by Jill Myles
"So…" he rubbed his chin. "I suppose there's a special irony in this considering that neither you nor I wanted to be on the race."
"We could always sabotage the next leg of the race and win ourselves an extended stay in Acapulco," I told him, keeping my voice innocent.
"Is that what you want to do?"
I considered it. I really, really did. But we were still in the race, and we were doing rather well, if I admitted it to myself. And Liam wasn't a bad partner, as long as we didn't run into any more mukluk or eating challenges on the race. "Part of me wants to bail out on the race, but a bigger part of me wants to see how far we can go."
He nodded. "Me too." That dark, intense gaze focused on me again. "So why did you kiss me at the Blarney Stone?"
Oh. Wow, okay, that was super direct. I thought about my answer for a moment, then shrugged. "I wanted to?"
"You did?"
"Well." I ran a finger across the blanket. "Abby told me that if we made good TV, we stood a better chance of staying in the race. That the producers would rig things to ensure that we'd do better. So, I kissed you." I gave another shrug, trying to make it seem casual even though I was feeling rather nervous. "Good TV."
Liam watched me for so long without saying anything that I began to wonder if it was a mistake to tell him. After a long moment, he said, "So it was just for TV?"
I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "Maybe?"
He considered this. Then, he leaned in. "You want to keep making good TV, then?"
“What do you mean?”
Liam gave me a wicked smile. “I mean we make sure that they keep us around as long as possible by making some really good TV.”
And just like that, heat flushed through my body.
~~ * * * ~~
That night, in the hotel room, Abby and Dean took one bed, and Liam and I took the other. We slept clothed, of course, but the bed was small enough that I couldn’t move without bumping into his arm, or leg. At one point, I woke up to find his arm around my waist, and a tingle of anticipation moved through me.
But then he shifted and his arm moved away again. I bit my lip, thinking. Just a fluke, then? Of course it was. So why had I been so thrilled at the simple touch?
~~ * * * ~~
Paris, France
"There's the Palais Garnier," I told my partner, pointing at the majestic building in the distance. "We're in the right place."
"Come on, then," he said, and grabbed my hand in his, pulling me down the busy streets of Paris.
That weird feeling fluttered in my stomach when his hand grasped mine. That goofy flutter had pretty much been my constant companion on this leg of the race. The Liam that had been my silent companion at the beginning of the team-up? Gone.
Instead, I found myself with a Liam that I didn't quite know what to do with. A Liam that was attentive, asked for my opinion on directions and flights, and liked to lean in and whisper into my ear when we were sitting close together. Unlike Brodie, Liam was proving to be a partner that stuck by my side, bought me drinks when he thought I might be thirsty, and generally made me feel valued.
He'd also taken to holding my hand.
It had thrown me off at first; we'd been at the airport, waiting for our flight into Paris when he'd simply reached over and taken my hand in his. I hadn't missed the fact that Abby's eyebrows had shot up to her hairline, or the fact that the cameras had zoomed in and then proceeded to hover for the next hour in the hopes that we'd do something exciting or flirty.
We were just making good TV. Sort of. Our flirting had definitely escalated to a different level, and it was a level I hadn't quite been prepared for. Not that I was complaining. I'd started it, after all, with my impulsive kiss.
Except now that I'd started it? I was having a hard time distinguishing real from fake. The hand holding mine felt real. It was for the camera, I kept telling myself. But I couldn't quite relax and accept that. Maybe I wasn't as good as pretending as I thought I was.
Maybe I'd really wanted to kiss Liam. Which was weird. He wasn't my type. He was silent, and tatted, and pierced, and famous. I was just small town Katy, who went to culinary school and wanted nothing more out of life than to make fancy cupcakes. We weren't in the same league. We weren't the same type. I normally went for big, muscular cowboys with boots and a tan. Liam was tall, lean, with dark hair and not much of a tan at all. But his eyes were dark and intense, and I found my gaze constantly going back to those fascinating piercings.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Liam stopped and dragged me close, his mouth hovering near my ear. I immediately froze, my breath catching in my throat. "To your left," he whispered. "Standing by the corner. It's the Olympians. Do you see the flag anywhere?"
I glanced around and pretended to be studying the Paris streets. My gaze focused on a green and blue blurb at the far end of the Palais. The World Races logo. "I see it."
"Summer and Polly don't see us yet," he murmured, tugging me close. "Good thing we're in black and not a bright color."
He looped his arm around my shoulders and we pretended to be a couple, loitering with the crowd as we headed toward the Palais Garnier. The streets of Paris were incredibly busy, and buses whizzed past on a regular basis. The buildings around us were tall, adding to the vague feel of claustrophobia that I felt, sandwiched in between them. The Olympians wandered past, ultra-noticeable in their bright green, and appeared to be looking for the flag. They hadn't spotted it yet. As soon as they headed in the wrong direction, I squeezed Liam's hand and signaled that the coast was clear. We sprinted for the mat.
A man in a tuxedo, red cape, and white mask stood under The World Races flag, and held the customary disk out to us. We grabbed it with a quick thank you and then dashed away a good distance, making sure we weren't nearby if Summer and Polly spotted us.
We huddled together and I flipped the disc, reading the back. "Welcome to the Palais Garnier, the site that inspired Gaston Leroux's famous work, The Phantom of the Opera. Today, you will choose between two tasks inspired by the novel - 'Chandeliers' or 'Performance.'"
I looked up at Liam, and shrugged, then kept reading. "If you choose 'Chandeliers,' you must work on one of the famous chandeliers in the interior of the Grand Foyer. Each chandelier has multiple lights that are burnt out. You must insert the correct light bulbs into the appropriate slots. Each time you do so, this will also cause another light to turn off. You must figure out the puzzle and determine how to turn on all lights. Once you do, you will receive your next task. If you choose 'Performance,' you must learn a simple pas de deux from the famous ballet, Sleeping Beauty. You must perform the pas de deux to the approval of a preschool ballet teacher. If you do so, you will receive your next task."
"Interesting choices. Dancing or electrician work."
I looked up at Liam, considering. "The chandelier might be easier to do. It's just replacing bulbs and figuring out which ones turn off what."
"Yes, but we're here to make good TV, remember?" And he smiled at me, his lips stretching around those fascinating piercings. "And what makes better TV?"
I felt my mouth move into a grin. "Performance, of course. You any good at dancing?"
"Shitty."
I laughed. "Me too."
"Then this should definitely be interesting." He took my hand again and tugged me towards the Palais entrance. "Come on. Performance it is."
We headed in, and my breath locked in my throat. The building was beautiful, all delicate Corinthian columns and straight lines leading up to the flat roof that was topped by golden angel statues. Once inside, it was equally breathtaking. The ceiling was ornately decorated, the stairs winding through the main foyer. I held my breath – I didn’t think I’d ever been in a place so elegant.
We descended the staircase and entered the auditorium of the opera house. The place was massive, our footsteps echoing in the room. The stage was lit, and several dancers stood in a line, waiting for us. Off to one side, I could see
a couple - Hal and Stefan - practicing moves in front of a frowning tutor. They were both wearing black leotards.
One of the ballet dancers stepped forward as we took the stairs to the stage, her stiff tutu bobbing with every exaggerated move. "Please pick a tutor to show you the steps to the pas de deux." She gestured at the row of dancers behind her.
I glanced at Liam, but he shrugged. "Just pick someone."
I did, and the woman stepped forward with tiny, precise steps, her feet arching with every mincing motion. Her mouth was tucked into a tight line, as if she weren't thrilled to be chosen. She gestured to the far end of the stage, and we followed her.
She gave a little sniff at our clothing. "You both must change into the proper attire."
I glanced over at the other team and noticed their clothing again. "Oh. Um, where do we get the clothing?"
She rolled her eyes as if that was the most ridiculous question ever. "The dressing room, of course."
"Of course," Liam murmured.
At our teacher's huffy instructions, we headed to the back of the opera house and followed colored flags to the dressing rooms. There were two - one for men and one for women - so we separated. I found a small room full of dark tights, leotards, and pink ballet slippers that were made of soft leather. I checked the inside of the shoe - no wooden block for going en pointe. Thank god for that. We'd hurt ourselves if we tried to do that, and we still had a race to run.
I dressed quickly and slid the shoes on, then raced back out.
I ran into Liam in the hall…and was unable to smother my giggle. He was scowling, the piercings flashing as he caught sight of me. He tugged at the stretchy material of his ballet outfit, the legs and leotard skin tight and outlining his, uh, equipment.
"Before you say anything about my junk," he growled, "It's sticking out because it’s an athletic belt."
"It's not all a belt," I said in a delicate voice, trying not to laugh at his expression.
He snorted. "Come on, let's just get this over with."
We returned to the dancer and she began to show us the series of moves that had been designed for the competition. This would not be a traditional pas de deux, she informed us in an icy voice, as we were not talented enough and novices. A traditional pas de deux would be far too hard for us. So they had coordinated several easier moves for us to learn for our dance. There were five parts - the entree, in which we would enter the stage. The grand adage, in which Liam would partner me. Then we would each have a small solo, and then the coda, which would bring the dance to a close. There was one lift in which Liam would have to grab me and hoist me into the air.
The teacher showed us the moves, and I caught a few of the other dancers tittering as we clumsily tried each step. Still, after several minutes, we had figured out the basic steps and the order they went in. I wasn't the best with rhythm, but I was good at memorizing. I stole a few peeks at Hal and Stefan. Surely we had to be better than them. The dancers were giggling at the other team’s attempts to practice non-stop. We could do this.
Just then, Liam put his hands on my waist.
I shrieked and squirmed out of his grasp, much to the surprise of my partner, and the dismay of the teacher.
"What are you doing?" The teacher looked as if I'd just insulted her.
"Ticklish," I gasped, putting my hands on my sides.
Liam chuckled and wiggled his fingers at me. "Can you hold it in for this challenge?"
"I'll try." I exhaled, trying to compose myself, and then assumed the dance position I'd been shown.
When his hands went on my waist again, I laughed once more, but held, my lips twitching. I could do this. I could. I—
Liam's fingers brushed over my sides in what had to be a deliberate tickle.
I squealed and darted away again.
The dancer rolled her eyes, but Liam actually laughed. Laughed aloud. Like I'd just done the funniest thing ever. And that warm, hearty laugh? Made my insides go all gooey with warmth. Liam had an aloof sort of attractiveness to him normally, but when he laughed? I quivered. All over.
It was going to be really hard to concentrate now.
"He's going to have to put his hands on you," the dancer said in a displeased voice. "You need to concentrate."
I nodded and forced myself to loosen up, giving Liam a mock-warning look. This time, when he put his hands on my waist, I felt his thumbs caress my sides, as if he couldn't help but give me little additional touches.
And instead of getting ticklish, I was instantly aroused.
Oh, damn. I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to pay attention to the dance moves and the cameraman that hovered nearby, taping everything. I could feel my nipples getting hard and prayed they weren't sticking out against my leotard enough that the camera would catch it. Our ballet dancer made us go over the waist move, over and over again, until we could do it without me breaking down in a fit of giggles or getting all flustered.
This challenge was taking a long time, but I didn't care. We were making good TV like Liam had said…and he was touching me. And I couldn't quite bring myself to suggest that we go and screw some light bulbs instead.
"Now to practice the lift," the dancer informed us. "The female partner must get into the modified arabesque I showed you."
I grimaced and raised my arm into the air, raising my leg as high as I could. I ignored the amused snorts of the other ballet dancers, knowing my form was terrible.
"Now," the teacher said. "The man should place his hand on her thigh to begin the lift."
I felt Liam's hand curve along the inside of my thigh, and I jerked in surprise at how his fingers had felt, skimming along my flesh. A hot pulse of desire raced through me, and I felt my face flush.
"Keep form," the dancer snapped.
"Sorry." I pressed my lips together and lifted my leg in the air again, wobbly.
"Ready?" Liam asked. At my nod, his hands slid to the inside of my thighs again and I shuddered, feeling the heat rock through me again. Okay, I shouldn't have been turned on during a challenge, but I was.
Because Liam's hands were strong, and they were between my thighs. How could I not get all hot and bothered from that?
"Keep your body stiff," the dancer snapped at me as Liam lifted me with a little grunt, about a foot into the air, and then dropped me back down again. Our goal was to have him lift me from his right side and move me to his left in an extended hop while I held my form. Judging from the ballet dancer's near-sneer, it wasn't a real move at all, but we'd probably pull something if we tried a real pas de deux. Heck, we weren't exactly good with this one.
She made us practice the lift. Over and over, I'd hold form as Liam's hands slid against my inner thighs. And I quivered each time.
"Close enough," our teacher told us. "You can perform once the stage is free."
~~ * * * ~~
It took us three tries to get through the dance. On the first try, the ballerina judging us stopped me halfway through and informed me that my posture was horrendous. We had to go to the back of the stage and wait as Hal and Stefan attempted to dance their routine again. They were stopped by the ballerina as soon as the music started, since Stefan's timing was off.
On our second try, Liam flubbed the lift and I didn't help by giggling when he touched me.
The third time, though? We nailed it. As we finished the Coda, we held our positions, waiting for the ballerina's verdict. She scrutinized us, then gave a sharp nod and held out the disk for our clue.
I gave a happy cry of delight, and turned and leapt into Liam's arms. He grabbed me and twirled me around, and my legs automatically went around his waist as I clung to him, cheering. When we slowed, I was reminded of the fact that we were both wearing skimpy ballet leotards that allowed you to feel every curve of your partner's body, and he was wearing a belt that gave him a massive bulge.
A bulge that I slid down as my feet landed on the floor.
We stared at each other for an electric moment longer, and
then Liam recovered his senses and took the disk the ballerina held out to us.
Everyone stared and waited for us to leave the stage, so I grabbed Liam's hand and dragged him off to the side. "Come on. Let's go."
He gave himself a little mental shake. "We need to change clothes and get out of here."
"We could stay in the ballet clothes," I told him thoughtfully. "Buy ourselves a few minutes and just head straight to the next task."
"Hell no," Liam told me, and grabbed his bulge.
I laughed at that. “Point taken.”
He held the clue disk out, flipped it over, and then smiled at me.
Damn, that smile. I gave myself a little shake, then started to read the instructions in a low whisper.
Time to concentrate on the game once more.
~~ * * * ~~
As we left the Palais Garnier behind, we passed by two teams working on the chandeliers, and had left Hal and Stefan still at the dance challenge. That meant we had a decent lead on the others, though we were pretty sure we weren’t in first place.
The disk instructed us to head to a French patisserie, and we ran into Abby and Dean there. Liam and Abby decided to take the first challenge, since it involved bicycling through the streets of France. Unless I had a map? I was bad with directions, so we’d elected to have Liam participate for our team.
He and Abby worked together to deliver baskets of fresh baguettes to six different locations in Paris while on bicycles. Dean and I sat at the corner of the bakery and split a hot, fresh loaf of bread ourselves, speculating as to what the next challenge would be. We agreed to run it together, since we knew we were ahead of at least three other teams.
The next challenge sent us into l'Ossuaire Municipal - the French catacombs. We headed down the dank steps into the shadowy cavern, and a chill raced through me. Inside, the walls were covered with hundreds of years of graffiti, and some of the rooms seemed to be nothing but skulls.
