Page 18 of Taking the Heat

Hopelessly lost, I pushed back into him, matching his fever. I bit his lower lip gently and dropped my hands to his chest, raking his t-shirt with my fingernails. Every part of me reached towards him—my lips, my tongue, my painfully hard nipples, my needy core.

Whimpering, I laced my hands around his back as he did the same to me, and we kissed, locked into each other, unbreakable.

I’d never felt so safe or so turned on.

A crashing noise began to intrude on our little world. Someone was hitting the gong, over and over. It didn’t matter at first, but then a voice rose from the din, too loud to ignore.

‘Chris! Tara!Chris and Tara!Chris, you have three seconds to release that girl, or you will incur a strike! Three, two, one …’

We pulled apart like two strips of Velcro with maximum resistance. Panting, I felt hot tears welling up from the pain of separating from him. The look on his face told me the same story, his chest heaving and his features stricken.

Also, there was a massive bulge tenting in his shorts. With my nipples pointed back at him like beacons, I could hardly judge.

I pressed off his lap and stood, looking around. The game around us had ground to a halt and everyone was staring. The contestants goggled with open mouths, the camera crews were all locked on us and production managers with cross faces scribbled on tablets furiously.I don’t think this is how the challenge was meant to go …

Miles strove to bring the order back. ‘Chris, I think it’s safe to say, good sir, that you are out of the game.’

Broken laughter echoed around, but I couldn’t look away from Chris, still in the chair. My lips already felt empty without him and I watched him touch his own mouth, as if he felt the same.

‘So, ladies! Shall we get underway again? Pick a new man, with Chris and Loris out, we have eight men left in the running!’

That meant there were more girls than guys who needed a partner, so I opted out of the next round and stayed near Chris. A sneaky camera crew lurked to our right, trying to capture our next moves.

‘You kissed me,’ I said, unable to think of anything more intelligent.

‘I did,’ he replied, shadows of lust in his dark eyes. ‘I’d do it again.’

‘I’d let you.’

We smiled, the first genuine smile we’d shared since we’d met in the coffee shop.

‘Tara, I want to explain about—’

‘Time’s up! Girls, five gents left, show us what you’ve got! Tara, we have a spare gentlemen who needs a partner.’

‘Crap on a stick,’ I swore, dragging myself away from Chris and over to the waiting Irish lad. My brain didn’t follow me—it stayed back with Chris, mulling over his words.Explain about what?

My newest victim had hair so red that it was actually a shade of burgundy. I thought I’d skip the lap-straddle, and instead opted for the visual route.

It’s a well-known fact that guys are way more visually stimulated than girls. We respond much faster to touch, though. With the aim of not molesting a complete stranger, I waited for the gong, then pulled the ties holding my kaftan together and let it fall open.

Slowly, I began to slip the straps of my one piece off my shoulders. Letting them fall loose, I worked my swimsuit lower and lower, exposing more of my breast, right up to the nipple line.

The poor guy didn’t stand a chance. Moaning, he licked his lips, and that was enough.

‘Callum, you are out!’ yelled Miles.

I grinned and rearranged my straps back to where they belonged. As I tied my kaftan closed, I made the mistake of glancing over at Chris, and the raw hunger I saw in his eyes made my fingers shake.

Meanwhile, Callum blew a breath out and said, ‘Christ Almighty, woman! That’s one competition I was happy to lose, and no mistake.’

His brogue was strong enough to make me pause, needing to absorb his words before I could respond. ‘You’re welcome, I think. Sorry you’re out.’

He stood, a burly man with masses of freckles. ‘I’m not too cut up about it, you know. After all, it’s only the first challenge. If they’re all like this, I’ll have to have a cold shower with every meal, if you know what I mean, love.’

I’m such a sucker for accents, I could have listened to Callum read a gynaecological textbook and it still would have made me swoon. ‘I do. Well, I’m glad you’re not mad.’

‘Mad!’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t be daft! I’m in bloody paradise, surrounded by international feeks—I couldn’t be happier!’

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