Page 15 of Taking the Heat

Groaning, another memory surfaced. He’d invited me for breakfast and I’d missed it. I needed to find Henry and apologise.

I left the bungalow by the beach stairs, and found a small group of contestants gathering on the sand near the stage. Wardrobe had issued me flat sandals for the day, with white ribbons that crisscrossed their way up my calves and tied off at the knee. They made it easy to walk on the soft sand as I plodded over to the others.

‘Tara! Hullo!’ Henry immediately spun in my direction, his coffee-coloured eyes widening as he took me in. ‘Wow! You look brilliant!’

I felt a blush in my cheeks from his compliment. The fact that it was delivered in such cultured tones only made it more appealing. ‘Thanks! I’m so sorry I missed breakfast. You didn’t wait for me, did you?’

‘Uh … no, no, not at all,’ he said, lying terribly. I felt horrible. I just knew that he’d sat alone at a table, waiting like a gentleman.

‘Well, we’re here now. What kind of madness do you think they have cooked up for our first game?’ I wondered out loud.

‘I have no idea. But if we need a partner, can I be yours?’ Henry rubbed his neck nervously, clearly feeling the pressure of rejection.

Luckily, I had no intention of knocking him back. ‘Sure! I’d love that.’

‘Really? Really! That would be wonderful, just really tops.’

His relief and exuberance made my morning. Where I’m from, sexy Englishmen don’t normally beseech me to partner up. Although, I did get felt up by a drunk backpacker in the city once, but I think he was from Scotland …

We chatted about the weather and our rooms and how we’d slept, while the other contestants picked their way through the soft sand to stand by us. With the tropical sun beating down pleasantly and the ocean crashing behind us, it was starting to feel like a holiday.

Miles stepping up onto the canopied stage ended all that.

‘All right contestants,’ he called, as the camera crews zoomed in. ‘The first keys are up for grabs! Who’s ready to play?’

Chapter 6

My stomach tight, I hid slightly behind Henry as Miles hit us with the rules. ‘Today’s game is all about your tolerance for touch.’

Hmm.I can’t speak for anyone else, but since the laws were explained last night about the ban on physical contact, I’ve never felt more aware of my skin. The second you lose the rights to something, it’s suddenly all you can think about. Which I’m sure is the producers’ intention. I’d been practically groaning in delight as the hair lady brushed my mane this morning, so I wasn’t sure how well I’d do.

‘It’s ladies first,’ Miles went on. ‘Girls, you’ll be seated here on stage,’ he indicated the ten chairs lined up behind him, ‘and all you have to do to win is stay perfectly still. If you move, you’re out, and the last lady left on stage will receive her key.’

That doesn’t sound too bad …

‘Gentlemen! Your job is to get your lady to move. A twitch, a shiver, a gasp or a sigh—if she moves, she’s gone. You’ll each pick a victim, I mean girl, and you’ve got thirty seconds. If she hasn’t moved by then, let someone else try.

‘The question is, gentlemen, how good are you with your hands? You can do anything you want to get them to move.’

Sexual energy zoomed around the group. ‘What do you mean, anything?’ asked an Italian competitor, his sensuous accent making even the most mundane sentence sound like an invitation to jump into bed.

‘You may touch your lady in any way you wish. There is only one exception: you can’t touch anything covered by a swimsuit.’

Several men groaned, and someone yelled, ‘Oh, come on! That’s where all the fun bits are!’

People laughed and Miles chortled along. ‘Well, you’ll just have to prove you have greater tactile talents than simply reaching for the big three.’ Mile squeezed his own chest, then grabbed his crotch. More giggles erupted.

I wasn’t laughing; I was trembling. I’m such a sucker for being touched. I swear, my neck has more nerves in it than a giraffe’s. One finger along my collarbone and I’ll practically faint. And don’t even get me started on the little spot behind my ear …How am I going to do this?

I searched for something to focus on, something that would remind my body that although I hadn’t had sex in months and I adore being caressed, I was there for a greater purpose.

Without warning, my sister swam into my thoughts. I saw her clearly, on the worst night of my life—the night of her accident.

Ella was so beautiful that evening. We’d both dressed up for our cousin’s 21st; I was in a pink maxi dress, and Ella was stunning in yellow. There are photos of the party I can’t bring myself to look at—the two of us like colourful flowers, dancing, laughing, happy.

About midnight Ella sat down, rubbing her feet. ‘Hey, sis! Are you ready to go?’

I would give my life to change what I said next.

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