Matched (43 page)

“Please,” I beg when he stills above me. His desire is evident, hard and heavy against me.

That’s all it takes. His hands slide down, stroking the curve of my waist. His neck absorbs my whimpering moans as his fingertips ascend to the lower swells of my breasts.

I push my pelvis up against his erection, which is growing impossibly harder and thicker. “Cruz...” His name falls from my lips in a sensual request.

He drops his head to my chest—but not to claim my breasts. Instead, he releases a pained sigh. “Fuck!”

“Did I…? I’m sorry.” I mentally slap myself for coming on too quick and eagerly.

There’s a tormented struggle behind his cloudy eyes as he braces himself on his elbows, creating a small distance between us. His gaze sweeps the yard, searching in every direction, before he directs it back down at me.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

I drop my gaze, unable to look at him now, my cheeks flaming. “Okay.” I can’t hide the disappointment in my tone.

His weight covers me again. “I want to, Harlow—want all of you—but the cameras could be anywhere.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. My hands rake down his back as I smile. The moment is bittersweet, but I’m filled with appreciation that he’s always looking out for me—for us. “Just lie with me. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He rolls to his side and draws me back in, his hardness pressing against my stomach.

I’m reburying my head in his neck, the pulse there as rampant as my own, when his hand slinks to my ass and squeezes. My entire body shivers, and my lips seem to give more and more of the faintest kisses the longer we remain there in our perfect heaven.

“I want you, Cruz. I want our final memory here, together—completely.” I whisper the brazen confession, forcing my eyes not to stray from his.

He stares at me with a strained expression, his breathing labored as my hand coasts down between our bodies and caresses his thickness.

“You already have me, Harlow.”

Despite his words, he doesn’t stop me when I reach inside his shorts, pulling him free. I press myself against him, and with only my bikini bottom separating us, draw my hand to his face, stroking his jaw. Tears blossom in my eyes as I confess, “I want to get lost in you—want you to take every piece of me before I leave. Please...give me one last memory of only us on this island.”

I watch the internal debate flash across his face and am bracing myself for rejection when his mouth crashes to mine in a dizzying kiss. My body erupts in tingling anticipation when his hand slips around from my ass, tugging my bikini bottom to the side gently and nudging the tip of his head against my throbbing center.

“You sure?” he murmurs against my lips, further adjusting the blanket to shield us.

“Never wanted anything more.”

His hips thrust and propel him deep inside me, stretching and filling me to the very depths. His visceral groan merges with my throaty gasp.

He reaches down to the earth with his other hand and pushes off, sending us swinging. Our bodies never need to move; the motion alone does all the work. Even if a camera spotted us, it’d never know how connected we truly are.

“Damn,” he growls. “Gorgeous.” It’s a reverent appraisal that swells my heart as his eyes lock on mine.

His arms come around me completely and hold me close. There’s no animalistic hunger now—only a raw need to feel as one. We sway, merged and sheathed, as his throaty grunt of my name has me clenching around him.

In what feels like only minutes, though the setting sun reveals otherwise, someone shouts our way. “Car’s here to take you to the hotel!”

My body trembles, tears bursting free. “I can’t go.”

“Shhh.” He moves his hips, and my lips part on a broken moan. His hand glides down my body until his thumb reaches my sensitive bud, rubbing rough circles against my flesh.

My body arches up further into him, his mouth covering mine as I coil tightly. My breath catches in my throat when he plunges deeper and faster once more, and that’s all it takes for me to fall apart in his arms. I’m quivering, riding the high, and then soon falling back down. I claw to keep him with me, my hands roaming frantically over every glistening inch of him, desperate to memorize every nuance, muscle, and scar.

I almost wish we’d just fucked—to hell with the cameras—because this is so much harder. He made love to me sweetly, tenderly, and beautifully. It was everything I’d ever craved. How do I say goodbye after that?

He pulls out, still hard, never having reached his own climax. “Look at me, Harlow.” He’s cradling my head, demanding my focus.

The tears refuse to cease, making it nearly impossible for me to look at him. He kisses my damp cheek and waits until my eyes meet his before speaking. “Go to Aspen and live it up for a week. Take as many photos as you can, ’cause I’ll want to see them when I leave this house.”

I give a feeble attempt at a nod.

“And do me one favor. Remember this moment—how perfectly we fit together and how crazy I am about you. ’Cause for as long as I’ve lived and through all that I’ve done, I’ve never felt anything even close to this. I want more, gorgeous—more time, more you, more us.”

He’s kisses me again, and I hear footsteps heading our way. I close my eyes tightly, unable to control my sobs when he rolls away and out of the hammock. I open my eyes and watch him head to the beach, with no final glances back my way.

“Time to go, Harlow.” The new producer, a middle-aged woman, appears with a cameraman in tow.

I sit up and wrap the blanket around my body, inhaling his lingering scent and giving the property one last look. The memories, good and bad, replay through my mind. This place, this show, has forever changed who I am.

I stand and cast a final glance down at Cruz on the shoreline with his back to me, staring out at the ocean.

I smile, cherishing every irreplaceable memory, and begin to walk away without a single regret.

The Reunion

I have no idea what to expect as I stand backstage. My palms are clammy, and there’s a relentless lump in my throat I can’t swallow past. And where is everyone else? Are they keeping us separated on purpose to build anxiety? Because it’s working.

In the few weeks since leaving the show, I’ve of course talked to Court while we were in Aspen and several times to Miranda, as well as exchanged a handful of stiff texts with Callie…but that’s it.

No, no Cruz. No sighting today yet, either.

“Ten minutes!” a guy with a headset rushes by and barks.

I look around, uncertain how to feel.
Where are my other cast mates?

“Psst.” A black curtain slides open to reveal Miranda.

My sigh remedies at least half my jumbled nerves as I envelop her in a hug. “Thank God! I was wondering where you were. I’m so happy to see you!”

“You too. I missed you.” We break apart and she whispers, “I think we’re all sequestered—you know, always with the clever tricks—but I’m a rebel.” She laughs. “Hunted you down.”

A warning shout comes from somewhere. “Five minutes!”

“So catch me up, fast,” I say. “Have you heard from—”

“Nothing. He hasn’t called. Which is fine—we had our goodbye—I just have to accept it.” Her voice cracks, but she’s quick with a bright smile and change of subject. “But I moved! New apartment, new city, new Miranda. So screw Adam! What about you? Anything?”

I shake my head, my teeth tugging on my bottom lip. “Still nothing, but I didn’t give him my number. With everything going on right at the end, I forgot.”

Her eyes narrow. “Adam could’ve given it to him. Assholes, both of them.” She throws an arm around my shoulder. “At least we have each other. I’m surprised about Emma, though.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m surprised by a lot of things.”

“Harlow, Jasmine, there you are! Places!” The crewman is ushering us forward, but Miranda rips her arm from his grasp.

“My name is Miranda. I already told them repeatedly to use it, or I’m outta here. And don’t touch us—ever.” She yanks his other hand from me. “Come on, Harlow.”

I bite back a proud grin at how feisty Miranda has grown as we interlock our arms and walk onto the stage together. It takes everything in me to hold onto my polished smile when I see the stadium seating awaiting. He’s here, in the top row, and not looking at me.

“Harlow, red mark, front row. Miranda, yellow, third,” we’re instructed.

“We got this,” Miranda whispers. “After, we’ll grab a drink?”

“Sounds good,” I reply, struggling to rein in the flurry of emotions building in my stomach.

I take my spot with my head down, raising it slowly once I’m settled. I’m about to look around and chance a peek his way until fingers snap in my face.

“Facing forward in five, four, three…”

“Welcome to the
Date, Mate, Fate
reunion special! I’m your host, Tom Peters, and I’m joined by the cast of men and women from the first-ever celebrity edition.”

He sure is; we’re all crammed together again. Honestly, it’s been so long that I forgot some of these people were even in the house.

“Let’s start with our couple sent into the Soul Search right off the bat, Dana and Dalton!”

Exactly whom I’d forgotten about. I angle my body to see them better.

“Dana, how are things between you and Dalton now?” Tom asks.

I could answer myself just by reading their body language; there’s at least a good foot between them. It’s hard to get comfortable or cozy on these bleachers—yes, they have us sitting on metal bleachers—but the animosity emanating off those two is due to much more than the seating.

“There are no ‘things’ between me and Dalton,” Dana snips. “The minute we got home from Paris, he stopped answering my calls or texts.” Her judgmental scowl lands on a tight-lipped Dalton as she goes on. “At first, I was worried he lost his phone. But no, he found it just fine enough to post pictures of him and his hoochies all over Instagram.”

I shuffle to face forward again, already losing interest. I spot Oakley as I do, with Callie right beside him. I’m the unlucky one here, with Wyatt—joy—to my immediate right. But where the hell is Emma? It takes everything I have to keep from turning all the way around to glare at Cruz. I won’t give him the privilege of even a second of my time.

“One of the questions we received the most from Twitter followers pertained to the Meet Your Mate Mixer. Dalton, can you tell us what was really happening under that table?”

“Exactly what you think was happening, Tom,” he answers in a monotone.

“Classy, Dana,” I hear Callie chastise her from behind me.

“Why don’t you—”

“Next, we have Ivy and Wyatt!” Tom interrupts Dana. “There’s no forgetting Wyatt’s antics in the house. Tell me, were you two surprised you matched?”

“Not a bit. Ivy’s a hot movie star. Who
else
would she match with?” Wyatt laughs. “In fact,” he says, swiveling, “come sit by Daddy, sugar. Harlow, scoot over.”

I move aside as Ivy slides in and lays her hand on Wyatt’s thigh. “Hey, Harlow.”

“Um…hi, Ivy.”

“Congratulations, Ivy. And Peyton,” Tom says, waving toward the top of the bleachers, “on the huge success of
Always Was
. How many of you out there saw it?” he asks the nonexistent studio audience. “Wow, looks like most hands are up!”

“Thank you all,” Ivy coos at the invisible people. “We’re very grateful.”

“So, you and Wyatt? Was the Soul Search correct?”

“I think there’s a shot. He’s flown out to see me and vice versa a few times since the show, and it’s always a lovely night. Wyatt?”

“I keep boardin’ the planes, so what do you think?” Wyatt asks, grinning.

Not sure whether it’s the start of a meaningful relationship or an expensive series of booty calls, but either way, they deserve each other.

“Wonderful! And now a Twitter question from tabbycat. ‘Was there a Callahan brothers threesome with Nadia or not?’”

“No!” Ah, Nadia’s up there somewhere in Cruz’s vicinity.

“Well, there’s your answer.” Wyatt chuckles. “Let’s not speak of my brother when he’s not here to defend himself, yeah?”

I whirl around and search the bleachers. How did I not notice Court
and
Emma missing? A spike of fear stabs me. But Cruz is here, so what’s going on?

Speaking of Cruz, I take the opportunity while I’m turned around to shoot some daggers at him before Tom moves on.

“Peyton and Rachel, hello. How are you both?”

“If I was any better, I wouldn’t be sitting on bleachers,” Rachel says, trying another of her infamous not-funny jokes.

“Have you stayed in contact with any of your cast mates?” he pushes on.

“Only Nadia, who’s impossible to get ahold of, and Ivy, who’s almost as bad.”

“What about Miles, your plus one? Isn’t he your roommate?”

I steal a subtle peek at Miles, who’s sitting just behind me and to my left, and grin as he answers Tom. “Not her anything, Thomas. May I call you Thomas?”

Miles is a lot funnier than his former roommate.

“You can, but I won’t answer you.”

Who knew Tom had a personality tucked away in there?

“Don’t get mouthy down there, Miles, or I’ll air it all!” Rachel threatens.

“Oh please, pumpkin, allow me.” The metal squeaks as Miles stands, and I turn to look at him. “I’m gay. Surprise!”

“Called it!” Oakley boasts, stretching to high five Wyatt.

“And that hot mofo off stage over there,” Miles says, pointing to a very handsome man who waves, “is my boyfriend, Zeffrey. Honey, come out here and meet my girls.”

Zeffrey strolls out like he owns the place, and Tom’s gaping mouth looks ready to catch flies. “This is my Harlow.” I rise to shake his hand and am pulled up and around for a hug instead. Over Zeffrey’s shoulder, Cruz winks at me.

I slam my eyes shut, and swing back down to sit.
Nope.
Can’t even begin to deal with how a simple goddamned wink riles me up.

“And this is my precious Miranda,” Miles continues, and she’s enveloped in the same full-embrace treatment. “Callie Sass,” Miles introduces Callie, then looks around. “Thomas, where’s Emma? And Court?”