A smile spread across her face. “Is he as yummy looking in person?” She squirted something onto a brush and started working it into my cheeks.

  I couldn’t lie to my friend. “Yummier.”

  She dotted something pearly under my eyes. “God, what I wouldn’t give for your cheekbones,” she muttered, working the goo in with her pinky finger. “Did he say anything to you?”

  “He asked my name and thought I was a contestant.”

  Juliette whistled. “See, how many times have I told you this week that you’re prettier than every woman they’ve chosen.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Pretty doesn’t matter. Boobs matter, and of those, I have none.”

  She brought out an egg-shaped sponge and started blending things together. “You have a killer body. Just because you don’t look like a bimbo… it’s a good thing.”

  I remembered Ryan’s mother thinking differently, saying that if I’d been “woman enough” I could have turned her son straight.

  “Don’t frown,” Juliette admonished. “You’ll have wrinkles before you’re twenty-five if you keep this up.”

  I forced my face back into a neutral expression before she had a stroke. “Anyway, we met for all of a couple minutes. I, um, left and now here I am, getting all glammed before bedtime.”

  Juliette narrowed her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Spill.”

  I sighed. The woman missed nothing. “Well, I was about to dive into the pool when Mr. Hamilton knocked over a trashcan, scaring me to death.”

  “And…?” She brought out a brush nearly as big as my face, working powder into my skin before switching to a slightly smaller brush, sweeping some bronzer across my forehead.

  “Okay, okay. I face-planted into the pool.”

  She laughed, a soft musical sound that always made me laugh too. “Then…?”

  “I got out, and he handed me a towel, we chatted a few minutes.”

  She blew out a breath, grabbing up another smaller brush. “Am I going to have to pull each detail out of you?”

  “And he almost kissed me,” I blurted, and all brushing stopped.

  “Are you serious?” Her grin was nearly a mile wide. “What do you mean almost? Like he missed and landed one on your ear or something?”

  “No. He was just standing really close, and he asked if he could kiss me as his face was coming down toward my face…” I bit my lower lip, remembering the heat that had emanated between us as his lips sought mine.

  Juliette planted her fists on her hips and stomped a foot. “Then what?”

  Dare I say it?

  “I pushed him into the pool.” My voice was squeakier than I would have liked.

  She gaped. “You did what?”

  I mimicked a push and a splash with my hands, unable to say the words again. “Ka-sploosh,” I finished lamely.

  Juliette slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh dear.”

  The reaction made me bark out a little laugh. “And before you can ask, I jetted. Ta-da. That’s why I showed up barefoot and wet.”

  Juliette still looked stricken. “Emery…”

  I sighed. “I know. I’m probably fired, so you better finish practicing your technique before they toss me out on my ear.”

  Juliette straightened. “Maybe not. After all, if he was trying to kiss you and you ended up getting the best of him, he probably doesn’t want to shout it from the rooftop. You weigh, what, a hundred pounds soaking wet?”

  “One oh six, thank you very much.” I was proud of my muscle.

  “Did you even come up to his elbow? He looks tall, from what I can tell.”

  I lifted my chin, but for some reason, I wasn’t insulted when Juliette cracked jokes about my size. “I was eye to eye with his armpit, if you must know.”

  She bobbed her eyebrows. “Was it sexy?”

  I scoffed but something low in my belly twisted. “His armpit? It was a man’s hairy armpit, not exactly an erogenous zone, ya know.” Or maybe it was, considering how my body was responding right now. What I remembered the most was the scent of him. Something spicy with a mix of citrus, the tang of liquor on his breath.

  Juliette sighed and went back to work on my face, using yet another brush to apply something that looked way too dark for my complexion. “I bet he’s amazing in bed. An older man like that would know what he’s doing. Take his time. Not like these rutting twentysomethings who know only one speed… jackhammer fast.”

  I laughed at the image.

  Juliette lifted my chin, turning my face to look at one side and then the other. Her eyes went serious. “So, what are you going to do tomorrow morning?”

  I met her gaze, her brown eyes filled with sympathy and concern, and lifted a shoulder. “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. Lay low, try not to catch his attention.”

  “Well, if he gets you fired, that means he’s a royal ass, and I’ll find a way to put pepper in his blotting powder.”

  I batted my eyelashes at her. “That is a true friend.”

  She still looked worried. “I’m serious. I really don’t want you to be in trouble. This place would suck without you.” She grabbed one of her giant mirrors and turned it so I could see her artwork.

  I stared at my reflection. “Wow. I don’t even look like me.”

  She smiled and sat beside me on the bed. “You say that every time I do your face.”

  “Because every time you do my face, it’s true.”

  “Tomorrow, I’ll do something more natural. It’s the first day of shoots, and you deserve a little sprucing up.”

  I shot her a mock offended look. “You mean my chapstick isn’t natural enough?”

  She elbowed me. “You know what I mean. Sometimes it’s fun to be pampered.” She examined my fingernails. “When’s the last time you had a manicure?” She looked at my gnarly feet. “Or a pedicure?” She stood and unwrapped the towel from my head, causing my damp hair to fall around my shoulders. “Or a deep conditioning.”

  Since Ryan.

  I wiggled my toes and gathered my hair, combing the long strands with my fingers, forcing the grief away. “It’s been a while, clearly, but it’s cold outside so who’s even going to see my feet?”

  “Rhett Hamilton for one, or wasn’t he looking at your toes?”

  Was he? Had he paid attention to the chipped polish or the bunion that was beginning to form on my right foot from running so much?

  “Let’s have a girl night. Mani-pedis for us both.”

  My face grew warm. I’d never had a girl night before.

  Certainly not in my hometown, and not at West Virginia State either. The girls there were much nicer, but I’d never gotten to know any of them very well. Ryan was two years older than me, but only one academic grade ahead because of how our birthdays fell. He’d received a football scholarship at WVS, and I applied and was accepted the following year. I’d worked my ass off to make a thirty on the ACT, wanting to make my way through school on academics and not the “poor” kid scholarships I could have gotten. It might have seemed silly and unnecessary, but I really wanted to earn the money I received.

  While our scholarships paid for tuition, books, and housing, there wasn’t anything left over for fun stuff like movies or the occasional fast food meal. So I’d gotten a part-time job, with all that money going toward little splurges. Ryan had laughed, telling me he liked being a “kept man” but I was happy to be useful in some little way. It had worked out well for us both, but between classes and studying, then working twenty-five hours a week, it hadn’t left time for me to build any relationships outside of Ryan and his friends.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Realizing I’d been pulled into the past, I smiled over at Juliette, who was digging out a huge container of conditioner from a bag. “Nothing. Manis and pedis sound like fun. You sure you aren’t too tired?”

  She snorted. “I’m too wired to sleep, so this will be great.” She bounced over to the closet and pulled out a plastic box, opening it to expose at least twenty bottles of various colors of polish. “Choose your color while I do this.” Her face was glowing as she grinned and shook the conditioner.

  The tiny bottles blurred, and I blinked hard to clear my vision as Juliette got on the bed behind me, working the rich conditioner through my long strands. I closed my eyes as she combed it through, the movements of her efficient hands soothing.

  And for the next hour, we filed and painted, told stories, and laughed. I secured the memory of my very first girl night deep into my brain.

  Later, as I washed the conditioner from my hair and the makeup off my face, I thought about Rhett Hamilton and hoped this night wouldn’t be my last here.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rhett

  “Action.”

  Everyone in the entire area held their breath as the first scene unfolded. The host of the show, popular talk show host, Phil Harris, showed his pearly whites as he explained the show’s purpose and the rules.

  I looked around, barely recognizing my own home. Equipment was everywhere. People too. As I stood in a secluded corner waiting to be introduced, I scanned the faces, looking for just one, frowning when I couldn’t find her.

  There had been a great deal of discussion as to where to hold the main elimination part of the show. The living room in the house could have worked fine. There was natural light from the floor to ceiling windows, and enough space that a hundred people could have had plenty of room to walk around. But Mitch O’Dell, the director, was set on holding this part outside.

  I didn’t blame him.

  Overlooking the water and expansive lawns of the twenty-three-acre estate, the view was spectacular, even at this time of year and hour of the day. Fire pits flamed around the circular outdoor living area, creating a romantic setting. Out of camera view, tall outdoor heaters would keep the scantily-dressed contestants warm. Even though it was a cool, early December day, it was toasty warm where I stood. Almost too warm. I was starting to sweat.

  “Nine contestants will vie for the heart of this season’s biggest catch right here in his home…”

  Phil paused. In postediting, I knew they’d insert video of the house and daytime views of the estate and water, taking up at least a few minutes of screen time.

  “Our bachelor was thrust into the spotlight when his team, the New York Beasts, won the World Series this season. Before that, he quietly ran his businesses, accumulating a fortune from bettering lives. The holder of over six hundred patents, you’ve probably touched or been touched by one of his designs. From kitchen gadgets to state of the art medical equipment to online software, our biggest catch considers himself a nerd at heart, a recluse who’d prefer to tinker in his workshop than attend a gala.”

  Dammit. I hated this.

  The waiting was agony as Phil went on and on about shit that made no difference to me, stopping and starting as O’Dell called “cut” several times in order to change the lighting or because Phil had flubbed a line. This was the hardest part about shooting any type of show. A minute of what a viewer would eventually see could take up to a couple hours to actually film.

  I pulled on the too tight collar of my shirt before straightening the tie, finger-checking the knot. I ran a hand over my forehead and wondered if the cute, bubbly blonde would soon assault me with more blotting powder or if the lead makeup artist would continue to insist that she be the only one who touched me.

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t know why a little sheen of sweat was so bad. Any human in their right mind would be sweating bullets right now too.

  My attention was brought back to Phil when he mentioned it was time to introduce the contestants. The scene was cut as cameras were moved to capture each woman as she came out of the pool house.

  “Nervous?”

  I didn’t even need to glance behind me to know it was Dillon. I grunted in response but took the small flask he handed me, raising it to my lips. “Thanks. Keep that close.”

  “Now don’t you get drunk, Rhett Spencer Hamilton,” Nana Steele said, tugging my arm. I fired a sharp glance at Dillon, who gave me a you try to keep her away look, then surrendered the flask to the palm she held out.

  “This is so exciting,” Nana exclaimed in a loud whisper as she stuffed the alcohol in a bedazzled fanny pack sitting low on her hips. Chanel No. 5 wafted around her, and I found the scent as overwhelming yet comforting as the woman herself.

  When the director called, “three minutes to action,” Dillon muttered, “Time to meet your future wife.”

  I ignored him and willed my skin not to break out in hives at the thought.

  As people scurried around my yard, my gaze didn’t focus on the pool house but continued to scan the crew, searching for my little Cinderella. I smiled for the first time that day. I had a shoe to return.

  The smile faded when I still didn’t see her, but then there she was. The pool house door opened, and a small figure darted out. Dressed in black leggings and a bulky sweater that drowned her to mid-thigh, she had a ball cap pulled low on her forehead. I would have missed her if not for the long braid whipping out behind her.

  Emery Lillian Rose.

  My cock pulsed even as I thought the name, just as it had pulsed in my hand last night as I masturbated to her memory. In the fantasy, she hadn’t run from the gym. Instead, she had joined me in the pool, crying out my name as I plunged my fingers into her tight little body.

  I’d punished her too.

  Punished her for pushing me in the water, for being such a naughty girl. For even thinking about running from me.

  In my fantasy, I’d stripped off those little workout shorts before sitting her on the side of the pool where I’d used my fingers and tongue to push her to the edge of climax. But I wouldn’t let her come, no matter how much she begged, no matter how much I wanted to watch her face as she exploded.

  With my fingers and tongue worshipping her, I’d pushed her to the edge but refused to let her go any further. She’d been crying, begging for release by the time I pulled her back into the water.

  Instead of giving her what she wanted, I’d taken her tight nipple between my teeth. Her breasts were small, something I wasn’t normally attracted to, but hers were perfect, and more than that, so very responsive. As I’d scraped my teeth over the sensitive flesh before pulling the nipple deep into my mouth, she wailed, nearly coming just by those actions, her fingers digging into my shoulders and scalp as I pleased her.

  “Not yet, Emery Rose,” I’d whispered as I lifted her, almost weightless in the water, until our bodies were nearly connected. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes had opened, the pupils blown from passion, as I slid into her wet heat. She was so little I almost feared I’d break her open, but her body stretched for me, allowing me in.

  When she was fully seated, I dug my fingers into her hips, lifting her up and down on my cock as the water churned around us.

  In my fantasy, she’d been so sweet, our mouths connecting as hungrily as our bodies. Even after I’d shot long jets of cum down the shower drain, I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind.

  And here she was, just as beautiful and elusive as she’d been last night, even with the baggy clothes and face-hiding ball cap.

  I grinned.

  She couldn’t hide from me.

  Intent on her task, she marched across the lawn, several long, sequined gowns tossed over her arm. She stopped in front of a long rack of clothes just inside a trailer.

  Was that her role in all this? Working in the costume department? From the way she hung each dress precisely, it was as good a guess as any.

  When someone yelled, “Coffee,” her head whipped around, and she jumped from the trailer, scooting to the service area that had been set up with refreshments of various kinds. She went straight to the coffee pot but paused to scan a list with her finger, stopping at a name I couldn’t see at the top. As I watched, she dumped two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream into an insulated mug before filling it to the brim, giving it a quick swirl with a spoon then pressing a lid on top.

  She carried it over to someone who was staring at a screen. The man took it from her without a glance or a thank you, which pissed me off right away. I chuckled when the guy lifted it to his lips, cursing when he burned his mouth.

  “Dammit,” the man shouted at her. “Why didn’t you tell me it was hot?”

  Her eyes were huge, but she lifted her chin, the small gesture of defiance attractive. “Uh, because it’s coffee, which for all intents and purposes equals hot.”

  I chuckled as she hurried away. “What’s so funny?” Dillon asked. He’d apparently followed my sight line, because he added, “Her?”

  “Who?” Nana asked, rising onto tiptoes to see who Dillon was talking about. She grabbed my hand to steady herself, the same hand I’d jacked off with last night, and I nearly groaned.

  I stayed silent, not ready to talk about little Emery Rose or the wild attraction I felt for her. After all, what would I be able to do about it? I was in the middle of a damn-it-to-all-shit reality show where I’d have to wine and dine nine women over the next few weeks.

  I was saved from responding when someone yelled, “Quiet on the set.”

  Finding O’Dell, I watched as he took his place at another computer screen. The director nodded at a person holding a clapperboard, and when “action” was called, I found myself holding my breath as the pool house door opened.

  “Our first contestant of the evening is Amy Jenkins,” Phil Harris said as a tall blonde woman stepped out, her gleaming smile nearly too bright to look at. Behind me, Dillon gave a low whistle as the willowy blonde walked gracefully to her spot, and I wondered if she had been raised in beauty pageants. “Twenty-seven-years old, Amy hails from Massachusetts where she has been a preschool teacher for the past five years.”

  A teacher. That was good. Actually, better than I’d expected.

  The scene was called to a stop as the cameras reset for the next woman. I blew out a breath. This was going to be a long ass day if time crawled this slow. An hour later, all nine women were standing on their markers, a rainbow of delicious choices in their sparkly dresses.