Page 8 of Taking the Heat

My hand was still being held. I turned to look at Henry for the first time, and I was not disappointed. His sandy hair fell in a straight line over his forehead and lined his glorious brown eyes. He was the perfect height for me, just a little taller than I was in my heels, and lean muscles roped along underneath his crisp white shirt and red suit vest.

He grinned, revealing a large white smile. ’Hi!’ he yelled over the music.

‘Hey!’

Our hands were still connected and he tugged on me gently, drawing me closer to him. And as I allowed myself to move towards him, another voice rang out from behind me.

‘Tara!’

Turning towards the familiar voice, I felt that same hot prickle running down my spine. Before I even saw him, I was expecting him.

Douche-face, aka Chris, stood there, dressed all in black. Smouldering and sexy as ever, his face was a dark cloud as he studied my hand, held safely by Henry.

‘Dance with me,’ he said. The words weren’t a question.

‘No,’ I replied, not sure if I meant it. Caught in his intense gaze, I felt pinned, owned. I hated the way my treacherous body responded to him, the hairs lifting off my arms and my nipples springing into a firm state.

‘One dance.’ Chris extended his hands to me and I looked back helplessly at Henry.

With the room full of crazy-hot people, I knew there was no way to bind the blond Englishman to me, but I had to try. ‘Please, don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.’

To my surprise, he squeezed my fingers reassuringly. ‘I’ll get you a drink. Come find me soon.’

The second Henry release my hand, Chris grabbed my wrist and pulled me backwards. Gasping and stumbling again, I fell into him.

‘Jesus! Do you freakingmind?’

He grinned darkly. ‘No. Not all.’ He rocked me in time to the beat, holding me close to his chest. Through his black silk shirt, I caught the scent of his skin and breathed him in, hopelessly addicted to whatever pheromone he was giving off, even if my mind recognised what a total dick he was.

‘I can’t believe you got on the show. Out of everyone in the whole of Australia, they pick you.’ Pulling my hand from his grasp, I slapped him on the pec lightly.

His hands slid easily around to my hips and I shivered as he traced the string of my bikini. ‘I’m here because I have a great story.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ I spread my fingers wide across the material of his shirt, right above where his nipples lay. I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to slide my fingertips up and under that shirt, explore every inch of him with my bare, sensitive pads.

I looked up into his face, and immediately realised my mistake. His blue eyes, the colour of shallow clear seas, drew me in. I swam in their depths, sucked into him. Chris leaned forward until his forehead rested on mine, our breath mixing: mine almost a pant, his deep and steady.

He lifted his hand and placed a thumb possessively on my lip. I closed my mouth slightly, nearly kissing his digit, but not quite. The room had fallen away; there was him and me, and the rest was just background noise.

Swaying, connected with Chris like that, I felt my misgivings melt away. Maybe I had misjudged him. I couldn’t fight chemistry like this. I felt it and, clearly, so did he. If this show was all about sex, the viewers were about to get a spectacle, because I was ready to let Chris pick me up, throw me down and claim me.

‘So, tell me then; what’s your story?’ I asked, my voice a horse murmur.

His next sentence ended my little fantasy. With his burning pale eyes, he said, ‘I’m here for my prize.’

My body froze. Where only seconds before I’d been willing and pliant, now I’d shut down. Pulling away, I glared at him. ‘Of course you are. Well, you and me both.’

He looked confused as I pulled away. ‘Tara … what …?’

‘Do me favour, okay? Just don’t get in the way of what I came here for. I have a story too.’

Annoyed that, for asecond,I’d believed he was here for a reason beyond the million bucks, I turned. Finally steady on my slender heels, I stalked off.

‘Tara, wait!’

‘All the best to you, Douche-face,’ I muttered. At that moment, I lifted my face to search for Henry, hoping desperately that he hadn’t been claimed by one of the other ladies, and was confronted with a roving camera crew.

Pulling up short, I just managed to avoid crashing into the gigantic lens. The guy behind the camera gave me a thumbs up, and as I eased around him, he tracked me.

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