Kiss and Confess (Love Unscripted Book 1) Read online

  “Jason Wallace,” said Rob Smiley, “are you ready to meet your perfect match?”

  Jason’s answer was so quiet, Charley couldn’t hear. She had to assume he’d agreed.

  “Trevor Ames,” Rob Smiley called. “Won’t you join us, please?”

  An average-sized man with a neatly trimmed beard and broad smile walked to Jason. They gravely shook hands and Trevor reached in for a hug, which Jason returned, making most of Trevor disappear within his big arms.

  A few minutes later, Rob announced it was time for the couples to get to know each other by taking a seat at the table bearing their name cards.

  “Shall we?” said Marc, gesturing toward the area that had been set up for dinner.

  “We shall.” Charley’s tone matched the formality of his as she stepped ahead of him to find their places.

  He pulled the chair out for her. She made a mental note, points for gallantry, and looked around, taking in the other contestants.

  The mightily toned Brittany and Michael seemed to be silently circling, each waiting to counter the other’s move before finally sitting across from each other at a table.

  Jason and Trevor, both wearing beaming smiles, couldn’t seem to tear their eyes away from each other.

  And then there was Charley with Marc, who had probably been a straight A-earning prom king, polite to every girl he’d ever dated and breaker of no hearts, sitting together and sipping wine, talking and laughing as though this were any ordinary first date.

  Well, it might have been if there hadn’t been cameras, sound guys, makeup people, a host, producers, and several others watching their every move. Yep. This was weird.

  Their salmon was perfectly cooked and the chocolate mousse exquisite. Even though Charley was so nervous she could only manage small bites, her taste buds radioed a solid thumbs-up.

  There were breaks, during which the producers huddled together, the contestants continued talking, and the host had his makeup freshened, re-freshened, and re-re-refreshened, until Charley was positive he was wearing more than any woman present.

  The food turned cold during the many breaks, but waiters glided in and out with fresh plates before filming resumed, leaving Charley confused about how much she had, or hadn’t, eaten.

  Marc did the heavy lifting conversationally, which was a relief and allowed her to surreptitiously continue to seek out Luke. Just knowing he was here gave her a ping in the pit of her stomach, like an elevator zooming too fast for her body to catch up.

  Why? He’d made it clear there was nothing there. She’d made it clear there was nothing there. Yet her eyes were taking their cues from her heart, not her brain.

  Luke hovered in the background near her table, giving the cameraman silent signals. Charley wanted to know what those signals meant.

  No, she didn’t. Okay, yes, she did. Especially if they had anything to do with her.

  She did her best to focus her unfaithful attention on Marc, who had moved on from telling her about his job to telling her about his family. Something about sisters and brothers, neighbors, and growing up in a house with green shutters.

  “I guess that comes from being the youngest,” Marc said, placing his hand on the white cloth that covered the table. He looked expectant, waiting for her agreement or comment.

  It would have been helpful to know what he had said. Charley laid her fork on her dessert plate and pushed her chocolate mousse to one side. “I’m the youngest, too,” she said. A waiter walked by and pushed the mousse back in front of her.

  “Then you know what I’m talking about.”

  She wished she did. “Well, there are only two of us, me and my older brother, so maybe not exactly…” She took a long sip of wine, noting through her peripheral vision that Luke was watching her. He crouched next to the cameraman, chin down, looking up at her.

  She laid her hand over Marc’s. “But yes. I do.”

  He grinned. “You didn’t have to wear your brother’s hand-me-downs, though.”

  “No. I meant— Um…” She didn’t know what she’d meant. Even her peripheral vision was locked on Luke, which didn’t bode well for her straight-ahead vision.

  “You meant that you know what it’s like to have to share the attention,” Marc offered. “Even if yours was only divided two ways, instead of nine.”

  Wait. Nine? He was the youngest of nine kids? That was one fertile family. Her ovaries stirred in alarm. She took another long drink of wine and looked up to signal a waiter to bring her more. “That’s a big family.”

  “The speculation is that my parents enjoyed their time together when they sent us off to Mass. By ourselves.” He aimed a sheepish smile at her.

  “Evidently.” She chortled, picturing the children trooping off to church on their own while their parents got busy making more.

  “They sure as hell didn’t get any other time alone.”

  “Not with that many kids.” She raised her glass. “So you’re Catholic.”

  He raised his. The glasses made a tinkling sound when they met. “I am.”

  “Me too. Guilt, incense, saints, and all.”

  “But only two kids in your family.”

  Was he trying to say he wanted a house full of kids? “True,” Charley said carefully. “My mom said they practiced the church’s birth control method until she found out she was pregnant with me. Then they used their own.”

  Marc nodded. “Smart decision.”

  She liked him again. Her ovaries relaxed.

  “I’m not saying it was all bad to have that many siblings. I always had someone to do things with. But after wearing everybody else’s clothes they’d grown out of, I don’t apologize for spending money now on clothes no one but me has worn.” He winked in a conspiratorial kind of way. Normally, Charley wasn’t a big fan of the wink, since it usually came off as arrogant, but this time, it was more like she was being included in a joke.

  “You shouldn’t apologize. It’s your money,” she said, taking a good look at his clothing for the first time. A crisp white shirt with an expensive-looking chrome watch on his wrist. But who knew if they were his. The show might have provided his clothes, too.

  Luke wore a faded green t-shirt that looked as though it had been through the wash enough times to qualify for back-of-the-closet status. Enough times to be really soft if she put her cheek against it and felt the hard muscles of his chest warming her skin. Her head had always rested just right on his shoulder, as if that spot had been made just for her.

  She let her eyes drift closed, thinking about it, and her chin fell off the heel of her hand, where she’d propped it after the fourth glass of wine. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “No worries.” Marc had a really nice smile, sort of a cross between Chandler Bing and Joey Tribbiani, with a touch of Prince William thrown in. It made her feel warm inside. Not hot and breathless, but sort of toasty. Like a cup of cocoa on a wintry day.

  There definitely could be worse things.

  The camera moved in closer. Don’t look at it, they’d told her. Pretend it’s not there. She tried to think of something else for her and Marc to talk about. They’d been over family, jobs, pets, movies, and books until her brain couldn’t function any longer. They’d even discovered they both liked bowling, which was unexpected. She didn’t know a single other person who liked throwing a ball down a lane for the satisfying crash.

  Once again, her plate of food looked untouched, though her stomach swore she’d eaten a full meal. Maybe two.

  It was like being on four first dates in one night.

  She felt exhausted, as even her nervous energy began to wane, unable to keep up its frantic pace. A bone-deep weariness overtook her. “It’s been a long day,” she said. “A good day,” she hastened to add. “But a long one.”

  “I understand.” Marc smiled again, folded his napkin, and set it on the table.

  The director, a stocky man who’d spent most of the evening hoisting his khakis and glaring at each table, whistled for
everyone’s attention. “Okay, listen up. We’re done for the evening. See your producer for instructions.”

  “Instructions?” Charley mouthed to Marc.

  He lifted his palms and shoulders in a shrug. He didn’t know either.

  Luke had disappeared. Smiles and nods bounced around the room as the other producers talked with their couples.

  Charley looked at their crew, who had set their equipment down. “Do you know where Luke is?” she asked.

  “He was just here,” answered the camera guy. “Can’t be too far.”

  “Then I guess he’ll find us if the instructions are important.” She pushed her chair out from the table.

  Marc was at her side in seconds. “Here, let me.”

  “Thank you.” She liked having her chair pulled out for her. Didn’t happen often.

  Charley smoothed her dress and kept her eyes down, hoping she didn’t look as awkward as she felt. What was she supposed to say to Marc now—see you in the china pattern section?

  “It’s been great. Tonight, I mean.” Marc leaned toward her, brushing his lips against her cheek. As he did, she caught a whiff of his cologne. It smelled like leather, cucumbers, and expensive soap.

  The other couples were walking back toward the entrance to the deck. Marc crooked his arm in her direction.

  She took it, enjoying the feel of his shirt against her bare skin. And the heat it offered. The temperature had cooled significantly since dinner began. As if he knew what she was thinking, he pulled her closer.

  “I hope this doesn’t come out sounding wrong,” he said, “but I’m glad my perfect match turned out to be beautiful. Looks aren’t everything, of course,” he hastened to add, “but the fact that you’re gorgeous is a nice bonus.”

  Awwww. Points for gallantry and flattery. Before she could respond, Luke materialized at her side. “Wait. Don’t go to your rooms.”

  Charley searched his face, which was fixed on Marc, not on her. “What is it?”

  “You’ve been moved. To the other wing.”

  “Okay,” Marc said. “Do we need to get our things? I can help you with yours, Charley.”

  “Thank—” she began, before Luke interrupted her.

  “You have adjoining rooms now. I’m supposed to tell you that, should you choose to unlock the door, no one will know.” He rubbed his forehead. “But you’ll have to tell us. After. It’s part of the story.”

  “Oh,” Marc said.

  Charley’s throat constricted. To make sure no one saw, she flashed a smile at Marc.

  He brightened.

  Luke replied, his voice terse. “Your things have been moved for you. Follow me.”

  They did, walking through one corridor after another, Charley’s hand tucked into the crook of Marc’s arm.

  “Something’s bugging him. Do you know what?” Marc whispered, nodding toward Luke.

  “Maybe he’s the moody type,” she replied, not bothering to whisper.

  Marc tossed a questioning look at her.

  Charley dipped her chin and watched the carpet. This time she dropped her voice. “Or he’s just busy. There’s a lot going on with the show.”

  The camera remained on when Marc stopped before the closed door of Charley’s room. He hugged her, his body warm and comforting, before leaning down to press his lips to hers.

  It was a good first date kiss. Warm lips. Soft. No deep tongue diving, but a nice brush against the seam of her mouth. Perfect match? She wasn’t sure yet. But he looked and felt promising.

  After he pulled away, Marc said with a smile, “I had a great time. Looking forward to whatever they have planned for us tomorrow.” She answered with a warm smile of her own.

  “Good night, Charley. For now.”

  “Good night, Marc.” She would have said more, maybe, but was still trying to figure out if what he meant by for now was what she thought he might mean by for now.

  Dating could be confusing. Dating on TV was beyond bewildering.

  She slid her key in the door, making sure all the camera saw was her smile as Marc walked to the room next to hers. She’d been in her room just long enough to close the door and press her back against it when she heard the lock unclick on Marc’s side of the adjoining door.

  So the accountant wasn’t shy. Good to know.

  She didn’t unlock her side.

  Charley swam through a fog of sleep, grasping at the edges of coming awake so she could make sense of the darkness. She heard again what had awakened her—a light tapping on the door that led to the hallway. The clock on the nightstand read 2 a.m.

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. The tapping came again, still light, but more urgent this time.

  Charley flung the covers aside and tiptoed to the door, hugging herself across the chest of her thin camisole. She opened the door barely an inch and peered out.

  Luke. Rumpled, bleary-eyed, and heart-achingly handsome.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, opening the door an inch wider. “It’s two in the morning.”

  “I need to talk.” He swayed slightly. Charley caught a whiff of alcohol.

  “Are you crazy? Couldn’t you get in trouble for this?” she hissed at him. Showing up drunk at a contestant’s door in the middle of the night didn’t seem like something the show would be okay with.

  “I need to talk,” he repeated. “To you.”

  Was that a noise in the hall? Charley poked her head out, looking one way and then the other. “Come in before someone sees you.” She pulled at his arm.

  He stumbled into and across her room, dropping hard on the edge of the bed.

  Charley found a shirt in the closet and pulled it over her head, covering the camisole.

  Luke watched. “I like your little shorts,” he said cheerfully. “You’ve always had great legs. Long and…” He closed his eyes. “Sexy as hell.”

  She tugged at the hem of the shorts self-consciously. “I was asleep. This is what people sleep in.”

  He opened his eyes, a smile stealing over his face. “Not me. I don’t sleep in anything.”

  Give me the strength not to picture that. Please. She crossed her arms. “What’s so important you have to talk about it right now?”

  The corners of his mouth turned down. “I was wrong. I should have told you. Back then.”

  “You should have.” If things had been different, if she’d been able to help him figure things out, it all could have ended up differently. Did a drunk admission of guilt count? She polled herself and decided it did. “But you didn’t.”

  “I couldn’t involve you.” He shook his head sadly. “It would have been bad for you. Bad.” His voice rose. “I was protecting you.”

  He was protecting her from his failing grades? That didn’t make sense.

  She darted a nervous glance at the adjoining door. “Sssh. Keep your voice down.” She moved to the bed and sat by his side, so close that her bare leg nudged against his denim-clad one. She tried to ignore the quivering that went through her at the touch, but instead of being ignored, every part of her went on high alert.

  He put a finger to his lips. “I’ll try to keep my voice down,” he said.

  She nodded, wondering why he’d come here and what the hell he meant by “protecting her.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  Dammit. Her eyes misted suddenly and without permission. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from telling him she’d missed him, too. She couldn’t do this again. Would not ride that roller coaster.

  Luke’s eyes drifted half-closed and he leaned down toward her, his lips barely parting.

  She hadn’t known how much she wanted him to kiss her until now.

  But she wasn’t going to do it. She wasn’t going to be that girl, the one who took advantage of his altered state to relive what they’d once had. She wouldn’t taint the memory of who they’d been together. No matter how much he tried to downplay that time. It was her memory and she was keeping it.

  Charley put
both hands on his chest. “This can’t happen.”

  He stopped, pulled back. “Was okay ’til I saw you again.”

  “You’ll be okay again.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  She could see sleepiness begin to wrap itself around him, slur his words. “I’ll call you a cab.”

  “Only need to close my eyes.” He held up his index finger. “For one minute. That’s all.” He turned and began crawling across her bed on all fours.

  “Luke.” Her whisper was urgent. “You can’t go to sleep. You have to leave.”

  “One min. Ett,” he said again, right before he collapsed, face down on one of the pillows.

  Charley went to the side of the bed he’d ended up on and tried shaking his arm. Nothing. She lifted it, but it fell back to the bed with a soft thump. He was out. She laid her fingers on his cheek, hoping the touch would wake him.

  It didn’t.

  Okay. She’d be creepy for just a moment. He’d never know.

  Lightly she stroked the familiar cheekbones and whiskered jaw, brushing her fingertips against his lips. He’d been her whole world once. Funny, she could tell herself it was all over, done, in the past, but when she looked at him, her entire body tingled, as it used to, with a feeling that had nothing to do with words. She’d always felt it when she was with him. Felt it now.

  Addictive. And thrilling. She wanted to hold it in her hand again, however briefly.

  She brushed his hair back, remembering how she’d loved it when his curls folded around her fingers. They still did that. She bent down to press her cool cheek to his warm one.

  He could not be here, in her bed. If nothing was clear, that much was.

  Rationally, anyway.

  She didn’t want to be rational, so she stood again to untie the laces on his Nikes. Gently, she pulled them off his feet, one at a time, and set them on the floor.