SIX
“THANK YOU,” SOPHIA SAID, HER eyes dark. “One more moment in these”—she gestured with a hand, holding up her honestly terrifying looking heels—“and I’d probably have committed murder.”
Obiora laughed. “Well then. That means I’ve literally just saved someone’s life. They’re welcome.” He winked.
She laughed so hard she began to snort. That he was the one who’d put that expression on her face filled him with a buzzing sense of pleasure and excitement.
He remembered how it had felt to hold her wide, curvy hips in his palms earlier, when they’d met at the top of the stairs leading into the mansion, and he hadn’t resisted the urge to ask if he could spin her like a Princess. The feel of the warm, intimate press of her body against his afterward—the way she’d lingered, eyes sultry and dark with a mirroring desire.
Said eyes were just as dark right now. She was standing, hips cocked, back arched slightly, sensually pushing out her gorgeous tits.
Fucking hell.
Free vacation, Obiora reminded himself for the millionth time. He couldn’t let himself get side-tracked, no matter how sexy and lovely said side-attraction was.
Besides, this was how it always started. Distant compatibility led to mutual attraction led to long conversations, and then bam, he’d mention his dead girlfriend once—show that he still loved her, despite it having been five years since that fateful day—and that would be the end of that.
Obiora forced himself to look away, glancing around the backyard, and realised most of the bachelors were sneering and eyeing him frostily.
Oops. He winced. He hadn’t quite meant to steal the spotlight like that, but he hadn’t been able to continue pretending not to notice how uncomfortable Sophia had looked the longer the night had droned on and she’d been unable to get off her feet. She’d kept shifting her weight, grimacing when she thought no one was looking.
Well, Obiora had been looking. And if he’d used the opportunity to seal his spot in the competition, at least for the first episode, then so be it. From the looks on some of the other bachelor’s faces, they did not approve of his methods. Ejiro was nowhere to be found.
Fuck.
He really had only meant to make Sophia more comfortable. Should he have waited until Sophia was done talking to Ejiro first? Yeah. Maybe. Most likely. Okay, yes.
But it was too late now. And honestly, it was a fucking competition; if Ejiro couldn’t handle the heat, then it was good that he’d gotten himself the fuck out of the kitchen.
Sophia looked around, probably in search of the bachelor in question. The drink Ejiro had gone to get her remained untouched on the refreshments table.
“Did you by any chance see where Ejiro went?”
“Nope,” Obiora answered honestly.
“Oh.”
She looked disappointed, which made him feel a spark of jealousy, the competitive side of him rearing its usually ugly head.
“Want me to get you that drink?” he asked, desperate to get her attention back on him. “Maybe Ejiro needed a breather. I haven’t spoken to him much, but from the brief conversation we have had, I can tell he’s a little shy.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Sophia said, a little dreamily. Then she seemed to realise she’d said that out loud, and more importantly, who she’d said it to, and blushed, smiling brightly to cover it up. “Please. The drink, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Obiora made his way to the refreshment table, leaving his face deceptively blank, avoiding the glares of the more hostile bachelors. He grinned at the ones who winked or smirked at him, no doubt thinking the way he’d swooped in while Ejiro’s back was turned was a brilliant move.
He felt another pang of guilt, which he aggressively shook off.
Keep your head in the fucking game, Obiora.
SIX BACHELORS WERE GOING HOME tonight, and Obiora was pretty sure he wouldn’t be one of them. Pretty sure.
The thirty men stood in three neat rows in front of the mansion, each row lined sequentially from the bottom step to the third, so their faces would be clear for the cameras.
Sophia stood on the paved ground in front of them. By her side, away from the path of the stairs, was a long table holding a series of identical soft-pelt pink hearts the length and width of a palm, with golden arrows pierced through them. Before they’d lined up, the producers had given them magnets to keep within their breast pockets—they probably didn’t want to risk using pins because it might take too long to pin, or worse, it could hurt someone.
Only twenty-three of those hearts were pink. One was red, meant for the bachelor who’d made the strongest impression during the group date. Whoever received the Red Heart during elimination night automatically won the chance for a private date of their choosing with the bachelorette for the next episode.
