Taking the Heat - Real Heat Book 1

Chapter 3

Yup. A luau-orgy. Not only is it hard to say, the name is quite deceptive. Nobody actually had sex as far as I know, although there were definitely some who came close. Then they hit us with the rules. Anyway, I'm skipping ahead again.

After my interview with Miles, an assistant led me away. As I followed him along the wooden boardwalk, I could hear another chopper approaching but the sound faded as we wound in between the tall trees. The path split multiple times, and even with the signage, I wondered how I'd ever find my way back.

We finally arrived at my bungalow. It's like a gorgeous tree house, all pale bamboo and white draping. The view is incredible: the trees drop away around me and the ocean twinkles beyond them. I sighed and admired it for exactly ten seconds, before the huffy hair and makeup ladies practically threw me in a chair and set to work. 

Hours later, I stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my luxurious bathroom. I had to give it to the women who'd worked on me: my eyes looked emerald and huge, my hair was shiny and full, hanging almost to my backside, and my skin was fake-tanned to a golden hue. A pop of brilliant red on my lips completed the look.

Turning, I studied the outfit wardrobe had sent over. The black bikini was made of the tiniest four squares of material possible, but it was intended to be worn under a sheer beach dress, short and black. I slipped it on, along with my new red wedges, and walked out to the waiting crowd of helpers.

'Okay, I'm ready,' I announced. There was a general stunned sound. Looking around at the crew, I sought reassurance. 'Um ... do I look okay?'

'Oh, honey!' gushed the wardrobe guy. 'You could almost turn me!'

'Good, I guess ...'

Once again, I trailed after my runner as he escorted me back along the wooden walkways. He had a walkie-talkie on his belt, with an earphone connected. I couldn't hear the conversations, but from his terse responses, this was an event with exact timing.

As we approached the main bungalow where I'd been interviewed, my escort turned to me and pulled a blindfold from his backpack. 'Okay, Miss Tara, I need to cover your eyes before we go any further.'

'Sure,' I sighed. At that stage, I was simply along for the ride.

He fastened the soft material over my head. 'I'll lead you in, then I'll take off the blindfold and leave you standing on your own. It'll be dark, so don't move at all until the lights come up.'

'Whatever.' With my eyes covered, everything else seemed more pronounced. I could feel my skirt blowing gently around my thighs, and individual strands of my hair shifting on my back. Smells began to become identifiable: the runner's cheap deodorant, decaying leaf litter, the salty tang of the nearby ocean.

Most of all, I could hear with clarity. As I was drawn forward towards the bungalow, my footsteps echoed on the wood, while the palm fronds snickered in the wind. 

The runner moved me into position, removing my blindfold. It was just as dark without it on. They must have cloaked the entire building in blackout fabric. I could hear the other production assistants whispering softly. As their voices faded off towards the far side of the bungalow, I listened for anyone else around me.

Soft breathing on my left. I turned my head quickly to the sound, but without my sight to keep me balanced, I wobbled on my wedges and fell sideways.

Squeaking as I helplessly pitched down, I threw my arms up. Someone caught them.

'Hey, are you okay?' asked a cultured English voice in a whisper. Strong male arms held me and I breathed in the scent of clean skin and coconut shampoo.