Turning It on (Red Hot Russians) (13 page)

“You were there! Why aren’t they showing you?” she whispered to Crusher, though the answer was obvious. To make her look like a dumpy, alcoholic loser, that was why.

The only person who seemed to fare worse was Vlad. Hannah winced at scenes of him carefully lining up the volleyball serve that had slammed into her face, then laughing and high-fiving his teammates afterward. Hannah didn’t recall seeing any of that, but then again, she’d been a little distracted at the time. On the double date, he won big at the casino—the dealer’s suspicious glance suggested he’d done it by cheating—then flaunted it in front of Chris. He bought Tammy a huge margarita, long after she should have stopped drinking, then compared her to her sexy sister and made her cry. While poor, drunk Tammy sobbed on Alison’s shoulder, Vlad had gone off to dirty dance with a girl in cutoffs and a belly shirt. When the girl playfully tugged on his arm, he had shouted and nearly become violent. A close-up of the girl’s frightened face and the uneasy crowd of spectators surrounding them made Hannah turn away. Across the room, Vlad also had his gaze averted. Was it out of embarrassment at being portrayed inaccurately...or the shame of being caught?

Team Red’s double date had evidently been even worse than Team Blue’s, with Chris storming off and Tammy, captured on hidden camera, throwing up in the back of the cab.

When the premiere ended, everyone applauded, including Chris, Tammy and Vlad. Hannah forced a smile and clapped, too, as a cameraman knelt beside her chair. When the cast dispersed to change for the night shoot at the pool patios, she dashed to the elevators.

Back in her room, Eric’s words played in her mind.
Whatever you see, don’t take it seriously
. Had he been trying to warn her? She went out to the balcony and let the soft rush of the waves soothe her agony. She gulped in salty air and was almost calm when laughter from the pool patios at either end of the building intruded on her peace. The shoots were starting, and she wasn’t there.

She could not face the cameras again tonight. All she wanted was to escape into a story, even if it was a bad one from her slush pile. Anything to take her mind off all that had happened. Soon enough, Eric or a camera crew would come looking for her. Like a cornered animal, she looked around, desperate to hide. She couldn’t stay here. There must be somewhere she could go.

There was. The little cabana bar down on the beach. She grabbed a manuscript from the box in her closet and took the back stairs down to the lobby. Before anyone could see her, she dashed across the terrace and into the dimly lit garden on the other side. In the shadows, she paused on the stone path and listened to the hushed sounds of the ocean and the laughter and splashing coming from the hot tubs. Beside the path was a small sign with an arrow pointing toward the beach, the dock and The Smiling Shark. She hadn’t noticed the cabana had a name, but that must be the place.

She followed the path into a tunnel of palms. The breeze was warm and scented with tropical flowers. The path ended at the sand, which was still warm from the day’s heat. Ahead lay the cabana.

The Smiling Shark had a long flat roof and was open on three sides, facing the ocean. Soft lights burned, but all of the tables and chairs were empty. Her shoulders sagged with relief and she hurried toward this sandy sanctuary. As she approached, she heard music. Bob Marley’s “Is This Love.”

The bartender welcomed her with a smile. She ordered a glass of wine, and went to the cushioned rattan couch and chairs that looked out on the dark beach. As she placed her glass on the table, she spotted a book facedown on the chair across from hers.
On Writing
by Stephen King. It was modern classic on the craft of writing, though a surprising book to find abandoned on the set of a reality show. Still, the editor in her had grudging respect for the skill in which
Last Fling
’s first episode had established characters, conflicts and storyline. The book must belong to someone on the crew who would return for it, but with any luck, not until filming wrapped for the night.

She turned to the first page of the manuscript, a twist on Jane Austen’s
Mansfield Park
that involved shape-shifters. However, the story wasn’t half as captivating as the dark majesty of the moonlit ocean, or the silhouette of the lone man walking along the water’s edge.

Was he the owner of the book? She tensed, ready to flee, but realized that he was as guilty of playing hooky as she was. If he was reading a book about writing, he must be a person who loved words and stories. Someone with whom she might have something in common.

The man lingered by the water a few minutes more, then turned and began to make his way back toward The Smiling Shark. Hannah stared in disbelief, but even from this far away, his sexy swagger was unmistakable. “No way,” she whispered under her breath.

Way. Miami’s favorite Eastern European male stripper nodded a greeting as he entered the bar.

The bartender set out a Corona; Vlad grabbed it, and then came to the seat across from Hannah. He picked up his book and sat down. Still unable to believe her eyes, Hannah blurted out, “You’re not at the pool party.”

He smiled a little at her obvious statement. “Nor are you.”

Her smile faded at the thought of Jack frolicking with his little bimbo. “I wasn’t in the mood.”

“Understandable.” He opened the book and set the bookmark on the table beside his beer.

Hannah dropped her gaze to the page she had been reading, and then looked back up, not ready to let the conversation end. “That’s a good book,” she said.

Vlad nodded. “He’s my favorite writer, so it makes sense to try to learn from him.”

“You write? Fiction?” That explained his need for notepads. She met would-be authors every day, but still struggled to get her mind around the idea that this hunky male stripper was one of them. Not only that, he had a favorite author he wanted to emulate.

“All sorts of things. Stories, poetry. I’m working on a novel.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s coming of age story...hardworking immigrant comes to United States and gets paid fortune to take off his clothes. Then monsters attack his city. I try to do what they say...write what you know. Except for the monsters,” he added, earnestly.

“That’s good advice. You’ll probably get plenty of material from this experience.” She let out a short, bitter laugh. “It might even help you with the monsters.”

She dropped her eyes back to the manuscript. She read the first sentence, read it again. And again. Vlad sipped his beer, and then quietly set the bottle back on the table. His gaze was hard upon her, and only the roll of waves, far off down the beach, broke the silence. Finally, he asked, “You didn’t want to come on this show, did you?”

As the sadness returned, Hannah shook her head.

Chapter Twelve

Hannah felt Vlad’s intense gaze as he closed his book and waited for her to speak. Something about him seemed to demand answers, though not in a threatening way. More in an interested way, as if he found her inexplicably fascinating. Then again, he was a writer. Maybe he considered her a character study.

A part of her wanted to pour out everything, though she feared what he might think. Or what he might do with the knowledge. Tonight’s show had raised plenty of questions about the kind of person he was. She let the roll of the waves fill the silence, and after a few awkward moments, he nodded. “You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Okay.” He paused. “Well, you know what I do. But on tonight’s show, they said you work in publishing.”

“That’s right.” It figured he would want to talk about that. What aspiring author didn’t have a pitch ready?

He held up one hand. “Don’t worry. My book isn’t close to done, so I’m not going to chase you around, begging you to look at it. I just think it would be fun to have job that pays you to read all the time.”

“There’s more to it than reading, but that is the best part.”

“I love to read. Always have. When I was growing up, we lived so far north TV didn’t come in sometimes. Internet we could not afford. But libraries are free and books don’t need satellites to work.” He held up the one in his hand. “Takes you away from life, you know?”

What must his life have been like that Stephen King had provided a welcome escape? She had sought refuge in the gentle, ordered worlds of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer, where even plain poor relations found a happy ending. There were clear rules and everyone followed them. Unlike here. Her chin wobbled as the hurt and confusion returned. She blinked and swallowed, trying to get herself under control, but that was proving impossible. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Hannah.”

“Does it bother you at
all
, what you’ve come here to do? To break a couple up?”

Just saying it hurt as badly as if that awful thing had already happened. She gulped deep breaths and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, desperate to not fall apart in front of him. He leaned forward and handed a napkin across the table. “Oh, Hannah, don’t cry. This show isn’t worth it.”

“I’m not crying. It’s just...emotional leakage.” She dabbed the tears away and took a deep sniff. “But I have to know. Do you feel any remorse, or is it just all in a day’s work for you?”

He looked down at his hands, then back up at her. “Yes. It does bother me, and I do feel remorse. Sometimes I hope to be the one she sends home, or wish I’d never signed on in the first place.”

“Then why did you?”

“Same reason as everyone else. That kind of money could change my life...even if I don’t like what I have to do to get it.” He shook his head. “But I also think, what kind of person would push someone they’re supposed to love into doing this?” The words made her flinch. He saw it. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. Lately, I’ve wondered the same thing. This wasn’t supposed to be about flings. Jack always wanted to be an actor, but went into law to please his family. Coming on
Last Fling
was a way for him to have a little taste of that dream.”

“And you agreed because you wanted him to do something he’s always wanted to do.”

“You don’t think I’m a spineless sap because of it?”

“Not at all. I think it is kind and very generous. But it’s not turning out how you expected?”

She sighed. “Our fling lists were supposed to be jokes. That’s why I picked fictional characters and dead authors.”

“But Jack chose women he really wants to have sex with?”

“He claims he invited Robynne because she needed a vacation and couldn’t afford one. But she’s always had a thing for him, and I don’t think she considers the invitation to be just a friendly gesture. And she’s pretty, the camera loves her...and it doesn’t love me.” Her voice hitched and felt thick and moist in her throat. “After tonight, everyone in America must be wondering why he’s with me and not her.”

“Not everyone,” he said, gently. “They didn’t make me look good either, but I know I am not like that. It’s TV, that’s all. Tomorrow, everyone will forget and go on to something else. And Jack? He’s a lawyer with lots of education, yes?”

She nodded.

“Well I’m a dancer with not so much, and even I can see what a lucky man he is. He has a smart, beautiful fiancée, who loves him enough to try to give him his dream. Right now, he is caught up in the show and this other girl, but he is not going to throw away something so good. If I were in his shoes, I know I wouldn’t.”

Hearing him say what she hoped for so badly made her feel better. She had probably said too much, but after a week of tension, the release was welcome. She glanced over, on the lookout for microphone wires under his T-shirt. They weren’t on camera now, so there was no reason for a mike to be there, but he still might gossip. “Listen, Vlad, can this conversation stay between us?”

His grin had a playful slant. “What happens at Smiling Shark stays at Smiling Shark?”

“Something like that.” She paused, watching his expression in the dim light.

“Sure, Hannah, I can do that.” His voice was warm, comforting. “And one more thing. I do not think I’ll break up Tammy and Chris. She is like your Jack, all caught up in being on TV. She may think she wants me for a night, but she wants Chris for life. We saw it on double date. They just didn’t show that part.”

“There was a lot they didn’t show from my date either.” Though it might be dangerous, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the moment. “You’re really not the way you seem on camera.”

“No, I’m not. Neither are you.”

His gaze held hers for a long moment, until she broke the contact, vaguely disconcerted by the reality of what had just happened. Of all the cast members, she could not have picked a less likely person to find a connection with, and becoming attached to him could be dangerous. She forced herself to hold up her manuscript. “It’s late. I really should get back.”

“So should I.” Vlad closed his book, and tilted his head in the direction of the beach. “I’ll walk you. We can take long way, by water?”

She hesitated, which in light of what Jack was probably doing now, seemed ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. “That’s not a good idea. I’m...well, I’m...you know. Engaged.” She fluttered her hand and the ring sparkled in the low light.

“I understand. You are loyal to Jack, and that’s good thing. A loving thing. But I’m talking about walk back to hotel, not sex on the beach.”

“Oh no... I never thought that.” Her face colored at the implied assumption he would even want to have sex with her. She drained the last of her wine and gathered up her book. “The long way it is.”

They left the bar, carrying their books and their shoes, and kept to the soft sand, skirting the edge of the tide where soft, wet sea creatures and sharp shells were easy to step on. The dark sky was scattered with stars and the tide made a soft swoosh as it rolled in and out. The salt-scented breeze blew Hannah’s hair and billowing top. When they came to the dock, they walked out to the end. The shadowed bulk of Isla Cara loomed a short distance offshore. Hannah was surprised to see a single light blinking.

“Do you think there’s someone out there?”

“There’s a dock that faces this direction,” Vlad said. “But maybe someone decided to go zip-lining in the dark?”

“I missed the zip line outing.”

“I noticed you weren’t with your team when they showed those scenes tonight.”

“It was after the volleyball game.” She tensed. Tonight’s clips suggested that he’d aimed the serve to hit her. Again, she couldn’t reconcile that with the kindness he’d shown that day, or tonight. “I thought Team Red went up in a helicopter that day.”

“We did. I was out on the island the day I came here. Before you and Jack arrived. They had a party for all of...us.”

“The flings,” Hannah said, quietly.

“Yes.” Vlad’s gaze was focused on the dark water. “You would like the island. I know how to drive a boat. If you want, I will take you there sometime. Jack, too, if he wants to come.”

She couldn’t see that happening, but the invitation wasn’t serious anyway. The breeze grew stronger and out over the water came a flash of lightning, followed by a low roll of thunder. Vlad chuckled. “Maybe not the best night for zip line?”

“Maybe not. We should get back before it rains.”

They hurried up the beach, and as she walked beside him, Vlad took her hand. The gesture startled her at first, and she almost pulled away, but didn’t. She liked the feeling of his warm grip clasped around hers. Though Jack wasn’t the hand-holding type, not with her at least, it was nice...no, make that
more
than nice, to stroll a moonlit beach with a sexy, intriguing man who seemed to be something of a gentleman. Hadn’t Jack insisted she try to have fun? Well, holding hands with a really hot Russian guy was fun. There wasn’t a single reason Hannah shouldn’t enjoy it.

Unfortunately, the distant thunder grew louder and the breeze turned to a stiff wind that carried the damp heaviness of a storm. She had grown used to Puerto Rico’s daily rain showers, but this felt much stronger. They reached the path and ran toward the hotel as a cold raindrop splashed on her cheek and another dotted her linen shirt. Lightning flashed again, and from the patios there were shrieks and laughter, as everyone scrambled from the pools.

They crossed the garden and the terrace and reached the building as more drops splattered on the concrete. They took shelter beneath the blue-and-white awning that stretched across the back of the hotel, but just inside, a few production staffers congregated outside the coffee shop and bar. “We shouldn’t go in this way. It’s best if no one sees us together,” he said.

“No kidding. Who knows what they’d do with footage of Vlad the Bad and Hannah the Hopeless...or whatever I am.”

He looked back and grinned, then gave her hand a squeeze. “Never hopeless. I think I know another way in.” He led her down a staircase on the left side of the terrace to a single door at ground level, probably used by the hotel staff. Through the glass door, she could see an empty corridor and a bank of elevators. Vlad swiped his key through the slot and pushed the door open.

“There you go. That elevator should get you back up to the lobby, safe, sound and dry.” He paused, and then looked down at their still-joined hands. He stroked his thumb across the backs of her fingers. Over her ring. “I’m surprised you’re allowed to wear this. The powers that be seem less concerned with your jewelry than mine.”

“For now I’m allowed to, but who knows?” She chuckled sadly. “Tomorrow, they could decide it looks better on Robynne.”

He looked into her eyes with the intensity she had seen earlier. “You’re a beautiful woman, Hannah. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.” With that, he brushed a kiss across her lips.

Caught off guard, she released a soft gasp, as her heart thrummed and her chest rose and fell. Her senses took in all of him; the way his sensuous mouth curved into a smile, his sandalwood and cocoa butter scent, and the warmth and strength of his hands clasped around hers. Even though she shouldn’t, she craved another. Longer, deeper this time. But approaching laughter and the sound of more thunder ended the moment.

“I should go,” he said. “But I’m glad we were together tonight.”

“Me, too.”

He squeezed her hand once more before he let go, then stepped backward out the door, his gaze locked on hers until he turned to run back up the stairs. She watched until he made it upstairs and back to the shelter of the awning. Lightning flashed again, just as the clouds burst and the rain cascaded down, making it impossible to see him anymore.

* * *

Stanford Owens-Smyth, aka Fitzwilliam Darcy, peered across the table of the casually elegant beachfront restaurant. His meal, which he had sent back twice before declaring it inedible, sat untouched. “As you were saying...your father sells hardware for a living?”

“Actually he owns a distributorship in San Francisco,” Hannah replied, though his flat tone and distracted gaze told her he was not interested in her answer. His attention was on something on the beach behind her. She turned, just in time to see three teenage girls in bikinis pass. The cameraman filming this painful one-on-one date lingered on the girls, and then aimed his lens back at the table. Hannah glared, unsure what annoyed her more, the camera or Darcy. “My father’s a very smart man,” she continued, glaring at Darcy through narrowed eyes. “He taught me to recognize tools
.
”

Darcy replied with a disdainful sniff. “Useful knowledge, I’m sure.”

“You have no idea.”

She took another bite of Chilean sea bass garnished with mango and avocado chutney. Even Jeff Scott Fitzgerald’s endless shoptalk was preferable to Darcy’s thinly disguised disdain. Tonight was elimination night, and she hoped Mr. Regency Sideburns had his valise packed. Tired of forcing date-night chitchat, she sighed. “Tell me, Darcy... Stanford...whomever? Are you really such a snob, or do you just play one on TV?”

He blinked, registering mild surprise. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I understand the question.”

“Since we’ve arrived tonight, you’ve raised a fuss about the food and driven our waiter crazy, criticized your second ex-wife because she prefers romantic comedy to opera, made snide remarks about Tammy’s tattoo as well as Americans in general. What did you expect from your stint on a reality show called
Last Fling
?”

He tipped his aristocratic chin as he appeared to contemplate her question. “Like any actor, I want the exposure. And I’ll admit to a certain morbid curiosity about why you and your fiancé, as well as the other pair, would subject yourselves to something like this.”

Despite the unease stirring in her stomach, she turned back to her plate, flaking off a bite of fish she really didn’t want. “Have you figured it out?”

He tapped his finger against his bottom lip and peered down his long nose. “Not completely. Your fiancé wants to escape his responsibilities. Robynne Lovejoy wants your fiancé. The others are here for the money, to pursue Hollywood careers, or both. However, you are a mystery. You appear to be intelligent, successful. Not a conventional beauty by any means, yet not without...” His gaze lingered on her breasts and his mouth took on a wry twist. “Significant attributes. Nevertheless, here you are. Tell me, are you really as desperate as you seem?”