by Morgan Rae
His eyebrows lift, and as he exits the limo he tosses back, “Yes, your highness.”
Oh, I’m going to have fun training this rock star how to be a gentleman.
To his credit, he’s a fast learner. Damien comes to my side of the limo, opens the door for me, and extends his hand. His hand swallows mine and my fingertips brush callouses, no doubt the product of long nights strumming his guitar.
Cameras are on us instantly, capturing our entrance. I feel like I’m on the red carpet. I smile, but I know my role, and I keep my eyes on Damien. We’re supposed to be madly in love, after all, and I’m going to play this up as much as I can. He takes the hint and rests his hand on the small of my back as he guides the two of us up to the dock.
“Beautiful night for romance, isn’t it?” Tonya smiles as we approach. Even her smile is perfect. She’s ditched the raincoat for the cameras and she wears a form fitting red dress. She’s only a couple years older than me, early forties, maybe, but she wears her age gracefully and hides much of it under specialized skin products and layers of subtly applied makeup.
“You could say that,” Damien responds.
“Well, we’re happy you two could make it in this weather.” Everything she says is effortlessly diplomatic. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Damien Blaze and Tomlin Murray. I’m Tonya McKenzie and I’ll be your guide for this next month on Destination: Desire.”
“Are we the final two?” I ask, instinctively looking around to try to spot any other lost couples.
“You are,” she smiles, as though they hadn’t planned it that way the whole time. “The first three couples have already settled in on the island. Remember, once you arrive on the island, there is no turning back. You two will have to find a way to make it through the month as a couple. Now.” She tents her hands. “Business first. Do you have your paperwork?”
“Uh, yes.” I know enough about TV to know that this will be edited out. I reach into my bag strapped to Damien’s shoulder and tug out my paperwork to hand it over. He follows suit. Mostly NDAs, various contracts to cover their asses.
Once that’s out of the way, Tonya’s shine returns to her smile. “We don’t have many rules on the island. There is one, however, that we are quite strict about.” Tonya lifts her hand, and as though pulled forward by strings, a bouncer-looking assistant lifts a wicker basket. “There will be no technology on the island. Cellphones, please.”
Damien plucks his cellphone out of his pocket and drops it into the basket. His smartphone case is bedazzled. “Just don’t go into my photos,” he says with a wink.
I take my own phone out and drop it in the basket. Meanwhile, the assistants come behind us. I feel a hand slip under my shirt. “Whoa there, handsy,” I say immediately.
“Nothing to be concerned with,” Tonya reassures us. “They’re fitting you with lavalier microphones so we can pick up on everything you say. Please do not take off your microphones unless you are showering or going to bed.”
Right, I should’ve seen that one coming. I feel even more like I’m going on an undercover mission as the assistant quickly wraps the wire around my bra and snaps the pack under my shirt.
Tonya gives us a feline smile once the process is finished. “Are you two ready to embark on your journey and test the strength of your love?”
I swallow a laugh. The strength of our love? We’ve barely met, I think our “love” will survive.
“We’re ready,” Damien says. I feel his thumb rub distractedly over the curve of my back.
Tonya looks at me expectantly. I realize I’m expected to mirror his answer, as though we’re reciting our vows. Damien might be the celebrity here, but we’re a couple now, which makes us equally important.
“We’re ready,” I agree. His arm falls a little low, fingertips grazing my ass, so I grab his hand and hold it instead. I squeeze his hand and shoot him a look. Be good.
“I hope so. Good luck. There is a boat waiting to take you to the island.” She steps back. “May your mind be open and your heart be true.”
It’s a canned line and makes me think of something Yoda would say. I’ve got no idea what it means, but I smile through it. That’s TV for you, ninety percent smoke and mirrors. Damien and I walk down the dock, which creaks with every step. There’s a small, white motorboat at the end with the name Destination: Desire at the back. The captain stands at the wheel ready to take us to the island, along with a couple cameramen. Damien steps onto the boat first and reaches around to take my hand. It’s barely been five minutes, but I’m already tired of being carted around like a child.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him through a smile. I can use a damn railing, thank you very much.
The motorboat is slippery under my feet, but I cling tightly to the rail and find my way to a wooden seat across from the camera people. I thought this would be easier, somehow, but having the cameras pointed directly at me is incredibly unnerving and I smooth down my dress uneasily. Damien, however, settles in beside me with his arm around my back, casually, as though we’re the only two people on the boat. The film crew helps pile our bags in.
“Hope you lovebirds can swim, ‘cause it’s gonna be a wild ride in!” the captain informs us and then cackles. He’s a scraggily older man with a long, grey beard, and I absently wonder how much they paid him to grow that out.
We disembark from the dock and push off into the open ocean. The boat kicks at each bump in the water and cuts through the chop. The ocean divides around the bow of the boat and we get hit with the spray. Damien trades places with me at one point so he takes the brunt of the spray and shrugs out of his jacket to drape it over my shoulders. I don’t know whether he’s doing it for the cameras or out of instinct, but I appreciate the gesture all the same. I clutch the lapel of his leather jacket and it keeps me warm. It smells like chicory and cinnamon.
“Land ho!” our captain howls.
Over the breakers, I see the island grow closer. My heartbeat picks up a couple extra paces. Damien nudges me with his elbow and murmurs in my ear, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”
He’s not wrong. The island explodes with lush, green trees. A clean, pink ribbon of sand draws around the island, which looks small enough to walk the length of in a day. The motor vibrates and rumbles underneath me and I feel the wind whip my hair around as we draw closer.
Finally, the boat pulls up to a short, wooden dock. Already, everything feels rural here, a sharp contrast from my fast paced, technology-driven life in LA. This time, Damien doesn’t give me a choice, he grabs me and hoists me up onto the deck. I’m slightly annoyed, and slightly relieved when I realize how slippery the dock is. Heels were a terrible idea and there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to walk down the sand in them.
“Alright, these are coming off,” I decide. I reach down and peel off my shoes, continuing barefoot instead.
Damien blinks at me in surprise. “I can carry you in, if you’d like.”
“I wouldn’t like,” I smile sharply. “Thank you.” I’m tired of being his wounded baby deer.
“Suit yourself,” he says. We collect our bags and meet a sandy-haired production assistant at the end of the dock.
“Welcome to Destination: Desire,” he smiles, but he’s clearly tired of feeding the same line over and over. He points through the sand to a wooden path. “Follow the path to your bungalow.” He hands over two sets of keys and then jabs his thumb over his shoulder to a large, unlit pile of logs surrounded by flat, stone seats. “Meet and greet around the bonfire in an hour.”
“Thanks, darling,” Damien says as he takes the keys. We follow the pathway down the beach. The sun is waning and it casts a peach glow over the ocean. This island truly is beautiful.
The bungalows are lined up at the edge of the trees. We pass each circular, wooden hut until we find ours, Bungalow #4. Damien inserts the key and pushes in.
“Home sweet home,” he announces and drops his bag in the entran
ceway.
It’s bigger on the inside than it looks. There aren’t a lot of walls, and the entranceway opens to an intimate living room and a kitchen, both tucked together. The large, king-sized bed is visible from where we’re standing, separated only by a thin, flowing fabric divider. I briefly forget why I’m here and I’m about to ask where I sleep when it dawns on me that we’ll be sleeping together.
I scan around the open space. No television, part of their anti-technology deal to force us to actually communicate with each other, and I don’t see any landlines either. My eyes land on a bookshelf and relief floods through me. I step towards it and draw my fingers over the spines. A couple novels I haven’t already read and some biographies I can dig my teeth into. “We’ve got books, at least.”
“Thank God,” Damien grins. “And here I thought we’d have to spend some quality time together.”
I shoot him a smirk. The books separate at a peculiar, round book weight. It takes me a second before I realize that it’s a camera designed to blend in with the knickknacks.
I tap the thin lens. “Found a camera here,” I inform him. I crouch and wave. “Hello, America.”
“I’m sure this place is bugged head to toe,” he says.
“So much for a romantic getaway,” I sigh dramatically.
“A little voyeurism never hurt anyone,” he smirks. I roll my eyes. He picks the bag up again and says, “Speaking of, I’m in dire need of a shower. I’ve got to wash the plane off me.”
“I’ll get unpacked,” I say. I roll my bag past the divider to get to the drawers. Discreetly, I do a sweep of the bungalow and try to scope out all the cameras. Damien was right, every angle is watched over by a camera eye. I need to find some secluded, isolated spot where I can jot down notes for my story without catching any unwanted attention.
I’m deep in problem solving mode when Damien takes off his shirt. He’s completely ripped underneath. I’m not ashamed to say that my thoughts scatter immediately. His chest is incredibly defined and it’s covered with tiny, coarse hairs that run down his toned stomach and disappear beneath his waistline. He’s magnetizing. My mind clears at the thought. He’s magnetizing. Everything Damien Blaze does is deliberate. He knows that there are cameras around the room and he’s all but posing for them, playing to his audience.
I can’t help it and I snort a laugh. “You’re shameless,” I say.
He turns back to me and gives me the look, like the “bad idea light bulb” just lit up over his head. He slinks over like a panther, plants his hands on my thighs, and grins, “Am I distracting you, darling?”
With his eyes on mine I forget that little, incredibly important detail of our engagement, phony as it may be. “No,” I challenge him.
“Then clearly I’m not trying hard enough.” Crap. I walked right into that one, didn’t I? He gets closer, and leans in for a kiss. He’s hot, dangerously hot, shirtless with lips plump enough to take a bite out of. But there’s something about the voyeurism of it all that turns me off. He’s not doing this for me, he’s putting on a show for the audience, proving to them and the producers just how in love we are.
I try to remind myself that I signed up for this, but when his soft lips brush against mine for our first kiss, I turn away at the last second. I shrug him off and distance myself with my shoulders. “Save some of that energy for later, Romeo,” I tell him.
Something flashes through his eyes. It’s not anger, it’s more animal than that, almost predatory. I remind myself that this is a man who has never had to take “no” for an answer. My heart picks up a couple extra beats and I feel it pound against my rib cage.
“Are you giving me the cold shoulder?” he asks plainly.
I bite back a laugh. We’re strangers, we just met on a plane and now he’s trying to kiss me? Then again, as fiancée, maybe I’m being a bit of an ice queen. “No,” I draw a strand of hair behind my ear as a list of excuses spools up in my mind, “it’s just—”
I don’t get to finish my thought. In one swift movement, Damien lifts me and pins me flat on my back. I tumble back on the bed with a surprised yelp. He only needs one of his large hands to trap both my wrists over my head and he looks down at me, triumphant.
He’s absolutely carnal, built like the king of the jungle, and he’s looking at me like he might swallow me whole. Despite myself, my breath catches and I feel a red-hot bolt of lust curl in my stomach and dive lower, pulsing between my legs.
“You, dearest,” he growls playfully, “are in trouble tonight.”
With that, Damien slides down my body and pushes my shirt up just enough to bare my belly. The flutter of his lips on my abdomen makes my muscles clench and shiver in taut anticipation. He presses one, single kiss right underneath my navel. But just as quickly, he’s gone. The kiss put a period on his teasing. He pushes himself up to his feet, off the bed, and vanishes into the bathroom.
I don’t move right away. Effortlessly, Damien has transformed my frigid temperament into fiery, passion-fueled chemistry in a matter of seconds. I’m left panting, panties wet, wondering what the hell just happened.
Oh, he’s good, he’s incredibly good. He’s Oscar-worthy good. For the first time, I start to think that maybe we have a shot at winning this competition after all.
CHAPTER TEN: DAMIEN
There’s something about Tomlin.
I can’t put my finger on it. But there’s something bloody familiar about her. She’s gotten under my skin.
In the shower, I try to scrape the dirty feeling of plane off me. I foam up my body with soap and turn the water to scalding, but my skin is still buzzing. The water patters on my chest and shoulders and steam rises. I close my eyes and rake my fingers through my hair.
I can’t get her out of my head. In my mind’s eye, I see her chestnut hair and matching eyes. She’s pretty to look at, but it’s more than that. There’s something intense about her features. Her eyebrows are perfectly plucked, there’s not a strand out of place, and her face looks like she’s been airbrushed. She’s stiff, her posture too tight.
The thought comes unbidden, I’d like to see her unravel.
It’s not even sexual, though, admittedly, her gasps made my blood travel south. I’d like to see her hair down. I bet she’s got a beautiful smile when she isn’t putting it on for show.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. The ambiance of this place is getting to me, that’s all. I don’t need pesky feelings getting in the way of a good thing I’ve got here.
I just need to last one month, then I can go back to working on my music, shagging groupies, and forgetting all about her doe-brown eyes.
I flip off the shower, dry off, and wrap a towel around my waist. I exit the bathroom to find some clothes to wear tonight. I’m only mildly aware of the cameras in the room. Millions of tiny eyes prickle my skin like fly legs. I’ve grown accustomed to ignoring cameras. You have to once you reach a certain level of stardom..
Tomlin has her legs folded underneath her and she’s sitting beside the drawers, putting clothes away. I crouch down beside her. “Which drawer is mine?”
She glances at me briefly and her eyes get wide before she turns away quickly. “Top drawer,” she says.
“Thank you.”
She fiddles with her folded shirt as her cheeks flair red. Finally, she tosses the shirt in her drawer, stands abruptly, and says, “I’m going to…check out the porch.”
With that, she peels the sliding glass door from the wall to step outside.
I snort a laugh. One would think she’d never seen a naked man before.
Am I a prick?
Probably. But she’s got a dangerously sweet blush.
I rummage through my trunk and opt for a tan pair of slacks and a crisp white shirt. I run my fingers through my curly hair and put on a dab of cologne before meeting Tomlin outside.
“Ready to meet our bunk mates?” I ask her.
“As ready as I’ll eve
r be,” she shrugs. She can barely look me in the eyes. She’s so reserved, so distant, tossing up ten million walls between us.
That’s simply not going to do, not if we’re supposed to be a couple. When she comes close, I wind my arm around the small of her back. “You alright?” I ask.
Here, at least, she melts into my grip and her rigid shoulders relax. It’s not much but it’s a start. She nods and then tucks some of her hair behind her ear. She does that a lot and I’ve already come to recognize it for the nervous tick it is. “I’m fine,” she lies.
I catch her hand before she can lower it from her face and press a single kiss to her fingers. “There’s nothing to be worried about,” I tell her. “We’re in this together.”
Oddly enough, I mean it. Misery loves company and, at very least, if we’re going to tough it out on this island, the least we can do is work together. That seems to settle her nerves some and she gives me a soft smile as we start down the wooden steps towards the beach.
The sun has already set, much to the dismay of the lighting crew, I’m sure. The walk way is lit up with torches, leading us to the big flaming bonfire in the middle of the circle. Three other couples are huddled around the fire, each snuggled in close to their respective partner. Tonya McKenzie, our fearless leader, smiles when we arrive.
“Welcome,” she announces, “our final two contestants, Damien Blaze and his fiancée, Tomlin Murray.”
There’s a smattering of confused applause from the group. One guy lets out a loud whoop but most exchange confused glances. Clearly, no one knew I was making headlines here. Oh, well, not my problem.
My problem, however, sits right across the fire from me. When our eyes lock, her face goes completely white and nearly reflective behind the flickering flame.
Fucking hell, my mile high fling stares right back at me, equally shocked. Only she’s not the pliable little thing I tucked away in an airplane bathroom stall. No, she’s hanging next to a guy who looks like he could’ve been a football quarterback in another lifetime. And she looks at me like I’m the end of her world.
