Page 17 of The Wanted One

Stephen had the men line up in front of the women. Lucy was at my side, but it was my luck I wound up directly across from Jack. Barely five feet between us now.

Jack had the same sexy trimmed beard he’d had in Cape Town. His blue-green eyes were just as I remembered, a similar color to mine, and they were firmly fixed on me. That sculpted jaw was tight, like he was clenching his back teeth. Less shock now, a touch more “pissed off.” He studied me with a cold glare, as if remembering I’d left him alone without so much as a word. He’d missed out on his mark. Let me slip through his fingers. The only person he should be angry at was himself.

What’s your real name? He hardly looked like a Kevin, as listed on his passport.

Stephen began introductions. Sharing names. He ran down the line of men, ending with Jack Hughes. Jack’s brows dipped in what might have been an apology the second his last name was revealed.

Jack London my ass.

When it was time for the women’s names, Jack’s lips parted as Stephen said, “Charlotte Braxton.” Braxton had been the last name my sister used for her TikTok account, so I’d been stuck with it for this charade.

“Charlotte,” Jack mouthed as if testing out the name on his lips to see if it worked for me. And I’d swear he was acting as though he wasn’t aware that was my real first name.

He deserved an Oscar for how he’d fooled me in South Africa, but like hell would I let him do it again, even if the man did things to my body with just the way he was looking at me.

There shouldn’t have been a flash of heat in my stomach that traveled between my thighs when he angled his head and held my eyes like he owned me. And why in the hell did the idea of a man “owning” me turn me on? That was about as “me” as the dress I had on.

I shifted uncomfortably in my nude heels, and his eyes dropped to my legs. It was almost torturous how his attention walked ever so slowly up my body.

I hate you. And yet, at the same time, I want you. Hot and heavy headboard-banging-the-wall kind of sex. Or hell, no bed at all. Annnd perfect. Just perfect. That’s where my head is at. If the Wi-Fi wasn’t shit, I’d find a way to watch my sister’s TikToks to remind myself of the advice she’d borrowed from me.

Stephen continued about the rules. Something about being divided into teams, and our teams would compete against the other groups the first week. Then an elimination round based on points. But it was all a blur, because I was stuck in my thoughts, remembering my night with Jack last month.

I was supposed to be meeting a friend for drinks at the hotel where she was staying. She was one of the only women I’d remained friends with after moving. Normally, I forced myself to lose touch with people. It was better that way. Safer for my sister. For me.

But Mila was different. I’d met her seven years ago while we were in Santiago. Mila didn’t know my real identity, and I had a feeling she kept some stuff from me too, and yet . . . I still trusted her enough that when it was my cue to take off for a new city, I promised her I’d stay in touch. Gave her an email address. And we’d met up three times since then. I’d been disappointed when she’d texted at the last minute to say she couldn’t meet me at the bar. I’d stood to leave, and Jack had bumped into me, his drink spilling onto my shirt.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he’d said, then winced as if also sorry for swearing in the presence of a woman. I loved that he hadn’t tried patting down my breasts to “dry me off” with a napkin, taking a chance to get a feel. Instead, he’d ordered club soda and snatched a few napkins and offered them to me. Then he bought me a drink. Things just . . . progressed from there.

We’d talked until closing. And neither of us seemed to want to leave one another, so he’d invited me to his room.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole, I promise, but if you want to keep talking, my room has a balcony. We could sit out beneath the stars and chat?” he’d suggested, a handsome smile forming on his full lips.

To be honest, it was kind of shocking we hadn’t had sex that night. After nearly four hours of epic conversation, he kissed me, and it was a hell of a kiss, but he hadn’t even tried to take it any further. Since when did bad guys have a moral compass? And how had I read him so wrong all night? Well, he wasn’t that great of a bad guy, he did fall asleep while on the job.

Realizing I was currently staring at his crotch, which was not my intention, I stole my focus toward the host just as he shared the fact I’d be teamed up with Jack.

We’d just been assigned to the same group of eight. Oh crap.

My heart stopped. We’d be sharing a room. Competing together. I had to assume there were cameras in the rooms. Microphones, too.

“I’ll explain more of the rules as we go to keep things a mystery,” Stephen went on. “Tonight’s objective is for you all to become familiar with your teammates. Figure out your strengths and weaknesses. Learn to trust each other . . . if you can, of course.”

“And how do we get to know each other?” the guy with the big biceps I’d noticed earlier asked.

“We’ll be doing a series of icebreaker rounds within your teams this evening. You’ll be awarded points by the judges. And no, you can’t see the judges, but they can see you.” Stephen opened his arms, then pointed to one camera that was visible in the corner of the vine-wrapped pergola behind us. “You’ll be coupled up by the end of the night. And one couple from each team will sleep together in one of the jungle treehouses where there will be no cameras.” He gestured toward the thick bank of trees, but he didn’t share how that “lucky” couple would wind up there.

So, to sleep off camera, I have to be alone with one of the guys in the woods? This just keeps getting better.

“The other three couples will share a suite. Three beds in the suite. Each couple will sleep together in their designated bed. And there is a camera in the suite.”

An uncomfortable band of pressure pushed into my chest, and I released the word, “No,” into the warm air.

My sister nudged my back with her fingernail, a warning not to speak my thoughts out loud again.

“If you have a problem with the rules, there’s no one forcing you to stay, Charlotte,” Stephen said to me.

I stepped away, on the verge of taking his offer to leave, but my sister’s palm went flat on my back before she hooked her arm around my hip, a request not to run.

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