Harlequin KISS November 2014 Box Set: Behind Closed Doors...Fired by Her FlingWho's Calling the Shots?Nine Month Countdown

by Anne Oliver

  He didn’t want her to be right about that. She couldn’t be right about that. It was his responsibility to find perfect matches for these women. But what if she was right?

  Attraction didn’t make sense. It wasn’t logical. A questionnaire could tell you about likes and dislikes, but it couldn’t predict that physical blow right in your chest when you met someone and they blew you away. Not just because of their body or their looks, but because of something else. Something you couldn’t explain. Something he was becoming very afraid he felt when he looked at Brooke Wright.

  She was a beautiful woman, that was obvious—but it wasn’t her beauty that made his heart beat faster when she was around. It was something else. A look she gave him when she was standing up for what she believed in. Attraction was purely physical, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t he just think about one of the other women? They were beautiful. And they all looked magnificent in a bikini.

  But every time he tried to think of another woman his thoughts wandered back to Brooke. To her body in that tiny red bikini. To the way she’d tried to rouse the girls. To the way her eyes had glowed brighter and her hair had moved as she’d bounced around, encouraging the girls to fight. Holding her sword aloft against the fire-breathing dragon to protect her people. She was brave and strong and smart and perfect.

  But of course she wasn’t perfect. She was argumentative and difficult—and if he was honest her mouth was too wide for her face. But somehow that just made him want to look at her even more. He wanted to stare at her and he had to force himself to look away. He was sure he was becoming obvious.

  Sex. Lust. That was all it was. Physical attraction. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t felt it before. He just had to push the feeling down. Easy. He did it all the time. It was just a stupid crush. But somehow it felt different, and that irritated him. She wasn’t different. She’d be like all the others—after something. His money, his influence, his name. He’d not met anyone yet who liked him for him. It was what his father had always warned him about and unfortunately the old man had been right. Every damn time.

  He couldn’t trust anyone—he knew that. And he definitely couldn’t trust Brooke Wright. And not just because he hadn’t figured her angle out yet—because she was beginning to occupy his mind a little more than he was comfortable with. And right now he needed to focus on the show. On his father’s threats and the executive producer his father was pushing him to take on. And on the contestant they were now struggling to get on an inflatable rescue boat.

  He needed to concentrate on how he was going to introduce more twists and turns to keep viewers tuned in. But every time he thought of something he also thought of Brooke’s reaction and what she would say. And he wasn’t sure why. Why did it even matter what she said or did? He barely knew her. She was just another contestant. But the way she’d spoken about the way the show was representing women stuck in his chest. It forced him to think of his mother and the way his father treated her. How he lied to her, cheated on her, threatened her, bullied her. He hated it. He hated seeing the look in her eyes when his father said something cruel or thoughtless or failed to turn up again.

  This was nothing like that. This was just a game—just a TV show—surely she could see that? It wasn’t real.

  But Brooke had no idea. She was too sincere. Too ethical.

  Jack ran a hand through his hair. Nothing came easy. Between ensuring this show became a hit, protecting his mother from the truth about his father and trying to earn enough money to buy himself out of his contact, he was wondering when it would let up. When he’d get a break. And now Brooke Wright had come along and embedded herself under his skin. Questioned him. Argued with him. He didn’t need that, and he definitely didn’t need to feel attracted to her.

  He wondered for a minute how someone so small could be so much trouble. And why was she so much trouble? The woman seemed constantly angry. Why?

  He’d thought he knew all about her. Just as he’d had all the other contestants researched, he’d had her researched. Marketing Manager of a family-owned company, one of five sisters. Seemed to have had a comfortable upbringing. Seemed to get along with everyone. No enemies anyone could find. No psycho ex-boyfriends. Currently single. Financially stable.

  She had every reason to be perfectly happy, yet clearly she wasn’t. At least she wasn’t when he was around. Maybe something about him made her mad? Maybe he reminded her of an ex-boyfriend or someone else who had annoyed her?

  From experience he knew that the way people reacted to each other almost never reflected how they felt about that person—it was more about what was happening in their head. The story they’d made up or the conclusion they’d come to almost never had any bearing on reality. Women were experts at it.

  He made a conscious effort to work with facts. Not to read too far into things, to take each moment for what it was. Don’t look forward and don’t look back. So far that approach was working for him, and every time he found himself reflecting or looking forward to something he pushed those feelings right back down where they belonged. Out of sight and out of mind.

  Some people called him cold. Distant. One particularly upset woman had called him soulless. But that wasn’t true. The truth was everyone had an ulterior motive and you couldn’t trust anyone. He was just protecting himself.

  The lifeguards’ boat had reached the woman in the waves. She was still afloat, waving her arms. Her calls could be heard faintly billowing on the wind as it blew towards shore. His shoulders hurt from holding them so tight but he didn’t move his eyes. They had to keep rolling.

  He had their number—these women on the show. He knew the ones who were doing it just to get famous, the ones who were looking for true love and the ones who were hoping it would change their lives.

  His mind turned back to the Tiny Terror. He wasn’t sure what her angle was yet. She seemed sincere when she spoke, but she could just be a very good actress—most women were. She also seemed determined not to spend too much time on-camera. She’d come in, see the camera, smile awkwardly and move towards it, then she’d seem to change her mind and hightail it out of the room, or—more often—give him a tongue-lashing and then leave.

  He hadn’t figured her out yet, but he would. He always did. Everyone had an angle, and sooner or later they slipped up—giving him the perfect opportunity to see them for what they really were.

  ‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’

  Jack turned to see the woman he’d just been thinking of. Dripping wet in that small red bikini. It was a very small bikini. A bikini that was in danger of exposing even more than it already was. He stood, transfixed. Not by her face but by her body. Her petite but muscular body. It was perfect. It curved in where it should and was soft where there should be softness. But where there was no softness it was hard, glistening with sea water when the sun hit her. His throat went dry and his eyebrows felt heavy.

  ‘She’s drowning!’

  Her manic cry snapped his head back up to her face. Her forehead was creased and her wide mouth was hanging open. He watched as she drew her bottom lip in and held it against her teeth. His already tense shoulders seized up. She was angry again. Getting ready to tell him off. But rather than annoying him right then it was turning him on.

  Not many women argued with him. Not many people in general argued with him. And when they did he could normally talk them down, make a joke and defuse the situation, but she seemed determined to disagree with him. It should annoy the hell out of him, but it didn’t. Nothing about her was turning him off right now.

  Lust. Physical attraction. That was all this was.

  ‘What?’ he asked absently as her lip bounced out from between her teeth again.

  ‘Alissa! She’s drowning out there and all you can do is stand and watch.’

  Jack’s face moved back to the ocean. He remembered Contestant Number Three and the a
ction that was unfolding out on the sapphire-blue water among the white tips of the waves that were crashing relentlessly to the shore.

  ‘She’s fine. The lifeguards have her.’

  No point panicking. She was in good hands. He hoped she hadn’t swallowed too much water. She was a long way out but he could see her moving into the boat. She was flailing about a lot. So much so that one of the lifeguards had just received a nice hefty slap up the side of his head. She was fine.

  His shoulders relaxed a little and he allowed a smile to lift one side of his mouth.

  ‘You think this is funny?’

  Jack felt Brooke move closer. He didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘This isn’t funny! She could have drowned. She could have died. All for the chance to meet some man she doesn’t even know if she’s going to like! Don’t you see how crazy this is?’

  She’d moved now and was standing in front of him. He wished she wasn’t. She was angry—that was obvious. He wanted to listen to her and calm her down, but it was hard when she stood dripping in front of him. Her breasts peeped out of her brief bikini top—so much so he was sure that if she just moved a little more he’d be able to see the darkness of her nipple.

  ‘Are you looking at my breasts?’

  Busted.

  ‘Yes.’ He met her eyes. No point in lying. She’d caught him—and why wouldn’t he look? They were lovely, and she wasn’t exactly trying to cover them up. For someone who had spent an hour arguing about why they should be wearing wetsuits instead of bikinis earlier that morning, she’d chosen herself one of the briefest and sexiest ones he’d ever seen.

  ‘You make me sick.’

  ‘Well, clearly I make you something...’ He nodded towards her breasts, where her nipples now stood to attention. She was either excited or cold and he didn’t mind which. There was something incredibly hot about hard nipples showing through a bikini.

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘That—’ her voice was practically a hiss ‘—was caused by extreme anger. At you and your disgusting attitude.’

  ‘In my experience that reaction is usually due to excitement—not anger.’

  Her eyes opened wide at that comment, as he’d expected them to do. He was finding annoying her strangely pleasant.

  ‘I can assure you that you don’t excite me. Quite the opposite. You make me feel...’

  She paused and he cocked his head, removing his hands from his pockets to fold them across his chest. How did he make her feel? He wanted to know—because right now she was making him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time: playful. And interested in what she had to say next.

  ‘I make you feel...what?’

  ‘You make me feel...’ Her lips moved as if she was about to say something but nothing came out. ‘You make me feel....indignant.’

  ‘Indignant?’

  ‘Yes. And offended and outraged and angry and...and...furious.’

  ‘You seem to be quite an angry person. What’s the matter—some old boyfriend do you wrong?’

  He could practically light a cigarette with the steam coming out of her ears.

  ‘I am not an angry person. I’m actually quite calm and quiet. But you have a way of ruining my Zen.’

  ‘Zen is about inner peace. You need to be at peace with yourself to have Zen. It shouldn’t matter what other people say and do—other people can’t ruin your Zen...only you can do that.’

  ‘Well, apparently you can.’

  ‘I’d love to know what it is exactly that you find so offensive about me. It can’t be my looks—I’ve been told I’m unusually handsome.’

  She sniffed and folded her arms, which just resulted in him getting a better view of her breasts. He shifted his eyes quickly.

  ‘And it can’t be my personality because—let’s face it—I’m charming.’ He smiled. She’d laugh at that. Surely? He hadn’t seen her laugh and something inside him ached to see her laugh.

  But she didn’t.

  ‘I find you offensive because you’re an insensitive bully who couldn’t give a toss about what anyone else thinks.’

  For some reason that comment caught in his chest. She’d called him a bully. He wasn’t a bully. His father was a bully. He wasn’t.

  ‘Well, you’re an opinionated troublemaker who speaks before thinking. What’s the matter—didn’t get a say when you were a kid? Picked on by your sisters? Left out? There’s got to be a reason you feel this need to stand up for everyone.’

  To his surprise, she stopped. Her big eyes widened. He recognised that look immediately and a foul taste rose in his mouth.

  ‘You really are a piece of work, Jack Douglas. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you? Alissa could have drowned out there and all you can do is stand here on the sand and pass judgement on me when you have no idea who I am.’

  Jack sucked in a breath and swallowed.

  That look. That was the look his mother’s face had when his father let rip with one of his insults. He knew that look and he’d never thought he’d be the one to cause it. He wanted to take it back. He wanted to rewind the tape and start again. But he couldn’t, and she was standing there all hurt and confused.

  What had he done?

  ‘Brooke...I’m...’

  ‘No.’ She stepped back. ‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything about anything. I shouldn’t have expected you of all people to understand what I was trying to say.’

  He wanted to stop her from leaving, explain himself, but they were hauling Alissa onto the sand and all he could do was follow Brooke to where the woman lay.

  * * *

  Brooke’s body buzzed. Jack Douglas was standing closer to her than he ever had before. Tall and big and confrontational. He was behind her and her breath was coming in short bursts.

  What the hell was she doing? Why was she getting so emotional? She barely knew this man, but for some reason everything he said seemed to touch her deep down. She wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with her lately. She didn’t have a bad temper. Not any more. Not for years. Not since she’d been loved and felt loved and had come to realise what it meant to care about people.

  She certainly didn’t normally lecture people. She was usually the one who stayed well in the background, forced herself to stay in the background—but since she’d been here and since she’d met him she’d felt compelled to stand up. For herself, for the other women, and strangely for all of womankind.

  Brooke classed herself as a feminist—surely all self-respecting women did. She believed in equality and didn’t appreciate women being treated badly. But she’d never so aggressively attacked someone about their sexism before. But then, she’d never met anyone quite like Jack Douglas. Charming, handsome. A man who took no prisoners. Who used people and spat them out.

  Her internet research had proved her suspicions that Jack Douglas was a womanising, partying, poor little rich boy. He worked for his father—had done since leaving his exclusive private school. But what she hadn’t found out was any private information. There were plenty of photos of Jack at parties, standing with yet another glamorous woman, but as far as friends or pastimes went the man was impenetrable. It seemed as if he lived alone and was close to no one.

  She hated him—she was sure of that. Hated everything he stood for. There really was nothing to like about him. But for some reason her stupid body and her ridiculous mind and her outrageously misinformed heart wouldn’t listen.

  Lust. Sex. Physical attraction. That was all this was, she reminded herself. Nothing else. He wasn’t different from any other handsome man. But somehow it felt different. Awful, dangerous...different.

  ‘Ohhh, help me!’

  The moan from Alissa brought Brooke back to the moment.

  Alissa was coughing and crying and calling out. He
r hair was plastered to her face and her bikini was barely staying on her body. She was trying to get up out of the boat, clinging to the shoulders of a lifeguard who was trying to get an oxygen mask on her. But she wouldn’t let him.

  ‘I went under...I was drowning...’ Her tears were manic, which was clearly making breathing more difficult. She gasped for air and the lifeguard tried to haul her backwards, but she was strong and fought him off, her arms reaching for Jack as he moved past Brooke and knelt at Alissa’s side.

  ‘I was going to die out there. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know how to get up!’

  Her eyes were wide and tracks of red made them look almost mad. Her hands clawed at Jack’s shoulders, soaking his shirt. Brooke saw Jack tense. Something about people touching him clearly made Jack uncomfortable. But he didn’t move. He was solid, allowing Alissa to claw at him.

  Brooke heard the deep tenor of his voice before she heard his words. Alissa was looking straight into his face, her eyes not moving but her hands still clawing at his shirt.

  ‘You’re safe now, Alissa, we have you. You’re OK.’

  Jack’s words were delivered calmly and they reverberated with a sincerity Brooke hadn’t heard before.

  ‘C’mon, now, love—you need to lie back. We have to put the mask on.’

  ‘No! No!’ Alissa started to move again, away from the lifeguard and closer to Jack and his deep voice.

  ‘It’s all right, Alissa. We have you. I have you. Just look at me. Look at me.’

  Alissa turned at his voice and stared into his eyes again, her gaze shifting from one of his eyes to the other. ‘I couldn’t breathe.’ Tears were falling fast down her face.

  Jack let his hand rub from her forehead down the back of her head. ‘You’re OK now, Alissa. You’re safe.’

  His calm, steady voice and the way he stroked her head over and over again as his other hand held hers on his shoulder was clearly making Alissa breathe deeply and more steadily. He kept repeating himself, reassuring her, letting her hands claw him until they stilled and her head fell onto his shoulder.