Chapter Nine

Mitch took his place behind the curtain in the confession booth and prepared for the first contestant to step inside. A part of him hoped it might be Claire. He wished he didn’t want to see her, but he did. For the past three days and nights he’d avoided bumping into her. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about her. Constantly. Luckily, he hadn’t been assigned to film any of her dates with the pukemeister since the evening the two of them stood among the winners of the chicken-fight contest and chose each other for all six dates.

Claire seemed stunned James chose her while Mitch wasn’t in the least surprised. The guy was as predictable as rush hour traffic in LA on a Friday afternoon. Maybe Watson had been faithful to Claire prior to Eden, but now he’d sampled a taste of the chase, and he liked it. Mitch had known that once Watson thought Claire was seeing someone on the side, his interest in her would return.

He adjusted the camera on the tripod. This morning was his first time in the confession booth since he’d filmed Claire a few days back. He hated listening to the baring of shallow souls, and wasn’t looking forward to the next couple of hours.

The outside door squeaked open. Mitch switched the camera on and looked through the viewfinder. He jerked back involuntarily at the sight of the man facing the curtain.

“James Watson, Prairie, Texas.”

Speaking of shallow souls…

Watson settled in. He puffed out his cheeks, which were blotchy and peeling from too much sun. The scab on his nose still hung tight. “I have something to get off my chest.”

Mitch knew it wasn’t hair. The guy didn’t have so much as one short and curly between his bony shoulder blades.

James’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Claire thinks I’ve only been dating her these past three days, but the truth is…” He averted his eyes. “The truth is, I’ve managed to sneak in some time with Darla on the side.”

Mitch stifled a yawn. You and every other male contestant on the island. Hell, for all he knew, maybe some of the women, too. Dana and her wardrobe of thong bikinis in every color of the rainbow were a big hit on Eden. The woman not only loved to show them off; she loved to take them off. Especially on camera.

“Anyway,” James continued, “I guess I’m feeling sort of guilty. We are engaged. And I did talk her into coming on Eden even though she had reservations. But the thing is, she’s acting prudish with me lately. Not that she’s ever been all that spontaneous or anything, but up until now she’s never acted like a nun, either. What am I supposed to do? Be content to sit around with her and stare at the freakin’ scenery? I’m a man, damn it. It’s time she treated me like one.”

That-a-boy, asshole. Turn this around. Make it Claire’s fault. I know you can do it.

James squared his shoulders and jutted out his chin. “If this is how she’s going to treat me for the rest of our lives, then who’d blame me for making the most of this experience? How could she even blame me? She knew when she agreed to come on here that there’d be dozens of beautiful women intent on seducing me.”

In your wet dreams.

“She knew that was part of the bargain. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t give in to temptation from time to time. It’s only natural in a situation like this. And, you know? Maybe now’s the time to get all that out of my system. In the end, Claire will probably be glad I did. Getting through this will make us a stronger couple. If she can’t admit that, she’s only being childish.”

Mitch wondered what method of torture would cause Lover Boy the greatest discomfort. The guy craved attention; maybe solitary confinement would make him squirm the most. Odds were good that the door could be barred before Watson knew what was happening. The confession booth could easily be transformed into an isolation booth. It would be the first time Mitch had ever enjoyed this shift.

As Watson continued to talk himself out of his guilt, Mitch reminded himself that Claire had chosen to marry Bozo of her own free will. She’d known him all her life. Surely she had an inkling of what she was getting. This game can’t change a person that quickly or easily.

“So.” James pushed back the chair and stood. “It’s Claire for dinner tonight.” He wiggled his brows and leered at the camera. “And Darla for dessert.”

Mitch narrowed his eyes. Or can it?

 

 

That evening Claire drained her glass of merlot and gazed at the sunset over the waves just outside James’s patio where the two of them ate dinner. She wondered what Mitch was doing. Was he off for the night? Breaking the rules with some other Eden contestant?

She scanned the lush foliage surrounding the large patio deck. Across from her, a glowing red eye hovered amid the greenery. She spied another to the side of the walkway leading to the beach. The cameramen attached to both had successfully hidden themselves behind coral blossoms and glossy dark leaves.

Claire stared at the closest light. The light stared back. Her heart hiccupped. Maybe Mitch was working tonight. Doing his job. Spying on people who had come here knowing their privacy would be invaded and broadcast to the world.

Across the table, James drained his own glass, poured himself another, then asked a question. Though his words didn’t register in her Mitch-preoccupied mind, she nodded.

“Is that a yes, you want to take a dip in the hot tub, or a yes, it’s too humid to take a dip?”

Drawing a breath of salty air, Claire glanced from James to the red light and back again. “The second one.”

The hopeful glow in his eyes extinguished, leaving behind an alcohol-induced dullness. “That’s what I thought.” He picked at the remains on his plate.

Claire reached for her fork but immediately laid it back down. What was the matter with her? She had wanted James to pay attention to her, to spend time with her, and now he was following through. “What the heck,” she said. “Heat is a good thing for two engaged people, right?”

James’s fork paused. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m glad I wore this outfit, since I’m going to get wet.”

“I like it, by the way.” He downed half his wine in one gulp as he glanced at her breasts. “The outfit, I mean.”

He’d had too much to drink; she could tell by the slur of his words. Still, drunk or not, the desire in his eyes should’ve pleased her. Instead she felt herself shrinking away from it and what it promised. “Thank you.”

While coercing her to make the purchase this afternoon at an island boutique, Ally had promised Claire the ensemble would please James. And though her friend was obviously right, Claire felt as if she dined in the nude. The string-bikini top wasn’t made to lift and support, only to cover the essentials. And the short sarong tied around her hips was so transparent that the barely there bottoms were visible beneath it.

“Well…” James glanced at his watch, then pushed away from the table. He held out a hand. “I’m ready if you are.”

Claire cast a quick look of longing at her untouched key lime pie and two looks of dread at the piercing red eyes hiding in the foliage. “Are you in a hurry?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” James’s grin was slow and sluggish. “I’m anxious to see what your new outfit looks like when it’s wet.”

 

Mitch was anxious to see Claire’s outfit wet, too. But he wasn’t in a hurry for the rest of the world to enjoy the same privilege. And, fiancé or not, he didn’t want James Watson ogling her, either. He had no right, but every time the guy looked her up and down, Mitch wanted to pound him.

He considered turning off the camera, but it wouldn’t serve his purpose. Ray still filmed across the way, just at a different angle. Besides that, Mitch had already pushed his luck by getting involved with Claire and then erasing both her and Ally’s confession-booth footage.

Because the hot tub sat a few feet from the patio table, Mitch had to shift position in order to bring it into view. The leaves rustled, and Claire shot a nervous glance in his direction. He was glad for the abundance of plants and bushes and trees surrounding the deck. In the dark clothing he’d worn, if he were careful, Claire would not be able to identify him. He felt bad enough filming her. If she knew he held the camera, he didn’t think he could continue.

Watson pulled off his shirt, slipped out of his slacks, and stepped into the water wearing only boxers. He turned a knob and the water began to bubble and gurgle and steam. He looked up at Claire. She stood at the edge of the tub, frowning. “Get in. It feels great,” James slurred.

Alternately eyeing the place where Mitch hid and Ray’s spot in the opposite bushes, she fussed with the knot at her left hip that held that sexy little bikini cover-up in place. Finally she sat at the tub’s edge, dangling her feet in the water. “That does feel nice.” Quickly she pulled the cover-up free and tossed it aside as she slid in next to James.

Determined to capture only above-the-shoulder images of Claire, Mitch zoomed in for a closeup. She looked like a wary, caged animal; Jimbo, on the other hand, appeared eager to put on a show. James drew Claire closer to him, positioning her so that they sat face-to-face. “See,” he said quietly, “now, wasn’t this a good idea?”

“It’s nice,” she answered, her laugh nerve-tinged.

“Just nice?” He nuzzled the side of her neck.

“Don’t,” Claire said, turning her head and pulling back. “Please.”

“What’s wrong?”

She looked toward the camera. Mitch flinched, unnerved by the illusion that she stared directly into his eyes.

“It’s…” Blinking, she returned her attention to James.

“Relax.” He slid his hand down her back, toyed with the tie between her shoulder blades. “It’s just you and me.”

Claire let James kiss her, but when the kiss became more heated, she backed off again.

Good girl. Mitch smiled. He isn’t worth the lipstick.

James’s brows drew together. “What’s the matter now?”

“It’s not just you and me. It’s you and me and”—she motioned toward the bushes—“and them.”

“Come on, Claire. I’ve missed you.” He pulled her to him again. “Things haven’t seemed right between us lately.”

Mitch squinted. Whose fault would that be, buddy?

“I’m not comfortable with this, James.” Claire started squirming, but he wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re not the same man I said I’d marry. You’ve changed. Being in the spotlight brings out a side of you I don’t like.”

James laughed as Claire’s increasing struggles only rubbed her up against him. “Aren’t you being a little melodramatic? I’m the same as always. But the stranger fantasy could be fun, too. Is that what this game’s about?”

“It’s not a game. I don’t know you anymore.”

“Let me refresh your memory.” Ignoring her attempts to break away, he leaned down and kissed her shoulder.

“Did you hear me?” Claire asked more firmly, still wiggling. “I don’t want to be with you. We can go inside away from the cameras to talk things out, or I’m leaving.”

“So that’s it, huh?” James laughed. “You’re playing hard to get. I like the new you, Claire. The teasing”—he glanced down at her chest—“the way you dress. We can go inside if you want, but I don’t want to talk.”

When he removed one arm from around her and slid his hand up to cup her breast, Claire slapped him.

His head snapped back. When he looked at her again, his eyes glittered like gemstones. “You know what, Claire?” he said. “I’m sick of you being so uptight.” He jerked her bikini top string until it untied completely.

“That does it.” Mitch lowered the camera to the ground. “I’ve had enough.” He heard Claire cry out his name as he burst from the bushes and strode toward them.

The next seconds passed in slow motion.

Lover Boy dropped his hands from Claire and looked up.

Claire backed to the far side of the tub.

Jimbo’s mouth opened but no sound emerged.

Mitch dove. The water was hot. He hit Watson hard, landing on top of him and shoving his head under the water.

Time sped up again.

“Mitch!” Claire screamed. “What are you doing?” She scrambled from the tub.

“I’m”—he dodged a flailing fist—“teaching this son of a…” James grabbed Mitch’s ear and twisted. Mitch lost his hold, and James came up for air. “Some manners,” Mitch gasped, then threw a punch that hit James square in the nose, knocking him back against the hot tub’s steps.

James tried to stand up but fell forward instead, landing facedown on top of an air jet. A stream of pink bubbles swirled out from beneath his head.

Mitch quickly considered the pros and cons of letting him drown. Above him, he heard Ray’s voice. He looked up and found the crewman calling for help on his walkie-talkie. Ray continued to film, though, capturing the scene in the tub.

Cursing under his breath, Mitch reached over, grabbed a handful of James’s hair, and jerked his face out of the water.

James sputtered and coughed as Mitch dragged him over to sit on the steps.

Claire tossed James her cover-up. “Press that on your nose,” she snapped, keeping her eyes on Mitch. “You’re messing up the water.” When a commotion sounded inside, she looked past the sliding glass doors into the cabana.

Mitch followed her gaze. Michael Hawkins and two other Hawkeye Productions executives walked through the door.

“So this is what it takes to finally get to meet the elusive Hawkeye president face-to-face,” Mitch muttered.

Claire turned, her face pale as the moon rising behind her. “Oh, Mitch,” she whispered. “What have you done?”