Fake Engagement, Real Temptation

She’d felt alive tonight. And Blake noticed because she did feel herself. Felt sexy. And Blake was a big reason she was getting her confidence back. The way he’d leaned forward in his chair while he watched, never taking his eyes off her, she’d felt seen. Like the only woman that mattered. He made her feel this way. And fake or not, she loved it. Wanted more. Wanted to forget the rules and just have a night. Maybe two. Maybe more.

Yeah, Blake couldn’t offer her more than what happened on this island. But maybe that was enough for now. Even if it wasn’t, it had to be.

Didn’t it?

She couldn’t forget about the way he’d jumped to help her. The way he looked at her when he saw her in pain.

There was more to him. A soft heart deep down.

Everything else was hard, that much was clear.

She slipped into her nightgown. A little white slip with thin straps and made of silk, and she lay on the bed, loving how it felt against her skin. She thought of how Blake’s mouth felt on her. Thought of his strong body beneath hers the other night while she rocked her hips on him…

She slipped her hand down between her legs.

She thought of his tongue as it grazed over where she was currently touching and wishing she could feel more of him…

Her hands teased faster, and the only thing she could think of was Blake.

…

Blake was panting hard, sweating out of his shirt, so he tore it off and shoved it in the back of his shorts. He’d been out running for over a half hour and was coming up on the little bungalow he shared with Carrie. The glow from the massive wrap-around windows came into sight as he stomped through the forest and—

He stopped in his tracks.

He could see Carrie through the window.

On the bed.

Touching herself.

His blood raced and heart pounded in his ears. So loud he almost missed her moaning a single word that had him hard in one second flat.

“Blake.”

He didn’t know if he’d read her lips or actually heard it. But she’d said it. He was certain. He should turn away, but he didn’t. Inst

ead, he watched her. The look on her face shifting from pleasure to something deeper. Something sad.

She closed her eyes and pulled her hand away, sitting up in bed. Were those tears in her eyes?

Fuck this.

Fake or not, he couldn’t take it anymore, and clearly neither could she. He started this mission to keep her safe and happy; now he had to see to it that she was fulfilled in every way she needed.

To hell with the consequences. Being on an island made everything seem far away. Like Lane and the fact that this was his best friend’s sister. Nope, far away. What was important was that Carrie was hurting, and she’d called out for him.

That was all he needed to know.

He tore through the last tree, into the room. He knew she could hear him slam the front door shut, and he strode over and knocked on her bedroom door. He imagined her on the bed, like he’d just seen through the window. When she said, “Come in,” he did.

She’d covered herself with the blanket from the waist down, the thin silk straps of her gown resting softly on her shoulders.

“Talk to me, Carrie,” he said in his calmest voice, though his entire body was humming with the need to help. To save. To protect.

“I-I… There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes.

“Bullshit,” he said in his gentlest voice, while trying to tamp down the need to jump at her and wrap her in his arms.