He opens his mouth, but before he can respond, voices come from the hallway, and acting on instinct, I place my fingers across his mouth to keep him from talking and giving us away.
Gage’s eyes flare a little at the contact, and my breath does that annoying chopping thing again. His eyes are green. Have I noticed that before? I always thought they were blue, or maybe hazel, but they’re more like . . .
“Your eyes look like guacamole,” I whisper, once the voices pass without anyone opening the closet door.
He chuckles, his breath warm on my fingers, and I snatch my hand back. “Are you going to say this stuff on camera?”
“Probably,” I admit. “Which is why it’s in both of our interests if you send me home first thing.”
“I don’t know about that. The producers have told me in as vague a way as possible that I should keep the contestants that make for good TV for as long as possible.”
I’m disgusted but not surprised. We contestants have basically been told that we’re welcome to make a spectacle of ourselves in the name of entertainment.
“Ah yes, above all we must entertain the people,” I say, reaching for the doorknob. “It’s a wonder they don’t just set up a tent in the front yard, dress us in something sparkly, and have us walk around in a slow circle to creepy circus music.”
“We talked about it,” he says, stepping closer, his breath warm on my neck. “Decided that dressing you all up in bikinis and having you splash around in the pool would even better.”
“Gross,” I mutter. I turn my head slightly to meet his eyes. “Send me home, Gage. Please. It’ll be better for both of us.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You really want that?”
“I’m a businesswoman, not a groupie.”
He’s silent for a moment. “True. You did compare my eyes to avocados.”
“Exactly. You usually get, what, moss?”
His lips twitch, although the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Emeralds, mostly.”
I turn away with a snort, opening the door slowly, listening for voices, and then sticking my head out when I’m met only with silence.
The hallway’s empty.
“All clear,” I say, stepping hurriedly into the hallway. It’s open air, as much of the villa is, and the faint scent of tropical flowers is vastly preferable to the astringent smell of the cleaning supplies.
I inhale and turn around to face Gage, who’s closing the closet door.
I extend my hand with a confident smile. “So. We have a deal? I’m the first one home?”
He looks at my hand, then his gaze flicks up to meet mine. His eyes do look a little more like emeralds in this light, but I’m not about to tell him that. I stand by my guacamole assessment.
Finally Gage reaches out and shakes my hand. “Sure. First one home.”
I feel a surge of relief, even as my hand is far too aware of the warmth of his palm against mine. “Thank you. Truly. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time on your hunt for true love, or whatever. I’m sure one of the girls here will think your eyes positively sparkle.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can reply, the sound of feminine laughter pierces the air, only to stop completely when three of the contestants round the corner and find me and Gage standing face-to-face, my hand in his.
I tug my arm back, but it’s too late. Cora, a gorgeous lawyer of Middle Eastern descent, and Hannah, a pretty southern second-grade teacher with a penchant for headbands and passive aggression, are both giving me dirty looks.
The third woman plays it smarter.
“Hey, guys!” the stunning blonde says, giving us both a friendly smile as the trio approaches. “We were just taking a tour of the villa, it’s gorgeous.”
Meet Brooklyn. She’s basically the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. She’s got long, shiny blond hair that she wears in loose, low-maintenance curls. She’s got straight white teeth and Disney-princess blue eyes. Add in the C-cup breasts, tiny waist, and legs up to her chin, and she’s pretty much perfect.
She’s also exceedingly friendly to everyone, me included, and I should like her. I know I should, but I can’t shake the sensation that every single thing she does is preplanned, and it makes it hard to relax around her.
Gage, apparently, doesn’t feel the same, because his welcome smile seems entirely genuine. “Ladies, good to see you. You all ready for the kickoff dinner tonight?”
“Yes, totally,” Hannah drawls prettily. “And I can’t wait for tomorrow’s pool party. My poor winter skin is totally overdue for some time in the sun.”
Cora lets out a confident laugh. “I’ve never had to worry about that.” She subtly juts out a long, exposed thigh beneath her white skirt, as though waiting for Gage to take in her naturally bronze skin.
But instead of checking out Cora, Gage’s eyes find Brooklyn, who gives the slightest of playful eye rolls at the other woman’s antics, which Gage answers with a quick wink.
Irrationally annoyed by their silent flirting, I take a step back from the group. “Thanks for the directions,” I tell Gage, trying to convey to the other girls that I was just lost, not hiding out in a coat closet making deals with our very own Runaway Groom. “This place is huge, right?”
“Oh, sweetie, did you get lost?” Hannah says melodramatically. “You poor thing.”
“Just took a wrong turn looking for my room,” I lie, lifting a hand in farewell. “See you all at dinner.”
Cora, Brooklyn, and Hannah all give me a singsongy goodbye, but Gage doesn’t even look my way as he drapes an arm over Cora’s and Brooklyn’s shoulders. “Ladies, care to join me on the patio for a beverage?”
I’m clearly not included in the invitation, and I tell myself it’s a good sign—a show of faith that he’ll stick to his promise to send me home first.
But as they walk away, his manners far more charming than they were when he was talking to me, I stare after them for just a moment, wondering which Gage Barrett is the real version: the silver-tongued charmer out to fall in love for the sake of ratings, or the guy in the cleaning closet whose avocado-colored eyes hinted at dark secrets.