Page 91 of Most Eligible
Chapter Thirty
“What are you doing here?” I squeal.
“Like here as inhereor here as in Europe?” Olie asks. Her hair is messed up, her eyes are bloodshot, and she’s buttoning up her collared shirt like she was naked only moments ago.
“Either, both, all of them!” I flip the lights on, arms still twisted in front of me in an attempt to preserve my modesty.
“Um, I…” She looks around evasively and glances behind her at the back entrance of the cottage. “I was sightseeing.”
“Olie,” I warn. “Tell me the truth.”
“I swear!” she insists. “I was in town and my hotel had an… infestation, so I found out where you all were filming and figured that some of the rooms would be empty, so I came over.”
I narrow my eyes at her, but if she doesn’t want to give me a straight answer, I’m not going to get one. “If you tell anyone…”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she says. Then she glances at Rhett, smirking. “You better treat my girl Georgia right.” Her eyes stray down his body and rest for a moment on his very erect… situation. “Nice going, G.” She winks at me.
“Yes, yeah, um, I will.” Rhett stammers, ignoring that last bit.
“Well, I guess I’ll be on my way then,” Olie says.
Once the door has shut behind her, Rhett lets out a giant breath and sinks onto the end of the bed.
“I just lost ten years off my life.”
“Why the hell is she here?” Still clutching my hands over my chest, I scamper to the window and watch Olie walk across the beach in the direction of the cottage where Roland and Addison are no doubt making the most of their off-camera time. “I bet she came to see Roland.”
“They really hit it off,” Rhett says, coming up behind me and peering out the window. “Lainey isn’t a fan—doesn’t think Olie fits the image of the future Mrs. Roland.”
“Do you not know his last name or are you making a point?” I spin around and land in his arms, his fingers tapping against my waist then straying lower. A shriek of laughter comes from somewhere outside, and I turn to look out the window, but Rhett guides me back into him.
He smirks. “Both?”
I glance behind him, momentarily distracted by our surroundings. The one-roomed cottage is an explosion of sex—a sexplosion, if you will.
The front area of the cottage comprises a large L-shaped couch and coffee table. In the back is a huge bed with so many embroidered pillows that only a few square feet of the light green comforter are visible.
“Who did they set all this up for? If Roland and Monica already…”
Rhett winces, then inclines his head to me.
“Oh no.”
“Just as a backup,” he says. “You’re supposed to be going somewhere else, but in case it falls through, they figured…”
“I get it,” I say faintly. My eyes fall to the waist-height table next to the bed and—
“Holy cow,” I breathe. A bowl of about a hundred condoms restson top. “How many penises do they think Roland has?” I cross over and pick up some of the foil wrappers. “Lemon-flavored. Tangerine. Blueberry. Vanilla. Ew, beer-flavored? Gross. I’m surprised they don’t have one that smells like a fresh can of tennis balls.”
Rhett barks a laugh and comes over. There are several other objects on the table—a few dildos, at least a dozen vibrators, something else I can’t even hazard a guess at.
“Probably best to leave those alone,” I say hesitantly. “In case they haven’t been disinfected. I don’t think the producers would be too happy about an STD outbreak.”
“Trust me,” Rhett says darkly. “It’s happened.”
“On your season?” Heat rushes to my face. “Please don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know—actually, I kind of do. Has the selection changed at all?” I gesture to the wall of sex like a car saleswoman.
“Probably the same bowl of condoms,” he says dryly, picking one up and tossing it back into the bowl. “Though the main difference is the woman in front of me.” Everything inside me contracts as I take in his frame, his strong thighs, black ink tattoos, smooth sloping shoulders. I drag my eyes to his face.
