Chapter 3: Willow

How in thehell was Willow supposed to make this feel natural? She didn't want to try to manipulate Killian. He seemed like a genuinely great guy. But she couldn't exactly come right out and say "Please pretend to be into me because I could really use the extra money."

So she was left with what she was always left with.

Her body.

Feeling like the worst kind of person, she dropped her voice and said, "I guess that depends on what you like."

"There's"—he cleared his throat—"there's not a lot I don't like."

Willow pretended shyness, turning away briefly. Just so, when she returned her attention to him, she could get closer without him noticing. The whole affair gave her a pinch of sadness.

Did all women know the exact sort of tricks to get them this type of attention? Were they hardwired to twirl their hair and preen and bite their bottom lip, just so? Did they all know the precise thoughts running through a man's head when he glanced down at the hint of their breasts?

Or was it only women like Willow? Women who were used to weaponizing and monetizing their sex appeal. It was what had gotten her casted, after all. Robin had told her that the network hadn't wanted wholesome. They wanted hot and dramatic under the guise of finding love.

Willow didn't think, when Robin had officially signed her on, that the other woman had any expectations of Willow taking home the prize. As much as production wanted something sexy, and as much as viewership would tune into something of the sort, it was unlikely they'd vote for anything less than a Madonna at the end.

In fact, Willow hadn't even wanted to mention her camming experience on the show. But Robin had been like a starved dog presented with a slab of meat. There would be no one to take it from her. Willow'd watched hopelessly as no less than eight different production assistants had sought the showrunner to tell him of her past, to make sure it was included in her reel.

They'd made up a bed for her—one much less comfortable than the one she was currently on—and they'd demanded she lie in it.

Maybe a more self-respecting woman would have walked away. Or maybe a more self-respecting woman would have reveled in the opportunity to embrace who she was and the choices she made with her body.

Willow was not the former and she wasn't sure how to get to the latter, to be frank.

But here she was, falling back into it anyway.

Really, though, what choice did she have?

She'd already planned on doing what she could to stay with her initial partner. She'd seen enough shows of this type to know those couples had better odds of earning public favor. And now they had extra incentive.

Her only qualm, she guessed, was that she'd hoped to stumble into a couple she didn't have to pretend as much for. It wasn't that Killian wasn't attractive—she could certainly see the appeal, what with his pretty hazel eyes and the toned musculature of his body. It wasn't that he wasn't likable, either. He was kind and he was funny and Willow was sure she'd at least enjoy laughing with him.

It was just that Killian simply didn't…do it for her.

She liked her men a little bulkier. Stoic and stocky. Someone gruff enough that, when he touched her, she would feel it. All the way to her marrow. Someone she could see throwing her around.

But they weren't discussing what Willow liked. She was trying to find out what Killian liked.

"Give me some examples," she prompted.

"In a partner?" he clarified, deflating Willow. She didn't know how to be what a man wanted in a partner. She'd never actually gotten that far. "I guess I want someone unapologetically themselves. Someone who isn't afraid to be real with me because they don't actually care if they're what I want. I mean, of course I want to be wanted. I just don't want a relationship with someone who isn't comfortable enough with me to trust that I'd like them no matter what."

Oh.

So Willow and Killian were not compatible, in any sense of the word. In fact, they were so far from it, Willow almost wondered if his description had been tailor-made to call her out. Like he knew exactly what she was doing and was politely telling her to stop.

Well, Willow may not have embodied the whole unapologetic thing but she was certainly still found lacking when it came to shame.

"I can't imagine anyone not wanting you," she told him, refusing to think of it as a lie.

Killian laughed. "You'd be surprised how many women are more into the whole broody thing than whatever it is I've got going on. And that's great," he corrected. "I definitely see the appeal. That's just not what I am."

"You never brood?"

"Not if I can help it."

No, she didn't imagine he did.

"With the whole getting lucky thing, it doesn't sound like you really have too many issues closing the deal."

"With sex?" he clarified. "No, I guess I don't—and I'm not trying to be cocky about it. But a relationship? I'm unfortunately about as close to a real honeymoon as we are to the sun."

Willow ran a hand up Killian's forearm, trying to draw his attention away from whatever expression had found its way onto her face. "Comparatively? That's not so bad."

"Yeah, well. Comparison is the thief of joy, or something."

"I thought it was death."

"The thief of death?"

"Death of joy," Willow corrected with a laugh.

Killian clapped his free hand over his heart. "You can't do that to me, Wills. You can't make me question something I've said a million times when I can't even look up to see if you're right."

Willow tried not to blush at the nickname. She'd never been given one like that before. Usually, if someone was calling her something other than her name, it was shit like "baby" or "sweetheart." At least, those were the ones if they were trying to be nice.

Wills was familiar. A shortening—sort of—that implied she might be around long enough to need a shorthand version. The feeling was pleasant. She didn't know what to do with pleasant.

So she just squeezed his arm, not letting go, and said, "I'm right."

Killian smirked. "I guess we'll see when we get out of here."

Together?

Would he hate her if they left together and she didn't want to continue what they'd started? Maybe she would, she told herself. Maybe she was just getting ahead of herself, picturing the end before she'd even tried. Wasn't the purpose of this show to help people fall in love? Perhaps she could get there.

If she couldn't though, was she just robbing Killian of the chance?

Not that any of that would be a factor if he didn't also fall in love with her. Or, at the very least, want to fall in love with her.

Willow began to move her fingers. Tracing nothing patterns over his skin and his veins. Just the lightest of touches that she knew could drive people crazy. Up and down. Almost stroking.

She didn't stop as they talked. Found reasons to get closer. Adjusted in ways that either lifted or pulled her dress in the desired direction. She allowed her free hand to fidget with the ribbon-like strap over her shoulder.

She'd been calculated when she chose this dress. The yellow material made her seem almost innocent, the cutesy bows of the straps only adding to the image. It made her look like something to protect and she knew exactly how much some guys liked that.

It was short, though, and the triangular bust showed off her tits. And those straps, with a single tug, could be effortlessly undone and expose her. She knew a lot of men who'd like the temptation of that, too.

And Killian's eyes did drift to her fingers. She could see the way the suggestion affected him in his eyes and in the bob of his throat. Should she untie it anyway? Pretend it was an accident, somehow?

Maybe he wouldn't look too closely into why it had happened if the result was a boob to ogle.

"Those are pretty," he told her, gesturing to the straps.

Gotcha.

"Oh!" she pretended to act surprised at the compliment. "Thank you!"

Pulling her hand away, she tightened a corner of the ribbon between two fingers. Her following gasp was award worthy. Only, the fabric didn't get a chance to fall from her before Killian reached out and snatched the top of it in his fist. He held it there, firm and careful.

"Don't worry," he said. "I've got you."

But he didn't get her. And that was the whole problem.

Snuffing her frustration before smoke could pour from her, Willow maneuvered the ribbon from him and tied it again at her shoulder. Maybe a little bit looser than before, so he might get a peak if she were to lean forward.

"My hero," she mumbled.

He flashed a white smile. "No worries. Where were we?"

"In bed." Too obvious. But he only laughed.

"Is your mind in the gutter, Willow?" Killian asked.

"Can you blame me?" she teased. "I thought for sure I'd at least have been kissed by now."

He shook his head, like she exasperated him. In a good way, though, she thought. "Hence the easy access?"

And there was the regression of progress.

"What?"

He switched to sheepish in an instant. "I just meant—well, never mind. That was super inappropriate. I'm sorry, Willow."

"Are you saying you feel you have access to me?" she asked, hopeful.

"Um. I shouldn't have but I think I did, yeah."

Willow lifted onto her knees so she was looking down at Killian. Small movements would put them into positions not fit for television. Maybe she could tell him, once they were naked and he was inside her. She'd have to make sure the cameras had a view of everything but, if they couldn't air it, maybe she could speak freely. Tell him her plan.

But what if that only ruined it? What if he looked at her differently? What if production heard her anyway and kicked her off the show? She hadn't missed the microphone in the headboard. No, it was better to keep it to herself.

She'd still allow him this, though.

"Good," she whispered, leaning forward and taking his hand. She positioned it on her waist. Dragged it down to her hip only to increase the pressure and bring it back up, enough to raise the hem and make him picture what the dress would look like clutched in his fist. "You do have access."

"We just met."

The protest was weak so Willow smirked and reminded him, "You know my favorite pie."

She collected his other hand, placed it on the opposite side to match. She felt his tendons move inside his skin, like he just might be trying to stop himself from taking what was offered. The familiar thrill of being wanted zipped through Willow, igniting her core.

"You're hot as hell, Willow," he breathed. Not ‘Wills' this time but maybe that was good. Now wasn't the time for friendly, anyway. She released his hands to let him take over. "But I think we should wait."

His hands dropped. Like a bucket of freezing water might.

"What?"

"Let's not rush anything physical, yeah? We've got plenty of time to get to that if we still want to. But I really want to build something solid before bringing sex into the picture."

"Oh."

"Like I said, though. You're hot as hell. It's not because of that, trust me."

Willow fucking hated the way his eyebrows dipped in when he said it. Like he was feeling guilty for not wanting to fuck her. A part of her wanted to say that he should feel guilty, turning her down so quickly. Because how did someone recover from that sort of thing?

A more frustrating part of her, however, truly cherished the knowledge that not every man she met would choose knowing her body over knowing her.

Whatever she felt about his refusal, though, it didn't change the fact that this had been the most pathetic act of seduction to have ever been attempted. And Willow despised knowing that, once he saw what she'd brought to wear to bed, he would think she wasn't finished.

And she wasn't.

Killian just wasn't supposed to know.