Taking the Heat (8 page)

Flattered by her assessment of my character, I motioned for her to follow me back along the walkway to a wooden bench. ‘What's going on?'

‘You were talking to Callum today, right?'

The devilishly handsome redhead. ‘Yeah, we chatted after I knocked him out of the challenge, but only for about thirty seconds. Literally.'

‘Did he mention me?' There was a strange pallor on her face, a sheen of desperation.

‘Um … well, we spoke about how you're both from Ireland. And about you getting together last night.'

‘What did he say, exactly? Do you think he likes me? Should I go to him, do you think?'

Her words flowed out, needy and unchecked. I wanted to be gentle, but I also knew that the last thing any guy would enjoy was a one-time pash banging on his door, looking for love. ‘Look, Meghan, you probably don't want to be the one doing the chasing. There's so many other guys on the island—have you thought about maybe just seeing if anyone else strikes your fancy?'

She buried her face in her pale, freckled fingers. ‘He doesn't remember me. I knew it. You must think I'm at total nitwit.'

‘I think you're lovely. And I think any guy on this island would be lucky to spend time with you.' I rubbed her back, thankful that the ‘no-touch' laws only applied to the opposite sex. ‘Besides, last night was crazy—if he doesn't remember you, that's probably why.'

‘No! Not from last night!' Meghan shot bolt upright in the bench. ‘He's my childhood sweetheart!'

‘What? How is that possible?'

‘I don't know,' she groaned, holding herself as if she might fall apart. ‘I hadn't seen him for fifteen years up until last night.'

‘Fifteen years!'

‘Yeah, I was a wee girl when I saw him last. We lived next door to each other—he practically lived at our house because his ma was a drunk and he didn't have a pa. He was my first kiss.' She smiled, staring off into the distance. My overactive brain started singing ‘Danny Boy' in the background.

Focus.
‘Are you sure it's really him? I'm sure there's more than one Callum in Ireland.'

‘I'm sure. When you see your soul mate, you know it, you know?' Her expression convinced me that she believed it. I believed it; not because of soul-mate recognition, but because the producers of this show are wily sons-of-bitches. Young love, torn apart—that's great TV.

Especially when one of them is oblivious. ‘Why don't you say something to him? You guys seemed like you had a pretty good connection last night. If he knows who you are, maybe he'll see things differently.'

She shook her head, the copper-coloured curls flying. ‘No. I've dreamed of Callum for the last decade. No man has ever come close to what we had together. If he doesn't recognise me yet, I don't want to force him. I'll wait, and when he finally sees the little girl he loved in my eyes, ah …'

‘Meghan—'

‘It'll be so beautiful. He'll remember, you'll see.' She stood and reached for my hand, squeezing it in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Tara. You won't say anything to him, will you?'

‘I won't. I promise.'

Clattering feet drew our attention down the walkway. A cameraman, sound guy and unit manager ran towards us, dragging heavy bags of gear. ‘Wait! Don't say another word until we're rolling!'

‘Too late, we're done.' I couldn't help but grin as their faces fell.

The manager said, ‘It's fine. We'll make do with the tree cameras.' He pointed out several tiny black dots, nestled in the branches around us.

‘Uh, hullo?' Henry's fair head poked around behind the crew. ‘Tara, can I have a word, please?

Am I a bad person if I say no?
It isn't that I don't like Henry, I just really wanted some time away from the drama.

‘Um … I'll go and leave you to it, then?' Meghan looked knowingly between us, a romantic glint in her eyes.

I rolled my own eyes. ‘Thanks, Meghan. Nice to chat with you.'

As she trotted back along the planks towards her own room, she winked at Henry. ‘You've got a good 'un there, Henry.'

‘Thank you,' he said, eyes on me.

The camera crew were practically wetting themselves with glee. ‘Tara, Henry, can we please set up on the balcony inside? The light is much better out there.'

‘Sure!' I said with forced brightness. ‘Come on in, everybody.'

Inside my room, the crew scattered, delightedly playing with booms and reflectors. Someone had left the air-conditioning running at arctic temperatures, and I shuddered in my swimsuit and hopelessly thin cover-up. I grabbed a cotton bathrobe from the cupboard and slipped into it gratefully.

Henry stood awkwardly by the door, his eyes darting around nervously. ‘Oh.
Oh.
Do you want me to step out while you change?'

I smiled at his embarrassment.
How on earth will this quaint, old-worldly gentleman survive his time here on the island?
I wondered. ‘It's fine, Henry, it's just a robe. Come on, let's sit outside.'

I dropped into the plush bamboo lounge and patted the cushion next to me. Henry eased down, pulling the creases from his pants, as if he wore a tuxedo rather than board shorts. I've only heard of the term ‘English rose' in relation to women before, but it suits Henry rather well too. His sandy hair, porcelain skin and brushed pink cheeks combine perfectly with his brown eyes. He really is divine to look at.

‘So, Tara, I suppose you're wondering what on earth I'm doing here, yes?'

‘I like you, Henry,' I said, because I do. ‘I don't mind if you drop by.'

His already sun-kissed skin glowed an even brighter red. ‘Gosh. Thank you for saying so. You see, I find that I like you too. Rather a lot, considering it's only been a day. I really just wanted to check in on you, after the trouble at the challenge today.'

‘Trouble?' I said, searching my mind. ‘Oh, you mean Clara. Don't worry about her; she didn't hurt me and that's just who she is. Although, I wish she'd just
ask
me to move next time …'

‘No, not the Japanese girl,' he said, painfully uncomfortable. ‘The … the, you know … the kiss.'

‘Oh … that.' That wasn't just trouble—that was crazy and wonderful and hot and unbearable and amazing. And definitely not something I wanted to discuss with Henry. If I've learned anything from watching
The Bachelorette
, it's that you have to keep all your relationships separate.

Henry was still stammering through his piece. ‘It's not that I don't like Chris, you see. It's only that I don't think he'd be very good for you. He seems rather intense when it comes to you. The way he looks at you, it's like you're the only girl in the world, as if he wants to drag you back to his cave or something.'

God help me, I shivered at the volley of images: Chris throwing me over his shoulder, carrying me away, tossing me onto a bed somewhere, pinning my hands over my head, forcing his lips to mine …

‘So, I hope this isn't too forward, but I just thought you should know.' He leaned forward, earnestly. He was so wretchedly adorable that I wasn't sure what to say. He didn't need to know that my body cried out for Chris like a One Direction fan in the front row, or that I was considering jumping Chris if the opportunity allowed.

Henry also didn't need to know that I had no intention of letting myself fall for Chris. I could never trust him with my heart. I just want to be near him, with him, on him as much as possible while we're here on the island.

All of that makes me sound like a truly awful excuse for a human being. I'm sorry, world, but I can't help how I feel. Tell me you've never used someone for their body, or guarded your heart against someone you know will only hurt you, and you can throw the first stone.

My biggest priority, as it was with Meghan, was to make Henry feel understood. ‘Thank you, Henry. I really appreciate you bringing this to me.'

His features grew bright with relief. ‘You're so welcome, my lady.'

We rose and walked to the door. ‘Will you save me a dance at the party tonight?' he asked, his fair eyebrows high.

‘Of course! God knows how we're supposed to dance when nobody is allowed to touch, but we'll make it work.'

Drained, I opened the door, and in lieu of kissing him on the cheek, blew him a kiss as he walked out.

Laughingly, he caught my kiss in his hand and tucked it in his pocket. ‘For later,' he explained, walking away down the eastern walkway.

Movement on the north walkway caught my eye. Chris stood there, watching Henry depart with coldness in his eyes.

‘Chris?' I called. ‘Chris, wait!'

He was gone. Again. Thoroughly irritable, I had no intention of streaking after him in my robe and bare feet.
Just you wait, coffee boy. You and I will be having words at the party, oh yes …

Turning back inside, I collided with the cameraman, who had crept up close behind me. ‘Out. Now.'

‘But can we just ask a few questions about—'

‘Guys, I'm sure you're all lovely and I know you're only doing your jobs. But if you don't leave now, I will be forced to do something crazy.'

‘Please do!' said the manager. ‘That's fantastic for ratings.'

‘What if I take a dump on the middle of my bed?'

Pause. ‘Okay, we'll go.'

‘Cheers, boys!'

***

When I woke up from napping, my cheek was plastered to the pillow with drool. ‘Classy,' I muttered to myself, wiping at my face and hoping the cameras didn't catch it, so it wouldn't be used for some hilarious ‘Missed Moments' episode.

Another shower was in order. I must say, my bathroom is fast becoming my favourite place on the island. The massive floor-to-ceiling glass frames an incredible view over the rainforest foliage, and it creates this feeling of floating above the trees. The shower is like the eighth wonder of the world—double heads, perfect temperature, a little bench for sitting on. There's even a spa bath, set in the corner, with jets and a selection of scented oils.

I scrubbed off, singing every copyrighted song I could think of, hoping that might reduce the chances of me being internationally televised in the shower. When I was done, I looked in the mirror, pulling at my tangled blonde mane. ‘Ugh.'

‘Makeup!' came the cry from the front door.

‘Yay!' I ran to let them in. ‘I'm so glad to see you guys.'

My hair lady, a luminous woman from the Caribbean with buxom hips, smiled at me. ‘You've changed ya tune, darlin'. Let me guess—it's a boy got ya all in a tizz?'

‘Maybe …' I said, not even sure. I couldn't pinpoint why I suddenly felt like dancing Pharell-style. It might have been a boy. It might have been two, or the prospect of boys to come, or the fact that I'd won the first key, or that I'd just had an amazing shower.

And then, as always, I thought of my sister and the balloon of happiness deflated.
How can I giggle and feel joy when Ella is broken and alone? And who's to blame for that?

My friend Serena has accused me of being grouchy and unfun, of being childish and pushing everyone away. But ever since the accident, that's my life. I don't deserve to be happy.

Suddenly, my excitement at seeing Chris and dancing with Henry seemed stupid.
You're here for one reason. Don't enjoy it too much.

I let the beauty team go to work with my eyes closed, hearing Ella's voice say on repeat,
‘Hey sis! Are you ready to go? Ready to go? Ready to go …?'

***

Standing at the beach steps an hour later, I felt some of my good feelings return. My full-length maxi dress blew around in the salty breeze—the floaty orange and pink print looked like flames and the movement increased the illusion that it flickered around my legs. My hair was softly curled and loose around my shoulders, and the golden gladiator sandals on my feet gave me just a hint of toughness.

Most of the contestants had already arrived, milling around the giant bonfire built on the sand. Meghan was sitting forlornly on a log by the fireside, staring across the flames at Callum, while the Italian guy flirted with her, oblivious. Beau tipped his hat at me, while the Swiss twins knocked their beers against his. Henry was bailed up by the gorgeous African girl, Jendayi, her arms animated and her body language suggestive. I smiled at his discomfort and looked around for Chris.

He sat on the other side of the fire, his legs splayed casually. Babette, one of the French girls, knelt in front of him between his legs. She twirled her hair around her fingers, her mouth open invitingly, practically the picture of willing, sophisticated sex. As I watched, Chris leaned in to her, his forehead only an inch from hers. He said something and she laughed coquettishly. She thrust her breasts forwards, and they came dangerously close to touching Chris' open hands.

Inexplicable heated rage swept through me. Every cell in my body screamed, ‘
mine!
' and I almost pulled a Clara, only narrowly resisting the urge to drag the French wench away from Chris by her obvious hair extensions.

Instead, I spun and padded off quietly. I needed a moment to regain my composure before speaking with anyone.
Why is that I don't care if Henry speaks with other girls, but this is how I react to seeing Chris with anyone?
If I let myself fall any further into Chris' magnetism, I'd lose my mind when he won his key.

Further along the beach, I found a swinging chair hanging from a palm tree. I collapsed into the canvas, finding the rocking motion soothing to my rattled nerves.

A crackle from behind me caused my head to turn and examine the bushes behind me. A single cameraman crouched behind a tree.

‘I'm not going to do anything interesting,' I warned him.

‘You never know,' he whispered back. ‘Besides, these are great mood-building shots. You, silhouetted against the sea, alone with your thoughts …'