The Consequence of Revenge

“Flight attendants, prepare for landing!” the captain said over the loudspeaker.

I tried to stand up but the flight attendant walked by and told me to buckle up.

Before I had a chance to reach for my seat belt, Max’s hands were already on it, and adjusting it in my lap. “You heard her.” His lips grazed my ear. “She said buckle up.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the headrest. So not going as planned. But if Max was planning on keeping me, that meant he knew what we had to accomplish in order to stay.

“Max . . .” I didn’t open my eyes. “Did the girls—”

The plane dropped.

At least a few hundred feet.

I screamed.

Max gripped my hand.

And then the plane leveled out.

“That was a rush,” Max said dryly.

“Why.” Sweating. I was sweating. I hated flying. And it didn’t help that I was trapped next to the only guy who had better skin than me and had such a blinding smile that it made you trip on your own feet.

“Why what?” Why did he suddenly sound so controlled?

“Why did you pick me to stay?”

“College,” Max said slowly, before the plane dipped again. “You aren’t here for me. Admit it.”

“I, uh, I want commitment too.”

“You’re like that new Geico commercial with Pinocchio and his nose just keeps growing, or is that Progressive? I keep getting the two mixed up.”

“No, it’s just I—”

“You just what?” Max’s hands moved to my face, and my eyes fluttered open. “You just want to win?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I help you, you help me,” Max said. “We both get off the Island without getting eaten by sharks and women. Win-win.”

“I’m not afraid of women,” I fired back.

“No, but you’re absolutely terrified of sharks. It says right here in your profile.”

“Damn you.”

“Aw, thanks.” There went that smile again. “So what do you say? Partners?”

“But—”

“Make your choice, it’s me or them.” Max’s eyes focused on something behind me. “Fine, I’m making it for you.”

“Wha—”

His mouth was on mine before I could protest.

And what was originally going to be my plan—to seduce the man, get the money, get out—suddenly took a drastic turn toward hell, because he kissed like he had all the time in the world. He kissed like I was the only girl for him—kissed me like every girl dreams of being kissed.

When he released me, a camera was immediately shoved in my face.

Too disappointed and irritated to admit my disappointment, I flashed a grin and swallowed.

“So.” Max’s voice had completely changed, going from seductive to indifferent within the span of two seconds. “How about those sharks?”

He was looking out the window but his hand had found mine underneath the armrest.

I squeezed back and answered, “How about all those women?”

“I won’t let the sharks eat you.” His eyes narrowed in on my lips. “Swear.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let the women eat you either.” I smiled in return, knowing that I’d probably just made a deal with the devil.

So why the hell was I excited about it?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MAX

I’d gone through a prostate exam—one that, P.S., still gives me a little shudder—a dental exam, STD testing . . . I mean, you name it, I’d gone through it. All for a show.

And up until this point, I’d been pissed. I mean, seriously, a doctor had his hands . . . never mind.

But kissing Becca?

Kind of made all that pain and awkwardness worth it. I mean I still wasn’t happy about getting tricked into doing the show, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let my so-called friends get away with their little intervention, but still. Maybe tricked was too strong a word . . . I probably could have backed out, or at least told the producers I had some sort of contagious disease that meant I couldn’t be out in public. I should have just claimed Ebola, which would have bought me at least three weeks.

So I was back to the original issue. Clearly I was desperate enough to have gone along with my friends and their insane idea. I mean, surely I could have tried harder to fight the contract, right? Was I that bored? That upset about the direction my life was taking?

I licked my lips, remembering the feel of hers.

It had been a good kiss.

Hell, who was I kidding? It had been a damn good kiss.

The only problem? I’d just made an alliance with the one girl I couldn’t actually like—because it would work against me, against us. The other women would target her and honestly, what if we had some sort of connection, and the game ruined whatever chances we had because she was so focused on the competition and the money?

And I’d made my choice, taken the show back into my own hands by way of manipulating information out of the weak, and decided to send the ones home who didn’t belong—only keeping those who needed either the money or a free vacation.

Yeah, before you get all swoony on me for actually having a heart, just remember, I would still be toying with all their emotions.

Becca bolted when the plane landed. I hoped it wasn’t a sign that I was the worst kisser on the planet . . . because she tripped over her own feet to get the hell away from me.