No Kissing Allowed

Chapter 8: Truth or Dare

The game had been staged by production when the two of them showed no interest in speaking to each other for hours at a time. Jamie had gone easy on her, of course. Cora had chosen "truth" first, and he'd avoided asking anything too revealing. He understood she was out of her depth. Not a trained expert like himself in the art of believable prevarication. Cora Glass, doctor of optometry and biomedical sciences, might not be so well-versed in image control.

So, instead of the obligatory "How many people have you slept with?" or "When was your last one night stand?" he'd asked her, "How is it possible you completed two doctorates by the age of 27?"

"Aren't you going to make some crack about nerdy smart girls?" she'd retorted, after she finished explaining how she'd started college a year early and recently graduated from a dual doctorate program.

"Smart girls terrify me," came his smooth reply. "If you see any around here, please give me a warning."

So far, so good. He'd requested a dare next. This had been her opening to embarrass him, to pierce his overinflated ego in the most mean-spirited way possible.

"Do you make a habit of insulting people right before you ask them for a dare?" she'd asked.

"I'm a man of action and danger," he'd replied, sipping lazily at his frozen margarita. "Go on then. Dare me." He'd leaned his face close to hers. "Do your worst."

She should have dared him to recite his multiplication tables, or something thoroughly humiliating like that. Where were her schoolteacher instincts when he needed them?

But no, the producer had ruined it. Mel had whispered, "Dare him to kiss you!" loudly enough for the couple stranded on the next beach over to hear.

Cora had the good sense to refuse, thank goodness.  She'd crossed her arms across her red bikini top and flushed nearly the same color. Far too early for Elizabeth and Darcy to kiss.

But the suggestion had thrown off the rhythm of the thing. After a brief huddle with Mel, Cora had returned to her place on the chaise beside him and dared him to dive from an outcropping of rock and swim back to shore. Not what he had in mind at all, but he went along with it. He'd emerged out of the surf, dripping wet and glistening, arms raised to slick back his hair so as to show off his pecs to greatest effect. She'd pulled her shades down the bridge of her nose to get a better look.

All wrong, he'd wanted to shout at her. Not the vibe at all. Drooling would have been less obvious. The pecs were for the camera's benefit, not hers. Not yet. How were they supposed to stretch out the suspense for a full month with her eyeing him like that?

"Tick," the clock concurred.

Jamie kicked off the covers. It was no use. He'd never get to sleep with his mind going over and over the same events. Maybe a hot shower would make him drowsy.

He slid out of bed and padded barefoot toward the bathroom, clad in nothing but a pair of dark navy boxer briefs. A sliver of light emanated from beneath the bathroom door. Had he forgotten to shut it off before he turned in? Jamie pushed the door open and blinked against the glare as his eyes adjusted—and then he saw her startled face.

"Um, excuse me!" Cora stood before him in a filmy white nightgown that hugged her chest and floated outward from her waist, hinting at the roundness of her hips and covering no more than the bare minimum of upper thigh. "Do you knock?"

Jamie froze.

She turned toward him from where she stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Sorry!" He raised a hand before his face and viewed her in the slits between his fingers. "I didn't realize you were... Wait. Why are you using my bathroom?"

"Our bathroom," she corrected. She tilted her head to indicate the other entrance, opposite the one he'd just come in. "It's all yours. I was just..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the end of her sentence unspoken.

"You were just what?" he asked. "Staring at yourself in the mirror in the middle of the night?"

She paused and turned back toward him. "Talking to myself in the mirror, if you must know," she said pointedly. "I thought you were asleep."

"I wasn't."

"So I see." Her eyes flicked up and down, taking in his state of undress.

Jamie considered pulling on one of the white terrycloth robes that hung beside the towels, but he decided against it. The threshold to his bedroom gaped open behind him. He leaned one arm against the doorframe and rested his head against it. A well-practiced pose. (He had to do something on all those underwear campaigns in between reading Victorian novels.) Might as well give it a go, he thought. Why not?

She seemed unmoved by this display. She looked on with her hands on her hips, a dangerously short distance from the hem of her babydoll nightgown. "You should have warned me they were going to take away all my stuff. My e-reader and everything?"

Jamie adopted a suitably contrite expression. "They can't show us reading on reality television. How would the viewers relate?"

"Nobody told me that. I wouldn't have come."

"Is reading so important to you?"

She looked down at the tiled floor. "It's my bedtime ritual. Reading is the only way I fall asleep."

A twinge of guilt wormed its way upward from the depths of Jamie's consciousness. He fought the urge to squirm. She was only here because of him. He'd been griping to himself about her performance for the cameras, ungrateful lout that he was. But now he saw the tiredness in her countenance, the dark circles under her eyes. "Did you sleep badly last night as well?"

She sighed and turned to leave again. "Never mind. It's not your problem."

"Wait. Don't run away." He took a step in her direction. "Come hang with me in my room."

She looked dubious, smart girl that she was.

"Why not?" Jamie said to reassure her. "We can be insomniacs together. I'll be a gentleman, I promise."

"A gentleman would've put on a robe the moment he walked in here."

She wasn't exactly attired for decent company herself, but Jamie refrained from pointing this out. He merely eyed her nightie, letting his eyes linger below her face for the first time since he entered. He expected her to reach for the aforementioned robe to cover up, but she stood still and let him look. Not flaunting, but not hiding from his gaze. The only sign of discomfiture was the way she rolled her red-pedicured toes inward and balanced her weight on the outside edges of her feet.

Something in the way she stood, a picture of boldness and uncertainty at once, put an idea in his head. "Truth or Dare," he said. "I challenge you to a midnight rematch."

"That sounds like a terrible idea." Her eyes were everywhere but him now. The color crept up her neck. No doubt remembering the dare this afternoon.

She was right. A gentleman would have put on a robe. But Jamie was no gentleman. He only knew how to impersonate one from time to time.

Besides, he had a better idea how to put them both at ease.

"No dares," he said. "Just truth. I'll bore you to sleep in no time." He held out one hand toward her. With the other, he flipped the light switch and plunged them both into pitch black darkness.

"What are you doing?"

He groped for her and caught the tips of her fingers with his own. "No looking. No touching. Two disembodied voices in the dark."

"And no dares?"

"Right," he confirmed. "We'll call it Truth or Dare for Cowards."

"You call it that. I'll call it a bad idea."

A smile curled his lips that she would never see. He enjoyed the quickness of her tongue. Her hand still rested in his, and he tugged at it gently, sensing her wavering. He knew just what to say to tip the balance.

"Please?" Jamie whispered. "I can't sleep either. They took away all my books as well."

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