Girl of My Dreams (7 page)

Troy positioned himself on the other side of the net and did his share of ogling, instead of watching where the ball went. By some miracle, his team got the lead.

He pointed at Jillian. “This ball’s for you. And there’s more where this comes from.”

The fans guffawed.

Jillian ignored the laughter and concentrated on deflecting the zooming sphere. She managed to volley it back.

“You handled that ball like a pro. Have you handled others?” Troy asked with a leer.

How juvenile. She expected such jibes from a prepubescent boy, but not someone Troy’s age. Apparently some males never grew up.

The ball flew in Jillian’s direction again, then again. She ran and volleyed as best she could, but after a while, her endurance waned. Was anyone else playing or was it only she and Troy?

The coach pointed to Jillian. “Your serve.”

She’d not let Troy get the better of her. She’d show him how tough she was. Jillian stepped out from behind the line. She raised her arm back, pushed forward with all her might and connected with the ball.

Without warning, it happened—a snap between her shoulder blades. The front of her suit fell forward.

A cheer rang out from the onlookers, as Jillian desperately clung to the tiny scraps of material, the only shield between her breasts and the outside world.

“Let me do that,” someone yelled.

“No, it’s my job. I’ve got first dibs,” Troy yelled, joining in the mayhem.

The man was a letch, no doubt about it.

“Time out,” the referee called.

Jillian bit her lip, wondering how to extricate herself from the embarrassing situation. If she let go of the front of her suit to tie the back, something was bound to fall out. Still, she couldn’t stand in this position forever.

Before she could make a decision, warm hands touched her back. Shockwaves of awareness crashed through her. She jerked away. Where was security?

“Hold still or you’ll make it worse,” Blake’s voice said.

Instead of relief, she felt hunger. It was sweet torture to feel Blake’s fingertips touching her shoulder blades as he attempted to tie her suit. Her skin came alive, straining for more. A strange lassitude swept over her. The crowd disappeared. Only she and Blake remained. Her legs grew weak. She suspected that any second they’d give way and she’d crumple in a heap.

“There, I’ve got it. You’re legal again,” he said in a muffled voice.

The spell was broken. Jillian removed her hands from her breasts. The crowd booed.

On unsteady legs, Jillian made her way off the volleyball court. Sinking down on a canvas chair, she tried to catch her breath. That had been too close for comfort. Thank God, Blake had saved her from certain catastrophe. In the process, he’d proved he owned her. Like a brand, she felt his gentle fingers imprinted on her back.

This was all she’d ever have of him, but it would have to be enough. Her eyes filled. She blinked back tears and stared at the court.

When the game resumed, she went through the motions. Time passed in a blur. The theme song played. She and the other contestants lined up against the net. Troy, carrying a red velvet pouch, approached Ms. 44D. He withdrew two dice and stuck them into her cleavage. He did the same with three other contestants before approaching Jillian. To avoid the same treatment, she held her hand out.

He pressed the dice into her palm. “No luck, huh? Maybe I’ll get lucky in Vegas.” His hand was sweaty. She forced back a grimace, as the song,
Luck Be a Lady
, rang out.

Thaddeus Larimore boomed, “Our billionaire, Troy Langley, has just selected the five lucky ladies who’ll jet with him to Las Vegas, Nevada. Once there, they’ll present a special talent show at the Triple Sevens Casino. Be sure to tune in next week and see exactly what talents these lovely ladies possess.”

Lost in thought, Jillian made her way off the set. This fiasco bordered on the absurd. She’d hoped to be eliminated and now she was faced with another quandary to solve. What kind of act should she perform? She barely sang on key and couldn’t play any instruments. She had to think of something and fast.

Back at her room, she found an envelope on the floor beside the door. She tore it open. The note was from Blake, formally inviting her and the other contestants to a tape viewing at seven in Room L110 of the hotel, followed by a luau. She wished she could beg off, but it was part of the promotion. Her designated costume already hung over the closet door.

Two hours later, in an aquamarine bikini top, grass skirt and high heeled sandals, Jillian presented her note to the doorman, who admitted her to the private screening room. There weren’t too many seats left in the small room, but, fortunately, she found one at the end of the last row. If the footage proved too embarrassing, she could always flee and return later for the festivities.

“Care for company?” a voice asked.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Sure,” she said, rising and moving a seat down to make room for Blake. Her longing gaze flicked over the yellow-and-red patterned shirt and red shorts on his lean, muscular frame before the room darkened. The heady aroma of his tangy aftershave teased her nostrils, tempting her to lean closer to inhale more fully.

The sound of the theme song forced Jillian’s attention to the screen. As the tape rolled, Jillian stared in disbelief and cringed. That couldn’t be her in the daring bikini, jumping up and down, running back and forth, jiggling everything she possessed in front of the camera. She dug her hands into the seat rests.

“You look great,” Blake whispered, fitting his palm over hers.

She barely got out the word, “Thanks,” as shivers of awareness raced through her. Anticipation kept her eyes glued to the screen. She knew what was coming. Her heart pounded as she watched her strap break and Blake run to her rescue. With gentle care, he skimmed his fingers across her back. Like a porn star, she writhed beneath his touch. A close-up captured her glazed eyes and trembling lips in living Technicolor.

Oh, my God. Now everyone knew. Her cheeks burned. She glanced back at the door. She had to get away, but it was impossible. Blake’s hand tightened over hers. She had no recourse but to sit and watch her soul get bared to the world.

The camera picked up every lurid detail. In slow motion, she relived every delicious, torturous moment. Lust shone not only in her eyes, but also Blake’s.

From the seat beside her, he gripped her hand tighter, as if in confirmation. Jillian’s blood ran hot, then cold. Right when she thought she couldn’t handle any more, Blake tied her strap onscreen.

The game resumed, Troy made his picks and the show concluded.

Jillian breathed a sigh of relief as the lights flickered back on and she returned to the present.

Blake squeezed her hand before releasing it and whispered, “What’s say we finish what we started?”

Dumbfounded, she stared at him. She’d heard him use lines like that when speaking to famous women on the phone. Was he joking? The look in his eyes said he wasn’t.

Her body screamed yes, but her mind said no. She couldn’t give in. The hurt would be worse when they went their separate ways.

“That’s not a good idea,” she said, rising.

“It could be.” He got up and stood beside her. The look in his eyes made it hard for her to refuse.

At that moment, one of the cameramen approached. He lunged over and patted Blake on the back. “Great improvising, Blake. Hot stuff.”

She should have known better. Of course, it had all been for show. Blake had played to the audience. He would have reacted the same way if any of the other contestants’ straps had broken. The fact it had been Jillian’s meant nothing. The invitation to his bed didn’t mean anything either. She’d fielded enough telephone calls from starlets and wannabes who expected and sometimes received repeat performances from Blake Caldwell. Thank goodness, she’d had the sense to refuse right away.

The cameraman turned to Jillian. “Young lady, you were great. That billionaire guy isn’t blind. I predict you’ll be the winner.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don’t stand a chance.”

“That’s right. Stay in character. The modest approach suits you. Now, tell me, beautiful, what have you cooked up for the talent round?”

Jillian blushed. “Really, I’m not talent show material. I can’t sing or dance or play any instrument.”

“No instruments at all?” he asked, eyebrows lifted.

“I’m sure Jillian will come up with something,” Blake broke in.

“And, from the looks of you, my fine producer, something’s already come up,” the producer said.

“No harm appreciating works of art.”

WAS IT OBVIOUS he was getting a thing for his ex-assistant? For the first time he could remember, his willpower ebbed dangerously. He must focus on the job at hand, yet all he wanted was to forget it and devour her instead. Damn, she’d haunted him from the moment of her reincarnation. Now she had the audacity to flash that innocent look while she almost fell out of her bikini top and her luscious, long legs stuck out of that thin grass skirt. How much more could he take?

Remembering the dumb line he’d handed her a few minutes ago, Blake frowned. It wasn’t like him to be so transparent. You’d swear he was a brand new stage hand. The last thing he needed was to loose control over a woman and squander his independence. If he became anything like his father, he might as well kiss his life goodbye.

With hardened resolve, he turned to Jillian. “See you around. About that Vegas talent bit? We’ll need an answer fast so we can set up the stage. With your smarts, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Turning his back, he loped outside. That would show her she didn’t figure in his life. He didn’t need Jillian. She was only another woman, no one special. To prove his theory, Blake worked the area around the luau table, flirting and flashing his renowned bedroom smile.

To see what effect he was having on her, he snuck quick glances around from time to time, but couldn’t even see her. Was she hiding with Troy behind an exotic plant? If so, what were they doing?

When he did locate her, his suspicions seemed confirmed. Eyes narrowing, he watched her stand beside the champagne fountain, next to the bare-chested Troy, clad in the flowery Speedo, who leaned over her like a coyote in heat.   

When the billionaire’s hand rested on her shoulder, Blake started forward, clenching his fist. He had to get them apart. Halfway there he stopped, realizing the incongruity of his actions. Troy and Jillian weren’t playing to an audience or cameras and were free to do whatever they wished. By separating them, Blake would come off as a jealous fool.

His neck burned, but he’d play it cool. He’d pretend it didn’t matter that Jillian kept smiling at Troy and hanging on to his every word, as if they contained the answers to life and death. Did Troy’s barely concealed anatomical goods turn her on? Was she dying to get a sample? How soon would she follow him into his room? She better not.

Hot jealousy flashed through Blake. Wasn’t his offer good enough? Had she been holding out for Troy?

Doing his best to blot out the image of Jillian and Troy entwined in each other’s arms, he turned and smiled down at Maxine’s humongous boobs, then moved on to another contestant to hang with, so as not to show favoritism.

He shouldn’t have encouraged Jillian to continue. She’d made his ratings, but he almost wished she hadn’t. There was still hope she might flop in the talent department. Then he’d be through with her. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE MUSCLES IN Jillian’s face hurt. Her mind yawned from boredom, but she forced herself to smile for the umpteenth time as she listened to Troy describe his fitness regime, his swimming pools, boats, and fleet of automobiles.

Life would be much simpler if she were like Ms. 44D. Rumor had it that the well-endowed contestant had slipped in and out of Troy’s hotel room last night. You could bet she hadn’t read him a bedtime story, unless it was X-rated and came complete with choreography.

“What do you think?” Troy asked.

“I’m sorry. My mind was wandering. What did you say?”

He gave her a strange look. “I asked if you wanted to come up to my room.”

With a straight face she said, “I’m sorry, but if someone found out, I could get disqualified. You do want me to win, don’t you?”

He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close. “Oh, baby, do I.”

About to squirm from Troy’s grasp, she saw Blake approaching and burrowed deeper.

He stopped a few feet away. Lips pursed, eyes darkened, he said, “Shouldn’t you be working on your act?”

“I know what I’m doing.” She looked him straight in the eye.

“My mistake. It looks like you do.”

The frost in his eyes chilled Jillian to the bone. This was not the man she’d worked so closely with for six months. She didn’t know him and didn’t care to either.

To prove it, she snuggled even closer to the billionaire. “I’ve plenty of time on the plane ride to work on my act,” she said from the circle of Troy’s arms.