Gina was halfway to the ballroom when Tate caught up with her. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Can I have a word with you?” he said, his voice low.
Lisa took the hint and sped ahead, linking her arm through Zeke’s.
“What is it now?” Gina asked. Her tone was light, but her heart was beating a mile a minute.
Tate opened the nearest door and pulled her inside what turned out to be a broom closet.
“Hey!” she protested, nearly tripping over a mop bucket.
“Shut up.” He leaned back against a set of metal shelves. “Did I get hit on the head on that island tonight? Maybe suffer a brain injury without even realizing it?”
“What’s this about?” Gina asked.
Tate ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Just a few hours ago, we were alone on Rattlesnake Key. Did I just imagine it, or did you jump me and insist that you were ready to—how shall I put it delicately—have your way with me?”
Gina felt her cheeks burning. “I’d appreciate it if you would forget about what happened on Rattlesnake Key tonight. It was a big mistake.”
“A mistake? That’s what you want to call it?”
“Yes.”
“Even though I told you that I’m in love with you?”
“We’ve both been under a lot of strain in the past few days,” Gina said. She hesitated. “I, uh, want to thank you for not taking advantage of me at a time when I was extremely vulnerable. You were right. I was feeling desperate. But now that we’re back on Eutaw, I would like to focus on the competition.”
His dark eyes glittered, and his smile was sardonic. “This is bullshit, Reggie. You want me, I want you. It’s that simple. Forget about the damned Food Fight. This whole thing is a joke. You saw how Adelman treats us. Like cattle. He was halfway hoping we had drowned—think of what a ratings sensation that would have been.”
“No,” she managed. “It’s easy for you to call it a joke. You’ve still got your show. Even if you lose, you win. It’s different for me.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said. “You’re great. Adelman’s said it a hundred times. You’ll get another show.”
“I want this one,” she said stubbornly. “Look, Tate. Despite what you think, I’m not really like the woman you were with on Rattlesnake Key tonight. I, uh, regret that I let things get out of hand.”
He leaned in closer, his lips grazing hers.
“You regret this?”
“Yes.” She tried to back away, but the closet was too small—there was nowhere to go.
Tate pulled her to him, kissing her harder, his hands roaming down her back, cupping her rear end. He kissed the hollow of her neck and her shoulder blades, pulled the neckline of her T-shirt down and kissed the top of her breast. “You regret this?”
“Yes,” she said, moaning. She was dimly aware of the scent of Pine-Sol, of something damp pressing against her back, but her head was spinning.
He kissed her deeply one more time, and this time she was kissing him back, giving in, giving up, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair, still salty from the sea.
“Liar.” His voice was fierce.
And then he was gone. She heard the closet door open, then slam shut behind him.