Fake Engagement, Real Temptation
“Have you lost your mind?” she snapped. “I can take care of myself. You’re taking this way too far. How am I supposed to enjoy my fantasy if you’re hanging around me all the time?”
“And what kind of fantasy are you thinking of exactly?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I just want the opportunity to let loose.”
“And you can. I want you to do that, too. And you’ll thank me when you’re not getting groped by a douchebag at the end of the night, who’s trying to take you back to his room.”
“And what would be so bad about that?” she asked in a higher pitch.
“You’re vulnerable. I won’t let anyone take advantage of you,” he said. That includes me.
“Stop telling me what I am,” she said.
“Then stop pretending that you’re not still hurting from the breakup.”
That made her stall. But her stubbornness flickered back into place and she lifted her chin. Maybe she really would be okay. Strong, sassy woman that was already busting his balls. That was the Carrie he remembered. The woman he would see live again, no matter what it cost him.
“I didn’t even want you here. Get your own room.”
“I have one. Just happens to be in your suite. The suite I upgraded you to. You’re welcome.”
“You’re annoying!”
“Don’t make me sleep at the foot of your bed, because I’ll do it,” he threatened. When she frowned, he smiled and pointed. “Bungalow is that way.”
She growled and stomped toward their bungalow, mumbling what sounded like “infuriating jackass” under her breath. And he had no choice but to follow her and that perfect, pissed-off ass the entire way.
“You like the room?” Blake called out to Carrie. She’d opened the door, and he saw her mouth hang open in awe, but when he smiled, she frowned and went to her bedroom and slammed the door.
“Stupid piece of crap,” Carrie mumbled from behind the closed door.
“Come on, you can’t be that mad at me. Tell me this place isn’t perfect for your fantasy?” Blake asked, wanting so badly to have a win with her. See her smile.
She flung
open the door and came out, fighting with the straps of her tied-up bathing suit behind her neck. Her teeny-tiny bikini. Her teeny-tiny pink bikini.
“I wasn’t talking about you,” she said, tugging on the straps again. “I can’t get this stupid thing to tie right.” Every time she tugged on it, it made her breasts bob and shake, and holy hell, she was going to fall out of the suit.
His shorts got uncomfortably tight.
“Here,” he said, and walked behind her to fix it. Lord knew he couldn’t stand there watching her D-cups sway and bob. So far, this was a pain in the dick, literally. He’d already known Carrie was attractive, but seeing her tan skin in the soft-pink bikini made him instantly hard.
He cursed his stupid body for responding and tried to figure out a way to make these two tiny straps look like a turtle neck. No luck. He untangled the strings and tied them neatly into a bow at the base of her neck.
“There,” he said. Trying really hard not to look at her ass, he stepped away, but that put him in direct view of her front and all the good curves that came with it.
She didn’t pay attention to him, just grabbed a bag and floppy hat then stepped into flip-flops.
“You’re going out like that?” he asked.
She stopped, with her hand on the door. “Ah, yeah. It’s a pool. I’m in a swimsuit.”
“Well maybe we can stop by the gift shop, or any shop, and get one of those…” He ran his hand down the font of himself motioning at his entire body. “Those cover-ups that go from here…to here?”
“Are you talking about a muumuu?” she said, as if he’d lost his damn mind. Maybe he had. But how was he supposed to protect her from douchebags when she looked like that? Hell, he was feeling the need to toss her a line himself and buy her a drink.
She didn’t wait for him to answer, just opened the door and walked out. He trailed after her, grabbing two large towels from the bathroom on the way out.