Page 42 of The Wanted One

We moved down the food line, side by side, and when we both reached for the last croissant, our pinkies brushed. Just that little touch had my stomach turning. A good turn. Not the run-for-the-hills kind.

As I stood there pondering what the hell that meant, Jack reached for the croissant and set it on my plate, then grabbed a donut for himself instead.

It was hard to believe less than twelve hours earlier, in that same spot, we’d both answered uncomfortable questions during the polygraph test, and now we were about to break bread together. And I was going to give a man who had a gun and fake passport in Cape Town the benefit of the doubt and wait for his explanation when we were alone at night.

That wasn’t like me. Run first, ask questions later. I’d survived ten-plus years on that motto. So, why was I changing now? My chest tightened as I set my eyes on Lucy heading to our team’s table.

For her, that’s why. Because she wanted some stability. A normal life. And the money from this competition could help with that. I just had no clue if I even knew how to do normal when the time came.

Jack and I joined the rest of our team at the picnic table, where he went around to the other side and pretty much forcefully wedged himself between Gwen and Carter. I didn’t think anyone missed the eyeroll from Gwen.

Lucy sat across from me on Gwen’s other side, and I was between Oliver and Mya.

A few bites of food later, I looked up to see Jack licking the frosting from his donut. Taking his sweet time to swipe his tongue along the top of it. His eyes met mine, and he went still, as if he’d just realized the way he was eating his donut was borderline erotic.

Memories of the way he’d kissed me one day earlier flooded back. Along with the memory of how he’d expertly used that tongue to kiss me in Cape Town. And then there were my fantasies where he’d sink between my thighs and make me come hard with his mouth.

My throat was parched, and I swapped the croissant for bottled water and chugged down a few healthy swallows, needing to cool off and get my shit together.

“Maybe we should try and get to know each other a bit before the games today,” Gwen suggested as I set the bottle down, doing my best not to make eye contact with Jack again.

The woman who’d given the polygraph test last night happened to be walking by, and I assumed Gwen’s comment was to keep up with the pretense we were all strangers.

“Sure, what do you want to know?” Oliver asked her.

“Age for starters,” Gwen said.

“Almost thirty-five,” Oliver commented.

“Same,” Mason said. “Thirty-four.”

So, Mason was only nine years older than my sister. I could handle that. Not that we were supposed to be there for love.

“I’m forty-two,” Jack said.

Wow, I was not expecting that. I’d thought he was still in his thirties. We’d talked about so many things back in Cape Town. But professions, past relationships, and age hadn’t come up. I’d done my best to avoid the first two topics. The art of the dodge was my specialty, after all.

“Thirty-one.” The number had shot from my mouth a little too fast and Jack’s shoulders fell with obvious . . . disappointment. Too young for you, then? Clearly, I needed to get a hold of his skin care routine since he thought I was older, and I thought he was younger.

Lucy lightly kicked me beneath the table, snagging my attention. I could read her thoughts: age-gap romance. But did eleven years qualify? Mom and Dad had been a decade apart in age, and I’d never thought anything of it.

The rest of the table offered up their ages, and I shoved the croissant in my mouth as if that’d help silence my thoughts as Carter grumbled, “Forty-something,” as his answer.

“Any pets at home?” Lucy asked next.

“A dog,” Carter was quick to say.

A few others at our table began chatting and sharing more details, but I barely heard anything after that. I wasn’t sure how much of this “get to know you” conversing was for show, and were their answers all true?

When I chanced another look at Jack, even though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t look his way again during breakfast, he was quietly studying me. We spent a solid minute in that gaze. Eye-fucking. Is that a thing? Pretty sure it was a thing, and we were doing it. The man knew how to stare me down well. So well, it felt like he could pin me to the ground and remove my clothes using only his mind. Hell, he could probably get me off without even touching me, and . . .

Ohhh, that dream last night. I remembered it so clearly. God help me, I hoped I didn’t act any of it out in my sleep. I had the tendency to have vivid dreams. Well, Mom called them night terrors. I used to sleepwalk after Dad’s death when I was thirteen, and it’d lasted a few years. I kept reliving the night I’d found him unconscious on the living room floor from a heart attack.

The dreams had started up again in my twenties after Lucy and I had gone on the run, but they’d thankfully come to an end after years of self-help videos since I couldn’t risk therapy and accidentally reveal my secrets.

“Breakfast is over.” Stephen’s announcement interrupted my thoughts, and he began corralling us back toward our suites. Orders were relayed to change into swimwear and then meet up in five minutes in one of the grassy areas behind the pool where a team of people seemed to be preparing what looked like a mud bath.

I changed into my red one-piece swimsuit. Full coverage in the front, not so much in the back, but it was my safest option. Jack had on black swim trunks. Simple. Basic. And he looked hot as hell in them.

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