A true athlete and a true hero.
‘Ladies,’ he started, his hands clasped together as the women assembled into an excited semi-circle around him. ‘Who’s ready to meet our bachelor?’
A chorus of woohoos and yeahs sounded and Eliza had to stop herself from wincing. She did not have the acting talent to carry off a true woohoo and really mean it. But the other women had no idea of the identity of the bachelor they were about to meet. Malcolm’s bright idea for a twist for the first episode. He’d changed the initial opener too. Banjo was supposed to wait outside to meet each of the ladies individually but her father hated that part of similar shows.
Daniel went on. ‘It’s my great pleasure to let you all know the identity of our bachelor. A man who is known throughout the world as the Ice Bullet. He’s taken out fourteen gold medals across two Winter Olympics, not to mention wins both at home and internationally. He skis, he boards, he skates.’ Pause for dramatic effect, door opens in the background, ladies move forward in anticipation. ‘The bachelor for this long-awaited season is none other than … snowboarding champion and winter megastar, Banjo Grahams!’
It couldn’t have gone better than if Eliza had written the prompts herself. Oh wait. She had.
Squeals and clapping started the pounding in Eliza’s temples. Sugary compliments and what she could only describe as primping and fluffing ensued. She wanted to be sick. What had she gotten herself into, she wondered as she backed away from the initial front-runners.
‘Who do we have here?’
Eliza turned, her smile back in place for the cameras. They could cut and shoot again but Eliza didn’t want the girls to think there was something wrong or even that she’d met Banjo before. Not that you could exactly call what had happened between them a meeting as such. They’d swapped words, sure, but that was about it. He’d signed, she’d signed, Malcolm had beamed. End of story. Or was it the beginning? That last glass of champagne was making things a little cloudy.
Everyone involved wanted the scenes and taping every day to be as natural as they could. More like The Hills than any version of The Bachelor.
‘Eliza Peterson,’ she said, holding her hand out.
‘Banjo Graham.’ He took her hand but held it a lot longer than he should have.
God, was he setting her up for some kind of love at first sight claim later? Should she make eyes at him or try to take her hand back? These were the details they should have gone over prior to meeting like this. She actually felt a blush coming on. Damn. Why did his eyes have to be so blue? Why couldn’t they be a little grey or green with gold flecks? Anything but bottomless blue.
Before either one of them could make a move to end the moment, Daniel regained everyone’s attention with a cake fork tapping against a wine glass. ‘I’m sure you’re all very keen to get to know Banjo so I’ll leave you to get acquainted. Ladies, have a great night. Banjo, good luck, my man!’
The front doors opened once again and Daniel exited, leaving Banjo the only male on set besides the film crew and staff. He gulped and Eliza couldn’t help but follow the movement down his clean-shaven throat.
‘You’ll do just fine,’ she leaned in and murmured. But she shouldn’t have. He didn’t need her support and she didn’t need his cloud of aftershave stroking her senses. If she purred it was because of the champagne and not, repeat not, because she was looking her teenage crush in the eyes, close enough to inhale his cologne.
‘Interesting,’ he replied with raised brows and a quirk to the edges of his full lips.
‘I’m going … over here,’ Eliza announced and then left so quickly she nearly ran.
Another half an hour passed in which Eliza, not precisely the world’s cheapest drunk but close, tipped back perhaps one too many glasses of the cool, tingly champagne. She chatted and got to know the other girls she would spend the next six weeks with. Some were really genuinely polite and chatted back but the rest merely sized her up and then discarded her as though they believed she would never be able to compete against them for Banjo’s heart.
‘What are you smiling about?’ The deep voice rumbled through her with all the force of the clichéd freight train.
‘Nothing.’
‘That wasn’t a nothing grin.’
‘Maybe I was remembering a joke I read somewhere.’
‘Excellent.’ He flashed her a grin of his own. ‘Tell me the joke.’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t find it funny at all.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … Well, because … It’s a joke about athletes. I wouldn’t want to insult you so early in the game.’
This time Banjo shrugged. ‘Go ahead, give it your best.’
‘No thank you. I think I need some air, if you’ll excuse me?’
‘I’ll go with you.’
Eliza huffed out a breath. ‘You don’t have to do that. I’ll be just fine on my own. I’m a big girl.’
Banjo’s gaze drifted below her eyes, scalding with challenge. ‘You’re going to catch a cold in that dress,’ he stated.
‘My eyes are up here, player.’
He laughed. She liked it.
‘It’s still at least thirty degrees out there and I didn’t choose the dress.’
‘Who did?’
‘I have no idea but I’m going to murder them when I find out. Not a decent pair of shorts or running shoes or anything remotely practical.’
‘Before you commit homicide, I would like to shake his hand.’
‘His? Why his?’
His blue eyes drifted lower again. ‘Do you really think a woman would have picked out that dress for you?’
Eliza gestured wildly to the other women in the room. ‘I bet you they all picked out their own scraps of material.’ And scraps was an understatement. She’d never seen so much fake-tanned skin on show in the same space.
‘What would you have packed?’ Banjo asked, seemingly enjoying the banter.
‘A gun so I could shoot myself maybe?’
***
‘You are a violent little thing aren’t you?’
Banjo knew he’d pushed her far enough when she stood up straighter, flicked her hair back and looked like she was about to say something she might regret later. He laughed again and raised a hand to stop her. ‘My bad. I’m sorry, this must be difficult for you.’
‘It is.’
But why? He wanted to ask but he didn’t. Why couldn’t they make their forced time together a fun adventure? It seemed like Eliza was going to do battle and with the admissions she was letting slip, Banjo had to wonder what it was about the situation that made her want to shoot herself.
‘Am I so hideous that you’d end your own life to get out of taping the show? What would your dad say?’
She looked around, searching out the film crew but they were busy doing individual interviews. ‘He’d say “Make sure you do it in front of the camera, Eliza”.’
‘So there is a drama queen in there?’
‘I’m not kidding, he would love nothing more than a ratings boost and an on-air maiming would do just that.’
Banjo chuckled but this time it took an effort to force the sound out. ‘I doubt he would want to see his only daughter injured on live television.’
‘Then you don’t know Malcolm. He fed me to you for the sake of the show, didn’t he?’
He almost choked on his tongue. ‘I’m getting the feeling you don’t like me much.’
She smiled then, that big fake smile for the cameras. ‘Perceptive, aren’t you?’
Wow. Low blow! ‘I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot.’
‘No, no, my footing is perfectly sound.’
In the background, Banjo heard the word ‘cut’ yelled over the din of feminine voices and the brightest of the set lights were switched off. He couldn’t help but feel a moment of insane relief. ‘I think we need to get together and work out how this is going to go.’
‘This—’ she gestured between them with a wave of he
r hand and then went on in a low voice, ‘—is going to go exactly how Malcolm wants it to. You and I, we don’t have choices anymore.’
‘That’s a load of crap, Eliza, and you know it. We make our own decisions. Nowhere in the contract I signed did it say anything about having no free will.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find it did. Page 85.’
His heart skipped a beat or two. Until he realised she was playing with him. ‘Haha. You’re very funny.’
A small smile tugged at one corner of her lips. His gaze dropped there and wouldn’t budge. When her tongue darted out to moisten the cupid’s bow, he was more than mesmerised.
She spoke and he had to tear his attention away from her mouth, back to her eyes. Yes, eyes were good. Eyes were safe.
‘If you could rustle me up a pair of running shoes in a size 8, I’ll meet you out front at 5 am. If you’re not there, I’m going for a run in these incredibly expensive and uncomfortable heels and will probably break my ankle.’ Her expression took on a look of complete thoughtfulness.
‘As much as you talk a good game, there is no way you could break your ankle on purpose to get out of spending time with me any more than you would shoot yourself.’
‘No, I want you to come with me.’
He wondered if she knew she’d leaned into him, her hand on his chest as she spoke. He hoped she couldn’t feel his heart banging against his ribcage at her innocent touch. As she leaned in, he met her halfway, her mouth at his ear, her breath hot against his hair. ‘Then I can blame you when I fall.’
She’d meant to get the last word in but as she walked away, her high heels, or maybe the champagne, making her strut, he called softly, ‘There’s only one way this is going to end, Eliza.’
‘I know,’ she called over her shoulder, all cockiness, feminine superiority and liquid courage. ‘My way.’
He should have been running cold at the way she talked to him, with no interest whatsoever, but her elusiveness only left him feeling challenged. For some reason Eliza Peterson didn’t really like him and now he definitely had to find out why.
Chapter 4
You’d think finding women’s running shoes would have been the simplest thing to do when you owned forty-eight sports stores around the country. Banjo had so much trouble getting a store manager out of bed after midnight that he had to promise all sorts of outrageous things to get one little pair of shoes there ready for the morning.
Standing in the pre-dawn humidity and wondering just what the hell he was doing, he yawned and scratched the back of his head. All this for a chick he wasn’t even supposed to be all that hot for. And he wasn’t. Not really. He just wanted to know more about Eliza and why she seemed to hate him. Was it because he had money? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had judged him for the zeros in his bank account. He’d rather have his father still in his life any day of the week than have dollars to his name. Maybe she was a feminist and didn’t like the way he treated women?
He couldn’t know for sure until he had a chance to talk to her. A real chance. And there it was. There she was. Wearing not much more than a tiny pair of shorts and a sports bra. Banjo gulped. Was it possible to run with no blood left up north?
Instead of the heels she’d promised to run in, her little feet were bare, her toes painted and a ring on her left pinky one. What really pricked his interest were the tattooed words ‘Never Give Up’ in dainty cursive writing down the side of her foot. He hadn’t noticed it the night before. Probably because her dress had gone right down to the floor.
‘You were that sure I’d show up this morning?’ he said. How the hell were her feet so small? So delicate? Did she have other tattoos?
‘I was that sure I was going to go for a run. Even if it was laps on the grass in bare feet.’
‘A health nut,’ he said with a nod, understanding dawning.
She actually chuckled and then fired back, ‘I’m not a nut of any kind but I like to run. It gives me time to think.’
He looked down, wanting to know more about the words on her foot, but then he lifted his eyes back up. ‘Do you always run half naked? Not that I mind of course.’
Her hands went to her hips and her short ponytail bounced sideways. ‘I didn’t pack my own bag, remember? This is about the most decent thing in there. I usually at least wear a top.’
Banjo visualised her jogging without a top at all. Big mistake. His hands went to his own hem and in a second he had his polo off and was offering it to her. When she couldn’t tear her eyes off his chest and then even went so far as to lick her lips, he grinned. Pure masculine satisfaction ripped through him.
‘I don’t need your shirt. Just the shoes, thanks.’
‘I don’t mind. Plus, it would be better for me if you put it on.’
‘Can’t handle a little skin there, Mr Bachelor?’
This time it was Banjo who licked his lips as he let his eyes wander again.
Eliza snatched the shirt from his fingertips and pulled it on over her head, throwing her arms through the sleeves with force.
‘Why don’t you like me?’ he asked all of a sudden. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out but it bugged him, the way she sometimes looked at him like she wished he’d crawl down a hole and die.
Her ponytail bounced again as she cocked her head to the other side to stare at him. ‘I don’t necessarily hate you, Banjo. Just the situation. This isn’t what I want from my life.’
He waited while she pulled on the socks stuffed in the shoes and then the shoes, doing the laces up tight with a double knot to finish. ‘What do you want from your life?’
‘Look, can we just run? You don’t need to know everything there is to know about me. I’ll act the pretty airhead and go along with the charade but we won’t be best buds or anything like that.’
He shrugged but he was at a loss for words. No woman had ever asked him to shut up. Women wanted things from him. They had since he was in high school and people discovered who his father was. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth now. He knew Eliza was off limits. Any more than a friendship with her would complicate things too much. But why couldn’t they be friends? They’d have to get along if they were going to fool the nation. They’d have to do more than get along. There were going to be kisses and all sorts of touching in their future. After the show was done, there’d be sleepovers too.
As he ran alongside her, admiring her form, he couldn’t help but grin again. Despite what Eliza Peterson wanted or didn’t want, they were going to be together a lot over the next eight months. He was going to make it his personal mission to win her over and make her his first girl friend. A friend who also happened to be a girl. There was and always would be a space between those two words.
***
It took all of about five seconds for someone to spill the news that Eliza had been out for a run with Banjo that morning. She’d assumed the ladies would sleep until ten and not even realise she’d gone. Her roommate, Amelia the dolphin trainer, hadn’t even stirred when she’d left. But there was a helluva racket by the time she got back.
‘I want to know what the hell is going on,’ one woman demanded when Eliza walked through the door. Her name might have been Sofia, Eliza wasn’t sure. She didn’t have a thing for remembering names under pressure.
‘What are you talking about? I went for a run.’ Maybe if she played dumb, she could pull apart their source’s credibility. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to do that to get out of a tight spot.
Another woman joined the fray. ‘I saw you go with Banjo. It’s not fair that you got one-on-one time already. You shouldn’t be getting any special treatment just because you’re the daughter.’
‘There was no special treatment. I went out for a run and he was there, you know, outside, in the public space of this free country.’ She looked around at all the girls with hatred already in their eyes and realised the next few weeks were going to really suck if they started out like this. ‘Pop your hand up if yo
u would have said no. Pop your hand in the air if you would have told that half-naked hot guy to use a different path. I didn’t think so. That gives you all today to find a pair of runners and learn to do it. Tomorrow we can make it a group date.’
There were still narrowed eyes but more expressions turned thoughtful after Eliza stopped talking. She fought a smile and walked to the fridge for a bottle of water. She needed it after the workout she’d just had. Banjo was fit! She’d really had to dig deep to keep up with him once he finally stopped checking her out. At least he’d stopped trying to make conversation after about twenty minutes. She couldn’t run and chat.
As much as she hated to admit it, it was fun. Spending time with him had been fun.
He was hot.
God, when he’d offered her his shirt she should have said no thanks and left it at that. She could still smell his freshly showered scent on her own skin from the fabric. The cheeky arse had even asked for it back knowing full well he’d get to see her in barely anything again. Wait till he got an eyeful of the bikinis in her bag. Nothing was going to cover them up.
Amanda—the producer who hated Eliza for whatever insane reason—came into the kitchen and clapped her hands to gain the attention of the girls. ‘It’s a beautiful day, ladies, and Banjo is due in just after one. Why don’t you all change into your bathing suits and hang out by the pool for a bit?’
There were calculated looks amongst the preenery but Eliza barely smothered a groan. This wasn’t part of her scripting. She’d pored over the day–to-day activities for the show for months. Day and night Eliza had spent working out how the show was going to play out for the ratings and for the progression of a large group to the final few. Amanda hadn’t wasted any time upending the routine and putting her own stamp on it. She’d probably have them in their bikinis every bloody day.
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