Matched (9 page)

It doesn’t seem to cramp anyone’s good mood that we had a required dress code of bikinis and trunks, either. Truth is, most appear to be taking full advantage and loving it.

I’ve never had body-image issues and don’t now—especially since Oakley’s a mere foot from me, white-knuckled and directing a gaze thick with lust at me. This whole no-more-PDA rule is obviously taking a toll on him already.

Yeah, I’m feeling good about myself, but damn can some of these girls fill out a bikini. If there’s any jumping or bending over required in this event, the crew will be editing all night because Jasmine or Nadia—quite possibly both—will fall out of their tops, guaranteed. Like I said, some are taking full advantage of everything except straight-up baring their assets.

“Ladies and gents, nice to see you again! I trust you’re all feeling good after last night’s elimination?” Tom greets us and asks. The crowd affirms loudly. “Great! Well, let’s keep the momentum rolling with today’s mini challenge, where we’ll continue exploring that trait you all find important, trust, something you must
give
if you wish to receive it. The ladies did just that, and now, gentlemen, it’s your turn.

“Behind me, you’ll see an island 300 yards away. That’s where the ladies will be waiting. Each guy’s been given an inner tube, and he must swim with it around his waist to retrieve his female partner from the island. Then they must be the first couple back here—with
both
partners inside the tube.”

The guys start doing all that macho, no-sweat, chest-puffing, ‘I got this’ crap when Tom holds up one finger. “The catch? The men will be blindfolded, their only compass the voice of their partner—blending with six others’.”

Now it’s the women’s turn to gloat and snicker.

“So if we’re ready, let’s get what I’m titling ‘Paddle for—”

“‘Paddle for Pussy,’ hell yeah!” Wyatt interrupts boisterously, and everyone laughs while Tom just shakes his head.
Good thing this show isn’t live.

“I was going to say ‘Two,’ Wyatt,” Tom recovers. “‘Paddle for Two.’ All righty then, ladies, please climb in the boat we have waiting.” He points. “It will take you across to the island. And fellas, get your tube on while the crew comes around to attach your blindfolds. And don’t forget—this is a mini challenge, so both winners will receive $5,000 for their individual accounts, as well as today’s luxury item, which is…professional, private massages!”

Please let Oakley and me win this!
My mattress here is hard and paper thin, and I adore massages.

“Bon voyage, ladies. See you when you get back!” Tom waves to us as the boat motors away. The last thing I hear from him is, “Men, you’ll go on my whistle.”

Once we disembark, I look back and position myself directly across from Oakley. All he has to do is swim in a straight line.

The whistle blows and the guys all plunge into the water as seven females start screaming. Luckily, I’m on the opposite end of Rachel. You’d swear someone gave that loudmouth a bullhorn.

I cup my hands around my mouth and lean way forward. “Oakley, I’m right across from where you started! Just swim in a straight line! You’re doing great!”

And he is—until Miles, who’s more spinning in circles than making forward progress, bumps into him and bounces him off Wyatt, starting a chain reaction of complete chaos.

I run down the island bank, following Oakley’s new path and yelling, “Oak, it’s fine! Just keep coming left now! I moved to you!” He seems lost, turning toward the opposite end of the island. “Oak, this way—do you hear me?”

Crap
. I look over and Emma’s already in Court’s tube, taking up no room with her tiny self. They’re already headed back the other way. I don’t miss Ivy the Shrew reaching out and shoving them with all her might, sending them severely off to the right, almost out of bounds.

Um, note to self, Ivy is freaking strong.

“Oakley, hurry!” I turn back to find him, and he’s at the farthest point of the island from me, with Nadia climbing in his tube.

What the hell just happened? Plan B, stat!

I spot the man almost to me.

“Cruz, stick your hand out and grab mine!” I scream and bend forward, my right arm stretched out as far as it’ll go. Our hands connect after two more big kicks from him. “Stay still and let me,” I snap, turning him and leaping onto his hard, muscled back like a spider monkey, explaining my plan as I climb him. “I’m gonna lie out the front of the tube and paddle with my hands.” I keep my voice firm, authoritative—the skipper of this ship, despite the blush blazing across my entire body that’s rubbing up every inch of him, wet and slippery. “Hold me somewhere so I don’t fall, and kick like hell with your legs. GO!”

His hands find my thighs, his strong fingers holding me securely and doing things to my insides that I shouldn’t be focusing on right now. So I don’t, forcing my drive to win to give me tunnel vision.

In our new positions, we’re the length of three tubes and using two forms of power. His grip on me is unwavering, firm, and reassuring, so I stretch out like I’m 5’11” instead of 5’4” and swim the breaststroke as though I’m motorized.

“Where’s Emma?” he puffs as we work together. We soon fly past Miles, who’s still spinning aimlessly but with Rachel now, and Jasmine and Jensen, who are playing a round of slap-and-tickle in their shared tube more so than competing.

“She’s fine. She’s in with Court, head clearly above water, and kicking our ass. Now GO! We’ve passed three already. We got this!”

My arms burn, my eyes sting from the splashes of saltwater, and my ass is in Cruz’s face. Normally, I’d be…well, my ass wouldn’t be in Cruz’s face, and this isn’t exactly in line with my plan to avoid him today. But he’s blindfolded, and no way in hell is Nadia beating me with my own man!

I watch the other contestants bobble off track, and a grin spreads across my face. “Yes! Two collided! One more, Cruz—hard as you can, right now. GO!”

I lean out further, knowing he’s got me, and paddle maniacally. We cut through the water, the power of his legs propelling us in huge strides with each grunt of his exertion.

We’re right beside them now—the last team between us and victory. I’ll deny it on my deathbed, but I turn my body left, cup my hands into the deepest scoop I can make, and douse the viperous eyes of Nadia with a fat helping of the Indian Ocean.

She sputters and squirms, totally wrecking their pattern. Cruz and I sail a few more feet until we can both stand up in the water. I grab his hand as he slides off the tube, pulling him forward to plant both feet on the sand with me.

The horn blows and I reach over, helping him take his blindfold off. “Surprised?” I ask when his eyes adjust to the sun and meet mine.

He smiles. “Not at all.”

“I just didn’t know if you knew my voice, or—”

“CONGRATULATIONS!”

Callie comes scampering over and throws her arms around Cruz in a big hug. “And you,” she says, grinning at me, “nice strategy. Oh captain, my captain! Showed that bitch.” She glimpses over at Nadia, then back to us. “Massages…you lucky ducks. Think of me.” She runs a finger down Cruz’s abdomen, then sashays away.

Yep, she has a thing for Cruz.
I smile, ignoring the familiar churning in my stomach that I apparently haven’t conquered. I’m happy for her—and for him, too. Maybe Emma will benefit from him being distracted, as well.

“Nice job, baby!”

Oakley picks me up and swings me around in a circle. “My girl’s a winner,” he whispers and I lean in, hoping for a kiss. But he cowers, his eyes rueful. Right…no PDA.
Because calling me “baby” out loud and swinging me in your arms isn’t PDA?

“Wish it was me with you, but damn, with all those females screeching over each other, I couldn’t tell what was what. Sorry, angel.” He sets me down and takes a step back, putting distance between us that takes a stab at my heart. “Nice job, man. Congrats.” He gives Cruz a fist bump, then looks at me. It’s clear he wants me in his arms, but always the MVP, he retreats even farther.

“Thanks. I’m gonna go check on Emma.” Cruz eyes us both, then leaves.

“Great job, everyone!” Tom says. “Especially Harlow and Cruz, our winners.” He pauses for obligatory applause. “Very clever strategy, by the way. Nicely done. Your charities are both $5,000 richer, and your car will be here at six to take you for a full massage treatment at Mi Belle Spa. Everyone else, enjoy your evening!”

Oakley sits on the edge of Jasmine’s bed while I get ready for my outing. I have no idea where my roommates are.

“So, you planning on being
naked
for this massage?” he asks pensively, deep grooves of aggravation outlining his tapered eyes.

“I don’t know. Let’s ask Nadia what she thinks,” I reply with a bratty and proud edge, offering him my back.

I hear the bedroom door slam, and a second later his voice is hot and stern at my ear.

“No, ma’am.” Two large hands grab my waist and snare me backward onto his lap as he sits down again. “No fucking way in hell are you leaving to go get a naked massage with another dude while you’re mad at me.” He buries his face in my neck with searing, open-mouthed kisses and teases of his tongue. “Baby, I swear—I was disoriented and couldn’t hear, and she just jumped in. I didn’t even know it
wasn’t
you till she talked.”

“You should’ve kicked her out and came back for me,” I groan, angling my head to give him better access even in the midst of our “fight.” I’m not mad—it
was
a hectic game—just irritated. More so with Nadia than him, if truth be told. But men don’t think like she-wolves, and I want him conscious of Nadia’s sneaky tactics for her future attempts—because I’m positive they’re coming.

“I asked.” He suckles at the dip where my neck and shoulder merge, somehow connected to every last nerve ending in my body. He’s well aware I love it. I’m not sure if he loves it too, or if he’s just impatient and knows it’s the one-stop shop to set me fully aflame. Either way, I’m good with it. His hands trace from my hips around to the front, one sliding between my legs, which open wider for him. “She said you were already in with someone, but she wasn’t sure who.”

Of course she wasn’t, because I wasn’t with anyone—I was standing on the island while she slithered her scaly self into his inner tube.

“She lied.” I have every intention of screaming, but it comes out a hopeless purr as he teases my clit through my thin shorts.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes onto my skin in the voice that always gets him anything he wants from me. “Say you forgive me, baby.”

“I do.” I grind my ass into his groin. “Say you won’t fall for any of her tricks while I’m gone.”

“Promise. Love you, Harlow.
My pussy
,” he growls, strengthening his ministrations. “We have time? Been too long…need some of my girl.”

“I think so.”

I start to turn my face to him, and Jasmine bounds through the door.

“Car’s here, have fu—oh, sorry.” She slaps a hand over her eyes. “Sorry,” she repeats, “but you gotta go, Harlow. That is, unless you want to forfeit your massage to me.”

I stand and pull myself together. “You can look now. And no way,” I laugh. “Just keep an eye on this one for me.” I bend and kiss Oakley in a way that leaves a man thinking about only you until you kiss him again. “Back soon.”

I grab the duffel I packed and skip out, giddy at the thought of a massage. Cruz is already waiting in the back of the limo when I slide in and, surprise, his brow’s furrowed, eyes dark and daunting.

“I don’t like leaving my little sister alone in a house full of horny, single guys who’re here for the sole purpose of finding love—which, in Guylish, is ‘a hookup,’” he grates from deep in his throat, saving me from the obligatory “What’s wrong?”—the answer to which I was already certain anyway.

“Not completely true,” I reply. “A,
all
the guys aren’t single, and many men—spanning far beyond this house, even—know the difference between love and sex, and are capable of both. B, Oakley, Callie, and Jasmine would never let anything bad happen to Emma. And C, we won’t be gone that long.”

“Hmph,” he grunts menially, staring out the window.

“Have you ever had a massage before?” I ask, refusing to cater to his attempt at a mood-dampening tantrum any further.

He gapes at me like I’m stupid. “I race motocross, so yeah, I’ve had a few.”

Well, I tried.

The remainder of the ride is silent, which is fine, because the scenery is almost as beautiful as the sunset and I’m mesmerized. And if he’s not talking, he’s not mentioning
that
night.

We arrive at Mi Belle and are treated like royalty from the minute the doors open. We’re whisked into a private suite in the back, complete with hors d'oeuvres, champagne, and two beautiful women assigned to only our comfort.

The talker of the two ladies hands us both robes and points to the dressing rooms. “No clothes or jewelry, please. It be safe there. Then we get started. I’m Laloni, and she Simone. You need anything special? Allergies?”

“No, thank you,” I respond graciously. Cruz shakes his head, already halfway to one of the changing rooms.