He sat forward in his chair.
He’d been to bachelor parties. Had lap dances. Nothing like this. This was hot and sexy and perfect. And all Carrie.
The rhythm got faster and the room got hotter. Blake wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
She dropped to her knees and leaned back while moving her arms gracefully, and all the while her hips moved. Still. Going.
What he’d give to feel those hips whipping his lap again.
That one time last night wasn’t enough. She’d given him a taste, but he hadn’t actually been inside of her. And he so badly wanted to make that his new mission.
She wasn’t touching him. Was several feet away and on stage fully clothed, and this was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.
Maybe it was the island.
Maybe it was the skirt.
Maybe it was Carrie.
Shit. This was how people got themselves in trouble. So invested in a fantasy that they forgot it wasn’t real. Even if, God forbid, their feelings were real—they weren’t, but if they were—the relationship still couldn’t be real. He wasn’t about to open his heart again when he knew what it was like to lose someone.
Her eyes locked on him and she beckoned him. With her hips, her lips, and that little wave of dancing she gave. He was ready to pounce on her. Take her. He just needed her.
The drums came to a stop and he blinked out of the trance. An eruption of applause hit the whole luau. Carrie was smiling. He glanced over and saw he wasn’t the only one who’d appreciated her. Kevin was staring her down. Except this time, he wasn’t angry. He looked…hungry.
Carrie was breathing hard and came straight to Blake at the table.
Take that, asshole.
Blake did the only thing that felt right—he stood up and kissed the hell out her.
She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.
“So, I take it my fake boyfriend liked the dance?” she asked quietly against his mouth.
Fuck fake, everything felt real.
“I more than liked it. You looked…yourself.”
She frowned at him. As if not understanding but appreciating all the same. “I felt myself,” she said.
He kissed her lightly on the lips. He still had a dinner to get through. Kevin and Wendy were here, the entire point for pushing the limits with Carrie. Once the dinner was over, he’d figure out how to get rid of this ache in his gut and endless hard-on that wouldn’t go away. For now, though, he’d appreciate Carrie’s company and the fact that she was smiling.
…
Carrie hung up her grass skirt and washed her face. Luckily, Blake had dropped her off at their suite after dinner and gone for a run.
She wasn’t sure if he was avoiding her or not.
Maybe it was a good thing, either way, because all she could think about was how he’d looked at her tonight.
Like an animal.
Primal and needy and like he’d do things to her only a man in raging passion could do.
And she wanted it.
This fake relationship thing was taking its toll on her.