He shoved off the wet bar and strode to the door, paused with his hand on the knob, then turned to her. “The money.”
“What? Money? I don’t understand. You fulfilled your part of the show and—”
“And because you picked me, even though they gave me a choice to walk away from this trip, I really didn’t have a choice if I wanted to get paid. It’s in my contract, as Danny generously pointed out, that if I’m chosen, and I don’t come here with you, I’m out thirty grand. So here I am.” He spread his arms, a condescending smile on his lips. “In paradise.”
She rolled her shoulders to waylay the temper about to erupt. Paradise my ass, she gritted her teeth. A week with him was looking more like a week in hell. He hadn’t come here for her, but for money. She knew he’d promised to donate his payment to a charity, but to have him smear that fact in her face hurt, and pissed her off to no end.
“Well, welcome to paradise.” She turned and peeled off her shirt, not caring that he could see her, then stepped into the bedroom.
He was at the threshold in seconds. “What the hell are you doing?”
Already stripped down to her bra and panties, she whipped open the dresser drawer and pulled out the little, string bikini she’d bought specifically for this trip, for Colt. “I’m going to the beach.” She laid the bikini on the bed, reached around to unhook her bra, then stopped and looked at him. “Do you mind? I’d like to change.”
Lust warred with the earlier conviction in his eyes. “Nope. Knock yourself out, I don’t mind.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb.
She wasn’t about to change in front of him. She’d make him miserable, though, and was now glad she’d kept the bikinis and lingerie packed in her suitcase. She was up for a seduction, up for a fight. Grabbing the bikini from the bed, she moved to the bathroom, shut the door, then changed. When she emerged, he was still standing there, looking sexy, angry and wary.
“You’re not going out in that,” he ordered.
She tugged her sarong off the hanger in the closet, then moved passed him. “The hell I’m not.”
He gripped her arm. “The hell you are,” he countered, his voice low, threatening. He might despise her right now, but she knew he’d never hurt her. “Every man here will think you’re a hot piece of ass looking to score.”
“Wrong,” she sang. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but every man here is with a woman. This is a couples resort, Colt.” She shook his hand off of her. “Go head to the bar. Blow through a twelve pack while you’re there if you need to. Just leave me alone.”
“Fine.” He shoved passed her and headed for the door. The slam shook one of the paintings, and the fragile confidence she’d held on to when she’d emerged from the bathroom.
He still wanted her body, which had been clear in the blatant lust that had filled his eyes when he’d dragged his gaze over her. And he’d been jealous of other men. All good signs, but she wanted more. She wanted him to want her for more than just sex. God, and to think she’d been the one who’d proposed that they keep their relationship sexual. Talk about watching what you wish for.
The phone rang, startling her. She cradled the receiver against her shoulder as she tied the sarong around her waist. “Hello?”
“Ms. Bonasera? This is the front desk. Is Mr. Walker available?”
She looked at the door, at the skewed picture near it. “No, can I take a message?”
“Yes, can you please tell him that another room has come available? He can move into it anytime after four this afternoon.”
She gripped the receiver, and that fragile confidence she’d planned to hang on to disappeared. Choking back a sob, she cleared her throat. “Sure, I’ll pass that along to him.” She slammed the receiver down, then crossed her arms. Unbelievable. What a total slap in the face. The change of his flight was one thing, but this?
Slumping on the sofa, she hugged herself and let the tears fall. As she leaned into the plush cushions, the mortification she’d been subjected to last night washed over her again. She abruptly sat up, and swiped at her tear soaked cheeks. She might have been wrong, but this, this she didn’t deserve. Taking a deep breath, she went into the bathroom, blew her nose, then stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Screw him. This was the first vacation she’d had in years, and she planned to enjoy it. With or without Colt.
Chapter 12
Colt slid onto a bar stool and ordered a beer, the image of Valentina wearing that excuse of bikini still burning in his mind. Along with every bullshit word he’d spoken. He hadn’t gone to the room for his sunglasses, he’d gone because the protective side of him, the side that still cared and needed to hold her, wanted to make sure she’d made it to the resort okay.
He took a long pull of his beer, then slammed it on the bar. He’d also wanted to see if the front desk had called. No blinking lights on the room phone had assured him they hadn’t, and a part of him had been pleased. A part of him wanted fate to intervene and not make it possible for him to leave their suite. The other part of him, his pride he supposed, had intended to do everything possible to distance himself from her.
Leaning back in the bar stool, he took in the picture perfect surroundings. The tiki bar where he sat, drowning his misery in a cold beer, angled and sloped, allowing anyone in the pool to swim over for a cocktail. A mini waterfall spilled over the rocks where water trickled into the large pool. The sun shined in a cloudless blue sky, while couples lounged, cuddled and laughed.
He turned away in disgust. Should have been them, he thought with bitterness and took another swallow of beer, then nearly choked on the mouthful.
Valentina strode down the pathway, a sexy sway in her hips, wearing some sort of wispy, transparent thing around her waist, while her cherry red bikini top barely covered her full breasts. The erection he’d been trying to deny since he’d seen her in their suite couldn’t be denied any longer. He shifted his legs, hoping the growing bulge wasn’t noticeable and stared at her ass as she headed for the beach. When she’d moved out of sight, he drained his beer.
“Another,” he said to the bartender, and fought the urge to go after her, to haul her back to their suite, rip off her bikini and bury his head between her thighs. Although it had only been two days since he’d made love to her, two days felt more like two years. He’d missed her. The taste of her, the way her body responded to him, her laughter, hell, everything.
As much as he wanted her, missed her, his pride came first. She’d done a number on his ego, and Pick Me wasn’t the only time, either. While Denver had pricked his self-esteem, what she’d done to him during the show bled him dry. He’d never asked her why she’d left him in Denver because once he’d had her in his arms again, it hadn’t mattered. He’d never dwelled on the past before, but maybe in this case he should have. She’d run from him then, and she’d known four weeks ago when she’d proposed they carry on a physical relationship during the show, that she’d run from him again.
Did she have commitment issues or was she simply that cold? He’d like to think it was the former rather than the later, otherwise that meant he’d become a terrible judge of character. The Valentina he’d fallen in love with wasn’t a cold hearted woman. She wasn’t a user. She cared, deeply. Hell, she’d allowed Derek and Jonas to sully her reputation, and make her look like a true bitch. She’d allowed them to humiliate her on camera.
His skin prickled with unease as the same niggling sensation that had kept him up most of last night coated his skin with not only sweat, but self-loathing. He shook his head, and raised the bottle to his lips.
He had nothing to feel bad about. She had been in the wrong.
Setting the beer on the bar, he glanced to the pathway leading to the beach again. Right or wrong, he still wanted to hold her, pretend last night hadn’t happened. He also wanted to pretend that Valentina wasn’t out on the beach, wearing a so-called bathing suit that barely covered her curves, too. Couples resort my a
ss. Men still looked, and he’d guarantee every one of them was looking at her right now.
Jealousy, plain and simple, suddenly overrode his pride. He grabbed his beer and headed toward the beach. Leaning against a palm tree, and shaded from her view, he watched her. She lay with her forearms resting on a beach towel, close enough to the shoreline so she could dip her toes into the water without the lapping waves drenching her. Her olive skin glistened under the heat of the sun. Her dark curls cascaded over her shoulders and back. He loved her hair. Loved the way those curls would caress and tickle his chest when she rode him, loved tangling his hands through the thick mass when he took her from behind.
His arousal spiked into a full blow erection. He took a drink of his beer and tamped down the lust. Yet his thoughts strayed. He loved more than her hair and her body. He loved the way she cared. How she’d put others before herself, and remembered how he’d held her many times throughout the past four weeks when she’d cried over the guilt of dating other men for the show, leading them on, when she’d only wanted to be with him. Gritting his teeth and tightening his hold on the beer bottle, he began to remember so many things.
Jonas. She’d been concerned about the security tape of them fooling around against her car. Not so much for herself, but for him. He had to give her credit for telling him about that one. In that instance, she’d trusted him. Then why didn’t she trust him enough to tell him about how the show would end?
Maybe she didn’t know.
Possible, but not probable. She’d worked for Pick Me. Derek would have told her...unless Jonas had gone behind the producer’s back. His mind circled and his gut clenched with guilt. Was it possible he’d been wrong? That Valentina was just as surprised to find out she was the show’s imposter?
Shepp had held her hand when he’d outed her. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, but now that the fog of indignity had lifted, now that he really thought back to that moment, the shock on her face had been too genuine to ignore. Her eyes had grown wide with...hurt and betrayal.
He slid his back down the ragged palm tree, then plopped his ass in the sand, and let his head fall between his knees. She’d wanted to explain, and he hadn’t wanted to listen. Damn his pride and ego.
Listen to her now.
He raised his head, stared at her from between the small sand dunes and tropical vegetation. Would she even want to talk to him after the way he’d left their suite? Her eyes had turned from dark, delicious, and hopeful, to coal black when she’d discovered he’d purposefully taken an earlier flight. When she’d started to strip, at first, he’d thought it had been a move for seduction, but after the way she’d turned on him in the suite, he’d realized she’d merely given him a simple reminder of what he’d just lost.
Before he’d walked out on her—again—she’d told him to leave her alone. He’d respect her wishes, but only after he apologized. He ran his fingers through his hair. Grovel, more like it. Because he knew in his gut, in his heart, he’d been wrong to walk away from her yesterday.
Shit. And Danny had tried to warn him, telling him to keep in mind that Valentina had a contract, too.
God, he’d been a fool. He’d bet anything that her contract likely stated she couldn’t reveal her true role on Pick Me, otherwise she’d lose whatever they’d offered her. From the beginning she’d said she chose to do the show for money. He knew, from his dealing with the media, that she’d probably made next to nothing as a Production Assistant.
He drew in a deep breath, he could go round and round in his head with all sorts of scenarios of the why’s and how’s she’d ended up as the bachelorette, but knew what he needed to do. He needed a plan. Valentina was stubborn and had a temper on her. He’d have to be smart, approach her as if he were negotiating for one of his clients. Come up with a Plan A and a Plan B, then hope like hell one of those plans worked.
As he sat beneath the shade of the palm trees, he watched her and formulated a way to negotiate a truce. How he’d approach her, what he’d say. When he’d finally had his pitch memorized, he dumped the rest of his beer, now warm after sitting in the sun for over an hour, and rose. As he was about to leave his hiding place and approach her, she stood, gathered her beach towel, then wrapped it around her waist.
Before she could see him, he slipped away, then headed to the front desk to take care of Plan B. He canceled the room change, and scheduled them for several of the romantic excursions the resort offered. Twenty minutes later, he approached their suite. With the key card in hand, he hesitated. Maybe he should knock, give her fair warning.
“Nope,” he muttered. She was his. And he wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. He slid the key card in place and turned the knob.
He scanned the silent room, then his eyes settled on his luggage, now sitting near the door. He clenched his jaw, and before Plan A flew right out of his head, he considered his options. Okay, so she’d found out about the room change, and coupled with the fact he’d changed his flight, he knew damn well she was pissed. Hell, he’d be, too. Regardless, he’d stick to his plan, not that there was much too it. Mostly groveling, something he’d never, not once, done before. There’d never been any need. But he needed Valentina in his life. He loved her, and she owed him the chance to explain... He raked a hand through his hair. He’d owed her as much last night.
Back to groveling.
He approached the closed door of the bedroom and twisted the knob. Locked. “Valentina, open the door,” he demanded, and knocked hard. When she didn’t answer, his temper flared. He would not let her shut him out like this, not without either of them hashing out their own reasons and explanations for last night. He pounded harder. Within seconds, Valentina opened the door, her hair damp, the wet curls dripping over her bared shoulders as she hugged a big, white, fluffy towel around her.
“What the hell, Colt? You scared the crap out of me with all of your banging.”
He had to reign in his lust and love for her, from the urge to shove the towel from her body and make her his again. She looked sexy with her cheeks flushed from the sun, her dark eyes wide with confusion and thankfully desire.
“No locked doors,” he said.
She arched a brow. “The front desk called before you left for the bar. There’s a room available. Take your bags and leave. This is my suite, and I’ll lock the door if I want to.”
He blocked the door before she could slam it in his face. “False alarm.”
She furrowed her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“There’s no other rooms available, so you’re stuck with me.”
“That’s a bunch of crap,” she said, stabbing her finger against his chest. “I talked with the front desk no more than two hours ago.”
He grabbed her hand, and hauled her against his body, wishing the thick towel was a puddle on the floor and every naked, curvy inch he’d stared at for more than an hour was pressed against his body. “Well,” he drawled, and gripped a handful of her wet curls. “Apparently while you were sunning yourself in that hot little bikini, someone else took the room.”
Narrowing her eyes, she pressed her lips together. Challenged him.
“Go ahead and call the front desk and ask if you don’t believe me.”
“No. I don’t think I will. Unlike you, I’d rather hear your explanation first.”
He loosened his grip on her hair, and stared into her eyes. He wanted to turn away from the accusation, the hurt, the betrayal and anger in them, but couldn’t. “I deserved that,” he said, lightly grazing her jaw with his finger.
Valentina jerked her head away and tried to twist from his hold. “Let go of me,” she demanded. She couldn’t think straight in his arms, and she needed to keep her mind clear. He’d done a complete three-sixty and she wanted to know why. Was it because he’d realized he’d be a fool to pass up a week of mind blowing sex? Or did the blazing hot sun burn some sense into his thick head?
He tightened his grip. “No, not until we talk.”
/>
She continued to fight his hold, but all of her twisting and struggling only caused her body to rub against his. Arousing her, heightening her senses. Apparently his too, based on the erection pressing against her stomach.
“Damn it, Colt,” she said, her breathing ragged from trying to break through the band of his strong arms so she could think straight. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
He arched a brow, and his eyes darkened into a turbulent mixture of lust and desire. “I’m game, what else did you have in mind?” he asked with a crooked grin.
She went completely still as disappointment dragged the fight out of her. “This isn’t a game,” she said flatly, and flicked her gaze to his.
His grin faded. “No, it’s not. If it were a game, there’d be one winner and one loser. And I don’t plan on losing you.”
Sucking in a breath, she stared into his eyes, but refused to allow herself even the briefest amount of hope. Been there, done that, and her heart couldn’t take another rejection. She shook her head, and relied on a favorite stand-by. Cynicism. “What? Did Derek throw some extra clause into your contract that I don’t know about? Look, Colt, you don’t have another room to go to. Fine. Whatever. But if you think you’re going to waltz in here and sleep in my bed—”
“There you go again,” he interrupted, then abruptly released her, and plopped his butt on the bed. Her bed.
She fisted the towel to her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Controlling when I get to grace your bed. I let you do that before, but not anymore.” He shot off the bed and went nose to nose with her. “Relationships aren’t about who’s in control, they’re give and take. I’ve given, I’ve taken, and I’ve bided my time during the show figuring we’d both wanted the same thing.”
Pick Me (Reality TV Romance) Page 17