt uncomfortable for him, but his embarrassment made her like him a little bit more. It made him more human.

“Umm, do you mind if I hang my suits in the bedroom closet?” Raffe shot over his shoulder as he headed toward the living room.

“Of course not,” Sarah said. “Use the bureaus too if you want. I only need two drawers.”

“I’m good.” Raffe came down the hall with a charcoal-gray suit on a hanger as Sarah headed back into the bedroom. That reminded her, she had a few nice things that should probably be hung up. She grabbed them out of the drawer and snagged a hanger, trying not to brush against Raffe, who was fiddling with his suits, apparently making sure they wouldn’t wrinkle on the hanger.

“I feel bad,” Sarah blurted out, shutting her empty suitcase and pushing it under the bed.

“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked as they both headed toward the living room.

“It’s just, well, the engaged part. I hate lying to everyone. I mean, I hope I can pull it off. I’m not very good at lying.”

Raffe looked out the window, his eyes pensive, jaw tight. Sarah got the impression that lying bothered him as much as it did her. Maybe there was a softer side under Raffe’s hardened businessman-who-would-do-anything-to-succeed persona.

“I don’t like lying either, but we aren’t hurting anyone.” His eyes flew to the fake engagement ring that she nervously twisted on her finger. He frowned, and she stopped twisting then looked out at the ocean.

One of the other couples from the show walked by at the water’s edge, their sandals in one hand as their feet splashed in the water. They held hands, laughing.

“They must be heading to the party. We’d better go.” Sarah turned, the pressure in her chest growing tight. “I hope I can pull this off.”

“You’ll be fine. Stop playing with your ring, though. That’s a dead giveaway. Just act natural, and no one will suspect a thing.”