Wicked Games
Page 31
“You’re mine,” Dean said simply. “I’m not about to hand you off to someone else.”
I wondered at his choice of words.
Chapter Eleven
I’m thrilled that we merged. Thrilled. Can’t you tell from the sound of my voice? No? Me either. I preferred when it was just us on the beach. Lots of alone time.—Dean Woodall, Day 20
We stopped a few times so Dean could rest, but he insisted on being the one to carry me. It was just as well—Leon was sweating in the hot afternoon sun and I wasn’t relishing the thought of rubbing up against him. Dean was sweating too, but leaning against his body and letting him carry me just let my wicked imagination run away with itself, to the point that I was ready to drag him behind the nearest tree and have my way with him.
If it weren’t for the way that Lana kept looking back at us with a frown.
And the fact that we were meeting up with six other people who were about to share living space with us.
“Are you nervous about meeting the others?” I asked Dean as we approached the new camp. I could see people standing in the distance and smelled the smoke of a fire. The sun was setting, so I couldn’t make out who it was, though I knew the faces remaining in the game by now: Chris and Alys from Team Five (both extremely athletic), Heather from Team Eight (the young, cute grad student), Riley, whose profession I couldn’t recall, but I remembered his freckled shoulders from other challenges, and of course Will and Shanna the Bunny. I was a little surprised she’d made it this far, but then again, she was probably good at latching on to a strong man—like Leon before the switch. She seemed to be good friends with Riley now, though she squealed with delight at the sight of Leon and rushed over to hug him as we arrived in camp. She also looked like nothing but skin and bones… and a large set of implants. The others just looked skinny in comparison.
They watched me with interest as Dean moved close to the fire and set me down gently and then the introductions began. The men slapped Dean on the back and congratulated him on arriving, and the women hugged him. I kind of sat on the bench and watched, elevating my foot and trying not to look as awkward as I felt.
“Oh wow, you didn’t evac?” Shanna said as she looked over at me. “I thought you broke your foot.”
“Just a sprain,” I repeated for the billionth time. “Should be better in a few days.”
“Huh.”
I couldn’t tell if that was an insulting noise or an ‘I underestimated you’ noise. A few of the others crowded around as if just now noticing that I was here, but I noticed that Dean seemed to be the star of the show. I fielded questions about my ankle as I watched him, laughing and rubbing his shoulders where I’d leaned earlier for several hours. A cameraman hovered nearby, just on the fringes of camp, and I noticed the others paid no more attention to him than I did.
“We have a Tribal Summons,” Heather said, waving the others to the back of the camp.
“Already?” said Chris.
“It looks like food!”
That was all it took for all of the remaining players to flood over to the edge of camp and head to the decorated, ornate trunk. In the darkness I couldn’t see anything, and I couldn’t get up to follow. Depressed, I noticed that not even Dean had hung around camp to see if I wanted to join them.
It was just a momentary slip, I reasoned, but it still stung. I stared at the flickering fire and ignored the cameraman as he zoomed in on my face. Stupid ankle. Stupid team not even noticing that I was here alone.
“Sandwiches! And champagne!” I heard Shanna squeal, and the others erupted into a flurry of conversation.
My stomach growled. I wanted to weep as I imagined them scarfing down the food, hands grabbing. Maybe someone would save me a sandwich.
A female giggle arose from the group. “Don’t drink all of it now—save some for later!”
Sigh. Maybe not.
I supposed that I could call out and remind them that I was stuck here on the bench, but I kept my mouth shut. Arriving at camp had been a bit awkward—my foot injury had made them unsure of what to do with me. I had no doubt that if we were still playing on teams, I’d be voted off first. Now that we were all one big team and all challenges and rewards, I was pretty much safe—I’d be extremely safe, actually. I wasn’t going to win any challenges on my own now, after all.
Safe as could be, as long as I didn’t starve to death.
“Here,” a familiar voice said, and I felt something cold touch my shoulder.
I jerked around in surprise and stared at the champagne bottle pressed against my skin and Dean’s grinning face.
“Thought I’d bring you something. There’s enough for everyone, but not for long.” In his other hand, he held out the large end of a massive sub sandwich.
Happiness swept over me as he sat next to me and handed me the sandwich. More than the food, it was that he hadn’t forgotten me.
“Did I ever mention that you are my favorite man on the island?” I said as he offered the champagne to me and I took a swig. It tingled in my mouth, all fizz and alcohol, and it was lovely.
“I’d better be,” is all he said, and we didn’t talk as we ate the sandwich and drank more alcohol. I blushed at the meaningful look he gave me, wondering if he was feeling that same swelling in his heart that I was.
That swelling that told me that I was completely, ridiculously head over heels for the guy.
Eventually others trickled back to camp, eating their sandwiches and passing around more champagne. Bottle after icy bottle was produced from a cooler shaped to look like a treasure chest, and another two cameramen had arrived. I guessed what was going on—good TV was a bunch of starving idiots getting drunk on champagne and partying, and the team was all too willing to comply. Heck, I was too.
The revelry went on for a few hours, it seemed, until someone laughingly pointed out, “Hey, we have a new shelter.”
All heads turned in that direction.
I was struck by a sudden bout of nervousness—who would be sleeping where? Luckily at that moment, no one seemed to be in much of a mood to sleep. They crawled all over the shelter, exploring and exclaiming over the fact that we had pillows—the first ones in three weeks. Instead, the drunks staggered over it and laughed, and then the partying continued.
My own head was feeling swimmy at the moment, the result of too much alcohol on a too-starved and tired body. I was feeling good, too, and I looked over at Dean and wished at that moment that we were alone together instead of stuck with all these people.
He glanced over at me and seemed to share the same thought. Desire flicked across his face, then quickly concealed itself again. He glanced at the group, laughing and hanging all over each other. They were singing songs by the campfire, though a few less hardy had collapsed in the shelter in the distance and were making use of the new pillows.
“Come on,” he said in a low voice, and began to help me up from my seat. He gave me a meaningful look that made my body flare with need.
I leaned heavily on him and glanced at the others, wondering how we’d ditch them. Dean solved the problem, however. “I’m taking Abby to bed,” he said to the group, who waved us off without looking back. And with that, he swept me into his arms and whispered, “They’re too drunk to realize where we’re really going, and by the time they do, it won’t matter.”
I wondered at his choice of words.
Chapter Eleven
I’m thrilled that we merged. Thrilled. Can’t you tell from the sound of my voice? No? Me either. I preferred when it was just us on the beach. Lots of alone time.—Dean Woodall, Day 20
We stopped a few times so Dean could rest, but he insisted on being the one to carry me. It was just as well—Leon was sweating in the hot afternoon sun and I wasn’t relishing the thought of rubbing up against him. Dean was sweating too, but leaning against his body and letting him carry me just let my wicked imagination run away with itself, to the point that I was ready to drag him behind the nearest tree and have my way with him.
If it weren’t for the way that Lana kept looking back at us with a frown.
And the fact that we were meeting up with six other people who were about to share living space with us.
“Are you nervous about meeting the others?” I asked Dean as we approached the new camp. I could see people standing in the distance and smelled the smoke of a fire. The sun was setting, so I couldn’t make out who it was, though I knew the faces remaining in the game by now: Chris and Alys from Team Five (both extremely athletic), Heather from Team Eight (the young, cute grad student), Riley, whose profession I couldn’t recall, but I remembered his freckled shoulders from other challenges, and of course Will and Shanna the Bunny. I was a little surprised she’d made it this far, but then again, she was probably good at latching on to a strong man—like Leon before the switch. She seemed to be good friends with Riley now, though she squealed with delight at the sight of Leon and rushed over to hug him as we arrived in camp. She also looked like nothing but skin and bones… and a large set of implants. The others just looked skinny in comparison.
They watched me with interest as Dean moved close to the fire and set me down gently and then the introductions began. The men slapped Dean on the back and congratulated him on arriving, and the women hugged him. I kind of sat on the bench and watched, elevating my foot and trying not to look as awkward as I felt.
“Oh wow, you didn’t evac?” Shanna said as she looked over at me. “I thought you broke your foot.”
“Just a sprain,” I repeated for the billionth time. “Should be better in a few days.”
“Huh.”
I couldn’t tell if that was an insulting noise or an ‘I underestimated you’ noise. A few of the others crowded around as if just now noticing that I was here, but I noticed that Dean seemed to be the star of the show. I fielded questions about my ankle as I watched him, laughing and rubbing his shoulders where I’d leaned earlier for several hours. A cameraman hovered nearby, just on the fringes of camp, and I noticed the others paid no more attention to him than I did.
“We have a Tribal Summons,” Heather said, waving the others to the back of the camp.
“Already?” said Chris.
“It looks like food!”
That was all it took for all of the remaining players to flood over to the edge of camp and head to the decorated, ornate trunk. In the darkness I couldn’t see anything, and I couldn’t get up to follow. Depressed, I noticed that not even Dean had hung around camp to see if I wanted to join them.
It was just a momentary slip, I reasoned, but it still stung. I stared at the flickering fire and ignored the cameraman as he zoomed in on my face. Stupid ankle. Stupid team not even noticing that I was here alone.
“Sandwiches! And champagne!” I heard Shanna squeal, and the others erupted into a flurry of conversation.
My stomach growled. I wanted to weep as I imagined them scarfing down the food, hands grabbing. Maybe someone would save me a sandwich.
A female giggle arose from the group. “Don’t drink all of it now—save some for later!”
Sigh. Maybe not.
I supposed that I could call out and remind them that I was stuck here on the bench, but I kept my mouth shut. Arriving at camp had been a bit awkward—my foot injury had made them unsure of what to do with me. I had no doubt that if we were still playing on teams, I’d be voted off first. Now that we were all one big team and all challenges and rewards, I was pretty much safe—I’d be extremely safe, actually. I wasn’t going to win any challenges on my own now, after all.
Safe as could be, as long as I didn’t starve to death.
“Here,” a familiar voice said, and I felt something cold touch my shoulder.
I jerked around in surprise and stared at the champagne bottle pressed against my skin and Dean’s grinning face.
“Thought I’d bring you something. There’s enough for everyone, but not for long.” In his other hand, he held out the large end of a massive sub sandwich.
Happiness swept over me as he sat next to me and handed me the sandwich. More than the food, it was that he hadn’t forgotten me.
“Did I ever mention that you are my favorite man on the island?” I said as he offered the champagne to me and I took a swig. It tingled in my mouth, all fizz and alcohol, and it was lovely.
“I’d better be,” is all he said, and we didn’t talk as we ate the sandwich and drank more alcohol. I blushed at the meaningful look he gave me, wondering if he was feeling that same swelling in his heart that I was.
That swelling that told me that I was completely, ridiculously head over heels for the guy.
Eventually others trickled back to camp, eating their sandwiches and passing around more champagne. Bottle after icy bottle was produced from a cooler shaped to look like a treasure chest, and another two cameramen had arrived. I guessed what was going on—good TV was a bunch of starving idiots getting drunk on champagne and partying, and the team was all too willing to comply. Heck, I was too.
The revelry went on for a few hours, it seemed, until someone laughingly pointed out, “Hey, we have a new shelter.”
All heads turned in that direction.
I was struck by a sudden bout of nervousness—who would be sleeping where? Luckily at that moment, no one seemed to be in much of a mood to sleep. They crawled all over the shelter, exploring and exclaiming over the fact that we had pillows—the first ones in three weeks. Instead, the drunks staggered over it and laughed, and then the partying continued.
My own head was feeling swimmy at the moment, the result of too much alcohol on a too-starved and tired body. I was feeling good, too, and I looked over at Dean and wished at that moment that we were alone together instead of stuck with all these people.
He glanced over at me and seemed to share the same thought. Desire flicked across his face, then quickly concealed itself again. He glanced at the group, laughing and hanging all over each other. They were singing songs by the campfire, though a few less hardy had collapsed in the shelter in the distance and were making use of the new pillows.
“Come on,” he said in a low voice, and began to help me up from my seat. He gave me a meaningful look that made my body flare with need.
I leaned heavily on him and glanced at the others, wondering how we’d ditch them. Dean solved the problem, however. “I’m taking Abby to bed,” he said to the group, who waved us off without looking back. And with that, he swept me into his arms and whispered, “They’re too drunk to realize where we’re really going, and by the time they do, it won’t matter.”
