Chapter Five
Scott
I can smell Lyla’s scent in the air as she walks past me and to the bar. Vanilla and jasmine fill my nostrils—the same scent that once clung to my clothes after she’d spent the night with me in my truck, under the stars. Despite the time away, the need to have her is still instant and demanding.
Watching Lyla from a distance the past twelve hours has become a given. She’s not the only reason I’m here. But she’s also the most, and only, tempting thing for me here.
But despite this, the pool deck is a battlefield disguised as relaxation.
Sunlight ricochets off the water hard enough to make my eyes narrow. Chlorine hangs sharp in the air, mixing with sunscreen and the salt carried up from the ocean below. Bodies are everywhere—loungers packed tight, bare skin gleaming with baby oil.
I sit back in a low teak chair, forearms braced on the arms, and watch.
Lyla is across the deck with Emily and Valerie, perched on the edge of the infinity pool, deep in conversation. Her legs are in the water, toes flexing lazily beneath the surface. Her lavender hair is damp at the ends, clinging to her collarbone.
Sunlight slides down the curve of her throat and disappears between her breasts before catching in the hollow at the base of her neck.
She tips her head back and laughs. But I notice the tension in her shoulders. The way she carries herself.
She knows exactly where I am—and that I’m watching. She hasn’t looked at me once since the challenge. Not after the blindfold. Not after she hesitated on that platform and fell into the water. Not after I dove in after her and took her into my arms.
And the moment she took off that blindfold, when she looked up at me with those big, hypnotic eyes, I felt a tug at my heart.
And deep down, I think she felt it, too.
I just need more time with her. But how?
It’s not like I can force her to hear me out, to make her give me trust when I haven’t earned it.
The sun burns across my shoulders. Sweat gathers at the base of my spine. I don’t move. Then I notice Sean drift toward the women, specifically staring at the back of Lyla’s head.
He’s way too close.
I clock it before he even reaches her. The shift in his posture. The way he angles his body to hide the obvious bulge in his trunks. Casual, but intentional.
He leans on an elbow against the bar when she excuses herself and heads in the same direction.
When she settles in one of the seats, he slides closer. His awareness drops to her bikini-top-covered breasts when she isn’t looking.
My hands curl slowly into fists.
“So Dallas, huh?” he says, initiating a conversation and flashing an easy smile. “Great city.”
What riveting conversation. Now fuck off. The urge to cross the deck and “correct” him with more than just a knuckle sandwich burns hot and immediate.
She’s not yours, you dumb fuck.
I curse under my breath. As much as I’d rather shield her from male prying eyes, this is a dating show. And right now, I’m the last person she wants around her. But that doesn’t mean I have to like her being pursued.
Lyla turns toward him politely. Her smile is gracious, but distant. Controlled. Her shoulders square, chin lifted. She’s definitely not interested.
“It is,” she replies. “At least I think so since I live there.” Her tone is light. Friendly.
Sean, somehow, must see her neutral response as an invitation to escalate further, because then he inches closer.
“Maybe you could show me around sometime,” Sean continues, caressing a finger along her arm. “After we get out of here.”
White-hot rage flares in my chest.
Fat chance in hell, asshole.
My hands curl slowly against the arms of the chair. If his hand travels anywhere lower or higher, so fucking help me, I will personally make sure he permanently wears his dick for a hat.
I start to rise from my chair, ready to punch Sean into next week, when I remember where I am.
Cameras glint in the reflection of the pool like small, unblinking eyes.
They’re waiting; the producers, whoever will be watching this show when it airs, are expecting a dramatic reaction out of someone like me.
I can’t give them that, the satisfaction.
Not when I still have so much ground to cover with Lyla.
Lyla continues to smile politely, as though she’s not quite sure what to make of Sean’s statement. “You seem very…confident.”
“I am, baby.” Even his flirting sounds sleazy.
“You’ll have a great time with me.”
She lets out a stiff laugh as she silently searches for an exit.
Sean doesn’t notice, but I do.
Even though Lyla is giving him only friend vibes, he shifts closer still. His gaze drops—quick, subtle—then back up her body to her face.
The fact I can’t throttle this guy is absolutely aggravating. But still, I don’t move. I don’t need to cross the deck to know what would happen if I did. And it’d only put more distance between us.
Lyla’s trust with me right now is fractured.
And giving her more reasons not to trust me would only hurt my case.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned today, it’s where I stand in her eyes—She hardly believes a single word that comes out of my mouth.
But at least she’s arguing with me. If she didn’t care about my being here, she wouldn’t have given me the time of day.
I can work with that.
Now, if I could just get Sean to stop hitting on her. The longer he eye fucks her, the more it sets me on edge.
Heat presses down harder. The tile under my bare feet is slick with water when I stand, slow and deliberate, like I’m just stretching my legs.
I pretend nonchalance as I move toward them. Not directly, but enough to where I have a generous proximity to the conversation.
Close enough to step in but far enough to remain inconspicuous.
Sean smooths his hand down the small of Lyla’s back as he laughs at something she says. It’s light. Brief. But that doesn’t stop me from seeing red.
Lyla is still for a few seconds. Frozen. It’s subtle, but I notice it.
She shifts back, breaking the contact without acknowledging it.
Sean doesn’t seem to notice her discomfort because he keeps talking.
“You always been in Dallas?” he asks.
“Yes.” She gives him another polite smile with a nod.
“Family there?”
“Yes.”
She’s stonewalling him, giving only short answers. She only does that when someone is annoying her. Good to know she’s not into a guy like that. All up in her business with little regard for her personal space. She deserves better…like me.
Fuck, if she were mine...
The house I bought years ago, sitting empty on the outskirts of town, says she already is. At least to me.
“Must be nice,” he says. “Having something solid to go back to.”
Her gaze flicks over his shoulder. Not to me. In fact, past me. And to the ocean horizon. As if she were staring off into space. “It is,” she replies evenly, taking her gaze back to Sean.
Sean leans in again.
His dick is going to be a hat if he doesn’t take a step back.
“You seem different today,” he says with fake concern. “Quieter.”
Her eyes sharpen slightly. “Do I?”
“Yeah. Like you’re distracted.”
Distracted. By what? By who? Would that have to do with me?
“I appreciate the concern, but I’m okay. Really. I need to get back to the girls.”
She walks away from Sean before he can get another word in.
I can’t help but smirk in satisfaction, watching Sean’s confident expression falter.
I watch as she sits down at the edge of the pool again with the other women. Her back faces me as I sit down at a chair nearby, pretending to admire the view while subtly listening to their conversation.
Valerie watches intently. “He’s not wrong, you know.”
“Wrong about what?”
“You do seem distracted today.”
Lyla hesitates. “Distracted is the wrong word. I guess you could say I’m... processing.”
“I get you. That challenge was awful.”
Lyla shakes her head. “It’s more than that.”
Valerie smirks. “So that’s a no on Sean?”
“He has his…qualities, but I’m not interested,” Lyla replies.
“Who is catching your eye then?”
Ain’t that a great question?
Valerie seems to watch whatever expression is on Lyla’s face with as much curiosity as I feel.
Across the deck, I notice one of the producers subtly adjust their position. Cameras angle in the women’s and my direction. I realize I’ve put myself in a precarious position. Do they think I’m some brute, waiting for the opportune moment to intervene? Waiting to stake my claim?
They’d probably be right, but that’s beside the point.
As much as I want to sweep her off her feet, I can’t make Lyla feel something she doesn’t.
Not when I have my past stacked against me.
But so far this information is helpful. She’s confused, processing.
Which means she’s thinking. There could be a chance she hasn’t completely shut me down, shut out the possibility of us down.
Before Lyla can answer Valerie’s question, Miranda’s voice cuts across the space, amplified and bright.
“Contestants! I hope everyone’s enjoying the sunshine.”
Groans ripple through the group.
“Because tomorrow,” she continues, smiling like a cat, “we’ll be testing something far more interesting than trust.”
The words hang in the humid air.
Lyla’s expression doesn’t change, though her pulse jumps in her throat.
Miranda beams. “Be ready. It’s going to be...intimate.”
When Miranda makes her exit, murmurs spread. Speculation, excitement, and anxiety rolled into one.
What could be “far more interesting than trust”?
When I look back in Lyla’s direction, her shoulders have dropped a fraction, and she inhales before sliding into the pool completely. Water consumes her body whole. And when she resurfaces, her hair is slicked back, droplets clinging to her lashes. She looks...relieved.
For half a second, her eyes find me.
But there’s no smile behind this stare. Just that same charge that crackled between us on the obstacle course. Heat, burning need, and awareness of both.