Taking the Heat (3 page)

‘What? You won a trip! That's amazing!'

My deception cut through me, but I couldn't let on. ‘Yeah, it's pretty cool. I'm flying to this island and I'll be off the grid for about a month. It's pretty remote.'

‘Like a health spa? That sounds like heaven! Will you bring me back something?'

‘Yes,' I promised. ‘Yes, I will.'

***

A few days later, I landed in LA for pre-production, which was all a bit of a blur. I didn't have time for sightseeing—I spent most of my time sequestered in my hotel room so I couldn't run into any of the other contestants. Production runners came and went, escorting me to interview rooms, bringing me food and relaying schedule changes.

The interviews were incredibly long and detailed:

‘Tell us about your first kiss.'

‘If you could sleep with any celebrity, who would it be?'

‘How is your sister doing?'

I did my best to answer everything, straightforward and unemotional. But whenever someone asked me about Ella, I could feel my reactions grow unstable and hot heavy tears always seemed to lurk close to the surface.

I wasn't allowed any access to TV, magazines or internet, but I could take an occasional phone call, with an assistant in the room to chaperone. I checked in with my parents and Ella for the final time last night, just before I was stuffed on a chartered plane and flown here.

‘Here' is an island off the coast of Fiji, and the only reason I know that much is because I recognised the airport code, NAN, on my luggage. We landed on the airstrip in the wee hours of the morning, where I was hustled from the plane to a helicopter. A forty-minute noisy transfer later, and I was here.

The chopper slowed and I looked out, bleary-eyed, into the dawn. Beyond the cockpit, I could see a red sun rising over a postcard-perfect dot of green. As we grew closer, the splodge morphed into a tiny isle, set against brilliant blue waters.

The pilot banked and circled around. Nestled in the lush rainforest, luxurious cabins and buildings with thatched roofs caught the early sun, and as we landed on the white beach, a flock of multicoloured birds took flight. It's a pure paradise—the kind of place people dream of visiting.

As I stepped out onto the soft sand, the blades of the chopper drowning out every other sound, I held a hand to my throat, overwhelmed by the beauty. A warm gust caught the hem of my light green trapeze dress, lifting it Marilyn-style around my waist. I giggled, sleep-deprived and delirious, pushing it down and hoping no one saw.

It was about then I noticed the first camera crew, shooting me from shelter of the trees. A second crew approached, following a man I knew very well.

‘Hello Tara,' said Miles Shield, world-famous celebrity interviewer and host of IonU, the biggest talk show on the planet. ‘Welcome to Erotic Island.'

Stunned, I shook his hand and followed him up the beach, into the open-air bungalow. Tall beams supported the thatched roof, and cane furniture with colourful cushions beckoned me to sit.

Miles sat across from me. Aside from the widescreen TV set up next to his chair, and the cameras shooting me from multiple angles, it was actually quite relaxing. The sounds of the birds and waves combined with the fresh morning sunshine and tropical breezes. I breathed deeply and smiled.

Miles smiled back at me. ‘You look happy, Tara.'

‘I am! It's gorgeous here.'

‘Isn't it! But, down to business.' He leaned forward, expectant in his tropical shirt and expensive cargo shorts. ‘You've come here, not for sex or an experience, but for your sister. Isn't that right?'

Dammit.
Travel weary, I was at my lowest defence. Weepiness overtook me, almost immediately. ‘Ella is my world. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her.'

‘I know,' said Miles sympathetically. ‘Let's watch.'

He indicated the TV, which burst to life. My face appeared, from the pre-production interviews. ‘Ella's the bravest person I've ever known. I love my baby sister. I'll do whatever it takes to come home with the million dollars.'

The screen changed, showing an old pic of Ella and me, smiling and holding hands, our blonde hair intertwined. My voice played over the top. ‘She'll never have a normal life again. She'll never know how it feels to rub her feet in the sand, or have a warm hand on her leg. She'll never skip down a flight of stairs or go for a run in the park with her children. She may never be able to
have
children. I can't give all that back to her,' the screen flipped back to my tear-stained face, ‘but I can do this for her. I can win the money that will allow me to look after her, forever.'

The TV faded to black, and I wiped at my face, trying to rub away the evidence of my impending breakdown. Miles handed me a tissue. ‘You're such a good sister.'

I waved away the compliment. ‘No, I'm not. I'm just doing what she would do for me.'

I felt the cameras focused tight on my face, while another nameless production manager scribbled notes furiously behind them. The falseness of the situation caught up to me, and I smile weakly.

Miles patted my hand. ‘Well, no more tears for now, darling. You've got a luau-orgy to get ready for!'

Chapter 3

Yup. A luau-orgy. Not only is it hard to say, the name is quite deceptive. Nobody actually had sex as far as I know, although there were definitely some who came close. Then they hit us with the rules. Anyway, I'm skipping ahead again.

After my interview with Miles, an assistant led me away. As I followed him along the wooden boardwalk, I could hear another chopper approaching but the sound faded as we wound in between the tall trees. The path split multiple times, and even with the signage, I wondered how I'd ever find my way back.

We finally arrived at my bungalow. It's like a gorgeous tree house, all pale bamboo and white draping. The view is incredible: the trees drop away around me and the ocean twinkles beyond them. I sighed and admired it for exactly ten seconds, before the huffy hair and makeup ladies practically threw me in a chair and set to work.

Hours later, I stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my luxurious bathroom. I had to give it to the women who'd worked on me: my eyes looked emerald and huge, my hair was shiny and full, hanging almost to my backside, and my skin was fake-tanned to a golden hue. A pop of brilliant red on my lips completed the look.

Turning, I studied the outfit wardrobe had sent over. The black bikini was made of the tiniest four squares of material possible, but it was intended to be worn under a sheer beach dress, short and black. I slipped it on, along with my new red wedges, and walked out to the waiting crowd of helpers.

‘Okay, I'm ready,' I announced. There was a general stunned sound. Looking around at the crew, I sought reassurance. ‘Um … do I look okay?'

‘Oh, honey!' gushed the wardrobe guy. ‘You could almost turn me!'

‘Good, I guess …'

Once again, I trailed after my runner as he escorted me back along the wooden walkways. He had a walkie-talkie on his belt, with an earphone connected. I couldn't hear the conversations, but from his terse responses, this was an event with exact timing.

As we approached the main bungalow where I'd been interviewed, my escort turned to me and pulled a blindfold from his backpack. ‘Okay, Miss Tara, I need to cover your eyes before we go any further.'

‘Sure,' I sighed. At that stage, I was simply along for the ride.

He fastened the soft material over my head. ‘I'll lead you in, then I'll take off the blindfold and leave you standing on your own. It'll be dark, so don't move at all until the lights come up.'

‘Whatever.' With my eyes covered, everything else seemed more pronounced. I could feel my skirt blowing gently around my thighs, and individual strands of my hair shifting on my back. Smells began to become identifiable: the runner's cheap deodorant, decaying leaf litter, the salty tang of the nearby ocean.

Most of all, I could hear with clarity. As I was drawn forward towards the bungalow, my footsteps echoed on the wood, while the palm fronds snickered in the wind.

The runner moved me into position, removing my blindfold. It was just as dark without it on. They must have cloaked the entire building in blackout fabric. I could hear the other production assistants whispering softly. As their voices faded off towards the far side of the bungalow, I listened for anyone else around me.

Soft breathing on my left. I turned my head quickly to the sound, but without my sight to keep me balanced, I wobbled on my wedges and fell sideways.

Squeaking as I helplessly pitched down, I threw my arms up. Someone caught them.

‘Hey, are you okay?' asked a cultured English voice in a whisper. Strong male arms held me and I breathed in the scent of clean skin and coconut shampoo.

‘I'm fine, thanks.' I should have moved back to my position, but there was something incredibly sexy about being held by a stranger in the dark. I leaned my mouth close to his ear and said quietly, ‘Are you a contestant?'

‘Yes. You?'

‘Yeah. What do you think is about to happen?'

‘No idea, but I'm glad at least I've met someone else now.' There was a smile in his voice and the heat from his skin felt soothing to my ragged nerves.

‘I'm Tara.'

‘I'm Henry.'

‘I should probably stand back where they put me.'

‘Let me help you.' Henry held my hand and placed the other on the small of my back, moving me gently to my position. When I regained my balance, I squeezed my new friend's hand, as a silent thanks, expecting him to let go.

He didn't, and I didn't release his fingers either. We stood in the dark, holding hands while invisible whispery forms moved around us and the room began to fill up.

It would have been incredibly boring to stand there alone, but with Henry's hand in mine, it was a special experience; a sexy, mysterious bonding. Every twitch of his palm, the way he rethreaded fingers at the perfect time, it all somehow meant something. I wanted to show him I was enjoying what was happening, so I used my thumb to stroke his, and I felt him quiver from my touch.

I was trying to decide if we could risk another sneaky whisper session when a booming voice rang out in the dark, amplified to an almost painful level. ‘Contestants! Welcome to your first night on Erotic Island! Right now, you are all the proud recipients of a one million dollar cash prize—unless you break the rules. I know you're all keen to know what the rules are, and you'll find out soon, but for tonight, there is only one rule …'

Light flared, brilliantly illuminating the bungalow. ‘Party!'

The suddenness of the illumination caught my poor eyes off guard. They shrieked in protest against the floodlit room and I raised a hand to shelter them. Meanwhile, a throbbing beat filled the room while people around me cheered and whooped.

Strobe lights pulsed, but I desperately needed to see. I lowered my arm and took in my new island-mates. Nineteen beautiful creatures filled the room, raising glasses that had magically appeared, and grooving sensually along to the tune. People paired up with remarkable speed—within seconds, couples conjoined, threesomes vied awkwardly and shifting pairs formed and reformed around the dance floor.

Everyone was dressed stunningly: sheer dresses and gorgeous bikinis for the girls, suits and ties for the guys. Yeah, it was a little sexist, but since a good suit to a girl is what a bikini is to a guy, it somehow worked for everybody.

My hand was still being held. I turned to look at Henry for the first time, and I was not disappointed. His sandy hair fell in a straight line over his forehead and lined his glorious brown eyes. He was the perfect height for me, just a little taller than I was in my heels, and lean muscles roped along underneath his crisp white shirt and red suit vest.

He grinned, revealing a large white smile. 'Hi!' he yelled over the music.

‘Hey!'

Our hands were still connected and he tugged on me gently, drawing me closer to him. And as I allowed myself to move towards him, another voice rang out from behind me.

‘Tara!'

Turning towards the familiar voice, I felt that same hot prickle running down my spine. Before I even saw him, I was expecting him.

Douche-face, aka Chris, stood there, dressed all in black. Smouldering and sexy as ever, his face was a dark cloud as he studied my hand, held safely by Henry.

‘Dance with me,' he said. The words weren't a question.

‘No,' I replied, not sure if I meant it. Caught in his intense gaze, I felt pinned, owned. I hated the way my treacherous body responded to him, the hairs lifting off my arms and my nipples springing into a firm state.

‘One dance.' Chris extended his hands to me and I looked back helplessly at Henry.

With the room full of crazy-hot people, I knew there was no way to bind the blond Englishman to me, but I had to try. ‘Please, don't go anywhere, okay? I'll be back in a minute.'

To my surprise, he squeezed my fingers reassuringly. ‘I'll get you a drink. Come find me soon.'

The second Henry release my hand, Chris grabbed my wrist and pulled me backwards. Gasping and stumbling again, I fell into him.

‘Jesus! Do you freaking
mind?
'

He grinned darkly. ‘No. Not all.' He rocked me in time to the beat, holding me close to his chest. Through his black silk shirt, I caught the scent of his skin and breathed him in, hopelessly addicted to whatever pheromone he was giving off, even if my mind recognised what a total dick he was.

‘I can't believe you got on the show. Out of everyone in the whole of Australia, they pick you.' Pulling my hand from his grasp, I slapped him on the pec lightly.

His hands slid easily around to my hips and I shivered as he traced the string of my bikini. ‘I'm here because I have a great story.'