Bachelor Games (Tropical Temptation)

by St. Denis, Daire

  Cal was surprised when the plane began its descent. Seated in first class, they disembarked first, though Becca stayed behind to wait for her sister, so he lost sight of her.

  The moment Cal stepped off the plane onto the tarmac, he was whisked off by the delegates from Men’s Magazine for a briefing on how the week would proceed, as well as an update on the shooting schedule and the contestants. He was given a dossier containing information on all fifty contestants for his perusal while the producers and directors spoke a mile a minute about the way the week would be run.

  “We’ll need to whittle the contestants down immediately. Fifty is too unwieldly for shooting purposes…”

  “We’ve highlighted some of the women.” Eddie Johns, the director pointed out the tabbed pages on the binder. “These are the ones we’ve determined will create the most compelling story.”

  He flipped through the pages of what might as well have been duplicates of the same woman, photoshopped with varying shades of skin tone and hair color.

  Sort of like his last three girlfriends. Christa, Sophie, and Kira. All beautiful. All intelligent. All well practiced in bed, willing to give him whatever they thought he wanted, which made them boring in their predictability. And by predictability, he meant their desire to snag him for the sole purpose of getting access to his bank account. Not one bothered to really get to know him.

  Certainly, none of them mocked him.

  As he flipped through the pages of perfectly identical smiles on the head shots of the contestants, Cal thought back to how he’d originally considered Becca to be nondescript. But she would have stood out in this selection.

  Why?

  Her smile?

  Her candor?

  The light that came into her eyes when she talked about all the unsolved problems in physics? Or was it the fact that she’d seemed genuinely interested in him. Not in a calculating way, but in a frank, wanting-to-get-to-know-him kind of way. He’d told her the abridged version of his life. Growing up in Jersey but leaving out the really personal stuff, like his humble, poverty-level beginnings and what his father did for a living.

  Absently, he flipped to another page and came to a blond woman who bore a striking resemblance to Grace Kelly. Her name was even Grace. Grace Evans.

  Calum squinted. Wait a second. That was Becca’s sister.

  There was almost no similarity between the sisters. Maybe something in the nose…

  “Are you interested in her?” Eddie asked. “Because she wasn’t one we were thinking of picking, but we can watch the Twitter feed when we introduce her tomorrow and see if she’s worth holding on to.”

  Cal bristled. “I thought the point was for me to choose who I go on the date with.”

  A tall, tanned man with a cheeky smile and a shock of blond curls stepped forward. “Hey, man, I’m Kevyn Khan. That’s Kevyn with a Y.” He extended his hand toward Cal, who took it, though it immediately became clear that this was not a simple handshake. More like a male standoff as Kevyn squeezed as if to crush his fingers.

  “Maybe you’ve seen my channel on YouTube.” Squeeze. “Hate me or Date me?”

  “Nope. Never heard of it.”

  Squeeze, pump, squeeze. “I’ve got like fifteen million subscribers.”

  Cal smiled, squeezing in return. “And, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m the host.” He released Cal’s hand and winked.

  Curling his fist barely kept Cal from punching the guy.

  “Lotta hot babes in that book.” He pointed to the open dossier. “I’d fuck any one of them.” He squinted at the picture of Grace. “Even that one. She reminds me of someone, got that old-school vibe going on. Innocent looking. But I bet she’s wild in bed. Probably likes bondage and shit.”

  Cal stood. He could practically feel his fist flying into Kevyn’s face. “Anything else I need to know? I’d like to unpack, shower, and change.”

  “No. Meet and greet tonight, and the show will kick off tomorrow,” Eddie said.

  Cal made his way back to the villa where he unpacked, showered, and donned some khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt—one that wasn’t stained with drool—before hearing a knock at the door of his villa. A man in his late fifties wearing a white sport coat, fedora, and linen pants stood outside, a golf cart a few feet behind him. It was Jeffrey Reid, the CEO of the resort and the reason why Cal was here.

  “You’re right on time,” Cal said, glancing at his watch.

  “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Price. As one of our newest investors, I wanted to show you what has been done with some of your capital.”

  “Excellent.” Cal shook Jeffrey’s hand. “I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

  He climbed into the golf cart beside Jeffrey, who began the tour by circling the perimeter. The resort was everything the brochures promised it would be. There were flowering tropical plants lining walkways amongst palm trees swaying in the wind. And the place had every amenity vacationers could want. Adult pools, hot tubs, multiple bars, private palapas, massage tents, a spa. “If you’re interested, there are secluded natural hot springs just down this path. Locals have made use of them for years, and I was thinking of creating a private oasis for special clients. Do you want to see it?”

  “Maybe another time.” While he was impressed with the latest upgrades, the reality was that the cost of running a resort was high: employees, upkeep, entertainment, food. The resort business was also too competitive, and profit margins were miniscule. However, prime real estate like this was rare, and building exclusive executive condos was where the real money was. He had all his own contractors lined up, fees would cover maintenance costs, and then he’d partner with some high-end shops and restaurants to provide amenities.

  Cal figured he might keep one or two of the pools, seeing as they’d just been refurbished, but everything else would have to go. He could picture it now, three-story luxury condo units…

  …Becca standing in the open doorway of one of the units, her dress blowing in the breeze, her eyes heavy-lidded as she closed the distance between them, her mouth parted, soft and sweet, moving over his…

  Whoa.

  Where the hell had that thought come from?

  Cal gave his head a shake.

  “Of course, the beach is the best feature, by far. White coral sands, there’s world class snorkeling and diving just off the west promontory, and on the eastern shore we get grade A waves for surfing—”

  “Stop the cart,” Cal said as they drove along the promenade beside the expanse of white sand.

  “Did you want to take a picture?” his host asked.

  “No. I’m going to get out here.” He unfolded himself from the seat and then leaned back into the opening, extending his hand. “Thank you for the tour. I’m very encouraged by what you’ve shown me.”

  “Anytime,” the man said, shaking Cal’s hand enthusiastically. “And, I have to say how very pleased I am to have you here, how excited we are to be hosting this event for Men’s Magazine. It’s good for the resort. And what’s good for the resort is good for your investment, am I right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh, and Mr. Price?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for helping me out with that favor for my friend.”

  Cal had almost forgotten. Before signing the contract with Men’s Magazine for the use of the resort, Jeffrey had insisted that the daughter of his friend be invited to participate in the pageant. It was a simple request, one that was easily granted. Cal couldn’t even remember the name of the contestant. “No problem.”

  “I have a good feeling about everything, Mr. Price. Enjoy your stay, and if there’s anything I can do, anything at all…”

  “I know where to find you.” Cal tapped the hood of the golf cart and stepped back so that the man could drive away. He watched the resort owner’s retreat, feeling nothing. Not even guilt over the fact that once he accumulated the required shares to win the vote at the e
nd of the week, demolition would begin in a matter of months. Maybe even weeks.

  Business was business, and he didn’t get where he was by being sentimental.

  Cal slipped off his shoes and stepped off the boardwalk onto the sand, still warm from the heat of the day. The sun was moving closer to the horizon, and after checking his watch, he saw he had an hour and a half before he had to be in the conference facility for the meet and greet.

  Fucking contest.

  His only regret was agreeing to the charade. But, he would do whatever he had to do to secure his investment.

  With shoes dangling from his fingertips, he walked along the beach, enjoying the breeze and the warm sand between his toes. Maybe he could mix business with a little pleasure on this trip. Maybe he’d run into Becca again.

  He stopped and put a hand to his forehead. A woman approached from the opposite direction, walking in the surf, waves lapping as high as her calves, wetting the bottom of her cotton dress.

  Damn, if it wasn’t the very woman he’d just been thinking about.

  He jogged to meet her.

  “Hey, you,” he said. “You settling in okay?” Were her cheeks pink from the sun or was it him, and why did the thought that he might have caused her to blush give him such pleasure?

  “Yeah. Everything’s great.” She removed her sunglasses. “But what are you doing out here? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for the big meet and greet tonight?”

  He groaned. He hadn’t meant to, it just slipped out, and then he covered it up by bending over to pick up a seashell.

  Once he was upright, he handed it to her. She took it and then nudged him with her shoulder, like a co-conspirator. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” She regarded him, her hand held to her forehead to block the sun. “What I don’t get is why you agreed to do this thing if you don’t want to do it?”

  He glanced down at her. His gaze landed on her mouth. Her lips were parted slightly, and he caught sight of her small pink tongue as she wet her lower lip. Something hot and needy shot up his thighs, causing a tightening in his balls.

  “Did you lose a bet?”

  “Huh?”

  “The contest. This trip. Why are you doing it?”

  “Oh.” Cal shook himself out of whatever fog had invaded his brain….and testicles. “My publicist arranged it. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” That was a lie. His publicist had cautioned him against the whole thing, feeling it opened him up for lawsuits from disgruntled women, but Cal had insisted. The publicity was an added distraction that was necessary to secure the final shares before the shareholder vote at the end of the week.

  Not that he was going to tell this woman any of that. “It’ll be fun,” he said.

  Her single arched brow said she didn’t believe him. Which pleased him, somehow. They walked together in silence, the damp cotton hem of her dress sometimes brushing his lower leg. It wasn’t awkward, it was nice. When she bent to pick up a seashell, he stopped to wait, using the time to check her out. Tiny spaghetti straps were tied at the top of her pale shoulders, where a few freckles were already popping to the surface. The bodice was fitted, and he could see she had a nice figure, athletic, like he’d guessed. Was she wearing a bra? There weren’t any bra straps that he could see.

  Why the hell are you thinking about whether she’s wearing a bra?

  It was the remnants of their banter from the airplane, obviously. She was just an average woman wearing a cute sundress and a big, floppy hat.

  And a gorgeous smile. And…

  “Calum?”

  “Huh?” He lifted his gaze from where his eyes had fixated on the bodice of her dress.

  Becca was standing, looking at him strangely. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you looking at my—”

  The thunderous sound of a surprisingly huge wave crashing against the sand kept her from asking the question. Thank God. Because the answer would have been, yes, he was staring at her chest.

  Chapter Five

  Becca could feel Calum’s eyes on her every time she bent to pick up some shells to add to her growing collection in the pocket of her sundress. But there’d been more to it. She could have sworn he had been checking her out. Her boobs, in particular.

  Normally, a guy staring at her boobs would have irritated her, but Becca wasn’t annoyed. Oh, no. She was experiencing the same symptoms Cal had described on the plane: flushed skin, swollen lips, dilated pupils. Thank God he had no idea about the reaction he caused in her girl parts. Or how unsteady her limbs felt as she bent to pick up another shell.

  Suddenly, the sand shifted beneath her feet as a particularly strong undertow sucked water out to sea. Leaning over as she was, Becca lost her balance with the shifting sands and fell onto her hands and knees. She tried to get back to her feet, but the sand kept shifting beneath her.

  Then she heard the roar of thunder.

  “Holy shit.” Cal grabbed her hand and hoisted her to her feet just as a wall of water struck, chest high, knocking them over so that when the water retreated, Becca was lying beneath Cal, soaked and sputtering.

  She gazed up into his face in wonder for what must have been a millisecond, but in that time, every inch of her was fully aware of every inch of him.

  And every inch of him was erect.

  The realization made her gasp. Cal blinked and then jumped to action, rolling off her, hauling her to her feet, and, before she could ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, lifting her into his arms and making his way to higher ground.

  It happened so quickly, she had no time to protest. In fact, protesting did not occur to her until he set her down on a lounge chair beneath a palapa. For the short duration that he’d carried her, she’d pressed her ear against his chest and had wrapped her arms around his neck. Something she’d never done in her life.

  Maybe because a man had never picked her up and carried her before.

  It was all so…befuddling. The second after he’d set her down, Becca scrambled to her feet and stuck her fists on her hips. “I don’t need you to keep saving me, you know.”

  “I didn’t think, I just—”

  “Dude,” she said, her voice wavering. She hoped it sounded angry. “I know how to swim. I’m not some damsel in distress.”

  “It was a really big wave and…” Cal’s words trailed off as his gaze dropped from her face to her chest. “Well, that answers that question,” he whispered, his voice taking on a whole new quality. Deeper. Rougher. Sensual.

  His gaze dropped lower, and Becca heard him suck in a quick breath, followed by an exhaled, “Jesus.”

  What the…?

  She glanced down at herself and then muttered her own oath to the Almighty. The fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her dress had become glaringly apparent, and Becca crossed her arms over her chest. Had he seen?

  Of course he’d seen.

  He’d probably caught a glimpse of her hot-pink G-string panties, too.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as Cal began unbuttoning his shirt, causing an image of the two of them rolling around naked in the sand to pop into her head.

  He shrugged out of it and held it out to her. “Take my shirt.”

  “I can’t…” She stopped talking because, well, Cal stood before her, bare chested. Gloriously, muscularly, wonderfully bare chested. She was so…hypnotized by the sight, she didn’t notice him draping his shirt over her shoulders until he tugged the collar together.

  “You can bring it back to me later.”

  “No, I…” But she slid her arms inside and pulled the front across her chest. All the while, her gaze was glued to his chest. Holy fuck. The guy was built. Not like a gross, oily-skinned bodybuilder, but like a professional athlete: all sinew and muscle, hard planes defined by lovely valleys.

  She wanted to lick him.

  God, Bec…what a thought!

  She wiped her mouth.

  �
��Are you okay?”

  “I like your tattoo.” She reached for him. It was so weird, as if her hand was possessed, her fingertips twitching with the need to trace the Celtic pattern over his heart. She stopped herself, and her hand fluttered back to the front of the shirt.

  She cleared her throat. “What is it?”

  His eyes were hooded when she met his gaze again. He touched the black ink himself, making her fingers bizarrely jealous.

  “It’s a Celtic knot. It means hard work, strength, wisdom, and endurance.”

  “Oh.” She wet her suddenly dry lips.

  “Do you want to touch?”

  Had he noticed the way she’d reached for him? “No.”

  He took her hands—they were cold and wet, she realized, only because his were warm and strong—and pulled her close. Oh God. Why did his body have to feel so good, and why did it feel as if she fit perfectly against him?

  “Um…Calum, what are you doing?” She should probably push him away, except that now that her hands were on his chest, all she could do was stroke his strong pecs, her fingers discovering the contours of his muscles and tattoo.

  For some reason, he wrapped his arm around her waist and cupped her jaw with his other hand. When she was finally able to draw her attention away from his torso, she realized that he was going to kiss her.

  Oh, shit.

  “Cal? We shouldn’t—”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…”

  He leaned in and covered her mouth with his, sipping the protest from her lips.

  The second it began, she forgot what she was protesting anyway. His lips were as soft as she remembered, but this kiss was different than the moment of insanity in the airplane bathroom. This time he took control, tilting her head to one side so he could kiss her more deeply, tasting her, finding her tongue and playing an introductory game of hide-and-seek. When she moaned into his open mouth, he threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of her head and twisted. His kiss turned fierce in response to…what? Adrenaline?