Winning the Game

by Leesa Bow

He’s gone before I can argue. Truth is I want to see him, and if he pressed on I wouldn’t have argued. Rhett knows the pin to the carpark so I dry off my hair for a few minutes, but it remains damp. I change into a knee-length strappy dress and head to the basement. Hell, I don’t even have make-up on. The elevator doors open to Rhett’s car idling and waiting for me.

  Stepping inside I say, “I don’t have much in the way of groceries, so I guess this is a good thing.” It’s an excuse, yet it’s more to convince myself.

  Rhett accelerates as soon as I close the door. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

  “I suppose so. Thank you.”

  Rhett smiles. “Like the look you have going on, by the way. I like natural.”

  “Shut up.” I finger tease my hair.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Whatever. Where are we going?”

  He glances at me as though I’ve missed something. “My place.”

  I’m conscious of my lips parting. “Did you make dinner?”

  “Yeah, and don’t look so shocked. I’m the salad king. Soon you’ll be wanting me to cook for you all the time.” He grins, and it’s cheeky, and I’m beginning to like his cheeky.

  “I doubt it, and technically you didn’t cook.”

  “Ah, but I did. Roast pumpkin and capsicum.” He’s still smiling. “Warm pine nuts and almonds. It might surprise you, but I like cooking.”

  I nod slowly. “It does. Didn’t take you to be the type who likes being in the kitchen.”

  “And there’s that word again. I’m going to reinvent my type.”

  We remain silent until he pulls up outside high, wooden automated gates in the foothills of Mount Lofty.

  We drive a short distance on a paved driveway then pull into a garage. Rhett closes the door behind us and once out of the car he leads me through another door to his house. From the outside I didn’t get much of a peek, with his home hidden by the high fences, but when we step into the house I’m blown away by the panorama. Looking through his floor-to-ceiling windows I have the most amazing view of the hills to the city below, and all the way to the ocean.

  “Wow,” I murmur.

  “Yeah. I never get sick of the view. Thought we could have some wine out on the balcony and appreciate it some more. I’ll give you a tour first.” He takes my hand and leads me away from the window.

  “Did you design this place?” I’m trying my best not to gape at his exquisite taste in design. Charcoal, white and red themes add to the stylish kitchen, with marble benches. The lounge has a teal and white décor with a slate-coloured leather lounge that could seat ten people.

  “Yeah. Helps having friends in the building industry.” We head up the stairs, passing several rooms. “And my room.” Rhett opens the doors and I’m speechless. His room is three times the size of mine. A massive four-poster bed is positioned in the middle of the room, facing the window, scattered with cushions patterned in grey, black, and orange. Landscape paintings, in brilliant oranges and pinks of the sunset, adorn two walls. On a closer inspection, one is the coast of Adelaide, and the other his farm. He points to one door—“Bathroom”—and then the other—“Walk in closet.” He then presses a button and huge blinds retract to reveal another balcony. Again the view is breath-taking, with the lights of Adelaide sprawled before us.

  “It must be difficult to wake up to this every morning.” I don’t hide the jealousy in my tone.

  “You’re welcome to wake up to it with me.” He’s watching me intently, and my heart flutters.

  For a moment I allow my thoughts to drift. “A lovely offer, but we both know it’s not possible.”

  “Temporarily not possible,” he adds.

  He’s determined to believe we have a future after Contest concludes, and, as much as I want to hope for it, the voice in my head, telling me not to be stupid and give into lust—again—demands obedience. “You mentioned wine,” I say, changing the subject. I need to get out of his bedroom.

  “I did.” He’s watching me quizzically, yet chooses to say nothing further, leading me to the door. My lower back tingles beneath his hand as he guides me down the stairs, bypassing the other rooms on the upper level.

  “Doors are unlocked. You head on out. I’ll bring everything out to you,” he says when we reach the kitchen.

  I’m eager to take in the amazing view. I stare at nothing in particular, simply taking in the panorama of the city. Rhett appears beside me, juggling a wine bottle under his arm and two glasses. While I’m holding the glass I glance down, and to my left I notice the pool and bar area behind another fence.

  “Say when,” Rhett says, drawing my attention to large hands circling a glass. Powerful hands, capable of crushing crystal. Hands belonging to a man I believed to be an arrogant athlete, used to getting his own way. The tingles running down my spine tell me I no longer believe it.

  “When,” I say quickly when the wine is close to the rim. My gaze flicks back to the pool and finds a tennis court behind it. “This”—I indicate with the hand holding the glass. “Is it all yours?”

  Rhett doesn’t even turn. His eyes lock with mine as he answers. “And if I said yes?”

  “Do you even play tennis?”

  “I can play anything you want me to.”

  I want to believe we are making a light joke, but his eyes tell me otherwise.

  “Good,” I croak. “Because you’re going to need all your confidence tomorrow on the set.” I down more than a few mouthfuls of Sav Blanc. “I’d appreciate you bringing your best game.”

  “What I do best.” Rhett sips his wine, watching me.

  I turn to the view and ignore the way my hands lightly tremble. Again, I change the subject. “It’s so perfect up here.”

  “I hope so, because this property cost me big.” He fills up my glass. “You ready for some dinner?”

  I nod. “Please, before I drink any more wine.”

  Two hours later, we have finished eating and are still on the balcony, making small talk, and onto our second bottle of wine. He is flirting even more. Halfway through the bottle I’m ready for sleep. “Can you call me a cab?” I ask, knowing he can’t drive.

  “Stay,” he whispers. His eyes plead and caress.

  I almost say yes.

  Almost.

  “Not happening.” I stand. “I really need to go home. Both of us have a big day tomorrow.” Blue eyes hold my gaze, and my stomach tightens into one large knot.

  Rhett stands. He’s too close. “I’ll get you home in plenty of time in the morning. Stay.” He runs his fingertips along the side of my face. “I liked having you in my bed, even to sleep beside me.”

  I’m having trouble breathing, because I want to stay. My whole body thrums with him this close. I also want to relive the nights on the farm, having a warm body next to mine, regardless how hot the night.

  A big but stops me. My stomach plummets when I remember what’s at stake. I’m not quite ready for the reality facing us tomorrow.

  Yet Rhett makes me feel alive. Wanted. I could do this for one more night. But I know where it will lead. And so does he.

  “And this has nothing to do with you wanting sex?” I try to sound strong, but my voice falters on sex, because now I’m thinking about sex. Us. In bed. Doing exactly what I’m advising him not to do.

  “Not if you don’t want to—”

  “I don’t,” I say too quickly.

  “Then you have nothing to worry about. Stay.”

  I’m caught in a cloud of blue, charmed, tired, and less guarded after wine. I’m done fighting. “Fine,” I rasp.

  Rhett’s eyes widen. “Really?”

  I nod. “Lead the way before I change my mind. And I’m serious about getting sleep.”

  “I know. You head upstairs. I have some t-shirts in my cupboard. Spare toothbrush in the drawer. I’ll be up after I clean up here.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to help?”

  Rhett kisses my nose. “No. I’ve got
it. Go to bed.”

  I climb the stairs. One at a time, like I’m in a damn movie, knowing each step is one step closer to my doom. When I reach his room my thoughts scatter. I no longer give a hoot because, damn, his bed is calling me. After using the bathroom, and finding the spare toothbrush to clean my teeth, I halt any thought of it being my toothbrush. My thoughts are erratic, and my head is spinning, so I head straight to his bed, tossing the cushions carelessly aside before I strip off. The wine prevents me from caring about anything as I climb under the covers.

  RHETT

  By the time I make it up the stairs Tori is asleep. After cursing myself for opening the second bottle of wine, I acknowledge the progress we’ve made. Staying over is a big step for her, and I need her to trust me. So I’m happy to lie beside Tori, who sleeps in her bra and panties.

  Matching, red-lace panties.

  And fuck, if I haven’t peeked a hundred times at her perfectly round arse and those tits that send my dick hard in a single glance. I roll away from her so my hard-on can ease a little, because getting sleep with a motherfucker of an erection isn’t going to happen.

  Early morning sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains. A shard of brightness darts over the bed covers and lands on Tori. She’s lying on her side, facing me, and I engrave her beautiful face in my memory. She ignites warmth within me I can’t ignore. It’s like a sixth sense telling me not to let her go. Over the years I’ve grown to trust my gut instinct, although I’ve never had one about a girl. I don’t even know how to handle her—us—because she keeps pushing me away, despite the fact I know she’s attracted to me. How much, is the question. I hope it’s enough to give us a chance. All that doesn’t matter right now, because there’s a list of things I want to talk about before I leave for the set. Most of all how much I care. If Tori understands I’m committed to finding a way, she might trust me.

  Trust is my lottery ticket.

  After a few minutes of imagining different ways to wake her, I head to the shower and turn on the cold, full blast. I’m shivering under the water, but it’s a good thing. When I enter the bedroom with only a towel around my waist Tori sits up, her brown hair tussled and her eyes wide open.

  “What time is it?” Her voice has a husky, early-morning sound, and it’s sexy as all hell.

  “5 am. Relax, we have plenty of time.”

  “Oh.” She flashes me a look of uncertainty, then looks toward the bathroom. “Excuse me.” She stands and heads to the door. I sense she’s already regretting being here. I sit on the edge of the bed, thinking about what to say to her. Resting my elbows on my knees, I wait for her to come out.

  The door opens and I glance up, taking in every inch of her: the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip.

  “I should go.” Her gaze skirts around the room, looking for her dress.

  I know the signs of a quick getaway. “We have to work something out. I can’t not see you.” I change into pants and a shirt. Tori has her back to me and dresses quickly. She brushes her hair as I place a few extra clothes and bathroom accessories into an overnight bag.

  “We can’t do this now.” She busies herself searching for something in her handbag.

  When she’s ready I lead her downstairs. After checking the security system, I unlock the door to the garage. Automated lights flash on. I open the car door for Tori, then throw my small bag on the back seat.

  We drive in silence apart from a few comments, small talk, about the weather or the traffic lights going against us. When I pull up in her apartment carpark, she leans across and kisses my cheek, like she would a friend. “See you soon.”

  Before she steps out I grab her hand, but the look she gives me halts the words in my throat. We hold each other’s gazes for a moment before I say, “I enjoyed having you stay.”

  “Me too.” She says it too quickly, so I let her go. She’s already in a panic about being late to the set. I wait for her to reach the elevator before my foot hits the accelerator.

  Even wasting time by calling into a nearby café and picking up breakfast, I still beat Tori to the set. Grant’s delighted to see me arrive early and takes it as eagerness on my behalf. He reads out a few scripted lines. It still irritates me that I’m instructed on what to say for some of my scenes.

  A few of the contestants wander onto the set. They wave at me, smiling like their lips will split. I nod, then continue to read over what will be happening for the remainder of the week. Every time I hear someone walk in I raise my eyes, but it’s not Tori. I assume she’s in her office and think of an excuse to give Grant, so I can go see her. I’m skimming down the lines, not taking anything in, until I turn the page and read how the contestants have chosen a date—breakfast, lunch, or dinner—with me. Apparently, the results of last week’s game determined who got to pick what and where. I’m eating every meal for the next three days with a contestant. Two hours of bonding to acquaint me better, make our date more personal. Then, on Friday, another elimination. Every date means extra time for wardrobe changes, and transport to special romantic restaurants, all closed to the public. My heart speeds up, and everything around me fades. For three days I won’t get a chance to talk to Tori. Blood fills my head and I want to punch something, until I glance up and spot Tori talking with Grant.

  My blood pressure eases, like letting air out of a balloon. Her hair is tied up in a neat bun on top of her head. She wears a white shirt, with only the top button open. Standard. I smile because, unlike when we first met, I now know what lies beneath. My gaze lowers to her arse in a fitted navy skirt. As if she hears my thoughts she turns, and her eyes lock with mine. Something passes between us, and my shoulders relax, sensing she’s less tense than when I left her earlier today. She nods once, then switches her attention back to Grant.

  After a two-hour meeting, all the contestants are given a break. Later this afternoon we’re heading to the beach for more filming. I think Grant believes frolicking on the beach like a freaking teenager, with bikini-clad women, will sway me to do something risqué, so he can capture it on camera. Unfortunately, my only naughty thoughts are with my mentor.

  The girls giggle as they learn about the venues. The cast and crew leave the set to grab refreshments. I’m searching for Tori, wanting only a few seconds to see her and speak to her about the week—more to the point, how I’m going to meet up with her. She’s discussing something with Grant, so I run over a few lines in my head that I can say in front of him.

  “Rhett,” she says in a formal way when I reach them. “I was telling Grant about your family and how we could utilise the farm in a shoot, if you gave permission.”

  I stare at her, dumbfounded. She knows my family is off limits. “Depends what it is,” I say, and not in a friendly tone.

  My reaction appears to have delighted her. “Grant and I are trying to make this show work for you. It might win viewers over, knowing how your father died.”

  My abs tighten instinctively, as though I’ve entered the ring with Muhammad Ali. “What?” I growl.

  “Tori has done all she can, and you no longer need her to advise you. Since we’re moving off set next week to a permanent residence to shoot, she’ll be working on a new project here at the studio. She’s stepping down from helping off site. Tori is training to be an assistant producer, so she’ll still oversee all the filming you’re involved in, only she’ll work from the studio office. Before she starts the new project she wanted to mention the farm, and the incident with your father.” Grant speaks as though he’s a mediator between us.

  My eyes move back to Tori. She holds out her hand. “I’ve enjoyed working with you, Rhett, and have faith you’ll do fine. Good luck. All the ladies are wonderful, and I’m sure you’ll have fun with whomever you choose.”

  I want to slap her traitorous hand away, but when I glance down her thumb is closed over her palm, hiding a small piece of paper. I take her hand and shake it. Our gazes lock. A look of recognition passes between us. “Thank you. It’s
been great working with you. Your voice will be in the back of my head before I open my mouth to speak.”

  Grant laughs as if he knows what I’m talking about.

  The note slips into my palm as Tori pulls her hand back. “Well, I have work to do. See you around, maybe.” She smiles before walking away.

  “You heading to grab something to eat?” Grant puts his hand on my back as though we’re mates.

  I don’t budge because I’m not going anywhere with him. “Yeah. Have to check on something first.”

  “All right. See you back here in half an hour.”

  I wait for him to walk away before I open the note.

  Meet me on level 8. Storeroom, halfway down the hall on the right.

  I shove the note in my pocket and head for the stairwell instead of the elevator, making sure no one sees me before I open the door. I know what this is, and my dick reacts accordingly. I want to believe she craves me as much as I hunger for her, but my gut tightens.

  Something isn’t sitting right. And why now, when we had all night?

  Taking two, even three steps at a time I reach the eighth floor somewhat out of breath. When my breathing normalises, I’m cautious opening the stairwell door. One guy is in the hall, his attention on his phone as he types. He doesn’t notice me, so I walk slowly until he steps into the elevator. I wait outside the storeroom and listen for the elevator door to close before I turn the handle.

  Tori’s back is to me as though she’s perusing the shelves. “You’re lucky I’m fit.” I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow.

  She places the folders she’s holding on the shelf. Hell, my dick reacts to the fire in her eyes. The fight no longer there.

  “Stay quiet and lock the door,” she whispers. I do what she says and then I go to her. She kisses me hard, then her gaze is on her trembling hands, unbuttoning my pants. “It has to be quick.” Her voice is husky, urgent. She takes my cock and strokes it.

  “You want to do this here?” I croak.

  “You don’t want to?” Her tone is a mix of hurt and disappointment.