Page 37 of Most Eligible
The muscle in his jaw ticks once, twice, grinding my last nerves. “How do you want me to act, Georgia? Do youwantthem to notice?”
I open my mouth, but falter, glancing over at the others, none of whom seem particularly interested in us. “No, I just—”
“Because it’s a little hard for me,” he mutters.
My lips twist into a frown of embarrassment. There’s no reason for him to be rude about it. He’s made his point. Clearly he wants nothing to do with—
I suck in a breath as he reaches up and cups the back of my neck in his hand, his face shedding a few layers of annoyance. My stomach turns to jelly. Hot, molten jelly.
I know that look. It’s the look he gave me before his lips met mine, but the hundreds of people around us then didn’t matter. The dozens now do, though. And that means he can’t do anything more than squeeze the nape of my neck, press his fingers into my back, and make my knees go weak. As if he knows I need the support, he pulls me tighter to his chest, spins me away from Olie and Monica, and catches my hand like we’re ballroom dancing.
“That better?” he whispers. Mouth dry, I try to answer, but no sound comes out. Instead, I scowl and spin us back toward the others, trying to ignore how much better it was. “Gotta make sure you’re all warmed up for Roland,” Rhett adds. “I bet you’re excited for that.”
“Nope,” I mutter, barely moving my lips. “Secondhand hard-on isn’t really my thing.”
Something low rumbles through his chest but doesn’t make it to his mouth.
“All right, lovebirds!” Dr. Dora cuts the music and Rhett springs away from me like he’s been burned.
Still wrapped around Addison, Roland grins, calling over, “Trying to steal my girl, Rhett?”
“Hardly,” Rhett says, eyebrows crooked, like I’m the last thing in the world he could want.
“Up here, Miss Georgia,” Norbert calls. Addison extricates herself from Roland, and I take her place dancing with him.
“Georgia Peach,” Roland says, grinning. He lets out a low whistle as he looks over my form-fitting dark red jumpsuit, then pulls me closer, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.
“Look at him,” Lainey instructs from behind the cameras. At her direction, I drape my arms around Roland’s neck and press my temple to his chest, staring the camera down in what I hope is a seductive way.
Lainey said to act like a “tall drink of water,” but I feel more like a glass of sangria—not particularly refreshing but bound to get you fucked up.
Roland’s fingers skim lazily over my body in time to the slow jazz, stopping at the small of my back. I force myself to relax at his touch, but it’s difficult when I want the moment to be over, when his touch makes me feel nothing compared to Rhett’s.
“Head down,” Lainey instructs. She steps forward and pushes down on my neck so that my forehead presses to Roland’s shirt.
“Ow!” I snap, trying to swat her away, but she just pushes harder until I’m suitably short for Roland, then steps back, assessing the picture we make. I shouldn’t care—I don’t care—but the idea that something about me isn’t good enough for him is hard to stomach.
“You’re too tall,” Lainey mutters at the camera. “Take off your shoes.”
“Lainey—”
I’m surprised to hear Norbert’s voice, but Lainey cuts him off. “Shoes off. Now.”
Head still ducked, I step back from Roland and slip out of my wedge sandals. When I lean back into him, tears prick my eyes. Behind us, the camera clicks away.
“This is fine,” Lainey says. “All right, next!”
Grabbing my shoes, I back away from Roland, brushing away tears as Olie shuffles up to take my place.
Once Roland has been danced on by all ten of us, plus Dr. Dora, who didn’t feel Philippa was doing it right and needed to demonstrate, we gather on the couches to learn our fate.
“Now, obviously, you can be sexually compatible with multiple people at once,” Dr. Dora says. “And I see potential in many relationships here. But I’ve been told that I need to pick one lucky lady to spend some extra time with Roland, so I’m picking the person who I think has the most sexual potential with him.”
Just when it seems like she’s going to announce herself, she cries, “Olie!”
Addison lets out an unkind laugh. “Bullshit,” she mutters. But as I watch Olie scurry over to Roland and whisper in his ear, I wonder if Dr. Dora might be onto something.
“And before I leave,” Dr. Dora says, “I have some gifts for you all.” She hauls out a large duffel bag and unzips it.
