Fake Engagement, Real Temptation

Chapter One

Blake Harris had no idea what he was doing staring down the door of his best friend’s baby sister. Okay, he did have an idea, he just wasn’t loving it.

Carrie Morgan was on the other side of that door, and yes, Blake cared about her. He’d known her brother since they were kids. But this was her wedding. Or it was supposed to be. And now she was on the other side of the door, in tears, because her scumbag fiancé had abandoned her for another woman.

Shit. Blake had never been close to her. He’d been sixteen and she’d been nine when his mom had died, and he’d spent so many afternoons with her older brother, Lane. But hell. Lane was his best friend. He couldn’t just let his sister suffer like this.

Blake would go back to his outdoor guiding business in the mountains soon, bury himself in work, but not before he made sure Carrie was okay.

He hadn’t even had a chance to see her yet, since she’d not left the bridal suite in forty-eight hours. Ever since she’d gotten word that the groom wasn’t going to show. Could have been worse. She could have been literally stood up at the altar. At least the piece of shit fiancé had told her two days before the wedding.

Now, Blake was staring down her hotel room door and asking God to open it.

He knocked twice.

“Carrie?” he called. He heard low music and rustling. “It’s Blake. Come on, little girl, open up.”

Lane was the closest thing to a brother he had, and neither distance nor time had changed that. Then there was Carrie. The sweet girl Blake and Lane had spent their teenage years playing Uno with and looking after. Until Blake had graduated college and moved to the city.

Shit. He was an ass for not being around more. Poor girl was likely crying, and that made him want to punch the douchebag that had hurt her. Maybe later he’d help Lane hunt the prick down.

Blake took the keycard that Lane had given him out of his pocket. “I’m coming in,” he announced. “Just want to check on you…” He opened the door and peeked in. “Carrie?”

He stepped into the room. It was a massive suite with a sitting area and kitchen. The plush furniture was lined with roses, and unlit candles were scattered around everywhere. Ah shit, so this was her honeymoon suite.

He stepped farther in and heard the low sound of music get louder. It was coming from the open bedroom door. He looked in and found—

“What the hell?” he asked, taking in the scene, or rather the woman before him.

The strawberry-blonde five feet in front of him was moving and shaking in the middle of the room. What was more distracting was the fact that she was in nothing but a pair of panties and a matching white tank top. Her eyes were locked on the wide screen hanging on the wall. He glanced at the television. She was doing…Jazzercise?

“Carrie?” His voice decided to break a little around the one word he’d said several times but now held a lot more heat. Sure, his blood felt hot, but his skin was cold.

So this is what shock feels like.

She froze and faced him. “Blake?”

He smiled, and her body remained still while her chest heaved with deep breaths. Those inhales made the thin cotton stretch over her breasts in a way that made his mouth instantly water; it was better than her dancing. Because any more bouncing on her part and he might forget she was his best friend’s little sister and lose his damn mind, wondering how many more deep breaths it would take to make that tank top nonexistent.

She put her hands on her hips, not bothering to cover up. Something he wasn’t completely upset about, since the woman was smoking hot. She wasn’t a little girl, he knew that. But he’d barely seen her since she was a teenager. And seeing her now, all woman—worse, his type of woman—that fact hit harder than the last.

He glanced down, attempting to take a break from marveling at her, but all he accomplished was getting flashes of those toned thighs and adorable pink-tipped toes.

Nope. She definitely wasn’t the kid he grew up with anymore. She was twenty-six, with a tight body, perfect ass, and breasts he’d just learned had no problem doing a Baywatch slow-motion run in place.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

She’d invited him to the wedding, but he realized she likely meant “What the hell are you doing in my hotel room?”

“I’m here to see you,” he said.

She nodded, as if his answer was good enough, and walked to the bedside table. She seemed…carefree? Not at all the crying woman he’d expected to find. Then she grabbed a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s off the table and took a few swigs.

Well that explains things.

“Glad to see you’re staying hydrated,” he said. She wasn’t carefree; she was drunk. And exercising. An odd combination, but he could see the logic. Drink away the sorrows and get the endorphins going. He’d try it out himself next time he felt so lonely he forgot why a relationship was off the table for him.

She winced on her final swig and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth.

“Yep. Hydrating is important,” she said. “I’ve got to stick with my video exercise. Been doing this for six months to get ‘bikini ready,’ and if I stop now, then…”

She trailed off and folded her lips together as if to fight off tears.

Ah, hell. Put him between a woman and a man who meant her harm, he knew what to do. Swing until the other guy went down. But a crying woman? One who’d already been aba

ndoned by the guy? Yet another sign Blake had failed by not getting here early. Maybe then he could have caught the scumbag before he disappeared to who knew where.

But nope. Blake’s life and job were 100 percent on his time and agenda. Freedom was a heady thing, and he would always be free. Never tied to a woman, never love, because the loss that came with love was too much.

But this woman was different. The protective instinct he had came roaring to the surface at the first sign of water lining her eyes. She was hurting. Her shoulders sinking. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. But he so badly wanted to.

She shook her head. “I guess I don’t have to do the videos anymore, now that I’m not going to Hawaii.” She took another swig. “Guess it didn’t matter how hard I worked out; Kevin left anyway. The whole time he was cheating! Can you believe that? With his trainer. I want a refund on all those ‘classes’ he signed up for to get his own ass ‘bikini ready,’ because I doubt that nailing your trainer burns more calories than a treadmill.”

Blake took a step toward her. Her hair was in a pile on the top her head. Random strands fell down to frame her face. Her creamy skin was flushed and glowing from slight perspiration, and she was…sad. She was trying to hide it. Trying to find anger. But he saw the deep ache behind her eyes.

He didn’t do sad. Didn’t do hurt. It was his job to provide adventures and protect. Anyone and everyone. But especially those closest to him. It was a job he took seriously and made a damn good living out of doing. One moment could change your life forever. So a smart person chased every fantasy and adventure they could have. Which was why Blake loved taking out everyone, from hikers to hunters to nature nuts. They wanted adventure, and he gave them the safety to do the craziest things.

He shook his head, thinking of the one woman he couldn’t keep safe back when he was a kid.

“Tell me how I can help you,” he said. It was the same sentence he said to his clients before helping them to fulfill their fantasy adventures. While this situation might be outside of his norm, it started with the same basic principal—how could he make Carrie feel better?

“Can you make the last two days go away?” she whispered. “Undo the fact that the man I trusted lied to me and cheated on me? Make tomorrow happen, where I get on a plane and enjoy my honeymoon?”