Page 45 of The Wanted One

With the fight over and won, only one thing stood in our way of a night alone together. And based on the hard look in his eyes as he stared at me, chest rising and falling, he had absolutely no intention of losing.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHARLOTTE

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d played tug-of-war, but I was pretty sure I’d been in eighth grade, and it was when Shane Houser had tried to kiss me after our team won. I’d wound up in the principal’s office for socking him in the jaw for it, too. Mom had asked him to take it easy on me by reminding him, “Her dad just died.”

I probably would have avoided getting in trouble if my smart mouth hadn’t shot back to the principal, “He had it coming.”

The fact Shane hadn’t gotten in trouble for trying to plant his lips on mine after I’d said no, still made me angry to this day.

So, I decided to channel my frustrations from all the “Shanes” of the world, and I dug my heels in. Funny enough, Jack knew the “Shane” story. I’d shared a lot of random details about myself that night in Cape Town. And I’d never forget Jack’s response to that one: “Let’s hope adult Shane never bumps into me.”

I’d chuckled at that, secretly deciding I wouldn’t mind Jack walking into any number of adult assholes I’d dealt with over the years. I mean, I’d handled them just fine, but still . . .

“One more big tug, and they’ll fall,” Oliver said, trying to encourage us. I was surprised the game had gone on so long given the muscles we had on our team, but the other side . . . well, they may not have been great fighters, but the guys appeared to hit the gym as if staying buff was a job requirement.

This was my team’s second round since we’d already defeated the first group. To be declared “winners” we had to win this last one.

“Yup, they’re sliding. Losing their footing. We got this!” Gwen shouted loud enough for the other competitors to hear. A little psychological warfare could go a long way.

Not even a minute later, the other team went flying into the mud pit. Their abrupt collapse sent everyone on my side falling on our asses like bowling pins, but Jack cushioned my fall.

“Sorry.” I shifted around, only making things worse, because now I was straddling the man. And while everyone worked to get back to their feet, I remained on top of him with my hands planted to his damp chest, not minding the sweat on my palms at all.

“You okay?” He reached for my face and cupped my cheek, acting as though we were alone without both eyes and cameras on us.

“Yeah. You have a wonderful way of catching me when I fall.” I smiled, but when he brought his thumb to my right dimple, his touch triggered an uncomfortable memory, wrenching it free from the box I’d locked it in. Screw that unhealed trauma I’d thought I’d already dealt with. I pushed his hand away on instinct and jerked my head back as if he’d slapped me. “Sorry,” I quickly apologized as we both got back on our feet, brushing at a piece of grass clinging to my swimsuit so I could avoid his eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?”

When I finally looked up, Jack had his head angled with concerned eyes pointed at me. Based on what he’d done to me at the breakfast table, I knew those eyes could quickly become erotic weapons, able to take my defenses down in seconds.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I was pretty sure I pulled the lie off well, because the lines between his brows disappeared.

“Winners get a dip in the pool. Losers go straight to the shower before you join us at dinner,” Stephen piped up from entirely too close by.

“Sure we can’t use the pool showers to clean off so we can take a quick dip, too?” one of the guys from the losing team had asked, heading straight for me. “Maybe we could play a game of lifeguard. Give me some mouth-to-mouth.” His eyes lingered on my breasts, and I did a quick check to ensure they were still safely hidden beneath my red one-piece swimsuit.

I was about to come up with something clever to say to put him in his place, but Jack stepped to my side. “Eyes up. Eyes on me.”

“Don’t tell me you’re already staking your claim here just because you were coupled up on night one,” the idiot responded—the same idiot I’d clocked as an immediate no last night at the meet and greet. Far too pretty and polished for me, and apparently, I could add douchebag to the list, too. “It’s every man for himself out here. What happens when Baywatch Barbie here wants to trade up at the end of the week for someone a bit less . . . vintage.”

“Baywatch Barbie?” Oh, I really hated arrogant assholes like this, and I knew exactly how to deal with them. But we also had an audience. Stephen and his cameramen were soaking up every second of the exchange, and I wondered if he’d secretly arranged this made-for-TV moment.

“I took it easy on you in the fighting ring earlier,” Jack said, the warning in his tone exceptionally clear. “Don’t bother her again. Don’t even think about her. Understand?” he added in a tight voice, his anger seething beneath the surface, and that touch of dominance and protectiveness had my thighs tightening, and my heart fluttering.

“Or what?” he asked Jack, snickering.

“You know what vintage means?” Jack tipped his head ever so slightly, never losing eye contact with him. “It means I’m from the generation of ‘fuck around and find out.’” Then he flicked his hand in the air, a final fuck off warning to him that now would be a good time to walk away.

“Yeah, okay, old man,” he said. “But she’ll change her mind. I guarantee it. And I just might not be interested by then,” the idiot tossed out before starting away with both Stephen and the cameraman trailing behind him.

“Listen,” Jack began, a touch of an apology in his tone, clearly opting to ignore the last dig his way, “you seem like someone who can handle herself, so I didn’t mean to overstep, but I just—”

“I haven’t had anyone around to handle stuff for me in a very long time.” And that was the truth. “Thank you.” I gave him a little reassuring nod.

He studied me for a few seconds, then returned my nod and asked, “You feel like taking a quiet dip in the pool?”

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