Chapter 3 #2
“Of course.” Birdie’s smile somehow widened, and sunlight glinted off her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “We’ll finish up in the pavilion, where Callie can find some shade, and I’ll locate some aloe for her nose.”
Callie released a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Sunburns aren’t very parrot-tastic.” Their guide ushered them into the large, gazebo-like structure. “Thus, they are unacceptable.”
Callie turned big eyes to Thomas, who squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Ten minutes later, she’d managed to present a creditable list of all the positive aspects of the island on camera, as had Thomas. When prompted by the crew for any negatives, she’d also noted, haltingly, that perhaps the atmosphere wasn’t quite as relaxed as she’d hoped.
At that, Birdie’s smile had frozen in place, her blank eyes pinned to Callie as three separate costumed parrots drew nearer, and Callie had almost fled in terror.
Thomas had echoed most of Callie’s sentiments, while also noting his enjoyment of the various places on the grounds with hidden parrot paraphernalia, there to surprise and delight guests as they explored the island.
After that, he’d hustled her back to the main hotel, a gentle hand at the small of her back, waving off Birdie’s increasingly insistent offers of aloe.
The camera crew promised to meet them in an hour for dinner, and suddenly they were alone in the elevator and the long, white, pristine hall leading to their room.
The carpet was patterned with beady-eyed parrots, all eyeing her speculatively.
Then, finally, they were at the room. When Thomas couldn’t find his key, Callie fumbled for hers, waited for the green light, and basically shoved him inside. Then she flipped the lock behind them and let out a slow breath.
Thomas headed straight for the bathroom. “I actually packed aloe. I would’ve said so, but I was concerned Birdie would deem it insufficiently parrot-tastic and confiscate the bottle.”
Despite her lingering unease, Callie had to snicker at that.
For the first time in an hour, her shoulders dropped below her ears, and her breathing slowed. She sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh, watching Thomas.
After washing his hands, he wet a washcloth in the sink and unearthed a bottle of blue gel from his toiletry bag. Then he returned to the bed with the aloe and the cloth, unsealed the bottle, and crouched in front of her.
He held up the washcloth. “May I?”
Her throat dry, she nodded.
Lightly, he dabbed at her nose with the cool, damp cloth. “I didn’t think the aloe would work as well through a layer of sand.”
Speechless, she stared at him as he tended to her, dabbing until he was satisfied that he’d removed the grit from her skin. After squeezing a dollop of gel onto his finger, he spread it over her nose in gentle taps, and she sighed at the immediate relief.
He capped the bottle and remained crouched in front of her. “Better?”
God, he was a sweetheart of a man.
“Better. Thank you.” She bit her lower lip. “I just don’t know about this place, Thomas. I know it sounds horrible and ungrateful and selfish, because we’re getting this trip for free, but—”
“You’re not horrible.” He rose to his feet and sat next to her on the bed, that hair-dusted thigh of his only inches away from hers. “You’re under no obligation to like anything, Callie, ever. Not even if it’s free. Not even if other people like it. Your feelings are your feelings.”
Why did that statement, firm but softly spoken, make her eyes sting?
If she could tell anyone, she could tell him. He felt…
Well, he felt safe. In a way Andre never had, even at the beginning.
“It’s just…” She studied the frayed hem of his olive-green shorts, unable to meet his gaze. “I have issues with anxiety sometimes. So it can be hard for me to tell if there’s really a problem, or whether I’m just overreacting to something.”
He touched her forearm with a fingertip. “I had no idea.”
“I try to keep a handle on it.” Raising her chin, she issued her plea face-to-face. “Please don’t say anything to anyone at work.”
“I wouldn’t. I promise.” His dark brows had drawn tight in concern. “I’m just sorry you have to struggle with something like that, because it sounds difficult and”—he paused—“disorienting, I guess. Maybe isolating too, if you don’t think you can tell anyone.”
Her next breath came without as much strain.
He got it. Maybe not completely, but the basic contours of the problem.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “All those things.”
His little nod of acknowledgment eased her breathing even more. “So tell me what’s worrying you, then.” He fell back on the bed and braced himself on his elbows, giving her the superior position. Somehow, she didn’t think that was a coincidence.
She turned her head to track his movement, and there he was, his body spread out almost flat next to hers, his chest a warm, solid expanse beneath that thin blue tee.
A display of masculine beauty in recline, lean and muscled.
A temptation for her curious fingers, which twitched to explore the terrain.
But she and Thomas weren’t there yet. Might never be there. So she needed to keep talking, if only to distract herself.
“I feel like we’re at risk of being sacrificed to some parrot overlord or becoming Stepford Wives.
” She frowned, considering the matter. “Stepford Parrots, I mean. Everything is just so…controlled. Rehearsed. It makes me uncomfortable. And I get the sense that Parrot Cay keeps a very, very close eye on its guests. I don’t like feeling watched all the time. ”
He flopped all the way to his back and rested his head on his palms, his elbows splayed to the sides. “I can understand that.”
She waited a minute, but that was all he said. He didn’t tell her to get over it. He didn’t tell her she was mistaken or stupid. He didn’t even ask her to justify her statements.
The relief of it stunned her. So much so that she flopped down beside him, onto the pillows, his elbow next to her ear.
So much so that her racing thoughts cleared, and she could dig a little deeper.
“But I’m not even sure those are my main issues, really.
” She let out a long breath. “I guess I don’t like being watched by the camera crew all the time, either.
Especially since we’re lying, and I’m worried about getting caught.
I’m worried about putting you in an uncomfortable position, and I’m worried about what we’ll be expected to do to justify receiving this trip.
And it’s hard for me to be in an unfamiliar environment, especially when I’m already tense. ”
That was the central irony, wasn’t it? In her desperation to seize a sandy, sun-soaked week of recovery from the work and stress of the last few years, she’d invented a relationship with Thomas.
But—perhaps fittingly—both the lie and the television show enabling the trip had transformed it into an additional, potent source of worry for her. Maybe for him, too.
Her throat had gone tight. “All this is just…”
He waited patiently, without trying to fill in the words for her.
“It’s a lot,” she finally said. “It’s a lot to handle, especially for someone like me.”
The rooms in the hotel must be well-insulated, because she couldn’t hear anything for a few seconds but the whoosh of the air-conditioning and her heartbeat.
In the fraught silence, her thoughts spiraled.
Maybe he hated being put in this position. Maybe all her complaints, all her worries were too much for him. Maybe this entire trip had been an enormous mistake from the beginning.
Then he levered up on one elbow and looked down into her eyes, his lean face solemn.
“Two things. First, you never have to worry about putting me in an uncomfortable position. I don’t suffer silently, and I’d be more than willing to talk to the HATV crew if either one of us had complaints about what was happening.
In general, very few things make me uncomfortable, so please stop devoting headspace to that issue. ”
She raised her brows at him.
He sighed. “Sorry. I imagine that’s easier said than done.”
“Yup.”
His dark curls had rumpled in the island breeze, and flecks of sand glinted on his cheekbones as the rosy light of the setting sun filtered through the gleaming windows and washed over his face. The creases across his forehead indicated his concentration.
On her. He was focused on her with such intensity, she wanted to bask in it.
“Which brings me to my second point.” He leaned over a bit, until just a thread of his grassy scent sent her pulse wobbling. “What do you need from me?”
He was in the edges of her space now, his face in her vision and his body a protective bulwark beside hers, and she couldn’t answer his question.
Pretending to be a couple today had proven easier than she’d anticipated. So easy she couldn’t tell the difference between what was genuinely happening between them and what was happening for the cameras, yet another reason for her confusion and concern.
But they were alone now, with no cameras and no boom mic and no producer. No tight-smiled tour guides or animatronic parrots with glassy eyes.
And he was still just as gentle. Just as attentive. Just as…
She could say it, if only to herself.
Just as loving.
So what did she need from him?
Everything. She needed everything.
But right now, everything would also scare the hell out of her, and she knew it.
His gaze skirted the length of her on the bed, just once, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
Then he clarified his words, his voice a husky rasp, a flush cresting his cheekbones.
“When you’re worried, do you need me to reassure you?
Do you need me to try to fix whatever problems you might have? Or do you just need me to listen?”
Oh. That question she could answer. And she loved that he was asking it. That he didn’t have any preconceived ideas about how to deal with her worries, and he was letting her guide him in such an important matter.
There he was, asking for direction in the hopes of pleasing her. His eyes intent on her and her alone.
She shouldn’t think it. She really shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help it.
If they made love, would he be as attentive? As eager to please?
It was her turn to swallow past a dry throat. “Just listen, please. Thank you for asking.”
His blue eyes had turned nearly incandescent with heat as they studied her expression. Then, in one jerky motion, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, facing away from her.
“Do you feel any better?” Thomas’s voice was rough. “Or do you want me to contact the crew and tell them we need more time before dinner?”
To her surprise, she actually did feel better. Even though they hadn’t actually solved any of her problems, the simple act of discussing them had settled her. Eased her more comfortably into her own skin.
Or maybe she was simply distracted from her worries by sheer animal lust.
“Much better.” She laid a hand flat on his back, and his breath hitched. “Because of you.”
“I’m glad.” His breathing had become audible in the room, his triceps bunching as he gripped the edge of the bed.
If she didn’t want to push this further, she needed to let him go.
So she did, the loss of contact an ache.
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Did you know that the founder of Parrot Cay, Weebly Dixon, had a pet parrot he trained to eat from his mouth?” When he spoke again, Thomas sounded more like himself, amused and calm. “He left all his money and property to her, much to his widow’s dismay. And the parrot’s name was—”
“Don’t tell me.” Callie groaned. “Birdie. Of course.”
“There were unsavory rumors. Rival developers called Birdie his Parrot Paramour.”
Callie thought for a moment. “Shouldn’t she have been his Bird of Paradise?”
He looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. “Nice.”
He’d been offering similar tidbits for her amusement all day, products of the research he’d done for their trip.
And now that she wasn’t hustling to serve a growing line of patrons as he slowpoked his way through the archives, she could remember why she’d once sought him out at every opportunity, eager to hear whatever fascinating or funny story he had to offer.
Today, she’d noticed something new about him.
Whenever she laughed, he did too. And every time, he ducked his head in the most adorable way.
As if he were hiding his amusement from the world and keeping it private, only shared between the two of them.
But then he’d sneak a glance up at her, as if glorying in her hilarity.
As if he’d worked for it and was proud of it.
Maybe he had. Maybe he was.
This particular story, though, had served an additional purpose. Distraction.
And distraction was welcome, because soon they’d need to wash up and leave for dinner. They’d chat and eat and film some bits for the show.
Then they’d come back to the room. To the king-sized bed. Alone.
And she had no idea what would happen then.