by Lizzie Shane
“Was that for me or the home audience?”
Something flashed across his face, too fast for her to read, and then he lowered his hands, spreading them wide. “Can’t it be both?”
Wrong answer, asshole. “I think you should go.”
In that moment she wasn’t certain whether she meant he should go back to his room or he should just go home.
He rose, sobering, seeming to realize he’d pushed her too far. “Marcy, it was a joke.”
“Just go.”
He nodded, moving toward her suite rather than the wall he’d scaled before. “I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Tuesday. The Elimination Ceremony. The last one before she went home to meet the Final Four’s parents. She was tempted to tell him to go right now. To do it before the temptation to keep him around overruled her good judgment again. But she said nothing as he moved past the cameras who had recorded her latest lapse in good sense and through the veranda doors out of sight.
There was a pause—far too short a pause—once he was gone and then Avery sidled forward cautiously. “Marcy? Can we get a reaction reel?”
Her hormones had just made an idiot of her on national television and they wanted her to tell the cameras how she felt about it. Of course they fucking did. She gave Avery a look that could melt steel. “No. You can’t.”
Avery flushed. “Right. Let’s pack it up, people. Miss Right has an early morning.”
An early morning. An early date. With Aidan. Who never tempted her. Never made her feel wild or on the brink of losing control. She shuddered, watching the crew efficiently gather up their gear and leave.
Thank God for Aidan.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Craig cringed as his attempt to stealthily re-enter the suite he was sharing with Aidan was foiled by the man himself.
Fucking Aidan.
He’d hoped the man would already be catching his beauty sleep for his dawn date the next morning, but no such luck.
If he’d snuck over the wall back at the mansions, he would have been screaming the news to the rafters, trying to use the information to psych the other Suitors out, but he was already walking a fine line with Marcy at the moment. He didn’t need to look like the kind of guy who bragged about his conquests on top of everything else.
But he was caught now. If he made up some story, it would be too easy for Marcy to contradict it and getting caught in a lie always felt worse than owning his actions.
He was boxed in. So he did what he always did when he was out of options. He cranked up his confidence to eleven and put on his cockiest grin. “Where do you think?”
Aidan’s expression instantly darkened and Craig almost regretted the words. He liked Aidan. They’d actually developed a friendship of sorts as they were whiling away the endless hours of waiting for Miss Right. That should be the name of freaking show. Waiting for Miss Right to Make Up Her Fucking Mind.
“That’s against the rules,” Aidan grumbled.
“When have I ever played by the rules?”
“Dude, it’s my date tomorrow. My date you’re fucking up by bugging her all night.”
“I left as soon as she told me to,” Craig said. “It’s not my fault she wanted me to stay as long as she did.”
Aidan shook his head, disgusted. “I like you, man, but you can be a real asshole, you know that?”
The big man stalked into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
“I do know that actually,” Craig said softly to the closed door, only remembering after the words were out that these rooms might be rigged with hidden cameras and microphones. Everything was fair game.
He tugged off his mic pack—they never knew when the damn things were live—and tossed it onto the couch, cursing softly.
What was he doing here? Indiscriminately hurting the people around him without any guarantee that it would lead to his ultimate goal?
Maybe it was better for all of them if he went home.
He’d wanted to be remembered, wanted to be colorful and told himself that his honesty excused all his dickish behavior, but was he just giving himself a blank check to be an asshole? What would his mom say when she saw the show? The villains were remembered, but they were also hated. He needed to be loved. But he couldn’t be Daniel. He wasn’t that guy.
He was a smartass. A cynic. But he hadn’t come here to hurt anyone. Least of all Marcy. He’d thought being upfront about his motives would ensure she never started to care for him, that her emotions were never engaged so he couldn’t break her heart—but then he’d started to want her to like him. Making her care about him had become part of the game.
He stalked out to the balcony—the same one where he’d heard Daniel talking about marrying her. The memory of it still burned like acid. Craig sank onto the lounger, scrubbing his face with both hands.
A good man would walk away, leaving Marcy to the honorable men who wanted to make an honest woman of her.
It had never been so obvious to Craig that he wasn’t a good man.
He couldn’t leave her. He was too selfish to give up a second he could get with her.
Marcy deserved better than him—better than all of them—but Craig always demanded more than he deserved. It was how he would claw his way to the top. He just hoped he didn’t have to hurt her along the way.
Chapter Eighteen
“Big night,” Daniel commented, patting her hand where it rested on his arm as he escorted her out onto the terrace of the grotto restaurant the show had closed tonight for the Elimination Ceremony. The pre-elimination cocktails were getting shorter, with only six men remaining, but the producers still wanted to make sure each Suitor had one last chance to plead his case before she handed out favors.
Darius had “stolen” her first—as he typically did. Bold and forward as he was. Mark had snuck in for the second private moment, pulling her away for a reminder of what they had together and a lovely little kiss. James had given her a love poem. Aidan had been jumpy all through his private time, reminding her over and over again that he felt something for her and wanted a chance to talk to her more about that feeling—but never coming right out and saying the words. Then Daniel had appeared to whisk her away.
He led her to the rail looking out over the ocean before turning and resting his side against it, facing her. “My parents are going to love you,” he said, as if it was a foregone conclusion that he was getting one of the Meet the In-Laws dates next week. And perhaps it was.
“Am I what they had in mind for you?”
“To a T. You’re perfect for me and they’ll see that instantly.”
Instead of soothing her, his confidence sparked a little frisson of unease. “Don’t you ever question it? Wonder if we’re just choosing not to see the ways we aren’t compatible?”
“Of course not.” He took her hands, squeezing them in both of his. “I see you, Marcy. And I like… no, I love what I see.”
Christ, was he declaring himself?
Love. It was such a big word. She should feel euphoric, right? Not terrified. It felt too soon. It felt like leaping into an abyss and giving up all control and she couldn’t, she just couldn’t.
For the first time, she was intensely grateful for the contract she had signed that prohibited her from telling anyone she loved them until the final episode. Daniel wouldn’t even blink if she just smiled in response to his big declaration.
So she just smiled.
“We’re going to be so happy, Marcy,” he promised and she tried not to shiver in horror.
What was wrong with her? He was perfect. So freaking perfect. So why did he feel so wrong?
He hadn’t even reacted to the news that Craig had snuck into her room at night. All the others knew. Darius had been extra caveman in reaction. James had pouted, in a very manly grouchy way. Mark had been subdued, but quietly nervous. Aidan had been a neurotic basket-case during their entire date the next morning, constantly talking about Craig—alternating b
etween bashing him and calling him a friend.
But Daniel hadn’t even blinked.
He had to know. Did he just not care?
“Doesn’t it bother you that another Suitor snuck into my room the other night?”
Realization lit Daniel’s gorgeous baby blues. He wasn’t slow, just a bit naïve. “You think I can’t possibly be telling the truth about my feelings if I’m not jealous, is that it?”
“Maybe.”
Daniel’s smile was adoring, indulgent, and just a smidge patronizing. “Marcy, I love you, but I don’t believe in jealousy.”
“You don’t believe in it? It’s not like Catholicism.”
“Jealousy is a sign that something is wrong in a relationship. That there is a lack of trust and respect. There’s nothing wrong between us, so I don’t feel jealous.”
“Pardon my French, but that sounds like bullshit.”
Daniel’s head rocked back, as if the fact that she would disagree with him was such a shock he felt it as a physical blow. Had she never disagreed with him aloud before? Was that why he was so convinced she was perfect?
“I’m dating five other guys right now,” she continued. “I’m kissing them. They’re touching me. I’d say that’s a pretty good foundation for jealousy, even in the most even-tempered of guys.”
His mouth pulled into a bitter line for just a moment before smoothing into a smile. “I trust you, Marcy.”
“And that’s awesome. But do you want me? Is lust involved at all? Because maybe it makes me anti-feminist, but I like the idea that someone wants me enough to feel possessive of me.” She stepped forward, crowding into his personal space. “Do you even want me at all?”
“Of course I do. I just didn’t want to rush you or pressure you. I know you must be fighting the other guys off and I wanted to be a safe place for you, to let our physical relationship develop on a slower pace.”
“There’s slow and then there’s nonexistent.”
It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but she almost thought Daniel blushed. “Are you trying to goad me into kissing you?”
“No. Just giving you fair warning that I’m going to kiss you.”
She went up on her toes, took his face between her hands and planted one on him. He had soft smooth lips and nice breath—probably the result of an aggressive dental health regimen. His arms came around her, gently, barely touching her, but he kissed her back. It wasn’t passionate. It wasn’t fire. But it wasn’t ice either. There was a pleasant hum of warmth there. A comforting level of yes-this-will-do, even if it didn’t make her want to rip her clothes off and make bad decisions.
Blinding lust was overrated. This was real. This was lovely. This would last.
So why didn’t it feel like enough?
Marcy pulled away, feeling quite nice indeed, with her heart beating at a comfortable, normal rate. A perfectly satisfying kiss. “We should head back in.”
“Of course.” Daniel offered her his arm, always the gentleman.
She walked in, and it was easy to picture them walking like this in fifty years. Miss Right and Mister Perfect.
Was she borrowing trouble by worrying that he wasn’t possessive enough for her? Looking for flaws? Trying to find something to object to in the perfect guy?
He was the smart choice. So why couldn’t she just choose him?
There was lipstick on the corner of Daniel’s lip as he strolled back into the sitting area with Marcy on his arm. The bastard.
Sure, it was possible that neither of them had noticed it in the dark outside and thought to wipe it off before all the other men saw it on his face like a mark of possession—frankly that sounded more like Danny Boy than using it as an attempt at gamesmanship—but Craig’s jealousy didn’t care why it was there. Only the how.
But instead of indulging his fantasies of wiping the lipstick off Danny’s mouth with his fist, Craig stood and smoothed the wrinkles from his sport coat. He may or may not have irreparably fucked his chances with Marcy the other night and he needed to be a good boy during his last private moment with her before the ceremony if he wanted to stick around.
He smiled, going for harmless and gentlemanly. “Marcy, may I have a moment?”
She frowned at him—probably checking for obvious signs that aliens had abducted him and replaced him with a robot—but glided over to take the arm he extended with a cautious, “Of course.”
When she’d walked into the room on Daniel’s arm, she’d seemed to be in a pleasant, almost mellow mood, but as they moved away from the group and off to one of the leafy grottoes set up for them tonight Craig felt tension returning to her body until she was humming like a live wire.
“You’ve been in rare form these last few days,” she bit out, as soon as they reached the grotto.
She sank down onto the love seat and he tentatively took his place beside her—not entirely certain she wasn’t going to take a swing at him if the timbre of her voice was anything to go by.
“About that—” he began, but she didn’t even let him get started.
“I’ve been calling myself seven different kinds of idiot. I can’t believe I actually thought we had a connection that night—”
“We did. You don’t have to be the clever girl and I don’t have to be the funny guy. When we’re together, we can just be, right?” The words rushed out on a tide of panic. A panic he didn’t want to examine too closely.
“I thought so, but then you had to take our private moment and diminish it by using it as some kind of manipulation tactic with the guys, bragging about how you’d broken the rules and climbed my wall to get some.”
“It wasn’t bragging. Aidan was waiting for me when I got back to our suite. What was I supposed to do, lie about where I’d been?”
She didn’t seem to hear the question. “I can’t believe I bought into your act and it was all a ploy. It’s always about winning for you, isn’t it?”
He waved a hand at the camera crew hovering nearby, capturing every syllable. “What do you want me to do? Everything we do is on national television anyway. It’s not like there are secrets here. I’m being more honest with you than anyone else and I get nothing but shit for it. Yeah, when Aidan cornered me, I thought what the hell, might as well use this to my advantage. But I’m not this Machiavellian puppet-master you want to make me. I’m in this, the same as you, Marcy. I’m just more honest about it than any of the others.”
Her jaw was still locked, but her eyes were considering. He had her attention now.
“Aidan was a mess on our date, thanks to you,” she said, though the sharpest edge of anger had left her voice.
“Hey, I like Aidan as much as the next guy, but do you really want a man who is so easily rattled?”
One dark eyebrow slid upward. “Daniel wasn’t rattled.”
Craig forced himself to unclench his jaw before he ground his back molars down to pulp. “I don’t want to talk about Daniel.”
“So what do you want to talk about? Last chance.”
Last chance before the ceremony? Or last chance before going home? Had she already made up her mind?
If so, what could he say to change it? He thought about trying to kiss her again—that usually worked—but something about tonight was different and he had a feeling making a pass would backfire. He’d studied these shows. This was the moment he had to be vulnerable.
Craig didn’t do vulnerable. It wasn’t in his DNA.
But he could be honest. He was good at honest. He’d built a freaking brand out of brutal honesty.
“When I came to see you the other night, that was real. It may have been the only real thing in this whole fucked up situation.” He cast a scathing look at the cameras. “I’m always real with you, Marcy. You know that. And I’m being real with you now when I say that I want to stay. I want to be here with you. I want to spend more time with you. Because, goddamn it, I like you, Marcy. You’re Miss-fucking-Right and I didn’t expect you to be right for me, but there it is
. And I’m not ready to go home.”
Marcy studied his face, her eyes wide, mouth slightly slack with shock from his little speech. Now was the moment for the kiss. Craig leaned in—
Movement in his peripheral vision. A producer stepped forward. Fucking cock-blocking producers.
“Marcy. It’s time.”
“Darius, will you accept this token of my favor?”
Craig ground his teeth, fighting the urge to put his fist through the nearest wall as Marcy pinned the ribbons to the lapel of the muscle-bound hulk. He was all testosterone and no finesse, but he got Marcy’s favor and Craig was still standing there, waiting.
There was only one favor left on the pedestal and he stood beside James and Aidan with their undecorated lapels. Generic James, Aidan, who almost hadn’t made it past that first drunken night, and Craig, who had been the last Suitor picked so many times it was almost ritual—but tonight felt different.
Tonight didn’t feel like Marcy building suspense for the home audience. Tonight it felt like he might actually be going home.
Something in his chest clenched at the thought of leaving and he rubbed a hand against his sternum as Marcy’s hand floated over the last favor and her gaze flicked between the three remaining men.
He hadn’t had many relationships. He’d never had trouble getting dates, but when it got serious he got out. He was always very upfront with the girls—he wasn’t going to get involved with anything or anyone who was going to take his focus away from his career. But these last few weeks, he’d started to wonder if maybe the right woman couldn’t make him better at his job.
And who knew when he would ever meet another woman like Marcy? She was smart and sexy and kept up with his verbal sparring and laughed at his jokes, but also brought him back to earth when he got carried away and made him feel grounded. Made him want to be a better man for her.
Jesus. He sounded like a freaking movie. Was he really developing feelings for her?