My Bachelor (10 page)

Chapter 12

Rafe

I stepped out
of the shower and pulled on my jeans. The four mile run down to the main road and back uphill to the estate had helped clear my head. The unexpected visit from the director had put me in a dark mood, and I’d needed to blow off some steam. I’d already memorized the pattern and positioning of the outside security cameras and easily found a way past them without being seen. Technological invisibility cloak was what we’d called it in the army. There were enough blind spots and pauses in the studio’s camera system to make it clear around to the back of the house and over the fence to the back road without notice. It had felt fucking awesome to be away from the mess I’d fallen into.

I’d spent weeks undercover, hiding in caves and sleeping in crevices along the Afghan landscape, but the walls of the bachelor’s house were closing in on me fast. And it had nothing to do with the house itself.

I walked out to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the refrigerator. I returned to the front room with my beer, dropped onto the couch and picked up the remote. In my training, I’d learned to detect even the slightest changes in sound. A whirring sound, light as a feather dragging over cement, alerted me that the outside cameras were moving, as if following someone or something across the yard.

On the front stoop, a shuffling sound was followed by a giggle. I stood up from the couch and opened the front door. I was slowly starting to put names to faces. Shyla, who’d made an impression on me the first night by nearly crawling into my lap during our private conversation, was standing on the front porch with her hand resting against one of the posts. She had on a short top that stopped just below her breasts and a pair of shorts that were only several inches wide from waistband to hem. A diamond sparkled in a belly button that was surrounded by a flowery tattoo.

She took one step and faltered, confirming what I’d already deduced. She was very drunk and the porch post was the only thing holding her up.

I grabbed her hand as she stumbled forward and I helped her inside. “Shyla, what are you up to?”

She laughed. “Why, I’m here to see you, silly.” She used her unsteadiness to her advantage and fell against me. Overhead, the ceiling cameras beeped as they turned on. It seemed the director didn’t trust my word, and he’d decided to get things moving faster. And of all the women, Shyla was the one Doug had told me I should keep on the show. At the time, I figured it was because she was a big drinker and someone who might start some drama. But now it seemed she was part of his team, a pretty woman planted on the show to stir up trouble and scandal.

“Who sent you over here?” I brushed a dark strand of hair off her face and took the time to finish the gesture with a light rub of my thumb across her bottom lip. Her breath was rich with the smell of booze. Her long lashes fluttered down, and for a second, I was sure she’d pass out in my arms but then she opened her eyes.

“No one sent me.” She returned the touch by pressing her fingers against my mouth. “And do not tell anyone I was here. The other girls will be pissed.” She giggled, and the movement that came with it made her head loll back as if it was filled with sand. She threw her arms around my neck and pressed her mouth clumsily against mine.

Shyla’s body rubbed against mine, and her hand went straight to my fly. Her fingers trailed the outline of my cock as she kissed me. “If this is what they want, darlin’, then what the fuck,” I muttered against her lips.

I took hold of her waist and pushed her up against the wall, in just the right angle from the camera. I had no idea how much they could get away with on a prime time television show, but that wasn’t going to be my problem. Doug had left a bitter enough taste in my mouth about the whole fucking show that I just didn’t give a damn. And Shyla was obviously being paid extra to boost the ratings.

Her arms stayed wrapped around my neck as I reached between us and slipped my hands beneath her short top. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, which wasn’t a big surprise.

I lifted the shirt and lowered my face to her breasts.

She tangled her fingers in my hair. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this hair, Rafe. I can’t believe I’m standing here with you.” She arched her back and pushed her nipple hard against my roving tongue and, oddly enough, she continued her conversation. “I figured I’d never have a shot with you. So many pretty girls in that house. That’s why I took this chance. I needed some time alone to prove that I was the right woman for you.”

I lifted my face but continued to tease her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. She was good. I actually almost believed that she was here as a legitimate contestant.

She reached for the button on my fly. “Take me, Rafe. Take me now.”

“Even the script is original,” I quipped.

As drunk as she appeared to be, my comment seemed to sober her up. “What do you mean?”

“It’s all right.” I lowered my mouth to her ear so the audio couldn’t be heard. “I know Doug sent you over here.”

Her hands fell to her sides. I could feel her body tense between me and the wall. I looked at her face. Her eyes were glassy as if she was on the verge of crying. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I snuck out hoping I’d get a chance to be alone with you.”

Her words were genuine. It seemed she had no idea that we were being filmed. She threw her arms around my neck again. “I’m in love with you, Rafe. Almost from the instant I met you.” She reached down to remove her shorts, but I took hold of her hands. The tears I noticed earlier fell.

“We’re on camera, Shyla.” I pointed up to the corner of the ceiling.

Her face paled as she looked up at the blinking light. She swayed forward. I caught her and held her steady. She turned her face toward my shoulder, and her body shook with sobs. “I thought they were only filming us at the house,” she said between shuddering breaths. “I just wanted to be near you. The girls are going to kill me when they see this.” She peered up at me with sad eyes. I felt like a complete ass, just like the jerk the director wanted me to be. But he could fuck himself. I was going to be myself on camera. Just like Eliot had advised.

“It’s all right, Shyla. I’m glad you came by. By the way, you’re one hell of a kisser.”

Her sweet smile returned. “Yeah? Well, you’re not too bad yourself.”

“Let’s get you back to the house.” I held her arm with one hand and opened the front door with the other. Another surprise. Peyton was standing on the front stoop dressed in a slinky, short dress, looking as if she was on her way to a dance club. Or on her way to seduce the bachelor next door. But her practiced sultry gaze turned cold and harsh when a tottering Shyla stepped around the door and into view.

“Shyla,” she snapped, “you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Are you?” I asked.

Peyton fidgeted on her pink high heels, and her silky dress shimmered under the porch light. Shyla looked anguished by the whole thing, but Peyton looked angered, as if some long thought out plan had been spoiled. It seemed I’d just discovered the
mole
on the Sealed with a Kiss set.

“Well, ladies, this has been an interesting night. Shyla was out for a walk and lost her way. She’s had a little too much to drink. I was just about to walk her back home, but if you don’t mind, Peyton, I’ll just send her back with you. And, as you well know”—I looked pointedly at her—“the cameras are rolling out there. So be nice.” I ushered a reluctant Shyla out the door and closed it before Peyton had a chance to respond.

Chapter 13

Eliot

“Where the hell
are you?”

Jackson’s urgent sounding text came through just as I parked my car. I grabbed my backpack and climbed out.

My fingers flew over the keyboard. “I’m just walking into the studio. What’s up?” I’d been up since four in the morning studying before spending three hours listening to a lecture on scurvy and vitamin deficiencies. My head felt clouded from the onslaught of scientific information. But it cleared enough to remind me of the brief phone conversation I’d had with Jackson in the supply room. He’d been convinced that something was going to happen.

The usual flurry of voices and activity met me as I walked inside the building. Jackson crashed into me as I came around the corner. My heavy with books backpack slipped off my shoulder and dropped to the ground. Jackson politely bent over to pick it up. Black roots were beginning to reach out over his straight-from-the-bottle blond locks, and his just stepped off the beach look was starting to fray too.

He held the heavy bag out for me to take. “This thing will ruin your posture.”

I swung it over my shoulder. “Yep, it’s all part of my ‘un-pretty’ plan. I’m hoping to look like Quasimodo by the time I’m out of college.”

“Fine, whatever.” He grabbed my hand. “Holy hell, sweetie, this was no day to be late. Come with me.”

He dragged me through the corridor.

“I’m not late. It’s my school day. Hence the fifty pound bag of books on my shoulder. I’m hoping to get in some study time during my breaks.” The books bounced against my back as Jackson continued to pull me along. “Where the hell are you taking me? I think that peroxide you’re using on your hair is soaking into your brain.”

He ignored the barb about his hair and squeezed my hand tighter as he pulled me along. As we passed the hallway, I noticed Doug and Kiley both wearing sour faces as they headed into the conference room.

“Is there a meeting this morning? I didn’t read my email yet. And why does Doug look as if he just swallowed a cactus?”

We reached the viewing room where Doug and the editors could playback freshly filmed moments and decide what was worthy of the fifty minutes on air.

Jackson looked back at me as he reached for the door. “It’s good you’re here finally. Your bachelor is going to need you today. The proverbial shit has hit the fan, and Mr. Tall, Hot and Hunky is in the center of the shit storm.”

Jackson pushed open the door. Some of the crew members were huddled around the playback monitor.

“Don’t you people have some place to be?” Jackson said authoritatively, as if he wasn’t just the set director’s assistant. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers sharply. They grumbled and complained, but they got up and left the room.

I shook my head as I looked at him. “The confidence of an emperor.”

“Damn right, and no one ever seems to notice that I have no clothes. It’s a gift.” Jackson sat down at the monitor and patted the chair next to him. He moved the mouse to restart the video that had gone black on the screen.

“What’s all this about? And why is Rafe in a shit storm?”

The video started. It was a night time view from one of the cameras outside the main house. Jackson paused it.

“Remember when I told you Doug was frustrated about the way the show was going and that he asked Leo to stay late?”

“Yeah, somewhere between the supply closet and the party of drunk women in the back room, I pushed that into the tornado of stuff in my brain.”

“Well, it seems our impatient boss tried to move things along.” The gold chain on Jackson’s wrist jingled as he clicked play. I leaned in to see the small figure walking as if she was taking and failing a sobriety test as she crossed the lawn. It took only a few seconds to recognize that the figure was one of the contestants. Twice she stopped and looked back to see if someone was following her, and both times, as she swung back around, she nearly fell face forward on the ground. “Shyla, right? She looks a little tipsy.”

Jackson’s laugh turned into a snort. He looked over at me. “El, a little tipsy is my Aunt Greta who starts talking in German after she’s had a glass of her peppermint schnapps. The woman stumbling across the grounds of the hillside estate is four and half sheets to the wind and then some.”

Shyla might have been drunk, but she’d been quite strategic in her fashion choice. She was wearing shorts and a shirt that were just one notch above a bikini. “I guess it’s easy to predict where her stealth mission is taking her.”

“Just wait until you see what happens.” Jackson moved the mouse to turn up the sound. The outside cameras only picked up visuals, but as she reached the front door of the guest house, a new camera feed took over and the sound popped on. It started with just a few squeaks and a breathy sigh as Shyla made her way up the steps. A knock followed. The sound system was good enough to pick up the heavy footsteps approaching the front door. With each footfall, my stomach tightened a little more until a wave of nausea passed through me. I sat back and crossed my arms over my stomach to settle it.

Jackson seemed to sense my discomfort. “Eliot Hampton,” he said in his practiced stern parent tone, “did you eat one of those crazy donut, egg and bacon—”

I held up my hand to stop him and shook my head, a gesture that made me slightly dizzy. I discretely pressed my hand against the seat of the chair to make the spinning stop. “I’m fine. I didn’t eat a donut egg sandwich this morning. It’s just from rushing around so much.”

Jackson turned back to the monitor.

I willed myself to look too. This season, I was the assistant. I wasn’t just a curious member of the crew waiting to see what went on in the evening shadows up on the hill. Suddenly, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to watch any of it.

“I’ve got to get going,” I blurted as I scooted forward on the chair. “I haven’t even put my things in the locker room yet.”

Jackson’s eyes were as round as marbles as he looked at me. He reached for my hand. “What? No stay. It doesn’t take that long. The whole scene unfolds pretty fast.”

Rafe’s deep voice came through the speaker. It drew my attention back to the monitor. He was shirtless and looked stunned to find that he had a guest. Shyla fell against Rafe, and his large, protective arms went around her.

Jackson pointed to the monitor. “That moment right there, and with him being shirtless . . . like television gold. And yet, the boss is marching around as if someone keyed graffiti on the door of his shiny blue Mercedes.”

I heard Jackson’s words, but they were hard to comprehend. I was too busy trying to extinguish the churning in my stomach and the bitter taste in my throat. I had no real explanation for feeling queasy. I decided to blame it on the stale peach muffin I’d bought from the school vending machine.

It was one of those terrible accident moments in life, where I badly wanted to look away but my morbid curiosity got the best of me. I blotted out the conversation as much as possible, but my gaze was glued to the screen.

“Guess you were right about Doug planning something,” I said. “Seems to me Sealed with a Kiss is slowly becoming a lot less reality and a lot more staged fiction.” A terse laugh left my mouth. “Doug chose the wrong woman. Rafe wasn’t terribly impressed by Shyla,” I said with another short laugh. Oddly enough that comment made my stomach feel better.

Jackson’s brow edged up. “Oh really? I think she made more of an impression than you think.”

And that comment brought the nausea back again.

I pressed my arms tighter against my stomach and stared at the monitor. The action on screen seemed to be heading right into a raunchy, explosive, against the wall sex scene.

Rafe lowered his head to kiss Shyla’s breasts, and the peach muffin came back to haunt me. I waved my hand in front of my face for some air.

Jackson caught the motion from the side of his eye. He flashed an annoying grin. “Yeah, that’s what we were all doing this morning the first time we watched this. It’s hard to keep cool when that man is on camera.” He pointed to the monitor. “He knows his stuff.”

“No,” I said louder than needed, considering Jackson was two feet away. “It’s not the video. It’s the peach muffin. Well, Doug is getting what he wanted.” There was an unexplained hitch in my voice. “And, from the looks of it—so is the bachelor.” For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. It was easier just to think of him as the bachelor.

“I’m out of here.” I got up from my chair. I had no idea why but I was thoroughly disappointed in Rafe. Somehow I’d expected more from him. I knew it was stupid and delusional, but during the past few days, I’d painted a different picture of Rafe in my head. I was obviously naive when it came to men.

Behind me, the chair scraped the floor as Jackson stood. “Eliot.”

I ignored him and reached for the door, but Jackson’s fingers wrapped around my wrist before I could open it. He turned me gently toward him and scanned my face. “El, what’s wrong?”

I waved my hand toward the monitor. “Can’t believe you have to ask. You know me better than that, Jackson. I’m not interested in any tawdry sex scene, especially one that was obviously set up and possibly even scripted. Can’t believe Rafe went along with—”

Jackson’s mouth dropped open. He released my hand. His nose piercing twinkled in the overhead lights as he leaned back to get a better look at me. “Oh my god, sweetie, you’ve really fallen for the man.”

“Here you go again, Jackson.” I pushed the curl off my forehead. It fell right back down. “I guess if this kind of silly crap helps get you through the work day then have at it. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. This is just my damn day job, a paycheck at the end of the week to help pay the million bills I have piled on my plate.”

“O.K., first of all, you didn’t watch the whole thing. If you had, you’d have been short one tawdry sex scene. Your bachelor never got past first base. Well, I guess his lips brushed past second base, but he stopped the game well before third. Whatever the hell third base is. I understand the baseball analogy about as much as I understand the real game.” He waved off the tangent. “Anyhow, Doug didn’t send Shyla to the house. He sent Peyton. And both girls walked back to the main house with lip gloss and panties still in place.”

“Well, good for him,” I said, casually as if it didn’t matter and silently wondering why the hell it did matter.

My pager startled me. “I’ve got to get up to the house. Rafe needs me.” I glanced over at the monitor. It was paused with a picture of Rafe holding Shyla’s hand. Even that simple gesture made my stomach tighten. What the hell was happening? I was sticking with the stale peach muffin theory.

“The whole thing ended as innocently as a kid’s movie. That’s why our boss looks as if he has swallowed a cactus. He wants sex and sizzle, but instead, he’s getting cool and unflappable Prince Charming. I guess it’ll be up to the fans to decide which they prefer.”

“I guess so.” I opened the door.

“El, you’re my best friend.” Jackson dropped his voice so the people moving through the hallway couldn’t hear him. He leaned closer. “Be careful with that heart of yours.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, mostly because he knew my feelings better than me. I nodded quickly and walked out.