Page 117 of One to Watch

Bea blushed. “I just—that’s what I usually do.”

Luc grinned at her. “But you know the chef eats first with his eyes.”

“I’m no expert, but I thought the chef ate pretty well with his mouth.”

Luc threw his head back and laughed, then leaned down and kissed her deeply.

“Let me see you,” he whispered. And Bea nodded.

“Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” she implored—there was nothing uncertain in her voice now. “I want this.”

He lowered himself down, his body hovering above hers. “Do you remember what I said, the first night I met you?”

Bea’s eyes searched his—the moments all jumbled together, she couldn’t pick out the one he meant. She shook her head, then gasped softly as she felt him move into her. He let his weight press her down, and she loved the feel of him pushing her deeper into the mattress. She twisted her limbs around him, pulling him closer, kissing him harder.

“Tell me,” she pleaded, and suddenly she was desperate, she had to know. “Tell me what you said the night you met me.”

He moved his fingers down, and she felt everything being pushed out of her body and brain except him and this; the sounds they made were low and primal.

“I said,” he rasped, “you should have everything you want.”

He moaned her name, and his voice was full of gravel; the stones flooded over her, rough and smooth like the banks of a river, remembering and forgetting, and she was gone.

The next morning, Bea woke in an effervescent mood, despite the audacity of the production staff banging on their hotel room door at some indecently early hour.

“Don’t let them in,” she whispered to Luc, leaning over to kiss him. “If we’re very quiet, I’m sure they’ll go away.”

“This is a very good strategy,” he whispered back, starting to kiss her for real.

“Guys, come on, we’ve got to get moving!” a producer shouted.

“Okay, okay,” she called, fastening her robe. “Come in already!”

The producers had brought coffee as well as fresh-squeezed orange juice and warm pain au chocolat. Bea was famished, and she happily let the cameras get all the obligatory giddy post-coital footage they needed as she and Luc enjoyed their breakfast.

Afterward, she kissed him goodbye and left to get ready for the day. She had an hour or so of direct-to-camera interviews to film, and then it was time for another kiss-off ceremony—the last one of the season, in fact. Which raised an interesting question, actually: Who the hell was Bea going to send home?

Sam was the only man who’d said point-blank that he was in love with Bea—and after last night, Bea could hardly say goodbye to Luc. Even after how badly he’d hurt her when he rejected her in Moustiers, dismissing Asher seemed ludicrous—she couldn’t imagine her life without him. At the same time, he’d run so hot and cold this entire season, and given what he’d revealed about his ex, Bea had some doubts that he’d ever truly let himself be vulnerable again.

Bea’s heart told her that Asher was the right man for her, but her mind yearned for Sam’s kindness and humor—and for the certainty he claimed to offer. And as for her body? Well, that was Luc’s. She talked in endless circles about the pros and cons, but by the time her interviews were over, she was no closer to making a decision. And of everyone on set, there was only one person whose opinion she actually wanted to hear.

“Hey,” she interrupted a junior producer, “do you know where Lauren is? I’d like to check in with her before the ceremony.”

The producer scrunched her face up. “She hasn’t been on her walkie, but she’s probably in edit bay? I know she was up cutting pretty late last night. They’re set up in Room 108.”

“Great, thank you!” Bea chirped, and headed down to the first floor. She knocked on the door of Room 108 a couple of times, but there was no response—maybe Lauren had fallen asleep? Bea felt guilty waking her, but after all the millions of times Lauren had invaded her privacy at all hours of the day and night, she decided it was justified. The hotel was a gorgeous old place that had no magnetic keycards, just regular, actual keys—which meant you could leave your door unlocked. So Bea gave the doorknob of Room 108 a try, and she found that it opened right up.

The big room was mostly dark and filled with scattered desks and tables covered in laptops and monitors. Lauren always brought a mobile editing unit so they could cut footage on the fly and upload it for the main edit bay back in L.A.—it was the only way they could cut the episodes quickly enough to be ready for air just days (or sometimes hours) after they finished filming. The room looked empty, but a crack of light was spilling out from the bathroom, whose door was ajar, and Bea heard voices.

She took a tentative step closer, but stopped short when she heard a moan—that was definitely sex, and it was definitely Lauren. Wow, Bea thought, guess everyone’s getting lucky today.

Bea truly didn’t mean to spy, but as she turned to leave the room, she caught a glimpse of the bathroom mirror: Lauren was perched on the vanity, her legs wrapped around a man—his face was obscured, but Bea’s eyes went directly to the clearly visible tattoos running down his arms.

She took an involuntary step back—and slammed right into one of the editing tables.

“Shit!” she screeched, pain throbbing through her thigh.