by Olivia Dade
Where to start? And how to say it succinctly?
“Her face,” he told the camerawoman, and then paused. “I noticed her face.”
Apparently he’d been too succinct. Because after a moment of silence, Callie stifled another giggle, and Gladys rolled her eyes.
“Care to elaborate?” the camerawoman asked.
Well, if HATV wanted to know more, he was happy to tell them.
“First of all, she’s obviously gorgeous.” He swept a hand in Callie’s direction, vaguely aware that her giggles had come to an abrupt stop. “So of course I appreciated that. Anyone would.”
He wouldn’t expound on the lushness of her body to the world, because he didn’t want to embarrass her. But only a fool would look at her ample curves—solidity and softness combined into a form that stopped his breath—and fail to appreciate that kind of beauty.
“But it’s more than that. Her face…” He tried to put all he’d seen, all he’d worshipped, into words. “Her face changes. When she’s happy, it’s open and bright enough to blind me. When she’s upset, everything shutters. And when she’s angry, her brows lower, her eyes narrow, and she could stop the tides with a single look.”
Those thick, dark brows of hers said everything. Everything.
“So her face is expressive,” Gladys paraphrased.
He warmed to his favorite topic. “But it’s not just her face that’s mercurial. Depending on what she wears, she looks completely different from day to day. One shift, she might slick back her hair and wear dark red lipstick and leather boots and look ready to kick James Bond’s ass. But the next day, her hair will be all bouncy and wavy, and she’ll wear a flowery dress and something shiny on her lips, and if spring meadows needed to advertise, she would star in those advertisements.”
Gladys’s eyes had gone wide, but she wasn’t interrupting him.
“Sometimes her hair seems almost black, and sometimes it’s almost red. Her skin is pale in the winter but golden in the summer, even though I’ve seen her put on sunscreen. Her perfume changes too.” He turned to Callie, who’d gone very still beside him. “Every day, from what I can tell. Is that right? Do you use a different perfume every day?”
Earlier today, she’d smelled heady, like late-summer blooms. Tomorrow, she might smell like berries or lemons or rosemary or musk. Ever-changing and ever-enticing.
He loved that about her.
“I…” She licked her lips, even though they were still shellacked with that shiny gloss he adored. “I like perfume samples.”
That explained it.
“And she can do anything.” He returned his attention to Gladys, eager for her to understand the full glory of the woman beside him. “Did you know she was working full-time as a costumed interpreter even as she took all the classes she needed for her master’s degree? And no matter what people ask while she’s on the desk, she can find the answer quickly. She picked up the circulation system in less than three days, she could locate any of our reference materials with her eyes closed, and she can chat with our patrons about anything. Television shows, movies, science, history, whatever. Because she’s so damn intelligent and curious, and her mind works in a way mine doesn’t.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I can’t multitask to save my life, but she’s good at everything. So good, I found it intimidating at first, but then I decided just to admire it. To watch her and enjoy the sight of someone who can do anything and be anyone she wants.”
A gentle hand landed on his knee. Warm. Soft. Tipped with sparkly pink nails.
They’d been red only last week. She was a wonder.
“Thomas,” Callie whispered. “I had no idea.”
Those brown eyes of hers had gone sad, and he didn’t understand it. Hadn’t he expressed himself well enough?
He needed to wrap this up and figure out what he’d done wrong. “In summation, everything about her attracted me. She’s energetic and witty and kind to everyone, unless they try to return books stained by cat urine. She’s frighteningly intelligent and competent. And of course, she’s obviously beautiful. So who wouldn’t be attracted to her? There are probably people in the future desperately trying to invent time travel so they can come back to the twenty-first century and meet her.”
When he finished, neither of the women said anything for a long, long time. But Callie hadn’t moved her hand from his knee, and he felt that light touch like a brand.
“Wellllll…” Gladys drew out the word, her gray brows near her hairline. “I think that pretty much covers the question.”
“Can we—” Callie swallowed, then started again. “Can we maybe check in and take our tour first, and then finish the interview later? I think I need a few minutes.”
He stood immediately. Loath to lose her hand, though, he laced his fingers through hers and helped her to her feet. “If Callie’s tired, we should take a break. Let’s go find our room.”
In the cool privacy of their own space, he’d try to determine what emotions kept chasing each other across her expressive face, appearing and vanishing too quickly for him to decipher them. And then he’d put his plan into action.
He might not be able to multitask. He might not understand popular culture.
But he knew how to train his absolute focus on a question and find an answer. He knew how to consider a single subject and explore it top to bottom, inside and out. He knew how to research, and he knew how to gather his data and create a persuasive argument.
By the end of this week, he’d have an answer to the question of whether Callie might ever grow to love him the way he did her. And if that was even a distant possibility, he would compile his data and prepare his arguments and present his thesis to her before their return to Marysburg.
His thesis statement was simple, but it was powerful. Just five short words.
I could make you happy.
Three
“Callie, place your hands on Thomas’s left shoulder, one stacked on top of the other,” Gladys instructed. “Now look up at him.”
Callie obeyed, her chest oddly tight.
Thomas’s shoulder muscles bunched at the first touch of her fingers, and when he turned his head and gazed down at her, she could have sworn he didn’t see or hear anyone else on the planet. He covered both her hands with one of his, his smile sweet and soft and meant only for her, cameras or no cameras.
Those long, lean hands could heft a mountain of encyclopedias.
But he touched her as if she were a priceless piece of eighteenth-century Delftware.
He tilted his head forward, until he encompassed her world. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” she whispered back, and he nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.
He’d asked the same question when they’d checked into their lavish suite, which—to her mingled horror and excitement—contained only one bed. One enormous, fluffy-looking bed. But she hadn’t answered him then. Instead, she’d merely told him they needed to take photos before their tour of the island. Which was true, but also a way to buy herself time to think.
“Now put both arms around his waist and smile, Callie. Thomas, bend your neck and rest your forehead against hers.” Gladys waited for them to follow directions, then tsked in disapproval. “Tighter, please. You should be pressed right up against one another.”
If she moved any closer, even by a millimeter, she might spontaneously combust. And she couldn’t decide whether the prospect of burning to ash in Thomas’s arms sounded more frightening or irresistible.
So instead of shifting, she stayed completely still.
Thomas studied her face for a long moment, and then flicked a glance at Gladys. “Just a moment, please.”
Ducking his head, he murmured in Callie’s ear, “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just say the word, and I’ll make up some excuse why a certain pose doesn’t work for me. Or you can pinch my arm. Or something.”
Sincerity and concern fairly glowed from every
line of his face, even as unmistakable heat poured from that long, lean body of his. Even as she stepped closer, and his eyes went heavy-lidded. Even as his fingertips on the flesh of her back tightened and trembled, biting pleasurably through her blouse before loosening once more.
“Don’t worry,” she told him.
He didn’t appear satisfied with that answer. “I mean it, Callie.”
“I know.”
She couldn’t help smiling at him, just as Gladys had requested. And when she did, he blinked a few times. As if she really had blinded him.
Maybe she’d been confused up in their suite, but given a few minutes to think, given a few minutes to feel how he touched her, Callie could only reach one conclusion.
Unless Thomas planned to make his big-screen debut in the immediate future, he wasn’t play-acting for the cameras when he held her hand, looked at her with tender affection in those blue, blue eyes, or expounded on what he—bafflingly—considered her many virtues.
He was into her. Big time.
How had she missed it?
Had the haze of her frustration obscured who he really was, how he really felt, from her? Or had he totally hidden his feelings while she’d dated another man?
She didn’t know, just as she didn’t quite know what to do with those feelings. Whether she should rebuff them as gently as possible or explore what they might mean for her. For them.
Because yes, she could almost smell the ozone from the electricity they were generating. But she’d also spent the last several months mired in anger and frustration because of him. She’d cried after her shifts and cursed his name and prayed he’d contract a heinous cold and miss a week of work.
Maybe the next several days would help her find the right way forward. She hoped so, because right now, she didn’t know what the hell to do.
But she did know how to feel.
Cherished. Lustful. And above all else, awful.
Absolutely, completely awful.
Because all those months she’d been bitching about him to her friends and silently fuming to herself under a pasted-on smile at the desk, he’d been admiring her perfume and leather boots and marveling at her librarian abilities.
Maybe he’d deserved her rancor; maybe he hadn’t.
Either way, it didn’t feel good to have disliked a kind, decent man who said her smile blinded him and her anger could stop the tides. Who held her like treasure. And no matter what she decided to do about him—about them—she was never, ever going to complain about him again.
He didn’t need to know about her issues with his work style.
And he definitely didn’t need to know she’d once dreaded the very sight of him.
She needed to do what she always did: keep her mouth shut.
“Now kiss each other,” Gladys ordered.
Or maybe not.
But to Callie’s shock, Thomas gently disengaged himself from her and rose to his full height. The removal of his warm hands, his lean body, left her chilled in the stale air conditioning of the meeting room.
“No,” he said.
His voice was firm. Not distracted. Not even especially good-natured.
Gladys raised her brows once again. “You’re not willing to kiss her?”
Oh, Lord, he was going to give them away. Gladys would call Irene and say they weren’t a couple after all, and then they’d be booted from the sh—
“That’s not for the cameras.” His blue gaze caught Callie’s, and she was swimming in syrup. “That’s for us.”
The word—no, the vow—shivered through Callie in a ripple of heat.
The camerawoman heaved a sigh and turned away from them. “Then we’re done here. Lord help me, romantics are the worst.”
Which implied Gladys didn’t think they were fakers. She thought they were being romantic. Overly precious, yes, but definitely a couple.
Whew. Such a relief.
Although Callie wouldn’t have minded a kiss from Thomas, cameras or no cameras. And maybe the disappointment slumping her shoulders told her everything she needed to know right now.
She might be a worrier, but she wasn’t a fool.
She wasn’t going to rebuff him.
She wasn’t going to dwell on those months of frustration and annoyance.
She was going to spend a week in paradise with a kind, smart, handsome man who evidently adored her.
And she was going to discover what they could be. Together. Despite her worries.
“I suppose it’s tour time, then.” Thomas took her hand, and she curled her fingers around his, reveling in his strength. His warmth. “Are you ready?”
She lifted her chin to get a good view, beamed a smile at him, and watched his rapid blinking with satisfaction. “I’m ready.”
Thomas put his hand over his mic and leaned close.
“What do you think so far?” he asked quietly. Too quietly for the crew to pick up his words, especially over the ambient noise of the crowds and the surf.
The breeze from the water tugged strands free from Callie’s ponytail and set them dancing around her face, and she was pretty sure her nose was turning pink under the bright sun and cloudless sky, despite a liberal coating of SPF 45. To the right, aquamarine waves descended in rhythmic rushes against ripples of golden sand, carefully manicured gardens to the left teemed with vibrant hibiscuses and lilies, and her hand was still securely clasped in Thomas’s careful grip.
He and Callie, along with their HATV crew, had toured a good chunk of the private island already. The massive central hotel with its pink stucco and arches and the private cabanas tucked beneath palms. The water park. The water sports rental facility. The mirror-calm water of the noisy children’s beach and the quiet, umbrella-strewn expanse of the adults-only beach. Various upscale restaurants, all with bird-themed names. The lavish theater with thickly cushioned seats and regular showtimes for the Parrot Cay Spectacular.
This episode of Island Match was going to be a hell of an advertisement for the destination, not that such a popular site needed any help.
Under the steady regard of the two cameras pointed at them, though, Callie hesitated to answer Thomas’s question, even if no one but him could hear her answer.
He was going to think she was weird and ungrateful.
He was going to tell her she needed to relax.
After all, this was the cleanest place she’d ever seen. Including hospitals. And every single Parrot Cay employee greeted them with a wide smile, nodded, and wished them a parrot-tastic day. Whatever that meant. But they seemed sincere, if intense.
Very, very intense.
Like, freakily intense.
Okay, she had to say something. Before the two of them became ritual sacrifices to some beaked god.
Callie got up on her tiptoes to whisper in Thomas’s ear. “I swear to God, that animatronic parrot is still watching us. The one just inside the theater door.”
To his credit, he didn’t quibble. Instead, he immediately glanced back at the building’s entrance. “Its beak is pointing in our direction.”
“And have you noticed that three separate people in parrot costumes are following us?” When he twisted around again, she tugged on his sleeve and hissed, “Don’t let them know we’ve spotted them.”
Their tour guide, whose slicked-back bun had not budged an inch even after an hour-long tour, offered them a gleaming smile. “Do you have a question or concern? Because all of your friends here on Parrot Cay would be delighted to assist you in any way possible to guarantee the most parrot-tastic day of your life.”
The woman wasn’t even sweating. She didn’t appear to have pores.
She’d introduced herself as Birdie. Birdie, for God’s sake.
She was either an android or had sold her soul to parrot Beelzebub.
Thomas eyed Callie for a moment, and then swiveled to look at Birdie. “Callie’s nose is burning. Why don’t we wrap up the tour and take a break in our room before dinner?”
�
�Of course.” Birdie’s smile somehow widened, and sunlight glinted off her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “We’ll finish up in the pavilion, where Callie can find some shade, and I’ll locate some aloe for her nose.”
Callie released a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Sunburns aren’t very parrot-tastic.” Their guide ushered them into the large, gazebo-like structure. “Thus, they are unacceptable.”
Callie turned big eyes to Thomas, who squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Ten minutes later, she’d managed to present a creditable list of all the positive aspects of the island on camera, as had Thomas. When prompted by the crew for any negatives, she’d also noted, haltingly, that perhaps the atmosphere wasn’t quite as relaxed as she’d hoped.
At that, Birdie’s smile had frozen in place, her blank eyes pinned to Callie as three separate costumed parrots drew nearer, and Callie had almost fled in terror.
Thomas had echoed most of Callie’s sentiments, while also noting his enjoyment of the various places on the grounds with hidden parrot paraphernalia, there to surprise and delight guests as they explored the island. After that, he’d hustled her back to the main hotel, a gentle hand at the small of her back, waving off Birdie’s increasingly insistent offers of aloe.
The camera crew promised to meet them in an hour for dinner, and suddenly they were alone in the elevator and the long, white, pristine hall leading to their room.
The carpet was patterned with beady-eyed parrots, all eyeing her speculatively.
Then, finally, they were at the room. When Thomas couldn’t find his key, Callie fumbled for hers, waited for the green light, and basically shoved him inside. Then she flipped the lock behind them and let out a slow breath.
Thomas headed straight for the bathroom. “I actually packed aloe. I would’ve said so, but I was concerned Birdie would deem it insufficiently parrot-tastic and confiscate the bottle.”
Despite her lingering unease, Callie had to snicker at that.
For the first time in an hour, her shoulders dropped below her ears, and her breathing slowed. She sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh, watching Thomas.
