“Was there some trouble with another contestant?” the cameraman asked.
Felicity looked uncomfortable. “Let’s just say I think some people are going to try to win this thing not based on their own merits, but by being underhanded.” She nodded at her own words. Her curls moved with her head. “But the more people try to hold me back, the more I kick and the faster I run. I’m walking out of here with that contract and the money, without pulling any dirty stunts. Just write me a check.” She grinned.
“You two again? Let me guess … top two.” Dez’s features contained no trace of its earlier friendliness as Victor and Felicity reentered the loft.
“Yea, but she won this time.” Victor nodded his head in Felicity’s direction and headed to the little table.
“Care to eat your words about women being inferior now?” Felicity arched a brow, unable to curb the smugness she was feeling in light of recent events. Karma was a wonderful thing. That crock of a writer had stolen her story, and now she was gone. While at first she’d been angry that the judges would do nothing about the stolen story idea and declared her notebook with writing not solid enough proof, now she was glad. Beating the woman was much more satisfying.
“So who lost?” Dez apparently chose to ignore her comment, instead, staring at the doorway intently.
“Not me.” Carmen casually walked in. “And though I’d love to stay and chat for the cameras wherever they may be,” the woman gave an exaggerated wave where she stood, “I’m off to write.”
Roy gave a low whistle as she trudged off to the bed area. “She’s been cutting it close. If she doesn’t change her attitude, she won’t win this thing.”
“Too cocky. Too ‘I’m right, the world is wrong’,” Victor agreed, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long legs in front of him.
“I find that funny coming from you, Mr. I’m-Not-Here-to-Make-Friends.” Felicity sat on the sofa with a sigh, remembering Victor on that first day.
Victor had the good grace to blush before he began scratching at some spot only he could see on the tabletop.
“Um hm. And you two getting friendly not long after he said that.” Dez frowned.
“Would you rather they be at each other’s throats?” Roy asked.
“No …” Dez said slowly, “no. Eventually they gonna realize that only one of them can win this thing.” He turned his gaze on first Felicity and then Victor. “And then ya’ll are going to throw each other over, and that’s when I’m going to swoop in.”
“Keep dreaming, hombre,” Victor retorted. “I’m not going soft. I’m here to win. Have been from the beginning. How many times have you been in the top two?”
“My time is coming,” Dez warned. “You just keep helping little romance writer here and distracting yourself, and I’ll keep doing my thing.”
Felicity closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Already, her euphoria was fading. She tuned out the men’s angry voices. She’d used all her bravado and spunk having a face-off with Tiffani earlier, and now … now she was just tired … tired of the bragging, the accusing, the inner turmoil, and the back and forth feelings Victor Guzman was evoking in her.
While she didn’t care for the arrogant Latino mouthing off in the background at the moment, she was falling hard for his softer side, and the words Dez had said earlier struck a chord within her soul. Only one of them can win this thing.
She was going to win, and Victor Guzman would probably never want to see her again.
The more she thought about it, the less she wanted it.
He found her sitting at the little table with its two chairs. It’d become their habit, something they hadn’t even talked about, but just did. Same time every day, they both sat and chatted. Sometimes it was mundane stuff, stories about growing up — Victor made sure to only share the good ones. She didn’t need to know he was a failure at protecting his mother. Other times they chatted about the show and their fellow contestants, and often the topic was writing in general.
He just loved sitting across from her, watching her facial expressions, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she was passionate about, the tilt of her head when she was lost in thought.
He’d be sad when she went home.
“What’s up?” He eyed her pensive expression as he sat down, placing his notebook and pencil on the table. For someone who’d won a challenge, she didn’t look happy.
She avoided his gaze, stared instead at the open computer in front of her. They weren’t allowed Internet, but were permitted their computers so they could write in their spare time. “Oh, nothing. Just writing.” Her voice was as subdued as her body language.
“The first episode is airing as we speak on the television. Everyone is in the game room watching. Don’t you want to see what you look like on TV? If you look as hot on screen as off? I sure do,” he teased and waited for a reaction.
“What? Look as hot on screen as off? Or want to watch it?” Felicity asked absentmindedly, tucking a curl behind her ear as she looked up at him.
“Ah ha! So you think I’m hot.” He settled into his chair and grinned, crossing his ankles under the table.
“That’s not what I said,” she protested, but her lips turned up, and he knew he’d won.
“Made you smile,” he said softly.
“Damn you. I was sitting here in a nice little funk.”
“Why? You won a challenge. You should be thrilled.” He raised a single finger in the air. “But it’s your only one. I’m taking the rest.”
She smirked and threw her pen down. “So you let me win?”
“Aww, you’re doing that angry bird thing with your head.” He aimed his finger at her and mimicked, sliding his head side to side.
Felicity rolled her eyes but stopped the head movement. “This is so why you aren’t married.”
And now was his chance to ask the question he’d been dying to ask since that day on the balcony. “No. I’m single by choice. What’s your excuse? You believe in happy-ever-afters, so why haven’t you found one? Got a mister waiting for you to say yes?”
She leaned forward and rested her chin on the top of her laptop. “I’ve always believed when I find the one, I will know. There will be some deep feeling of contentment, the confidence that I’m doing what’s right.” Her expression turned wistful as her eyes took on a faraway glaze.
If he shifted position a bit, uncrossed his ankles, and leaned forward about two feet, he could place his lips over hers … just once, while they were having a moment, while everyone was out of the room, before he had to beat her in the next challenge and send her fine ass home.
“Love at first sight?” he asked, uncrossing his ankles to relieve the pressure on his swelling cock.
“Not necessarily, but at some point I’ll know. I haven’t experienced that feeling yet.”
I’d love to give you that feeling.
Right now.
God. He may not get another chance. You only live once, right?
And before he could rethink it, before she could sit back again, before that dreamy look left her face, he eliminated the two feet between them and caught her lush lips with his own. She tasted sweet, like the wine she was fond of. She felt soft, pliant. Her lips parted with a gasp, and he took advantage of the moment, sliding his tongue between them, probing just briefly, asking a question with his mouth.
She answered him, eagerly, passionately. Her eyes closed and when he moved his head to cover more of her, he felt her lashes flicker against his cheek. With one hand, he gently shut her laptop. With the other, he cupped her face. He deepened the kiss, delving with his tongue, until she gave a tiny moan.
Her own tongue flicked in his mouth and paused for a second before sliding around his in the timeless mating dance.
As he pulled away from her, she playfully sucked his bottom lip just for a second, a very brief, way too short second.
He hated to pull away, but the further he permitted this to go, the less se
lf-control he would have. He wanted nothing more than to swipe her laptop off the table, pull her to his side, tear off her pants and whatever she was hiding underneath, and bury his face and his cock — it didn’t matter which — into what he imagined was the sexiest pussy on earth.
Sitting back in his chair, he caught his breath and tried to calm his pounding his heart … and other things, as he watched her. How would she react? Would she hate him? Slap him? Deny she’d enjoyed it? Regret it even?
Her lashes fluttered before her eyes widened. A hand went to her open mouth. “Oh my God.”
Victor straightened. “You’re welcome. I’ve been called —”
“Oh, Victor, don’t ruin the moment.” She shook her head, but her smile belied her stern words. “Victor, you do realize we’re in camera zone?” Redness tinted the tops of her cheeks.
Oh shit. In his haste to steal the moment, he’d forgotten about that. He’d been too worried about the other contestants catching them. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. It was harder than all get out to get comfortable.
“I … I didn’t —” Trying to come up with something witty to say to break the awkwardness rising between them, he blurted, “Just think of the ratings.”
Instead of getting the laugh he expected, her face twisted into an expression of hurt and anger. “Is that why you did it? Or was this just another attempt to throw me off my game?”
“No, no, I was just making a joke. Felicity —”
She rose, and he reached to stop her, but she stepped away from him, only turning to glare at him with watery eyes. “My heart, my feelings are not a joke, Victor Guzman, and I’d appreciate you leaving me alone from now on.”
“But, Felicity, you got this all wrong.”
He stood, intending to follow her out the doorway, to explain that hadn’t been it at all, when a voice halted him from the stairwell entrance. “Victor, you need to come with me,” Mr. Brown said in an emotionless tone.
Oh, fuck me.
How could he? Really? How could he? And how could she fall for it? The handsome Latino had made it clear from the beginning he wasn’t here to make friends, that he was going to distract her to the point of losing, and she’d played right into his hands, as dumb as some of the heroines in the romance novels she struggled so hard to avoid writing.
She had no one to blame but herself for falling for it and for him.
Blinking away tears of frustration, Felicity wiped the remnants of his kiss from her lips with the back of her hand. Just as he’d said, everyone was in the game room perched on chairs or stools, watching the first episode of The Next Bestseller. She plopped down next to Dez, who barely looked her way, on a loveseat and pretended to watch the show. On the screen, she was turned, her back hunched just a bit, while Carmen used it as a desk to write her name on the paper for the writer’s cave drawing.
She’d come onto this show naïve, wearing rose-colored blinkers.
Well, no more.
Did they see that already? Am I in trouble for that kiss? I won’t apologize for it, not to them or to her. I’m not sorry, even though she’s totally twisted my reasons behind it.
Heart pounding, throat dry, Victor tried to look as confident as he’d felt the first day of the show as he followed Allen to a meeting room downstairs. He wondered if this is where Felicity had come to discuss Tiffani’s story theft.
A shiny wooden table only big enough for four to sit around it accompanied by four black leather chairs awaited him. Ophelia sat at the head. He’d expect no less. The woman seemed to run this show. To her right was Ms. Roberts. Mr. Brown took the seat to her left. This left him the chair across from Ophelia. A white phone with speakers sat in the center of the table.
“Have a seat,” the talk show host instructed with a nod.
He complied, clasping the armrests with clammy hands. “Is there a problem?”
“We have bad news.” Ophelia’s face — normally hard and calculating — softened. “We just received notification that your mother is in the hospital.” She paused to glance down at a piece of paper in her hands. She read, “Caregiver called 9-1-1 at 1:00 p.m. Maria Guzman had a stroke and is now in Miami Medical’s ICU. She’s in a coma.” Ophelia slid the sheet across the table toward him, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Here are all the details. We notified you as soon as we got the call. I’m very sorry.”
Nicole reached over, placed a cool hand over his, and squeezed. “We’re all sorry. You do what you need to do.”
Victor felt as though he’d been slammed with a two-by-four in the chest. He hadn’t been there for her. Again, he’d failed her.
“I need to make some phone calls and possibly —” He couldn’t say it aloud. It sounded too much like quitting, but he was going to have to leave the show.
Ophelia cleared her throat. “The show will not hold you to your contract in light of this. Family comes first. You may leave today if you choose to do so.”
He nodded and swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“You may use this phone for all your telephone calls. In case you decide to stay with us …” Mr. Brown paused at this, his facial expression implying the implausibility of that. After all, what good son would stay on a TV show to make 100,000 dollars instead of being with his ailing mother? “…your conversations will be recorded to ensure nothing is said about the show. None of the recording will be revealed to the public or the press, however.” He steepled his fingers in front of him before adding, “None of this will be revealed on the show at all unless you wish it to be so.”
The three judges rose and filed out the door, patting him on the back and murmuring their sympathies as they filed out.
Left in the silence of the room, Victor took a shaky breath and ran his hands through his hair. Guilt washed over him. Just a few minutes ago, he’d been more concerned with being kicked off the show for kissing a girl. He should have been concerned about his mother first and foremost, not getting distracted by a woman — no matter how beautiful or sweet she was.
He dragged the phone toward him and lifted the receiver. With a shaky hand, he pressed the numbers typed onto the paper in front of him.
“Miami Medical, this is Jacinta. Can I help you?”
“This is Victor Guzman. My mother … Maria Guzman was admitted today. I need to talk to her doctor.”
Victor had no idea how long he stayed in the conference room, staring at the phone, weighing his options, the doctor’s words repeating over and over in his mind.
She’s in a coma. She’s getting the best of care. There’s no telling when or if she will wake.
When she did wake — and she would — there was no doubt he had to provide full time nursing now. The first stroke had rendered her speechless. This second stroke was probably going to paralyze her. And he wasn’t putting his mother in a home. No way, no how.
He ran his hands through his hair and left them there, holding his head, his elbows propped on the table.
There was nothing he wanted more than to pack up his bags and leave the show right now, to be by her side when she woke, even if she didn’t know who he was. But she was getting the best of care. What good would it do to sit there by her bedside, waiting, worrying, watching? She was asleep, comfortable, and not ready to be moved yet.
Winning this show would make him more money than he normally made in a year. It would take care of her. The least he could do was make her as comfortable as possible in the last stage of her life.
With new resolve, he pushed away from the table and gathered the papers and notes in front of him. He’d asked for a daily report and immediate notification should her situation change. The show had wasted no time in notifying him of this emergency, and he had full confidence they would continue to do so.
He’d simply have to win. No more dallying with pretty contestants. No more tender kisses or heartfelt talks. It was time to focus.
The door shut behind him as he went in search of the judges to give them
his decision.
Chapter Ten
“The fireplace room is up for dibs again. Do any of you wish to take it as your writer’s cave?” Nicole stood before the five of them, glancing back and forth.
“I do.” Felicity didn’t hesitate this time. The sooner she got away from Victor Guzman and the possibility of more scorching kisses, the better. That kiss and the feelings it had evoked within her was distracting her to pieces, and despite the fact he hadn’t spoken to her since, being across the room instead of right next to him was probably a good idea. She needed to get her mind in the game.
Plus, she wasn’t feeling very romantic lately. Maybe the room would help her get her groove back, get her mind on her heroes, real heroes who didn’t mess with women’s feelings just to win game shows.
“Does anyone wish to challenge Felicity for it?” Nicole asked.
Felicity glanced at Dez, expecting him to challenge her for it. He couldn’t be that happy writing in the bathtub.
To her surprise, he merely shook his head. “I think that room may be bad luck.”
Roy chuckled. “You one of them superstitious types?”
Dez pushed his glasses up his nose. “Two people have been eliminated, both were writing in that room. Need I say more?”
He had a point. Luckily, Felicity wasn’t the superstitious type.
“I challenge her.”
Eyes widened and heads turned. Nobody had been expecting her to speak up for it.
“Carmen?” Confusion crossed Nicole’s features. “You want to part with the executive office?”
Carmen rolled a cigarette languidly between her fingers and looked up straight into Felicity’s surprised gaze. “I sure do.”
What room you wanting? The other woman’s casual question from day one came back to her. At the time, Carmen had been acting as if they were going to be buddies.
So much for that.
She’s just wanting it because she knows I wanted it. Fine, I’ll out-write her.
“Well, I have two of you, so that means a writing challenge. Please come downstairs with me.” Nicole gestured for them to follow her down the stairs.
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