Bachelor Games (Tropical Temptation)

by St. Denis, Daire

  Kevyn—with a Y—Khan was pacing and talking into one of those headset microphones, looking like a douche.

  “You ready?” Eddie asked Cal from below the stage. “You’ve got everything you need?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve got the tablet with the contestants who will be moving on?”

  “Yes. It’s on the table there.”

  “You’ve prepared your lines.”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course,” Eddie repeated. “Okay. This is it. It’s all live, so let’s keep it lively, people.” Half turning, he spoke into his own headset, instructing the contestant handler to inform the women they needed to be ready to “strut their stuff” in five minutes.

  There was an unsettled sensation in Cal’s stomach. It wasn’t nerves. It was something else. While the idea of this whole sham looked good on paper, now that he was actually here and it was all about to begin? All he longed for was his penthouse in Manhattan, for the rooftop patio where he and his bull mastiff, Duke, liked to hang out, him drinking Scotch, Duke curled up by his feet…

  And Becca Evans.

  God. Last night had been a fucking revelation. He’d had some pretty fantastic sex in the past, but what had happened between him and Becca…? That was something else. Something he couldn’t even name. And when he’d woken up and she’d been gone, for the first time in his life, he’d been disappointed.

  “Okay, we’re ready to go live in ten, nine, eight…”

  Cal tucked the memories from last night away in another compartment in his brain. He needed to focus as Kevyn kicked off the contest.

  “…and all of this: this incredible resort, these stunning women, are all here because of one man. One very eligible man. Mr. Calum Price!”

  Calum stood up and waved to the accompaniment of cheers both from the crowd and—he was pretty sure—from some canned source. Shortly after he sat down, the swimsuit portion of the day began, and gorgeous, leggy women paraded toward him along a runway, stopping in front of the platform on which he sat, wearing nothing but barely there bikinis while their introductions were broadcast on a jumbotron screen behind where Cal sat.

  Cal couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that enjoyed the show. Thoroughly.

  He was a man, first and foremost.

  However, the over-the-top antics of the women—encouraged by the organizers—became tiring very quickly. Women bending over and wagging their asses at him when their names were announced. French kissing their own hands, touching themselves, doing sexy little swivels with their hips. Until…

  “I’m Grace Evans, from Madison, Wisconsin. I love fashion, old movies, and trying new things in the kitchen…”

  Becca’s sister walked up the runway, wearing an elegant red-and-black one-piece bathing suit. As far as coverage went, it was on the high end of the scale, where the low end was nipple tassels and G-strings. She moved gracefully, with perfect posture and her head held high. She didn’t smile that too-wide, fake smile like so many of the other girls did. Hers was soft. Almost shy. Her shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back on one side again by the same red, tropical flower—good branding—and seeing her walk toward him set off fireworks in his gut. Not because of who she was, but because of who she reminded him of. Though there was very little physical resemblance between the sisters. While Grace was beautiful, Becca actually exuded more sex appeal.

  When Grace stopped in front of him, she did not do anything lewd or crude, and instead of blowing him a kiss, she waved. A simple, friendly gesture that had him waving back.

  Twenty minutes later, Kevyn Khan joined him on the podium and instructed all the girls to line up along the walkway.

  “Thank you all for that amazing show. And thank you for coming to the Playground of Paradise Bay Resort and for entering the Miss Temptation Pageant. You are all beautiful women, and Mr. Price would be honored to go on a date with any one of you. So, without further ado, here’s a word from the man himself, Mr. Calum Price!”

  One of the organizers appeared with a live microphone and handed it to Cal, who turned to face the women.

  He blinked. This was all so strange. None of these women knew him, and if they did know who he really was and where he came from, would they still be interested?

  Cal highly doubted it.

  Cynical?

  Maybe.

  Accurate?

  Absolutely.

  …

  Becca sat at the desk in the villa, her computer setup showing the live feed from the Men’s Magazine channel and her cell phone showing the images that were recording from Grace’s flower.

  “Smile with your eyes, keep your mouth closed,” she instructed Grace. “The key is to always set yourself apart.”

  Thank God Grace was listening this time.

  No more embarrassing comments on the state of Becca’s sex life.

  The contest feed zoomed in on Cal’s face, and Becca’s whole body broke out in a sweat. She still couldn’t believe what had happened last night, couldn’t believe that the man on stage had been between her thighs, making her come three times.

  Jesus H. Christ.

  She pressed her thighs together to quell the lingering tremors.

  All day long, she’d been replaying snippets from the evening, which made it incredibly hard to concentrate on her sister as her eyes continually strayed to Cal.

  That man did things to me that are probably still illegal in some states.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. I want to thank all of you for being here. For wanting to go on a date with me.” He paused as he waited for the cheers and excitement to die down. “And for just being your beautiful selves.”

  Something hot and spiky jabbed the inside of Becca’s gut.

  “It was a one-time thing, Becca. You can’t possibly expect anything more,” she muttered to herself.

  “Did you say something?” Grace whispered in response.

  Shit. She had to do a better job of keeping her internal monologue inside, particularly given that Grace was listening.

  “While I wish I could get to know each and every one of you, one week is not enough time to get to know fifty women,” Cal continued. “So…we are going ahead with the first round of eliminations…right now.”

  Becca leaned forward. There was a gasp of shock and murmurs of disappointment from the contestants.

  “On my tablet are the names of twenty-four women. These are the women who received the most votes via the live feed on the bathing suit portion of the competition. For those who are eliminated today, I am sorry that your time in the competition has been cut short. However, to thank you for participating, each of you will receive a gift bag courtesy of our sponsor, Men’s Magazine, which includes…”

  He listed the contents of the gift bag, but Becca wasn’t listening. “Eliminations already,” she muttered. “Did they tell you about this?”

  “No,” Grace whispered in reply. “I had no idea.”

  “Grace, honey. Don’t speak, remember?” Becca instructed. It didn’t matter how many times they’d done this, Grace always needed to be reminded.

  “Okay, but then don’t ask me questions,” she said under her breath.

  “It was rhetorical.”

  “What?”

  “Shh.” She had to think. And pace.

  Okay, Grace had a 50-percent chance of moving on in the competition. Not bad odds.

  But not great ones, either.

  She had to get down there.

  “I know you don’t want to be left in suspense for long, so let’s get started. If I call your name, please step forward. You will be moving on to the next round of the competition.”

  Grabbing her beach bag, Becca hurried from the room, her flip-flops thwacking the bottoms of her bare feet as she ran down the path toward the event location beside the main pool. The names of the contestants who would be continuing in the pageant could be heard through her earpiece, but as she neared the event stage, she could also hear t
he names over the loudspeaker.

  “Gabby Albright.”

  “Tiffany Funk.”

  “Margo Miller.”

  Twenty names had been called. No Grace. With each ballot that was drawn, the probability of Grace being chosen decreased exponentially. She was now at four out of thirty. That was only a 13.333-percent chance of being chosen.

  Shit.

  Pushing her way to the front where the barrier separated the spectators from the contestants, Becca elbowed her way along the line to be as close to Grace as she could get. Which just happened to be in Calum’s line of sight. Except he wasn’t looking her way.

  Grace Evans, Grace Evans, Grace Evans…she chanted in her head.

  “Number twenty-three…” Bongo drums.

  “Kaitlyn Jones.”

  The probability that Grace’s name would be drawn was now less than four percent. Shit.

  “And finally, number twenty-four…” More drums, even louder this time.

  Calum swiped the tablet. He read it, hesitated, and then lifted his gaze. “The final contestant to move on in the pageant is…” Somehow their eyes met and without skipping a beat, Cal said, “Grace Evans. Please step forward.”

  Was that a wink?

  It didn’t matter. He’d chosen Grace.

  “Oh, thank God,” Grace’s voice was in her ear.

  Becca couldn’t tell if she’d said anything else because Kevyn’s booming voice came over the sound system. “Thank you to all our contestants. Would those who were not chosen please follow Marta—she’s waving right there—where you’ll be presented with your gift bags and treated to an amazing afternoon at the spa.”

  There was grumbling in the ranks of women who were directed toward the event tent by not only Marta but a bevy of muscular men all wearing tight black T-shirts and headsets. Once they had exited, Kevyn came back on. “Congratulations to those remaining in the contest.” He flipped his hair and flashed a toothy smile. “As you know, this contest is live, and we’re all about taking it to the next level.” Kevyn walked amongst the women, and Becca’s anxiety over Grace not being chosen sprouted into something sour as she watched the jerk swagger past. She should lower her gaze, but she couldn’t help herself. She stared at him, wishing she had telekinetic powers that would create the daggers she was imagining.

  “So, who wants to go to the next level with me?” He stopped beside a tall brunette. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Margo Miller.”

  “Do you want to go to the next level with me, Margo?”

  “Oh, yeah. Though I’d prefer going there with Mr. Price.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, Margo.” Kevyn feigned injury and then turned toward the stage, pointing at Cal. “But Mr. Price is the man of the hour. What do you say, Cal? Should we take it to the next level?”

  Becca rolled her eyes and muttered, “My God, he is the biggest turd in the world.”

  “Yep.” Came Grace’s reply.

  “Shh.”

  “Sorry.”

  Becca sighed, reminding herself that Grace simply couldn’t help herself.

  “Who else wants to take it to the next level?” Kevyn shouted.

  There were murmurs of assent from the contestants remaining.

  “Louder, ladies.” He pumped his arms, as if that would pump up the volume. Kevyn turned the mouthpiece of his microphone toward the crowd, who shouted and whistled.

  Becca cringed.

  “Okay, follow me, and I’ll lead you to your next surprise. The first real competition of the week.”

  The crowd followed Kevyn along a path that took them to the beach, where a pit had been dug in the sand and filled with mud. Becca wasn’t able to follow because of the barricade, but it was all shown live on the jumbotron screen.

  Once everyone had congregated in the new location, including Cal, Kevyn continued his over-exuberant spiel.

  “For the second half of today’s competition, the twenty-four remaining contestants will be paired off…” He paused dramatically just as a bunch of mini-fireworks went off on the outer edges of the beach. “For a mud-wrestling competition!”

  The crowd went wild.

  Becca’s heart sank, and deep inside of her head, she heard Grace’s soft voice saying, “Becca, I can’t.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cal had only been told about the mud wrestling last night, and his concern that the event was demeaning was overturned after the completion of the first few matches. While beautiful and poised in heels, the women transformed in the ring.

  They became wild. Vicious. Cutthroat.

  There seemed to be no rules, and the contestants embraced that fact by pulling hair, pushing, tripping, rubbing mud in their opponents’ faces, all while being encouraged by Kevyn as he commentated on the spectacle.

  “Ouch, Cindy isn’t so sweet, after all. You go, girl! That was quite a takedown!”

  The bell sounded, bringing the tenth bout to an end, and Cal declared the winner—Cindy Lowrie—after which the contestants were escorted in opposite directions to shower off.

  The losers were escorted to the spa to join the other women who’d been eliminated that day, while the winners were told to return to their villas to change for dinner with Cal that night.

  To say Men’s Magazine was pushing the boundaries with this contest was an understatement, but then, Cal wasn’t big into watching reality TV. Eddie, the producer, had informed him that the live feed, the unexpected turn of events, the cutthroat competitions were all about snagging viewers and increasing Men’s Magazine’s online subscription.

  As a businessman, Cal had to admit it was a clever marketing strategy.

  As a heterosexual male, his libido enjoyed the show, albeit involuntarily.

  As a man who had been brought up by a loving woman who had drilled it into his head to respect women, he had a huge fucking problem with it.

  “Just so you know,” Eddie said, patting Cal’s shoulder, “we have almost two million viewers watching this live. You’re a fucking hit, man.”

  “Awesome,” Cal said with no enthusiasm.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re already onto the final match of the day. Have you been enjoying the show?”

  A roar erupted from the crowd.

  Kevyn held up a hand to silence them. “Okay. Let’s get on with it, then. In the pink bikini, we have Kaitlyn Jones. Her challenger, in the black-and-red bathing suit, is Grace Evans. Are you ready, ladies?”

  Cal leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands pressed together beneath his chin. How would Becca’s sister fare in the ring? She appeared as poised as ever, though her eyes kept darting to one side. Cal turned his head to find Becca there, leaning against the roped partition, her lips moving as if talking to herself.

  “Ready? Here we go!”

  A bell sounded, and the tall dark-haired woman, Kaitlyn, circled Grace who stood completely still in the center of the ring, watching Kaitlyn warily. So, when Kaitlyn launched herself at the other woman, wrapping her arms around Grace’s waist, Grace simply bent her knees and stood there, taking it until Kaitlyn ended up slipping and falling. She growled and got up, charging Grace from the side. Grace did nothing more than step out of the way, causing Kaitlyn to fly past, lose her balance, and skid halfway across the muddy ring on her stomach.

  “You bitch!” Kaitlyn shouted, righting herself and picking up a handful of mud which she slung at Grace, who simply stood there, allowing the missile to strike the center of her chest. The mud slid down her cleavage, leaving a slug-like streak in its wake.

  “One minute remaining,” Kevyn called.

  With an Amazonian howl, the dark-haired woman charged, jumping on Grace’s back, wrapping her arms and legs around Grace’s body, doing her best to topple the immovable woman. At first Cal thought Grace might be able to withstand the banshee clawing at her back, but the slippery footing was too much, and Grace wobbled just as Kaitlyn pulled her hair. The rest happened in slow motion—Grace’
s arms circled like a cartoon character as she lost her balance, falling backwards. Right on top of Kaitlyn.

  The bell sounded.

  The match was over.

  Grace climbed to her feet and extended a hand to the mud-covered Kaitlyn, who took it only so she could haul her back down into the mud. Or at least, that’s what she attempted to do, but her hand was too slippery and the force she exerted backfired, so that she landed on her ass with a magnificent splat.

  “The winner of this round is Grace Evans,” Cal said. “Interesting technique, Grace.”

  She shrugged up at him, with that same demure smile lighting her features. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  The crowd went wild at that statement, and even over the raucous din, Cal was sure he heard Becca whoop in excitement.

  “My God,” Eddie said softly in his ear. “She’s a natural and a crowd favorite. Good call keeping her. Now that we’re at twelve, she’ll be here until the end.”

  So much for the contract terms demanding he treat all women fairly and equitably.

  …

  “Great job,” Becca whispered excitedly into the phone, making sure there was no one close enough to hear her. “You were amazing in there. Thanks for keeping the micro bud and flower out of the mud.”

  “I didn’t want to fight anyway,” Grace whispered in reply, the sound of the outdoor shower making her hard to hear.

  “That last line was perfect,” Becca added.

  “Thanks to you.” The running water stopped, and Becca overheard an event coordinator informing Grace she could go change for dinner on the beach.

  “Don’t change,” Becca said quickly.

  “What?” Grace whispered. “I’m all wet.”

  The woman thought Grace was speaking to her, and Becca heard her saying, “Here’s a robe you can wear back to your room.” From where Becca stood, she could see the woman handing Grace a terrycloth robe.

  “Listen to me. Your hair looks good wet, and your makeup is fine. If you go now, you’ll be the last to return and will end up sitting farthest away from Calum. Just wear the robe the resort gave you and go find him. The one-on-one time you’ll get will be worth it.”