Fake Engagement, Real Temptation

He nodded. The woman was beyond strong. He’d been in the wild with men who cried like babies at the sight of a bear track. But Carrie was facing down an actual nightmare—a hipster with a man bun.

Blake shuddered.

Yeah, scary as hell.

“We can fake it,” he agreed and took a step closer. “And I’ll be the best damn fake boyfriend ever. Hell, I look forward to making that fucker jealous.”

He’d just have to remind himself what this was every step of t

he way. Yeah, she was sexy as hell. Yeah, she deserved someone to love her. And that would never be him. He kept people safe. But his own heart? He’d never put that at risk.

The back of his skull was tapping out a warning. He knew this was a dangerous game they were playing. But the other option was to let Carrie crumble, watch her self-esteem shatter and her island fantasy die. Or suck it up and play the part of a man she could count on. He just wished his chest didn’t twitch every time he saw her. Yep, dangerous.

I’m a fuckin’ moron.

But Carrie needed him.

“One detail we have to agree on,” he said.

“What’s that?”

He looked at her, all serious. “Whatever happens here, when we go back to the mainland, we go back to the way things were.” He held out his hand in a platonic gesture to shake on it.

She took it. “Deal.” She smiled and glanced around. “Well, I guess there’s nothing left for me to do but get out of this suite and start enjoying my non-honeymoon with my fake boyfriend.”

Sounded like a recipe for Blake’s tension to continue humming for the foreseeable future.

…

“Carrie, absolutely not.”

She turned to Blake. “What are you talking about? It’ll be fun.”

He shook his head. “I agreed to this little arrangement so you could survive running into him. That doesn’t include actively going after the guy.”

“Going after the guy” was his way of referring to her wanting to stick to their itinerary even though Kevin and Wendy were scheduled for the same activities. They could switch to a different package. But they could also go home. And then she’d be the same wreck from the failed wedding.

“You agreed to give me my fantasy,” she said. “And right now, my fantasy includes showing that jerk he can’t hurt me.” She shrugged. “Unless you’re backing out. I’ll do it on my own.”

He took a second to reply, but she could see the wheels spinning in his head. “The hell you will,” he said. “Get dressed.”

She changed into her cute pineapple tank top and cut-off shorts like they were part of a uniform. Time to put Operation Blake as Fake Boyfriend into full gear. At least, that’s what Blake had called it last night. She liked that he was on her team, helping her with a mission.

Thinking of it as a mission made it easier to remember it was fake. That the goal was to make Kevin jealous and Carrie feel better. So the fact that Blake was sinfully attractive and strong, his chest like two slabs of granite, wasn’t the point.

And now, with them on the beach with the rest of the group—including dear Kevin and Wendy—and Blake standing in a tight white T-shirt, camo shorts, and aviator sunglasses, she couldn’t help but wish he was her guide. But now she knew why he did so well for himself. The man booked out several months in advance, traveled all over to trek every kind of mountain and plain the world had to offer, and judging by his cut abs teasing through the thin cotton shirt, she could see why many women wanted to “scout around” with him. He was strong and capable, and if she stared long enough, she could see the outline of his chiseled chest through his shirt. Maybe they’d hit some kind of water and he’d get soaked, making those abs even more visible.

She shook her head. This was no time for inappropriate thoughts of her brother’s best friend—

A gross smooching sound came from Kevin and Wendy.

“This is going to be so epic,” Kevin said between loud smacks of the woman’s lips.

Gross.

Kevin had put on more man-bracelets and his lean frame still hung the unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like curtains around him. He’d put on a fedora and trendy sunglasses, and Carrie wondered how she had gotten involved with him in the first place.

Oh right. He was creative and dramatic and told her she was pretty in a “catalog” way. Which apparently wasn’t good enough. But Kevin had had a way of playing on her insecurities and making her feel lucky to be in his presence. But the woman who’d won a place on his arm was the five-foot-ten slim model wearing the world’s tiniest shorts and bikini top. So that was the difference between catalog vs. magazine beauty.