by Alexis Daria
“Wait!” The shriek made him freeze. “Are you crazy? You can’t get dressed yet. Stand still and wait until you’re dry.”
Torture. This was torture. Perhaps he’d done something in a past life to deserve the exquisite pain of watching Gina climb into the egg and turn in slow circles while being coated with tanning solution. When Gina turned to face the inside of the egg, Stone’s gaze dropped to her ass, firm and round, barely covered by the purple spandex of her bikini bottoms. When she tugged the waistband down an inch so the tanning woman could spray under the fabric, Stone ground his teeth against the fresh wave of desire that slammed into him, his blood pumping hot and pulsing through his veins. His mind supplied images of Gina’s slender fingers drawing the fabric down further, inch by tantalizing inch.
Shit. No. He couldn’t think that way. She was his partner, his teacher. They had weeks of work ahead of them, work that required close contact and intimate touch. He’d never survive if he let himself entertain such thoughts.
He’d never survive if he got a hard on in the middle of his first rehearsal—on camera.
Instead of Gina, he focused on how disgusting the whole reality TV circus was. He’d thought Living Wild was bad—hello, shirtless wood-chopping—but this was ten times worse. The manipulation, the utter lack of privacy, and the obvious efforts to throw the dancers off-balance. At least in Alaska, his producers were up front with him about their machinations.
“Stone!”
His head snapped up. Gina beckoned him from the egg. “Come on. Let’s take a selfie.”
Sighing, he trudged over barefoot and leaned into the egg next to her, as she directed. Gina stretched out a hand, holding her phone sideways. Their faces appeared on the screen.
“Smile!” Gina said.
Stone bared his teeth in some approximation of a smile. Gina’s closeness, the sweetness of her scent, her warmth hovering next to him in the curve of the nylon egg, shot tension into his muscles. He got out of the egg as fast as he could, but Gina followed. “You want to grab food?” she asked, shaking her arms while the spray tan crew packed up. “After I’m dry, of course.”
All he could do was stare as her words went in one ear and out the other. Her arm movements made her breasts jiggle above the purple fabric cupping them. He wanted to replace the fabric with his hands.
Damn it. Stop thinking about her breasts. “No. I’m, uh . . .” He grabbed his shorts and yanked them up his legs. “I’ve gotta go work out.” It was the first excuse he thought of, but it was a good one. He had to burn off some of this tension or he was going to explode during their next rehearsal.
“Oh, no, you’re not.” The spray tan fairy paused on her way out the door and wagged a finger at him. “No sweating, swimming, or showering for the next six to eight hours. You’ll wash off the tan before it has time to set.” She gave him an appreciative glance. “I think you can skip this one workout. And don’t put your t-shirt on, if you can help it.” And then she was gone.
Fuuuuuck. Stone stuffed the t-shirt into his gym bag.
“So . . . food?” Gina asked, popping up beside him in that damned purple bikini.
He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Running out before she could say another word, Stone inwardly cursed The Dance Off and everything associated with it. He was on fire, and now he had no way to cool the flames.
* * *
After Stone left, Gina waited for her tan to dry, then put on a lightweight beach cover-up so as not to put fabric lines into her tan.
Maybe she shouldn’t have accused Stone of half-assing it, at least not on the first day. But if they were going to begin as they meant to go on, she couldn’t let him get away with anything less than 100 percent. He was going through the motions and doing what she said, but his lack of enthusiasm was obvious. It happened sometimes with the bigger male celebs when they were asked to move in ways that were uncomfortable for them. If they felt silly, they didn’t try.
If she and Stone were going to win, he had to do more than try. He had to want to win, too. The trick was finding the key that would unlock his competitive spirit.
As Gina was packing her bag, Jordy flagged her down. “Donna wants to speak with you,” he said. “She’s in her office.”
Dreading whatever Donna had to say, Gina headed downstairs and into the office wing. Donna ushered her inside and invited her to take a seat in the dark, cramped room, little more than a closet.
Donna was wearing her smarmy smile. This was going to suck.
“How are you getting along with Stone?” Donna waggled her eyebrows. “You gotta admit, he’s handsome.”
Ugh. Gina took a deep breath. “As you saw, we’re focusing on the dance and figuring out strategy. I think—”
“Yeah, we saw that.” Donna frowned. “It looks like you’re holding back, though. You’re usually friendlier with your celebs. And Stone seemed frustrated. Is there some tension between you two?”
Gina shook her head and smiled broadly. “Nope. No problems.” Aside from Stone’s gigantic, distracting muscles and reluctance to do more than the basic steps. She’d lost track of the number of times he’d asked, “Is this really necessary?” And it was only the first day.
Donna leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “Maybe you could warm things up a bit. It would make him feel more comfortable, I’m sure.”
What the hell? Lips pressed together, Gina sucked in a breath through her nose. She counted to five as she let it out, then spoke clearly and evenly. “As we’ve discussed in the past with my agent, I have a hard stop on the fake romance narrative.”
Donna rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Gina. Look, we know you’re not a lesbian—”
“Excuse me?” Gina’s eyes went wide, her lungs swelling like a balloon. Disbelief surged through her, raising her hackles. Who did this woman think she was?
“I’m not sure what your problem is.” Donna barreled on, ignoring the outraged objection. “Stone’s hot. Just flirt a little more, give us a few soundbites to imply there’s something brewing. Viewers love sexual tension. It will get you tons of votes, and possibly even the trophy.”
Low blow. Donna knew how much Gina wanted to win, but she also knew Gina was adamantly opposed to pretending she was sleeping with her celebrity.
“Don’t worry.” Gina got to her feet. “We’ll get lots of votes, and we’ll get them the old-fashioned way—through killer choreography and strong technique.”
“But will it be enough?” Donna pressed.
“It’ll have to be. Because I’m not going to pretend I’m fucking Stone.”
Donna shrugged, unoffended. “You should. I’d fuck him.”
Gina opened her mouth to make some retort she’d probably regret later, but Donna’s next words left her speechless.
“I’m just looking out for you, Gina. The fact of the matter is, if you don’t make the finals, I’m not sure we’ll have a place for you next season.”
Gina’s mouth snapped shut. Her skin prickled like she’d jumped into an ice bath.
“What do you mean?” The words came out raspy.
Donna lowered her voice. “I like you, Gina. You’re smart and you know how to play the game, even if you refuse to do the one thing that would almost assure you the win. But you’ve got to make the finals if you want to stick around.”
“Donna, my nieces watch this show.”
With a shrug, Donna flipped open her laptop. “Figure it out, Gina. And make sure those promo shots are sexy as hell.”
Gina walked out.
She seethed all the way to her car, using a pair of giant black sunglasses to shield her from the crowd of paparazzi hanging out across the street from the parking lot. Once inside, she gripped the steering wheel hard. She wanted to scream, but those assholes with the cameras would hear her.
For years, she’d worked her ass off to build a name for herself in an industry that was cutthroat and unforgiving. She’d done it through talent, skill, and det
ermination. She continued to take dance classes, along with singing and acting lessons to make her a triple threat.
It burned to have all of that reduced to the lure of her sex appeal. As if that were her only worth, the only reason viewers might vote for her and Stone. Not that she was a qualified teacher, accomplished choreographer, and had a good personality. Donna’s statements implied that all the viewers cared about—all the producers cared about—was who she was screwing. This was exactly why Gina had insisted her agent tell The Dance Off upfront that she was not willing to be used for romantic storylines.
She pulled out her phone and called her sister. It was well after work hours in New York, so Araceli would be home, probably making dinner for the kids.
Araceli picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Sis.”
“They want me to fuck him.”
“Who?” Celi’s outrage and disbelief blasted through the speaker.
“My partner.” Gina rubbed her eyes under the glasses.
There was a long pause. “You mean, they want you to pretend to be involved with your partner.”
Gina groaned. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it, and I’m not going to act like I am, either.”
“You got this.” Gina could hear the smile in her big sister’s voice, and it made her grin. If the grin wobbled a little bit, who cared? She was allowed to miss her family. “Don’t let those Hollywood assholes change you. We don’t need more oversexed Latina stereotypes on TV.”
“Thanks. I’ve worked too hard to screw it up now.”
“Today was your first day?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll have to call Ma. She’s going to want to hear about it. How did it go?”
“Pretty well. He’s not a bad dancer, just reluctant.” Gina paused, then voiced the hope that had been steadily growing all day. “I think . . . I think if I can get him to take this seriously—ignite his competitive spirit, so to speak—we can go far.”
Celi snickered. “Lucky for him, you have more than enough competitive spirit to spare.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with being ambitious. This is just one step of many.”
“You’ll get there. No rush.”
But there was a rush. Dancers didn’t have long careers. They were hard on their bodies, and injuries were an ever-present concern. In show business, age and looks mattered, too. Gina wanted to build a career that would stand the test of time, one that would allow her to continue growing her skill set and wasn’t completely reliant on the smoothness of her skin or how she managed her weight.
“I don’t want to be a TV dancer forever. Even if I did, I can’t. I’m already twenty-seven.”
Celi scoffed. “Damn, you say that like it’s old. I’ve got five years on you, and three kids.” A crash in the background punctuated her words, followed by an indignant claim of “You ruined it!”
Gina snorted as her sister let out a long-suffering sigh. “You better go see what that is.”
“Yeah, but I really don’t want to.” Araceli rustled around, probably moving through her house to get to the kids. “Don’t worry. You’ll get through this the way you always have, by being an amazing, hard-working dancer. Keep it up.”
“Thanks, Sis.”
When Celi gasped and yelled, “Look at this mess!” Gina hung up.
The call had done the trick. Her big sister believed in her. What else did she need? Gina started the car and headed home.
CHAPTER SIX
Stone showed up to the wardrobe department the next day for his promo outfit with images of sequins and fringe flashing through his mind, so it was a relief to be handed black slacks—stretchier than they looked—and a black button-down shirt. Of course, they instructed him to leave the top buttons undone to his sternum. The costume crew hovered around him, checking fit and drape, and someone hustled him into a black vest, darker than his shirt. As he turned in the mirror, hidden sparkles flared to life all over his outfit. He rolled his eyes. Tiny black rhinestones trailed down the outer seam of his trousers and tastefully lined the lapels of his vest, if such a thing could be tasteful.
One of the PAs led him to the photoshoot backdrop. “Gina should be out soon,” the woman said, and Stone sat in a folding chair to wait. Even though he’d already been through hair and makeup, a woman with brushes tucked into a dark half-apron applied another layer of powder to his face.
A few minutes later, Gina skipped over to him, wearing a spangly silver bathing suit and nothing else. Well, that wasn’t true. On her feet were strappy bronze dance heels.
Holy shit.
He rose to his feet, taking her in. The silver outfit covered her important bits, but her arms, legs, and back were bare, as were the sides of her trim, deeply tanned torso, giving a good view of the indents at her waist. The silver fabric glittered, and tiny dangling sparkles shivered and caught the light as she moved. Longer sparkles dripped from the hem of the costume, doing a poor job of covering the tops of her thighs.
“Ready to pose?” She tugged him over to the white backdrop set up nearby.
Ready? Boy, was he ever.
Shit, he really had to quit this line of thinking. Was he interested? Of course he was. Was he going to act on that interest? Nope. All of this was fake—they were covered in sparkles to present an image of beauty and excitement, while surrounded by scaffolding, camera equipment, and people dashing around in jeans and t-shirts. It was everything he hated about Living Wild, but worse, because he was stuck in LA. Yes, Gina was sexy, sweet, and funny, but they were from different worlds. He didn’t fit in hers, and her trip to Nielson HQ made it abundantly clear she’d never want to fit in his. And if she knew the bear had been a PA crashing around in the underbrush just to get a reaction out of her, she’d never forgive him.
Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Gina discussed potential poses with Jordy. When she turned to Stone, her tone was all business, just as it was during rehearsal. “We’re going to film our intro first, since they have an opening at the other set.” She dropped her voice. “Sounds like one of the celebs threw a fit about her costume. Anyway, this footage will air during commercials and before we go on to dance in every episode, so it’s important to film something good.”
“Like what?” He followed her as she strode down a hallway at a fast clip.
“It has to look fun, like you want to be here.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Voters respond to enthusiasm. If they get the impression you’re not taking this seriously, or you think you’re too good to be here, they’ll send your ass home.”
“Wait a second.” He stopped walking and took her by the elbow. For once, they weren’t mic’d, and there were no producers or cameras hovering around them.
“Look,” he started, not knowing exactly what he was going to say. “Do I feel silly about all this? Yeah.” He gestured at his hair—styled into smooth waves—and his sparkly vest. “But I have a good reason to be here, and I can tell this is important to you, so I won’t fuck it up.”
Her lips flattened into a line and she crossed her arms. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
He shrugged. “For now? Yeah, it is.”
She sucked her teeth and started walking again. “I guess it’ll have to do. Come on.”
Blowing out a breath, he rushed after her. He could have handled that a lot better. He’d meant to convey that he was willing to try his best, but it had come out all wrong. Instead, he would just have to show her.
“You know, I wasn’t completely honest before,” he said as they approached the film set. Cameras, lights, and people surrounded a mini version of a dance floor and stage. Another costumed couple stood in the middle of it, talking.
Gina cut her eyes to him. “No?”
“I do have some dance experience.”
“Oh yeah?” Interest sparked in her eyes, and she slowed down. “What kind?”
“Breakdancing.”
“No!” Her mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding? Show me.”
&
nbsp; “What, here?” Stone raised a hand to run it through his hair, then dropped it before he could mess up the careful style.
“Yeah. I wanna see your moves.” A playful note had returned to her voice, and he was glad for it.
He rested his hands on his hips and surveyed the space around them, assessing whether it would be enough room for him to move around. It would suck if he knocked out a few of the cameras, or took out the lights rigged up to hit the set.
Gina flashed him a teasing grin. “Do you need me to beat box or something?”
He raised his eyebrows, more relaxed now that she was back to her old self. “Can you?”
“Not really. My singing lessons don’t cover that particular method.” She moved out of his way. “Come on, I want to see what you’ve got.”
“It’s been a while. I used to do this in high school, and I was a lot skinnier then.”
Her nose scrunched in confusion. “I thought you were living in the outback or whatever.”
Crap. “High school age, I mean.”
“Excuses, excuses.” She nodded at the open space before them and clapped out a beat. “Do it.”
A fire ignited in him at her words. This wasn’t the time to examine the impulse, but he wanted to impress her. Starting with some basic toprocking, he crossed his arms and stepped side to side before dropping down into a six-step. Whoever had made his outfit was a damn genius, because it had the perfect amount of give to account for his moves.
Others were gathering to watch, so Stone stuck a handstand freeze—and didn’t fall on his face, hallelujah—and followed it up with a suicide spin into a standing position.
A small crowd had formed around him. They broke into applause and cheers when he finished, but Gina drew all his attention. She bounced on her toes, clapping her hands and laughing full out. The pure joy on her face struck him like a blow. He fought to catch his breath when she rushed forward and threw her arms around his waist in a hug.
“That was amazing, Stone.”
Damn, she felt good, her sequins-clad body pressed against him. Since she was close, and since he was still breathing hard, he stroked a hand down her arm in reply.
