Breaking the Rules (8 page)

“Oh, I recognize you now! You’re one of the camera crew, aren’t you?” Every stare at the table seared into her like laser beams.

“Yeah, I am, and—”

“Oh! Your voice!” She laughed. “You’re not…?”

Mitch rubbed a hand across his mouth, but not before Claire noticed the dimple in his left cheek—the one she’d known would be there. “Everyone, this is the man I told you about. The one who found me on the beach last night during the blackout.” She returned her attention to Mitch. “Mitch isn’t it? Mitch Talbott?”

“That’s right.”

When she set down her glass to shake his hand, the goblet toppled forward, spilling wine down her dress.

James’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his gaze alternating between her and Mitch.

Ally calmly slipped Claire a napkin, squeezing her fingers on the handoff.

“I guess I owe you one for taking care of my fiancée last night, Mr. Talbott,” James said. He shook Mitch’s hand. “I’m James Watson.”

Fiancée.
Claire winced. She didn’t miss the shift in Mitch’s expression over the F-word. Why, oh, why hadn’t she told him she was engaged? Mitch’s theory about couples and honesty came to mind and she winced again.

“I owe you, too,” Ally said. “Claire’s become a friend over the last couple of weeks. If you hadn’t come along when you did last night, she might be dodging barracuda out in the middle of nowhere as we speak.” She giggled. “Of course, that would mean one less competitor, so maybe I shouldn’t be thanking you.” She turned. “No offense, Claire.”

Claire’s cheeks sizzled as she dabbed the front of her dress with a napkin. She sent a pleading look Mitch’s way, a look that clearly said,
Leave.
“It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you stopped by. We won’t keep you.” She nodded toward his camera. “I’m sure you have work to do.”

“I’m not in any hurry. I’m on a break.”

Okay
, Claire thought.
So that’s the way it is.
Rules be damned; he would see to it she was punished for withholding information.

Claire cleared her throat. “Well…thank you again for helping me last, night.”

Marcus Wilkins, the man sitting next to Ally, crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Just how much
help
did he give you, Claire?”

Her throat constricted. Her right eye twitched. Once. Twice. Again. The return of an old nervous tic she thought she’d seen the last of long ago. She attempted a laugh but managed only a squeak. “Now, Marcus. Quit playing detective.” Smiling, she glanced up at Mitch. “He’s a police officer. Suspicion goes with the job, I suppose.”

“You didn’t answer the question, Claire,” James said, eyeing her with more interest than he had since they’d been on the show.

“I believe I said that he led me back to the hotel.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it a game rule that contestants and crew don’t fraternity?” asked Dana, drawing every male eye at the table her way. Sending James an undisguised wink, she continued to smear her puffy lips with cherry gloss.

“I think you mean ‘fraternize’, Darla,” Ally said. “A ‘fraternity’ is where you spent all your time and energy back in college, remember?”

Mitch’s gaze met Claire’s and stuck, nailing her to the chair. “I wasn’t fraternizing; I was making sure she didn’t drown,” he said.

It took a moment for Claire to find her voice, a moment more for her to pry her gaze from Mitch’s. “Really, James. Don’t you think the blackout qualifies as an extenuating circumstance? No one’s going to get all bent out of shape over a crewmember showing me the way back to the hotel.”

“That depends.” Dana pulled out a compact and checked out her glossy mouth. “Just what else did he show you?”

“As I was saying, Mitch,” Claire said, ignoring Darla’s question, “I appreciate everything you did for me.”

The corner of his mouth quivered again. “My pleasure.” He slipped the canvas bag from his shoulder. “I almost forgot. I found something on the beach this morning. I thought you might’ve left it last night.”

Envisioning the swimsuit she’d never located, Claire held her breath. She could’ve sworn his dimple deepened as he offered the bag to her.

“Is this yours?” Mitch asked.

Tension seeped from her body like air from a balloon. “The bag? No, someone else must’ve left it.” She sent him a silent thank-you with her smile.

Lifting his camera, Mitch bade them goodbye, then made his way across the deck.

Claire rolled her wine-dampened napkin into a cylinder as James’s assessing gaze narrowed on her. He knew her well. Maybe too well. Sensing someone else watched her, too, she turned to see that a cameraman had arrived and was filming her. Pinching the tip of the napkin cylinder, she curled it up like a snail’s shell. “Why is everyone staring at me?”

“You seem edgy,” Rico said.

“That’s ridiculous. I’m fine.”

Her face must’ve indicated otherwise, because the camera moved in for a closeup.

Releasing the napkin, Claire watched her nervous handiwork unravel. A sideward peek revealed the suspicious look on James’s face. Claire’s stomach flip-flopped. “Would y’all excuse me? I think I’ll check out the ladies’ room.”

Mitch returned to the poolside bar and propped his chin in his palm. He sneaked a peek at Claire’s table.
Fiancé. Great. Just dandy.
An island full of beach bunnies who would’ve been eager to break the rules with him, and he had to hook up with someone’s wife-to-be. If she’d told him about what’s-his-name last night, he would’ve backed off.

He recognized James Watson. Yesterday, before Mitch found Claire on the beach, he’d noticed the sunburned clown gushing and strutting every time a camera moved toward him.

As Mitch watched Claire on the sly, she pushed back her chair and stood. He wondered if the camera-ham knew his future wife was a shameless skinny-dipper. He wondered, too, with a worrisome tug that felt a little like jealousy, if Watson ever bared his pale behind and joined her. Somehow Mitch couldn’t imagine it. Maybe he just didn’t want to.

Claire started away from the table. For a woman of Latin heritage, she had the reddest hair, fairest skin, and greenest cat eyes Mitch had ever seen. He found himself wishing she really did have purple hair and a tattoo on her forehead, as they’d talked about last night.

As she made her way toward the door leading from the outside deck to the inside restaurant, Mitch stood. “Winston, old buddy,” he said to the bartender, “would you mind keeping my camera behind the bar for a few minutes?”

“Sure, mon. No problem.”

He’d find those desperate beach bunnies. Damn right he would. Right after he had a word with Claire.

Mitch started for the restaurant entrance. Inside, he caught a glimpse of Claire’s white dress just before it disappeared around a corner. On guard for cameras, he pursued. Upon reaching the corridor, he saw her facing the ladies’ room at the narrow hallway’s far end. “Claire!”

She whirled around and paused, her hand on the door. “What are you doing? Someone might’ve seen you follow me.”

“They didn’t. I checked.” Stopping in front of her, Mitch stared into her eyes. He listened to the tapping of her foot, watched her skin tone change from pale to pink to crimson.

Claire crossed her arms and quit tapping. “Look…I want you to forget about last night.”

“Have you?”

She stared at her feet. “I’m trying.”

“Maybe we should talk.”

“I can’t. Last night was a mistake. Anyway, nothing happened between us, so what’s the big deal?” She gave the ladies’ room door a push. “Goodbye, Mitch.”

“Just a minute.” He pulled her swimsuit from his bag.

“Put that away!” Wide-eyed, she glanced down the hall.

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“I don’t care; just get it out of sight,” she said in a hiss. “Aren’t you afraid of losing your job?”

He thought about that for a second, maybe two. So far this job wasn’t accomplishing what he’d hoped it might. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Michael Hawkins. Mitch shrugged. “I’m not worried about it.”

“What about me? They could ask that I leave the show.”

“Do you care? I thought you hated it.” He shrugged again. “If you’re concerned, go ahead. Hide. But I’ll stand right here holding this suit until you agree to talk to me.”

“Don’t do this!”

“It’s your choice.”

Her foot started tapping again. “Okay, I’ll talk.”

“When?” He dangled the suit higher in the air.

“When’s good for you?” Claire snapped sarcastically.

“Now’s perfect.”

Voices drifted from around the corner at the end of the hallway. The color drained from Claire’s complexion. “That sounds like Ally…” Frowning, she leaned forward, as if straining to hear. “And James!” She grabbed at the swimsuit.

Mitch lifted his arm, holding the garment just out of her reach. “When are we going to talk?”

“Damn you, I can’t think.” Claire nodded toward the restroom door. “Get in here. Hurry!”

“Whatever you say.”

“Wait!” The voices drew nearer. She scanned the space around them, her attention settling on a closet across the hail. The door stood ajar. Claire grabbed his arm and headed for it. Swinging the door wide, she shoved him inside, then followed. She pulled the door to, leaving it slightly open.

Except for a sliver of light at the door’s edge, darkness surrounded them. The closet barely had room for two people, barely room to breathe. Claire stood against one wall with a broom handle jabbed into her side. She tried to ignore the feel of Mitch’s breath on her forehead and the familiar, clean scent of his skin.

“What is it with you and me and the dark?” he asked with a soft laugh.

“Shhh!” She heard people outside the door.

“Go on back to the table, you two,” Ally said. “I’ll check on Claire.”

“I’ll just wait here,” James answered, sounding suspicious. “She was acting strange.”

“She was acting
guilty
,”
Darla added, huffing a laugh.

“I don’t think she’s feeling well,” Ally said.

Claire held her breath as she stared at James’s back through the tiny space at the edge of the door.

“She’s not in the restroom,” Ally said a moment later.

“That’s interesting.” James leaned against the door, clicking the latch shut, leaving the closet in total darkness. “Where could she be?”

“Now don’t you worry,” Ally told him.

“I’m not worried,” James assured, making Claire frown.

“I’m sure she just went back to her room on the spur of the moment,” Ally said. “If there’s one surprise I’ve recently learned about Claire Louise, it’s that she’s more impulsive than she appears on the surface.”

“Yeah, must be a new trait,” James said. “The old Claire wouldn’t open the mail without asking permission…”

The voices faded. Claire released her breath in a noisy rush. “I have to get out of here.”

Mitch’s hand grasped her forearm. “When can we talk?”

“Talking will only make things worse. We’ll screw up both our plans.”

“Forget the plans for a minute. If not for that, why would it bother you to see me again?”

The suggestion in his tone made her tremble. “I only meant…” She sighed. “I’m going to many James. That’s that.”

“Why?” His hand slid up to her shoulder. “Why do you want to many him?”

Her mouth went dry. “Because I love him, of course.”

“Do you?”

His arm went around her waist, pulling her to him, closing the small space between them. His other hand found her chin. And then he kissed her, slowly, possessively. A toe-curling, head-spinning, knockout kiss.

“Do you?” Mitch asked again when she pulled away.

His whisper sounded almost as shaky as her knees. Fumbling for the doorknob, Claire found it. She eased from his embrace. “Forget last night.”

“I’ve tried,” he said, his voice low and insistent in the darkness. “Believe me, I wish I could.”

Claire turned the knob. Nothing happened. “Oh, no!” Pressing one hip against the door, she turned the knob again and shoved. “The door won’t open.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it
won’t open.
I think we’re locked in here.”

Chapter Eight

Mitch squeezed in next to her and tried the door himself. It wouldn’t budge. “If we cause a commotion, someone’s bound to walk by and let us out.”

“No! We can’t let anyone find us alone together.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Let’s keep trying.”

Mitch closed his mouth. After last night on the beach, he knew reasoning with her was useless. “Move away from the door. I’ll try to pick the lock with my room key.”

Claire stepped back.

“Watch out!” Mitch snapped. “You’re on my toe.”

“Sorry. These aren’t the most spacious accommodations.”

“Just move to the side a little more.”

Something’s in the way. I think it’s a vacuum cleaner. If I can just…” Grasping a handle, she shoved. The bulky appliance rammed into the opposite wall. “There.”