Page 29 of Wicked Duty
Somewhere between leaving my apartment and arriving on set, he’s managed to manipulate the producers to hire him as part of the show’s security.
Or more likely…Shane Gallagher or Darren exerted pressure and made it happen.
When I found out, I was less than thrilled. Now, however, a reckless idea steals my breath.
Maybe I can capture the judges’ attention andpay Callum back for the little phone incident in one fell swoop. Multitasking at its finest.
The notion delights my vengeful heart so much that radical, off-the-rails confidence inflates in my chest. I’ve got this.
I veer sharply off the designated triangular runway, causing murmurs among the judges as I strut toward Callum.
Whispers fill the room, but I pay them no mind. I’m too busy enjoying the stunned expression on my bodyguard’s face.
Gotcha.
Mr. Control hates surprises, and his eyes widen as I invade his personal space. Whoever’s working the lights does me the favor of training an optic-white spotlight on us. I can’t see anything beyond the ring of brightness, but we should be visible to everyone else.
Circling Callum, I put all my sensuality on display. My movements are deliberate. Seductive. They also come easy. Exactly what I hope the judges want to see.
When I trail my hand across Callum’s shoulders, his muscles tense beneath my touch, but he remains still. Luckily, he doesn’t seem keen on creating a public scene.
“What are you doing?” He grits out the question through barely moving lips.
I lean forward to whisper “winning” in his ear. My fingers caress his chest, just like I did this morning. He flinches, and Irelish that tiny crack in his armor. “And getting revenge. I love twofers.”
His breaths come faster. When I flick my eyes up to his, they’re dark, his blown pupils fixated on me. I can’t tell which emotion he’s struggling with most…fury or the urge to screw me six ways to Sunday. A light flush stains his neck. He jerks again as I nip his earlobe. At his reaction, a rush of heady warmth spreads through my body.
Provoking a response feels like winning the lottery.
This time, I refuse to panic. Refuse to let my mind drag me back to the darkest chapter of my life.
I’m not just paying Callum back. I’m not just impressing the judges.
I’m reclaiming my life.
When I cross back in front of him, he growls at me. “You really think the judges will fall for this schtick?”
“Yep.” I complete my improvised performance with a final provocative pose, draping myself over Callum’s body like he exists to serve as my backdrop. “Wait and see.”
The severe cast to his handsome, angular features only heightens the dramatic effect. He may very well be one of the best fashion props I’ve ever encountered.
The lighting tech cuts my spotlight, creating a temporary blackout. It’s the perfect end to the impromptu presentation of my highly adaptable skill set.
As soon as we’re no longer the center of this grand ballroom’s attention, Callum puts a little distance between us. He’s stiff as a board, but his flush remains, emphasizing the scratches I left on his neck.
Under the regular lights of the ballroom, the judges come back into view. They’re fully engaged now, whispering among themselves with intrigued expressions.
You did it, Lucy. You hooked them!
The excitement fizzing in my chest is unstoppable, a shaken soda can ready to explode.
I hasten back across the ballroom and up the steps to the runway, giving the judges one last glance. After I’ve finished my final poses and introduced myself formally as required, I exit the runway backstage, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
All that’s left is to wait for the judge’s to name the round’s finalists.
Whether I’m chosen or not, I gave my all and turned heads.
And honestly, the real prize was the final glimpse of Callum’s face.
