Taking the Heat (18 page)

‘God, that was brutal,' Chris said, returning to my side. ‘She's lovely, and I never tried to hurt her.'

‘I know that. I'm sure she does too. It's not too late—you could always go after her.' I tried to push down the rising horror I felt at even saying the words. ‘She's a safer bet than me.'

Chris was having none of it. ‘Babe, I'd take the long odds on you any day.'

He pulled me close, his hands locked around the small of my back, trapping me to him. I could feel him hardening against me and my core grew damp, responding to his need. I kissed him hard, opening my mouth and pushing my tongue into his, tasting his sweetness. If I was going to allow myself one night of pleasure without consequences, I was going to enjoy it.

Chris' hands skimmed the silky material of my dress, cupping my ass, moaning as he realised I wasn't wearing panties. Not my choice—Ricky, the wardrobe guy, insisted that the lines would ruin the look, but somehow I figured it was about to work to my advantage.

Chris swept me up into his arms. ‘I love you, Tara, and I'm going to make love to you tonight,' he said. ‘I'm going to make every part of your body sing.'

He started to walk towards the furthest tent, lying empty, waiting for us. Even the inevitable shadow of Greg, the cameraman, wasn't about to stop us. I was done resisting. I wanted Chris on me, above me, in me. Whatever the price for my heart was, I was willing to pay it.

He kissed me as we walked, a sensuous, slow kiss, burning deep down to my throbbing core. We reached the tent and Chris laid me reverently on the cushions, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust. I arched my back and reached for him, ready to give him everything.

And that's when the storm hit.

Chapter 18

It came from nowhere. Like an explosion, the wind and rain slammed into us from every direction. People began to shriek and yell as the tents and marquees blew over or away, leaving contestants, wait staff and crew exposed to the onslaught. Scattering like ants, everybody ran everywhere.

Chris leapt to his feet, immediately in emergency mode. ‘We have to get off the beach!' he yelled over the roar of the storm. ‘The services building! We have to get everyone there!'

I had no idea where that was, but as a massive beach umbrella careened past us like a twig, I knew he was right. ‘Okay!'

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and kept me close as we pushed through the driving rain, harsh on our skin. ‘You guys! This way!' Chris whistled and waved at the others and they followed us up the stairs, abandoning camera equipment on the sand.

As we navigated the wooden walkway, I heard a horrendous cracking sound, and I looked up in time to see a palm tree hurtling down towards me. I screamed, trying to run, my soaking dress wrapped tight around my legs.

Chris barrelled into me, throwing me over his shoulder, cleaning the tree by mere inches as it smashed into the walkway behind us.

‘Babe, are you okay?' He held my face, scanning me as the wind howled around us.

‘I'm fine! We have to get out of here!'

‘Okay!' He turned to help the others climb over the tree trunk, most of the female contestants struggling in their long skirts. Toshi carried Clara, holding her tight to his chest, his face stoic. Babette and Mila huddled against Loris, and he kept them moving with his strong arms.

We passed the open structure of the bungalow, where another small group of contestants and crew was trying to shelter. Waving, we called them over, and I was glad to see Meghan, Callum and Beau join our pack.

Chris led the way, slamming into the gate marked
Staff only
. The concrete path led to a long low building, which looked like a bunker in comparison to the suspended treehouses and rickety bungalows.

We ran for the doors, passing into an industrial kitchen, the wind chasing us inside. As we stampeded along, a window exploded inwards, sending a spray of broken glass in my direction. I threw up a hand, feeling the shards piercing my skin.

‘This way!' A man in a chef's hat called to us from the corridor at the end of the kitchen and the herd moved his way. The corridor branched off into staff quarters, the small rooms decorated with family photos and brightly coloured bed covers. Windows were shattered everywhere, branches and debris smashing into the building every few seconds.

At the end of the hall, a flight of stairs led down to a storeroom where other people were already huddled on the floor. Henry and Jen sat on a blanket holding each other, while Nik was organising mattresses into rows. Mama Ruby sat with a group in a circle, her voice lifted in a powerful prayer and poor old Miles slumped against the wall, his face a strange shade of grey.

It was comparatively quiet in the storeroom, sealed with a heavy door against the wind, the solid walls soundproofed by the shelves filled with canned food, linen and bottles. Finally out of harm's way, we took a moment to rest.

Chris hugged me tightly, trying to still my shivering. I was sopping wet, my fingers blue, my hair a snarl of leaves and rainwater. Shaking, I squeezed him, safe in the circle of his arms.

A gigantic boom shook the building around us. The fluorescent lighting flickered off, plunging the windowless room into darkness. People screamed and phones appeared, camera flashes doubling as torches. Someone clicked on a few electric candles, normally used on the dining tables, and the room fluttered in the unsteady lights.

Chris didn't even flinch as I buried my head even further into his chest. I could hear him counting, ‘… seventeen, eighteen, nineteen … there's a contestant missing.'

I looked up and scanned around the room. ‘If it's Dante, do we care?'

Chris laughed. ‘No, we don't, but he's here.'

The Italian had joined Mama Ruby's prayer circle, head bowed and penitent. I logged everyone else, trying to think who wasn't there.

We realised who it was at the same time. ‘Aanya.'

‘She said she was going back to her room.' Chris dropped his arms from my shoulders. ‘It's my fault, she was upset and she wanted to leave.'

‘The rooms should be safe? Right?' Above us, the terrifying wind disagreed, smashing and banging like an angry toddler.

‘I have to go and find her.'

I clutched at his vest with numb hands. ‘Chris, no!'

‘Babe, I have to.' He didn't meet my eyes, staring at the door leading back up to hell. ‘I can't leave her out there alone.'

‘Send someone else!' I was crying freely now, hysterical at the thought of him leaving. ‘There are other people—producers, production runners, wardrobe stylists! It doesn't have to be you!'

‘You know it does.' He kissed me between the eyes. ‘I love you. I'll be back.'

He detangled himself from me gently, then walked to the door quickly without looking back. ‘No! No! Baby, please! Chris!' The wind sucked the metal door closed behind him and he was gone. ‘No! Chris!
No!'

I sank to the floor, weeping and incoherent. Mocking me, the storm began to rage even harder, the noise unbearably loud, drowning out the sound of my cries for the man I loved to come back.

Gentle hands lifted me up but I kept my face in my hands, blocking out the world. ‘Here, put her here.' A soft blanket was draped over my shoulders. The warm chest holding me tight made me cry harder. If it wasn't Chris, it didn't help.

I was lowered onto a mattress and I heard Jen's lyrical voice say, ‘Shh, shh, beautiful girl, he will be alright. I'm going to dry your hair, alright?' I didn't answer, but I felt her slender fingers rubbing a towel over my head.

Henry spoke. ‘Jen, she has glass in her cheek. I'm going to fetch the first-aid kit from the others.'

I continued to cry brokenly as Henry and Jen cared for me, treating the gash on my face, drying me off and wrapping me in blankets.

‘Goodness, she's still shaking.'

‘It will be shock. I have seen it many times. You hold her that side and I will lie over here. Together, we will warm her up.'

My saviours cuddled me, Jen's skin smooth and hot as she hummed a gentle tune, while Henry's firm chest supported my head.

I knew I wouldn't fall asleep. Not until I knew Chris was safe. With the cyclone thundering above us, every smash and bang tore at my heart. Opening my eyes, I lay and shook and waited.

The room had fallen quiet, with people lying down and trying to get some rest. Someone else was weeping softly and Mama Ruby was singing a haunting tune, the words carried away by the sound of the ever-present wind.

***

Hours passed. My eyes were locked open, grainy and aching.
Where is he, where is he, where is he?

Henry and Jen were asleep on either side of me, their hands laced together on my hip. I was grateful for their care—if they weren't holding me, I would have jumped up a thousand times and run recklessly out the door to find Chris.

My brain began to turn on itself.

He's dead.

No! He's fine.

He's dead. You'll never see him again.

I don't believe you.

Why isn't he back, then? Hmm?

Because he's dead.

He's dead.

Chris is dead.

Stop!
I turned my face into Henry's chest, hiding in the folds of his cotton shirt for comfort.

Slam!
The door crashed open and Chris stood there, silhouetted against the dark stairs, Aanya cradled in his arms.

His skin was nicked and scratched in a hundred places, his pants shredded and soaking. He looked around the room for me, finding me lying in Henry's embrace.

I was frozen in joy, so relieved he was alive I couldn't move. Our eyes met and I expected him to smile.

Instead, he shook his head and walked to the other end of the storeroom, rocking Aanya inside the circle of his arms as he lay beside her on a mattress.

What just happened?
Flummoxed, I didn't know whether to move or stay. Chris had turned his back to me, spooning Aanya, protecting her from the world.
But that's my spot,
my body insisted.

Exhaustion smacked me, dragging me down to sleep before I could work out what was going on.

***

Transcript of Tara M's video diary: Day 13

I woke up to a cold dawn a few hours later. Outside, the storm had passed, with no wind to be heard.

Inside, people slumbered all over the floor. Miles was curled up with an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, while Ricky the wardrobe guy and a runner lay cuddling. Someone snored like a walrus and the air was thick with sweat and feet.

At some stage, Jen had moved to the other side of Henry, and he had turned to her, their arms interlocked. Unimpeded, I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around me.

Across the room, I could see Chris' back, and Aanya's legs facing his. I felt the last string on the bow of my heart break. It was fine if he chose her over me, but it didn't mean I had to watch.

Standing silently, I navigated around all the sleeping bodies until I reached the door. Tugging it open, I looked back at Chris again, unable to help myself.

His aqua eyes peered over his shoulder, cold and unfeeling. Overcome by the shakes, I slipped up the stairs on unsteady legs.

When I reached the top, I picked my way down the corridor, wishing wardrobe had provided me with shoes. Broken glass and splintered branches lay all over the floor. Peering inside one of the undamaged staff rooms, I spotted a pair of pink Crocs under a bed. Silently promising the owner that I would return them, I slipped them on and turned to go.

Chris stood in the doorway, blocking my way. ‘Why?' he asked, his voice pained.

‘Why what?' My emotions were a mess and I didn't have the stamina for riddles.

‘I leave to rescue someone and you crawl into Henry's arms. I don't know what you see in that guy. Is it the money?' His eyes were blazing, the hurt and anger threatening to spill over. ‘How long did you wait after I was gone before you went to him? Five minutes? Thirty seconds?'

I tried to explain. ‘You left, I was upset—'

‘So, you just ditch me?'

‘No, Chris, it wasn't like that—'

‘I don't know why I'm surprised. You did tell me you were the dodgy bet.' His tone was so cold and I had no strength left to fight. He waved a hand, his action dismissive. ‘I don't want Aanya to wake up alone. She almost died last night. As if you care.' He left and I ran after him.

‘Chris, wait! Baby, please …'

The previously empty corridor was suddenly stuffed with people. Chris vanished between the moving bodies as guys in fluoro vests and medical personnel pushed past, yelling orders.

‘Miss? You can't stay here—this is the base for clean-up.' A barrel-chested man with a clipboard barked at me. ‘What's your name?'

‘Tara,' I said, my voice tiny.

‘Tara, Tara … right, your room has been cleared as safe. Head back there and don't go out until this afternoon. We should have things under control by then.'

‘But, I just need to—'

‘Off you go, now.' He wasn't going to be argued with and, reluctantly, I let the stream of bodies carry me outside.

The island looked as if it had been turned upside down and shaken. Every surface was covered in fronds and leaves, while palm trees lay upended everywhere. Looking back at the service building, I saw the northern side was smashed to concrete crumbles under the weight of a fallen fig tree.

Around the corner, the bungalow was completely empty, all the furniture relocated along the beach, which was covered in so much debris that it didn't look yellow anymore.

I had to step carefully to get back to my room. The wooden walkway was split and snapped in dozens of places. One broken section was so large, someone had placed a long board down so people could safely cross.

Slowly, I passed Clara's room, which was split open through the ceiling. The windows were blown in and angry red tape criss-crossed the doorway. Wondering where she'd be sleeping tonight, I pushed on.