by Joya Ryan
The plan engine revved, and the wing plates lifted and lowered.
Carrie squeezed his hand harder.
“You’re afraid,” he said, looking over her face.
She didn’t say anything. It looked like she was trying to focus on the simple task of taking in oxygen. Jesus, she was really scared. He’d never known that about her.
He got back to their conversation in hopes of distracting her. “You’re more than pretty; you’re gorgeous,” he said just as the plane stopped and revved again, readying to run down the jet way.
“Then why didn’t he want me?” she asked softly. So softly he almost didn’t hear it.
“Because he’s an idiot,” he said. Knowing it’d come to this. Knowing that she wanted love and a happily ever after. All the things Blake wasn’t built to give, even if he did want that.
“I think I’m the idiot,” she said.
He shook his head. Whatever mind game this asshole had done with her needed to stop. Blake was the last person to be hitting on her. But he wasn’t hitting on her. This was a friend going with another friend to a tropical island to have an adventure. This little excursion was temporary. It’d end. No attachment. He’d spend the week making sure she didn’t get caught up in a surfer douche with a lei, drinking too much. She could get over her ex and then he’d be on his way.
Protect her. Keep her safe. Not get involved.
But damn, the look in her eye was calling to him. He wanted to make her feel safe and calm. How she should have felt today. Despite all the seriously fucked-up reasons that was a bad idea.
“I just want to…” She trailed off and bit her lip to keep a short fearful gasp in as the airplane kicked into gear, picking up speed and barreling down the runway.
She gasped and leaned back, squeezing her eyes shut. And she did reach out with her other hand. For him.
“I want a distraction,” she said, and he didn’t know if she wanted a distraction from the plane taking off or the whole situation of the last few days. But he’d deliver. Because those soft little hands of hers were squeezing him. One on his thigh, the other his hand. He scooted closer.
“Just breathe,” he whispered against her ear. The wheels hit a bump in the runway and jolted them up then down. He had been on a plane so many times, even flew them, along with helicopters and gliders. But poor Carrie clearly didn’t care for air travel.
“You’re safe,” he said.
“How do you know?” she said between shaky breaths. “It’s not like you know everything is okay. The weather, the plane, anything could go wrong.”
“Ah, but I have a backup plan for everything.”
She peeked one eye open.
“How could that be?”
“I know what to look and listen for. The plane is totally fine. And the weather is calm; I checked before we boarded. And even if the worst happened, you’d still be fine.”
“How? By a prayer?”
“No,” he said, then made a psshh sound. “I’d take the bottom of your dress there, rip the netting stuff out, secure it with this blanket, and fashion a parachute from my shoelaces for both of us to jump and gently glide to safety.”
She smiled at that. “We’ll be over the ocean.”
“Which is why I’d also yank this from the hinges”—he knocked the tray on the seat in front of them—“and use it as a surf board.”
She let out a small giggle and relaxed just a tad. A light pink came back to her cheeks.
He was fast becoming a fan of the color, because the plane sped faster, two more breaths, one more bump, and the woman, with her eyes squeezed shut, was grabbing him like he really was some hero that could save her.
“A distraction?” he asked, needing to hear one more time that she needed him. Or rather, needed him to help.
“Yes, please, anything,” she begged, still gripping him hard.
He hated that flash of her lips. Hated that he liked the way her hands felt on him. He was an asshole, too, because if he was so set on protecting her, then the number one man he needed to keep an eye on was himself.
His brain was getting dangerously close to heading down to his dick. Coming off a busy fall season, he hadn’t had much time for his personal life, and he was hard up. But Carrie needed him. Was gorgeous, on display, ready to be saved…
Save her from myself.
And that’s exactly what he’d do.
…
Carrie hated takeoffs. Worst part of the flight.
With her eyes squeezed shut, she thought about the speed of the plane. Thought about Blake making up that ridiculous story of how he could fashion a parachute with her dress. But somewhere deep down, she believed him. He was capable. In ways that most men, like Kevin, weren’t. Today was a mess, and her body was screaming. From stress and anxiety, to need and desperation. The need for this to begin. The need for this to be over.
The need for just one fantasy, one adventure, one day to go right.
The plane made a whoosh sound. She clung to his rock-hard thigh.
God, he was strong.
She couldn’t open her eyes, though, until they were in the air. She shifted in her seat just a tad. Yeah, the takeoff had her plenty afraid, but she’d been afraid for the last two days. Fear of the present, fear of the future. Look at her. She’d spent those years with Kevin so numb that now just feeling anything was like a wave so tall and so strong she felt like she was going to drown.
She just wanted this one trip to go right. Believed that Blake had a good point. That she needed an adventure. Hell, she just believed in Blake. Stupid, since she had a track record for believing in the wrong men.
But Blake was different. Easy to trust. And now she was sitting and waiting to be hurled into the air with her brother’s sexy best friend as her companion for over a week.
The plane plastered her body against the seat, causing her hand to accidentally slide up his thigh. She gasped and quickly eased it back down.
With the pressure of the plane rising, she didn’t open her eyes, but she heard the squeak of the leather seat next to her, felt Blake’s eyes on her. She pictured him leaning back in his seat, tilting his face so he could look right at her.
Then she felt his free hand come to lie atop hers. Comfort.
“Deep breath,” he said, his face so close to her ear that she could feel the scratch of his stubble on her sensitive skin. It lit her up, making sharp snaps of heat dance over her body.
If she let her mind drift and fantasize that this really was a fantasy, she could almost pretend he was really attracted to her. Not as a responsibility. But as a woman. Good thing she wasn’t fantasizing.
“D-does the plane feel normal?” she asked. The entire cabin was loud from the massive machine, yet void of any human noise.
“Yes,” he said against her ear so she could hear. “Engines sound smooth, and everything feels completely normal for a takeoff.”
She nodded and took that deep breath he urged from her. Again, she believed him.
“Okay, okay, okay,” she whispered to herself. Convincing herself that everything was fine and willing her fear of flying to dissipate. “Okay, totally fine. Okay…”
He groaned and she felt a tap on the top of her hand. That’s when she realized she was running her hand up and down his thigh, getting dangerously close to a zone she hadn’t been near on any man in over year. He was trying to stall her hand, and she instantly felt embarrassed.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” he said, repositioning her hand closer to his knee and far away from the danger zone. Gentleman. My goodness, what was the matter with her? Maybe her body was starved. Maybe she was desperate. Maybe she was so distraught from the last few days she couldn’t think straight. But a year of no affection, or even sex, clearly affected a person. Plus the fear of the plane, and clutching to anything close for support.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,�
�� he said. “We’re almost to altitude.”
As if Blake had a psychic connection with the plane, the ding sounded, and the stewardess addressed everyone over the speaker that it was safe to turn on electronic devices.
An exhale of relief hit her, and she felt Blake peel her hands off him. Embarrassment hit her again. Not exactly the mile-high club fantasy she had. Not that she’d actually follow through with that fantasy. But leave it to her to almost accidentally feel up her brother’s buddy in a plane. Yep, that’d be as close as she’d likely ever get to mile-high anything. Blake adjusted in his seat and leaned back, as the stewardess showed up with beverages.
“Champagne for the happy couple!” the stewardess said joyously, handing them the flutes of bubbling liquid. “You two enjoy the takeoff?” she asked pleasantly. “Captain said it was one of the smoothest ascents of his career.”
Blake smiled at her in the “see, I told you so,” kind of way, and Carrie had to check the urge to reach out and touch the dimple on his cheek.
“It was by far one of the best takeoffs I’ve had,” Blake said, and Carrie’s cheeks heated.
It was going to be a long flight, and an even longer nine days. She should set rules. Talk about how they should have distance. Because with him intent on being her shadow, she worried that left little room for her to be…well…herself. But he just drank down his champagne, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
“Wake me if you need another distraction,” he said with a smile, and she was terrified she might do just that.
Chapter Four
Blake had been to Hawaii before, but not this version.
The version meant for honeymooners.
Everything around them screamed love and sex. Apparently, Carrie had an all-inclusive honeymooner’s package that was built around activities, events, and all things couple-related while staying in Hawaii.
Not that he was against the idea of getting away to a tropical island, but the commitment-marriage-family thing wasn’t for him, and they were currently surrounded by it.
So while he was reminded about the things he couldn’t have, he’d remind Carrie these were the things that could still be hers. If she just believed in herself again and found a man who would love her the way she deserved.
After the long plane ride of him trying not to think how her hand had crept up his leg, he was hurting for anything to numb his brain. The fresh ocean air hit his face, and at least they’d both slept—kind of—on the overnight flight. He should feel refreshed. But instead, he was on alert, checking out everything, making sure Carrie wasn’t going to get upset by any of it.
“Interested in getting laid?” Carried called to him.
He shot around, ready to say, “Fuck yeah,” when he saw her with a necklace of flowers around her neck and a woman next to her, waiting for him to take his own lei.
Still didn’t change his answer. “Yes, I’d very much like that,” he said. Because the guy in him was still aware that it’d been a while, and he was now on a gorgeous island with a gorgeous woman he’d never touch. AKA he’d signed himself up for a celibate week with a beautiful woman, in the most romantic place on earth.
Awesome.
He bent down and accepted his lei.
With a deep breath, he checked out the big resort waiting for them.
Them.
No, he needed to have some kind of distance. She was his best friend’s baby sister. He was supposed to protect her. Not to mention, the way she was clasping her hands together and looking at all the honeymoon lovey-dovey shit around here made it clear what he already knew.
She wanted love. Wanted the fantasy that came with a place like this.
Blake could help with the latter, but maintain some space while keeping an eye on her was the idea. She’d probably appreciate that, anyway. She couldn’t go after her fantasy if she felt him behind her all the time. He was only there to protect her from anything that would stand in the way of her fantasy. Including himself.
He subtly scooted away and found the concierge while Carrie looked out at the ocean, sighing to herself. He quickly handed the concierge his credit card and told him to upgrade Carrie to a bungalow suite. They were massive duplexes off the main hotel that had two bedrooms. Perfect. Close, but not too close. He needed to be able to shut himself away from her once she was asleep.
“Carrie,” he said, and her eyes snapped from the hotel entrance and the flowers to him. “We have to talk about expectations.” Wanting to make it clear he would hold true to his word and be her shadow, but come night time, once she was secure in the room and in bed, he’d maintain distance.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“I am here to keep you mentally and physically safe.” She rolled her eyes, but he continued. “So, where you go, I go. No wandering off, no—”
“Twenty-six,” she muttered.
“Huh?” he asked.
“Twenty-six,” she said loudly. “That’s my age. I wanted to remind you because you’re talking like I’m an eight-year-old.”
“You are coming off a breakup, and this island is made for men to pick up women.”
“And how would you know?” she said, raising her brows.
Never mind how he knew! “I just do. If I were some random guy, seeing you down drinks at a bar with misery written on your face, I’d absolutely try to pick you up.”
She frowned, and he couldn’t believe he’d let that slip.
“First of all, I have officially started my fantasy. Which doesn’t include you hovering like a creeper. Second, I’m going to my room to change into my suit and try out the pool. You can come if you want.”
“Great, then I’ll come to our room.”
“Um, what?”
“I upgraded to a suite. Two bedrooms. This way I can stay close while still having a respectable distance.”
“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.
She was already walking into the private pool area that looked out over the Pacific Ocean. It was lovely and made of smooth tile, with a sand bar near the shallow end. She put her stuff on a recliner, the sun beating down warm and bright. Blake put the towels on the chair next to hers, ready to pounce and cover her up the first chance he had. She set herself up with a magazine, getting comfy in her spot to soak up the rays.
