Kiss and Confess (Love Unscripted Book 1)

by Jane Lynne Daniels

  Not long ago, those words would have set off an explosion of internal fireworks. Now all Charley felt was the halfhearted sputtering of a sparkler.

  All because one guy had broken her heart years ago.

  In her room, Charley picked up the briefing that had been left on the nightstand. Three sections for the big reveal.

  Welcome, What Cast Members Need to Know and Do, and Schedule for Tonight.

  Cast members. She knew this was a TV show. A game show, no less. How could she have expected anything more? Still, a certain percentage of other reality shows’ cast members did end up actually married, didn’t they? Okay, not a big percentage, maybe not even a small percentage, but still… She shook off the thought. Focus.

  She read through the schedule. The couples would meet for drinks and dinner tonight on the house’s rooftop deck, beginning at 7:00 p.m. She was to stay in her room until 6:55, when she would be escorted upstairs.

  The earlier section had mentioned something about clothing. She went back to find and read it, realizing she hadn’t even yet unpacked her suitcases. Wrinkles probably intensified by ten on camera. Not a good look.

  You’ll find suggested attire, including accessories, in your closet, the briefing read. Suggested. Well, if they suggested it, she probably had to wear it.

  Taking a deep breath, she moved to the closet and opened the double doors. Inside, on a padded pink hanger hung a shimmering, short rose-gold bandage dress with tiny cap sleeves. She peered closer at the label. Herve Leger. She’d never worn anything near as expensive as this dress had to be. Working for a nonprofit didn’t pay exorbitant money. Not even mid-orbitant money.

  All of a sudden, the space on the show’s lengthy questionnaire where she’d been asked to put in her measurements didn’t seem nearly as offensive.

  Shoes beneath the dress winked up at her as sunlight streamed through the windows and into the closet. Metallic four-inch stilettos with a tiny ankle strap. Absolutely gorgeous, FM shoes.

  Let go of him. Oh hell no. Drop him on his head and make him squirm.

  At 6:55 p.m., the knock. Trepidation and excitement pooled in her stomach, fighting for dominance. This was it. Time to be escorted up to the rooftop for the all-important meeting with the guy she’d been matched with.

  Please let him be a normal human. No, wait. Let him be an amazing human.

  She might throw up, which would be a shame given the care she’d taken with her hair and makeup, not to mention the perfect fit of this dress, worth every cent of what had to be a considerable price tag. It hugged her in all the right places, even going so far as to create the illusion of far better boobs than she knew she actually possessed. And the shoes, which were surprisingly easy to walk in, made her ankles look small and her legs long.

  She could get used to dressing like this.

  Another knock, this time with a question in it. Charley wrapped her hand around the handle and pulled the door open.

  Luke stood before her, with two other men at his side. The one balancing a large camera on his shoulder peered out from behind the lens, and the guy with the boom mic grinned.

  Luke didn’t say anything. He just stared, his lips parted.

  Charley’s confidence, which had been missing in action for most of the day, roared back with a told-you-so. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said lightly.

  “Uh.” Luke shook his head. “Sorry. You look great.”

  The camera guy nodded his head with enthusiasm. The sound guy murmured his agreement.

  “Thanks.”

  No one said anything else, or moved, for a few seconds. She didn’t know what to say or do, having never lived her life in front of a camera before. After they’d informed her she was a contestant, a crew had come up to Seattle and worked with her for a day, trying to get her used to being filmed. Standing here, she knew what to expect, but it was still weird. Every facial expression, every goose bump, every um, err, and huh captured for all the world to see and hear. Why had she agreed to do this?

  Courage. “Not sure what we’re waiting for. Are you my ride upstairs?” Charley asked, putting one hand on her hip. She hoped Luke was regretting every single second of all the time they’d lost. If only her stomach would settle down and act like a normal person’s stomach on a normal day.

  “Yes.” He stepped aside, avoiding her eyes. “Upstairs.”

  Huh. He still spoke in one-word sentences when flustered. Good to know. The men parted to allow her to move between them. She closed the door and took her time walking down the hallway, knowing full well their eyes were on her ass, which, thanks to the hidden lift aspect of the bandage dress and the zipper line that went all the way down, was worthy of extra attention.

  “I’m looking forward to this,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  “Right. Good.”

  She glanced back at him with a sweet smile. She could find love, or at the very least lasting lust, while wearing a Herve Leger dress. She so could.

  The house had a large mirrored elevator at its center. Everyone was silent on the ride to the rooftop, though Charley could have sworn she felt Luke’s gaze searing into her back. She shivered and her dress caught the overhead lights, sparkling in each mirror. She bent one knee so the FM shoes would be sure to catch the light as well.

  The elevator doors slid open to a narrow hallway directly ahead. This time, the cameraman led the way, filming her as he walked backward toward a door. Luke, hugging the wall next to him to stay out of camera range, silently opened the door for her.

  When she approached it, she deliberately sidled closer to Luke. She brushed against him and she could feel the warm, hard chest beneath his shirt. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He didn’t respond.

  The cameraman lowered his camera and a woman in jeans and a t-shirt appeared directly in front of Charley on the other side of the open door. A rush of cool air caused her to shiver once again, this time because of the chill. “This way.” The woman motioned Charley forward.

  When Charley obeyed, the woman tugged at the dress to hook up a microphone. “Speak,” she instructed.

  “What am I supposed to say?” Charley asked. It was all happening so fast.

  The woman said something into her headset and gave a nod. “You’re good. Go.” She pointed.

  Charley smoothed her dress and did as she’d been told. She went. When she turned the corner of the hallway, the gray walls retreated, giving way to an opening that led to a rooftop deck. What might have once been a relatively ordinary space had been transformed into an array of soft light with flickering candles everywhere, their flames dancing in the night breeze.

  In the center, three separate tables had been set, each with two places, the china white, the silverware gleaming, and the glassware glinting, with a large, low centerpiece of pale pink and white flowers. A rug beneath all of the tables, with shimmers of gold running through it, gave the space a pricey, intimate feel, as though they were in a fine restaurant instead of on a house’s roof deck.

  In one corner a bar was set up complete with a bartender in a black vest and crisp white shirt. Several glasses and various bottles of wine were set out before him. To the right of the bar stood the panel of experts—Bill, the marriage counselor; Dr. K., the sexologist; tiny Ask-me-Anything Addie; and Brooklyn, the psychic—all shuffling their feet as they murmured. They looked nervous, too.

  Uncertainty overtook the confidence she’d felt only a few moments ago. The dress that had seemed so magical could, after all, only do so much. Underneath, she was still Charley Stephens, normal-ass person in an abnormal situation who was looking for love on a reality TV show. Really?

  Her gaze slid over the three men who stood straight and tall on the other side of the bar, their hands clasped in front of them. Why was no one saying anything? Who was she supposed to smile at?

  A thrill shimmying up her spine told her Luke was back by her side. Stop. Don’t even think about him. “We’ll be ready for you in a mi
nute,” he said in a low voice at her ear. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she replied. Or at least that’s what she thought she’d said. It might have come out unintelligible since buzzing had begun in her ears.

  A man in a black suit swept in on her right. His clothes were impeccably tailored and his makeup was even and thick, giving his clean-shaven skin an unnatural perfection. She towered over him by a good four inches. He smiled up at Charley. “Ready?”

  She nodded, hunching her shoulders to try to minimize the height difference, thinking it would be rude to ask who he was.

  The cameraman and sound guy appeared in front of them and lights flashed on. The woman in jeans gave a silent signal to the black-suited man next to Charley. He faced the camera. “Welcome,” he said. “I’m Rob Smiley.”

  She’d heard of Rob Smiley from some TV show; she couldn’t think which one. Might have been one her mother watched a few years back.

  “We’re all set for our first couple to meet each other for the very first time. Will sparks fly? I suspect they will.” He turned to Charley, his hands raised and clasped. “Are you ready, Charley Stephens?”

  His eyes were fixed on her, but his attention wasn’t. She could tell by the way he stared straight through her, likely listening to the earpiece turned away from the camera.

  “I am, Rob.” She was here, wasn’t she? She smiled, hoping she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth. She brought her top lip down over them, just in case, pulling her bottom lip wider to compensate. Her top lip sprang back up, apparently unwilling to cover a possible lipstick faux pas.

  That seemed to get the host’s attention. A quizzical look crossed his face before he regained his smooth expression. With a grand sweep of his hand toward the men, he said, “Marc Renne, please join us.”

  Charley’s pulse stepped up its beat.

  One man stepped away from the group. He had a grin that grew bigger the closer he came, revealing a dimple on each cheek. His face was clean-shaven and long and one lock of his light-brown, wavy hair had broken away to fall across his high forehead. He stood taller than she did by a few inches and radiated a wholesome guy-next-door handsomeness.

  Charley gulped when he reached for her hands with both of his. His skin was warm, his hands steady. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Marc.” There was a hint of nerves in his easy tone, just enough to cause the ones zinging from one spot to another in her rib cage to recognize a possible ally.

  She opened her mouth to reply, painfully aware of Rob Smiley’s expectant gaze and the cameras zeroing in for a close-up of her face. “You’re the answer to a Cosmo who-should-I-marry quiz.”

  Oh no. She had not just said that out loud. It had been meant to stay inside her head where it couldn’t be heard. By anyone. Ever.

  Marc’s forehead crinkled. “I think I should say thank you?”

  She leaned closer. “You’re welcome.”

  He also leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper, their heads barely an inch apart. “You’re beautiful.”

  “You too.” Her whisper matched his.

  “Hey now,” said Rob Smiley with mock laughter as he put a hand between them. “This is TV. You have to let everyone in on what you’re saying or we’ll have to subtitle you.”

  Marc smiled at Charley. Charley smiled at Marc. From somewhere off to her left, she could swear she felt Luke bristle. Good. Let him feel it. Her confidence made a tentative comeback. “Sorry, Rob,” she said. “We’ll speak up.”

  Marc nodded his agreement.

  “Looks as though we’re off to a great start,” Rob enthused with a wink at the camera. “Why don’t you two make your way over to the bar to start getting acquainted?” He motioned toward the corner of the rooftop.

  Marc tugged on Charley’s hand, leading her away. “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” So her perfect match had dimples. And a clean-shaven face. Interesting. She’d always thought she went for whiskers that brushed her skin.

  The panel of experts obviously knew better.

  As Charley and Marc walked toward the bar, one camera ahead of them and the other following—yeah this was still weird—she couldn’t help but steal a glance over her shoulder.

  Luke’s arms were folded across his chest, his expression grim. He said something into the microphone at his mouth, barely moving his lips. Probably some glitch with the show. Screw him. He’d probably barely even noticed that she’d just met the perfect guy for her.

  At the bar, Charley gave both the bartender and Marc what she hoped was a winning smile. She pointed to a bottle of wine. “A glass of that, please.”

  “White over red,” Marc observed. “Good choice. Me too, please.”

  Another inadvertent glance back toward Luke, who had his hand on the small of the other female contestant’s back. Tall, slim, and fine-featured, with toned arms and legs and a tan she couldn’t have gotten in Seattle unless she’d paid for it, the woman scanned the room, her expression all business.

  Charley felt fingers brush hers and looked back to see Marc extending a glass of wine to her. “A toast?” he asked.

  It wouldn’t exactly be a hardship to fall for this good-looking guy with the great smile. “To us,” she said and lifted her glass.

  “To us.” His dimples deepened.

  They clinked glasses and each took a long, slow sip of wine, their eyes meeting over the rims. His were a nice shade of sky blue, not too dark and not too light.

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  “I’m a financial operations analyst for a large aerospace firm.”

  There was only one in Washington. “Boeing.”

  He nodded.

  “Sounds interesting.” It actually sounded like a lot of math, but there did have to be some people in the world who liked working with numbers.

  Rob Smiley’s voice carried toward them. “Brittany Smith,” the host boomed. “Are you ready to meet your perfect match?”

  “I’m ready, Rob.” The super-toned woman tugged at the hem of her form-fitting cobalt blue dress. Charley couldn’t help but note that Brittany’s form was somewhat better than her own. She adjusted the neckline of her dress.

  Brittany’s match began moving toward her even before Rob Smiley called his name. The host scrambled to keep up with the lumbering contestant, a massively muscled man who looked as though the suit he wore had a chokehold on him. “Michael O’Halloran,” announced the host, who looked concerned by the size of the man bearing down on him.

  Charley watched, fascinated. Michael O’Halloran’s brows were pulled into what might well have been a permanent V and the expression on his face was as serious as Brittany’s. Charley half-expected Michael to throw Brittany over his shoulder and Brittany to perform some kind of ninja leap off his back and then slam him to the concrete rooftop.

  It didn’t happen like that, though. Instead, they sized each other up and gravely shook hands. Too bad. A throw down would have been more fun.

  Charley realized that Marc had spoken. She turned back to him. “Sorry?”

  “It’s a lot to take in.” A sweep of his hand encompassed their surroundings.

  “It is.” She nodded.

  “We might be crazy to be doing this.”

  “We most definitely are crazy to be doing this.”

  “So why are you here? Someone like you,” his hand swept from her head to her toes, “has to have every guy you meet claiming to be your perfect match.”

  Awww. He was sweet, this Marc Renne. Her bruised ego needed him. She took another sip of wine and held his gaze. “I could say the same about you.”

  His dimples made another appearance. “Tell me what you do.”

  “I work in marketing and events. For a nonprofit. You might have heard of it. The Second Chance Sanctuary?”

  Marc shook his head, but looked sorry about it.

  “Not doing my job very well, then.” She tried to make light of it, taking another sip of wine, but felt the familiar sting when someone didn’t k
now the organization. It was her responsibility to make sure they did.

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “We help a lot of animals, but mostly dogs. Get them well if they’re sick. Find them homes. Give them a safe, warm place, food and lots of love, if they’re not adopted.”

  “Nice.” He nodded. “Where did you go to school?”

  With the abrupt change in subject, she wasn’t sure how nice he thought her job was. She felt her hackles begin to rise. Some people didn’t know what it felt like to have the trusting, tender hearts of so many animals depending on you.

  But then she could be reading him all wrong. Marc might be as nervous as Charley. She took a deep breath and refocused. “I graduated from Washington State.”

  “Uh-oh.” His eyes crinkled. “Hate to say it, but they might have made a mistake in this matching thing.”

  “You’re not—no way. A…?”

  “Husky,” he finished. “Yes, I am. University of Washington, class of 2007.”

  She sighed. “This can’t be happening.” She lifted a finger toward the host, who was getting ready to introduce the third and last couple, and registered a mock protest in a voice too soft for Rob to hear. “Um, Rob? There’s been an error.”

  “You’re so right,” Marc said. “Clearly it’s not going to work. City guy, country girl.”

  “Who are you calling a country girl?”

  “The one who went to school in Pullman. Surrounded by cows and farms.” His eyes twinkled in a nice way.

  “Says the guy whose school is surrounded by traffic and crime.”

  Marc grimaced, putting his fist over his heart. “You’ve wounded me. We’d better call it off right here, right now.”

  She laughed, pulling his hand away from his chest. “Stop. Did you minor in theater?”

  “Never.” Once again, his nice-guy eyes met hers, this time with a hint of a possible devilish spark. She could like him, she decided. He really did look like the answer to the Cosmo quiz. And that couldn’t be a bad thing.

  Jason, the huge, likable guy she’d met at the Kiss and Confess, now stood next to Rob, dwarfing the host with his size, hands clasped tight in front of him, his dark hair carefully done and his polished black shoes reflecting light from the candles. He looked like a shy, lumbering near-giant in a suit that strained at the seams. His gaze kept going to the one guy still standing and waiting, and then flickering away.