58
“And this is how you plan to do it? This is absolutely farcical,” I snarl, as I see all the women except Thorun lined up motionless, like rows of barely-dressed shop mannequins, by the side of the pool.
Most look very happy to show off their figures. Some, like the Italian, look like they’d rather be anywhere else in the world.
I know the feeling.
“Viscount Speardon,” Gerry sighs, “the fact of the matter is that this is a romance show. The crowd demands love, yet we’re halfway through the program and you’ve shown no particular romantic partiality to any woman, nor any indication you have a heart inside that chest.”
“Watch it.”
He gulps and hurries on.
“Consequently the producers thought we needed to give you a little, ah, push in the right direction.”
I take a step towards him.
“You think to push me?”
“No, I misworded. I simply meant that the audience demands some romance, and this will satisfy them for the time being.”
“Kissing all of them?” I scowl.
“Blindfolded,” he nods. You won’t know which one you’re kissing; they’re just numbers. At the end of the challenge you rate the kisses out of ten and then take the one you enjoyed kissing the most on a one-on-one date. Surely it can’t be that much of a hardship? I mean look at them.”
I turn and consider them all where they stand in their swimsuits.
In any other world he’d be perfectly right.
They are all, in their own ways, desirable women.
And I’ve kissed many of them anyway, or rather, they’d kissed me.
Yet rating their kissing is going to hurt feelings, and it’s hardly gentlemanly behaviour.
“I’ll kiss them and determine a winner,” I eventually sigh. “But I’m not fucking rating them.”
He nods enthusiastically and signals to the camera crew to get ready.
I get the feeling he knew I’d say this.
‘Sneaky little bastard. Thinking you’ve let me feel like I’ve won something when in reality I’m doing exactly what you want. If you only knew exactly what I’d like to do to you…’
“Alright Viscount, I’m going to blindfold you now and rearrange the contestants in random order.
You simply need to start from the left and work your way down the line.
You determine how long you need each kiss to go on for.
Although ideally, given there are only twelve women, you can take more than a minute or two with each. ”
He lowers his voice to a whisper.
“And if you could pretend to favour one, or perhaps a couple, that would really be very much appreciated.”
“I want to murder you, Gerry,” I lower my voice ominously, “you know that, right?”
“Yes,” he looks momentarily fearful before straightening his shoulders and shaking off the shiver that I know ran down his spine. “Are you ready?”
I roll my eyes as the make-up woman advances with a blindfold and gives me a quick grin.
I nod for her to put it on me and I step towards the first contestant.
“And…Action!”
I know who they are, of course. The director and producers are fucking idiots if they think this kind of subterfuge will work on a vampire.
Each woman, especially since they are all from different countries, has a signature scent.
Not perfume; their blood. Not only that, I can smell their lust and hear their heartbeats thundering — all except one.
I frown as the scent of the last in line wafts towards me.
I know women; I know the beat of an excited heart, the smell of pheromones and moist places. And I know a terrified heart and the scent of fear.
Right now, I’m hearing the latter from the woman at the end of the line. Terror. Plain and simple.
‘Always last, Catriona. Always last.’
I make my way as ordered down the row, kissing each one thoroughly, making sure I spend a little more time with some than others just to satisfy the ridiculous director’s desire to give a little ‘romance’ to the viewers.
Some of them, like Cherry, grip me like barnacles to a rock.
Some comply sweetly, others melt into me like hot metal poured into a mould. But none of them moves me.
None that is, until I reach the one I’ve never kissed before but been most intimate with. The one I’m anticipating kissing, against my better judgement.
Unlike most of the others, she’s never sought my kisses.
I can’t help but feel a tiny bit excited to show her what she’s missing and melt that vengeful icicle inside her chest just a fraction.
But at the same time I wonder why I’m even thinking this, other than my pride might be a little wounded with her disinterest because it’s not something I’m accustomed to from the opposite sex.
‘She’s never pretended to be here for any false reason. She’s been honest that she doesn’t seek love. We’re on the same page with that. Why should I care that she doesn’t find me attractive?’
Inwardly grimacing at my contrary thoughts, I step forward and embrace her, one hand sliding around her waist, my hand fitting perfectly in the small of her bare back, the other higher, against her shoulder blade.
I don’t want to tempt fate by being too close to her for too long, but I need to make a quick show of intimacy as I had with all the others.
I expect her to, at the very least, wrap her arms around me or put her hands behind my neck — any of the usual female responses to a man about to kiss you.
But she doesn’t.
Frowning, I reach for one of her hands and place it on my bicep, her heartbeat speeding up to the point where I fear she might have a stroke.
Stiffening, she moves it to my chest, one palm against my heart, the other still by her side.
It’s not lost on me that it’s her way of keeping some distance between us.
‘Does she truly fear me? It’s just a kiss. What’s going on inside her flamboyant, violent little head?’
Leaning forward, I run my nose up the side of her ribboned neck from her clavicle to her ear, swallowing hard as her scent washes over me. I don’t think she’s breathed in all this time, which is quite remarkable.
“Calm,” I whisper, as my lips reach her shell-like ear, “Calm, Cat.”
“Don’t call me that. And if you know it’s me, then you know I don’t want this,” she whispers back.
“Neither do I,” I murmur.
Although inexplicably I do want this, I want it very badly.
She shivers and stiffens further in my arms as I move my lips from her ear to her mouth, kissing her gently.
Her lips are sealed like steel traps. Pulling at her lower lip with my teeth, teasingly, I gently urge her to open her mouth to mine.
But unlike the other women who had accepted me with fervour, plunged tongues inside my mouth, moaned and pressed against me, Catriona does none of this.
‘She isn’t playing hard to get. She really doesn’t want to kiss me. How very strange. Her scent is intoxicating this close. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to taste her, but I won’t force myself upon any woman.’
Running my hand up her bare back and ignoring the fact that every inch of her body is covered in goosebumps, despite the balmy evening, I plunge my hand into the thick hair at the back of her neck.
Drawing her long tresses around us, hiding our faces and her lack of response from the camera, I continue the pretend kiss for a few seconds longer, before murmuring against her lips, “it’s done,” and stepping back from her.
“Cut!”
“Perfect,” the director chuckles, “now if you wouldn’t mind just waiting a moment before you take off the blindfold, Viscount. Ladies, move spots please, shuffle, shuffle.”
I wait silently for the women to mix up their locations to continue the ruse for the audience, and shake my head as I hear snatches of their whispered comments.
“He must have known it was me; there was love on those lips.”
“He goes after what he wants. It’s obvious he wants me.”
“I could kiss him all day, every day, forever and ever.”
“I seriously thought I’d come on the spot. I think I did, a little.”
Finally removing the blindfold, I frown as the director capers around behind the camera awaiting my announced ‘winner.’
Naturally it won’t be Catriona. She wouldn’t want that any more than she wanted my kiss.
But as I announce my chosen partner for the next one-on-one date there’s only one set of lips I’m thinking about.
Only one racing heart.