Page 32 of The Wanted One

“A gator-caiman thing . . . or piranha . . . or a tree branch, I don’t know . . .” She set her back to the rock wall, breathing hard and fast.

There was a slight overhang from the rock wall that shielded us from the rain. So, she stretched out her legs, and I knelt before her, thankful for the light so I could get a decent look. There were two fresh cuts on her right calf muscle. It looked like nails had dragged across her skin.

“You need antibiotics when we get back.” Bacteria in the water plus an open wound, bad combination.

“So, what’s the plan?” Her tone remained surprisingly calm considering we were on the side of a river in the rain and an unknown something had left two marks on her leg. This woman was just . . . well, something else.

“One second.” I stood and looked around, spotting a lone branch a few feet away. I maneuvered along the narrow ledge and snatched a handful of leaves from the branch, then used them to pat at her open wound and clean the blood the best I could. I didn’t need her slipping on her own blood while mounting the rock wall.

“How are your climbing skills?” Using her hand as a visor to shield her eyes from the bright lights still on us, she studied the cliff back to the bridge. But before I could answer her, my focus fell to her legs.

The dress was nearly at her waist, and . . .

“Uh, my skills are good.” I forced my attention up before I caught sight of more than she’d want me to. But that wasn’t a great idea either. Her breasts were fighting to break free from the tight top of her wet dress. And it took me a lot longer than it should have to look away. But I wound up staring at her legs, and damnit.

“Oh my God.” She cursed and clamped her knees together at the realization she was nearly exposing herself, then her other hand made a beeline for the top of her dress to fix the material there.

“I didn’t see anything.” Doing my best to help her forget I almost caught a glimpse of her, I turned to clock our surroundings again.

Stephen was up top looking down at us, a cameraman tight to his side training his equipment and light our way, the rest of the contestants packed around them.

“Are we really required to try and finish this challenge when she’s been hurt?” I shouted up at him.

“It’s not that bad,” Charley protested, much to my frustration.

“It’s a survival dating game show,” Stephen hollered back, his words echoing off the rock walls surrounding each side of the waterway. “The rest of your team has already crossed back to us. If you don’t want to be cut, then find a way back over.”

“Since when was that a rule?” I hissed, but it was doubtful he heard me.

Charley secured a hand at the nape of my neck, urging me to look at her, and I gave her my attention. “I’m not leaving without Lucy, so let’s climb this wall and get back across. Let’s finish this, okay?”

The determined grit in her tone had me on edge. And I was starting to worry she had more secrets than I did.

“Yeah, okay.” At my agreement, she let go of my neck, and I stood and offered her my hand. “It’ll be wet when we fuc—” I dropped my curse as I hauled her off the ground. “Wet” and “fucking” did go together, but in a much different way than our current “fucking climb” situation I was about to go with. My dumbass mind went straight to the gutter, imagining this woman wet and ready for me instead. What the hell is wrong with me? “You, uh, should go first.”

“So, you can catch me when I fall?”

“How about you just not fall for a fourth time tonight?” I caught myself smiling, then dismissed it to focus. “Let’s just get this over with.” I sidestepped her and searched out a better route up. The overhang would be too hard to climb unless she was a skilled boulderer, so we’d have to go about ten feet over.

“The rain’s slowing as quickly as it started,” she said, reading my thoughts.

“Still wet.” I jerked a thumb toward the wall, motioning for her to go first. There were enough ledges and resting places that would make it easy for me to scale, even in the rain. And with her being nearly half my size, she’d be fine, too.

With her back to me, she reached out for the wall, searching for a hold. The first ten feet appeared to be the most challenging, but it’d be relatively safe from that point on. No potential of free-falling to our deaths.

The woman of my dreams, who was very much real and standing in front of me, wet and nearly naked—fuck me—mounted her foot to the wall, then eased herself up, going flat with the surface. She tested a vine dangling down at her side for support, tugged it two more times for good measure, then used it to help propel her up another step. Nicely done.

But at her next step, she slipped and slid down right into my arms.

Her dress hiked up, and her naked ass pressed against me.

I went still. My linen pants didn’t do much to hide my body’s natural reaction to having her there. And fuck me, that also meant her bare pussy was . . . so close.

For a split second, my dirty thoughts played out a scene where she asked me to finger fuck her right there against the wall. Not that I’d make love to this woman with an audience, and sure as hell not on camera. But in my head? Yeah. In my head it was safe to imagine her begging me to touch her. To have her moan my name.

“Jack?” she murmured. “Your body is blocking my ass from the cameras, right?” Her hands left the rock wall and skated down her silhouette as she tugged her dress back in place. Well, what was left of the dress.

“Yeah, I’m not moving, don’t worry.”

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