She needed to do what she always did: keep her mouth shut.
“Now kiss each other,” Gladys ordered.
Or maybe not.
But to Callie’s shock, Thomas gently disengaged himself from her and rose to his full height. The removal of his warm hands, his lean body, left her chilled in the stale air conditioning of the meeting room.
“No,” he said.
His voice was firm. Not distracted. Not even especially good-natured.
Gladys raised her brows once again. “You’re not willing to kiss her?”
Oh, Lord, he was going to give them away. Gladys would call Irene and say they weren’t a couple after all, and then they’d be booted from the sh?—
“That’s not for the cameras.” His blue gaze caught Callie’s, and she was swimming in syrup. “That’s for us.”
The word—no, the vow—shivered through Callie in a ripple of heat.
The camerawoman heaved a sigh and turned away from them. “Then we’re done here. Lord help me, romantics are the worst.”
Which implied Gladys didn’t think they were fakers. She thought they were being romantic. Overly precious, yes, but definitely a couple.
Whew. Such a relief.
Although Callie wouldn’t have minded a kiss from Thomas, cameras or no cameras. And maybe the disappointment slumping her shoulders told her everything she needed to know right now.
She might be a worrier, but she wasn’t a fool.
She wasn’t going to rebuff him.
She wasn’t going to dwell on those months of frustration and annoyance.
She was going to spend a week in paradise with a kind, smart, handsome man who evidently adored her.
And she was going to discover what they could be. Together. Despite her worries.
“I suppose it’s tour time, then.” Thomas took her hand, and she curled her fingers around his, reveling in his strength. His warmth. “Are you ready?”
She lifted her chin to get a good view, beamed a smile at him, and watched his rapid blinking with satisfaction. “I’m ready.”
Thomas put his hand over his mic and leaned close.
“What do you think so far?” he asked quietly. Too quietly for the crew to pick up his words, especially over the ambient noise of the crowds and the surf.
The breeze from the water tugged strands free from Callie’s ponytail and set them dancing around her face, and she was pretty sure her nose was turning pink under the bright sun and cloudless sky, despite a liberal coating of SPF 45. To the right, aquamarine waves descended in rhythmic rushes against ripples of golden sand, carefully manicured gardens to the left teemed with vibrant hibiscuses and lilies, and her hand was still securely clasped in Thomas’s careful grip.
He and Callie, along with their HATV crew, had toured a good chunk of the private island already. The massive central hotel with its pink stucco and arches and the private cabanas tucked beneath palms. The water park. The water sports rental facility. The mirror-calm water of the noisy children’s beach and the quiet, umbrella-strewn expanse of the adults-only beach. Various upscale restaurants, all with bird-themed names. The lavish theater with thickly cushioned seats and regular showtimes for the Parrot Cay Spectacular.
This episode of Island Match was going to be a hell of an advertisement for the destination, not that such a popular site needed any help.
Under the steady regard of the two cameras pointed at them, though, Callie hesitated to answer Thomas’s question, even if no one but him could hear her answer.
He was going to think she was weird and ungrateful.
He was going to tell her she needed to relax.
After all, this was the cleanest place she’d ever seen. Including hospitals. And every single Parrot Cay employee greeted them with a wide smile, nodded, and wished them a parrot-tastic day. Whatever that meant. But they seemed sincere, if intense.
