Fake Engagement, Real Temptation (Passion and Protection)

by Joya Ryan

  “You run the gallery,” he said, like she didn’t know her own job title. “I have paintings there, so we’ll still see each other.”

  Carrie hadn’t thought too far into that. Everything had happened so fast she hadn’t figured her professional life into the equation. That was intertwined with Kevin, too. He had his paintings up at a few galleries, including the one she ran. But surely now that they were broken up, they wouldn’t work together.

  “I don’t think I’ll see much of you,” she said.

  “Oh sure you will!” He gave her a half hug, and she wanted to cringe. “We live in the same city, and you love your job. I’m always going to post there. It’s a good gallery. We’ll always have a connection, Care Bear.”

  It was starting to hit her how blind she’d been. Kevin really didn’t get it. Or didn’t care. Just did what he wanted, when he wanted. He’d proposed over a year ago, probably because he’d “felt right in the moment,” then left her because “it didn’t feel right.” It didn’t matter how she’d felt. Everything was always about him. His life. His vibe.

  She shook her head and stepped back. The sand sank against her feet as if to remind her where she was. On a beach in Hawaii, with her ex-fiancé, talking about their future of working together.

  What was she going to do when she got back to Denver? Keep her job and pretend for the rest of her life that Kevin hadn’t hurt her? Work with him? Keep up the fake of everything?

  Blake walked up to her. “Everything okay?”

  Carrie nodded.

  “I was just going to invite you two out for dinner,” Kevin said.

  “Oh that sounds…”

  Terrible.

  “Come on, Care Bear, we’re friends now, right?” Kevin pushed. “Co-workers at least. You can’t handle dinner?”

  And there it was. That challenge. That poke at her pride.

  Can’t handle it? Oh hell no.

  She wouldn’t let him see how his ditching her had ripped her chest in half.

  She’d handle the shit out of dinner and out of this whole week, and then she’d handle her life. But that didn’t mean she wanted to sit across a table from her ex and his new woman. And she was just about to say something along those lines when Kevin spoke again.

  “I need to talk to you about the upcoming reveal of my latest piece for the gallery.” He paused, and she knew he was watching her squirm. “Unless you’d rather I wait until last minute, when we get back to Denver?”

  Last minute.

  Two words she hated.

  Because Kevin had pulled the “last minute, I’m an artist, don’t contain my brilliance to a schedule” crap before, and it had messed up her world royally. Once, he’d threatened to pull a piece of art twenty minutes before a major buyer was due to come. A buyer that had signed an intent-to-buy with Kevin and would have landed the gallery in hot water with breach of contract. Kevin had also “last minute” not shown up when the doors were set to open to display his art.

  So, no, she didn’t want to wait until last minute.

  But one thing at a time.

  First, dinner.

  “Dinner sounds great,” she lied.

  “Excellent, we’ll meet you at The Scene at seven.”

  The Scene was the outdoor restaurant and bar at the resort. It was big and looked out over the ocean. The tables were set up on the sand, but between the strung-up twinkling lights and sounds of the waves crashing only yards away, it was remote and fancy. Gotta love all-inclusive, after all.

  She did her best to smile as Kevin walked off with Wendy, then she glanced at Blake.

  “You’re playing with fire,” he said. And God, did she know it.

  “Can’t hurt too bad since I’ve already been burned,” she countered.

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt again,” he said, and touched her shoulder. She didn’t shy away like she had from Kevin a minute ago.

  “That’s why I’m doing this,” she said, turning to face Blake. “I’m faking it until I make it, isn’t that the plan?”

  Blake grinned. “You are a pretty good faker.”

  She blushed. He was right. But as long as he didn’t know there was something she didn’t fake today, then this was still pretend, still kept at bay. She could control herself. Maybe.

  “Do you have it in you for one more show tonight?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m your man.”

  She smiled, and he walked her back to her room. Their room. Now she needed something to wear, and she had just the thing.

  …

  “What was wrong with that one?” Blake called, sitting on the decorative chair in the corner of the master bedroom while clothes flew out of the closet.

  “It’s too cutesy,” Carrie called from inside the closet, another outfit flying out as if the material were toxic.

  “And cutesy is bad?” Blake asked.

  “Ah, yeah!” she yelled.

  He just wove his fingers together, put them behind his head, and leaned back in the chair. He was ready for dinner, but he was also a guy. Which meant he had no clue about what it took for a woman to get ready.

  Plus, he didn’t give two shits if they were making Kevin wait. Maybe they should stand him up all together.

  Blake glanced around the room. It was nice, but he’d realized Carrie had already made it her own. It felt…homey. She’d added a few touches here and there. From an antique-looking perfume bottle on the side table, to a colorful throw hanging casually off the end of the bed, it felt so warm. Like Carrie. Did she bring this stuff with her? Just have a knack for making a space feel inviting? Whatever she did or however she did it, Blake felt it. The sense of ease and peace.

  Another article of clothing flew out from the closet, followed by a huff.

  Carrie stomped out, in two different shoes, a skirt, black bra, and her hair a mess. Good God. He had a hard time breathing. The woman was lovely.

  “So which shoes with this skirt?” She lifted one leg up, showcasing one shoe, then put her foot down and lifted the other. “These, or these?” She went back and forth.

  “I like those,” Blake said, pointing to the ones with a high heel and strappy thing on them.

  “Ugh!”

  “Was that the wrong answer?” he asked.

  “No, I like those, too, it’s just I don’t have a shirt to match!” She flung her hands in the air and stomped back into the closet, her cute butt bobbing unevenly as she stepped with one heel much higher than the other.

  “Hey, Carrie,” he called after her, and rose from his seat.

  She peeked out of the closet. “Yeah?”

  He walked over to her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re beautiful. No matter what.”

  Her lips parted and she stared at him as if she didn’t understand the words he’d just used.

  She swallowed. “I, ah… Do you mind if I get some me time?”

  He frowned and then nodded. “Of course.”

  Between a quick “thank you” and instructions that she’d meet him later, she hid back in the closet and Blake let himself out.

  So he went to the lobby of The Scene and waited there for Carrie. It was funny, Blake was on a tropical island, but all he wanted to do was hang out with Carrie. But he gave her space like she’d asked for, and finally it was time for dinner.

  He waited out front where the tiki torches lit the walkway to a tiny platform, and the hostess led people to widely spaced tables outside, surrounded by more torches and small lights strung up around the area.

  This is way too romantic.

  The sun was setting, and Blake could already hear the voices of Wendy and Kevin at the table nearby. A few yards off and the douche’s voice carried. But no way in hell would Blake walk in without Carrie. Good girl to make Kevin wait. He was proud of her.

  Of course, Blake was waiting, too.

  He looked around, stared out at the ocean, and a figure caught his eyes coming from up the beach.

  Carrie. />
  With the orange sun setting behind her, the blue dress she was wearing danced in the breeze. Her blond hair was loose, with a single flower behind her right ear. The closer she got, the more he could see her beautiful figure. The sheer blue fabric clung to her breasts perfectly, with a single strap around her neck to hold it up. Two long slits on each side gave peeks of her toned legs as she walked.

  She was stunning. Like a goddess had just walked out from the ocean.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but you look nice,” she said, walking up to Blake. He glanced down at himself. He had hit a shop earlier today to get a few things for the stay here. Another pair of shorts and blue T-shirt never hurt anyone.

  “No Hawaiian shirt, though?” she asked.

  He laughed. “Ah, no.” He looked her over and tried to stop from drooling. “You look amazing.”

  She smiled. “Eat your heart out amazing?” she asked, and Blake knew what she meant. She was thinking of Kevin.

  “Oh, the man will be green with envy.”

  He held out his arm in offering and she took it. The sand swished beneath them, crushing together as they walked up to the table where Wendy and Kevin sat. A bottle of wine was in the middle of the table. Already open.

  Alcohol might help get through this. But whatever Carrie decided, Blake was on point tonight. He wouldn’t let her hurt.

  “Hey, bro,” Kevin said as Blake pulled out the chair for Carrie. What he would give to smack that fucker in the face.

  But he’d be good for Carrie. Only for Carrie. Otherwise that bro’s face would be on the other side of his fist right now. Didn’t mean he had to overly engage with the prick.

  He just nodded and took his seat next to Carrie.

  “Cool shirt, man. Not much for switching it up, huh?” Kevin said, motioning his overly bejeweled fingers at Blake.

  “I could say the same about you,” Blake said, taking in yet another Hawaiian shirt. Unbuttoned. And all kinds of jewelry hanging around his neck. The man didn’t look like he showered. Blake wondered how long he’d last on one of his tours. Maybe twenty minutes. Less if Blake left his ass to the elements.

  He smiled, thinking of a moose charging the bedazzled little fuck.

  “What are you smiling about?” Carrie asked shyly.

  He squeezed her knee under the table. “Happy thoughts, little girl. Only happy thoughts.”

  She smiled back.

  “So how did you two meet?” Kevin asked.

  Carrie grabbed the bottle of wine by its neck and poured herself a heaping glass. She offered some to Blake, but he declined. She obviously needed a drink, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d keep her safe, though.

  “We met when we were young. Grew up together,” Blake said.

  “And it looks like you did grow up,” Wendy said in a breathy, flirty voice. Blake recognized her game. And he wasn’t interested.

  “What do you do?” Kevin snapped, picking up on his girlfriend flirting with Blake.

  Carrie was gulping her wine. When the waiter came around, she ordered another bottle and Blake took the liberty of getting her some pasta. She’d loved noodles of any kind when they were young, and he took a shot that she still did. Judging by the smile she gave him, he got it right.

  “I own an outfitter in northern Colorado. Track, hunt, fish, guide. Things like that.”

  “You’re being modest,” Carrie chimed in. “He’s the best. He takes all kinds of people out to major hunting parties and has endless adventures. He goes all around the world.”

  “Wow, bro, sounds intense,” Kevin said, running his fingers along his jaw. Which was growing a sad excuse for a beard. “My work is pretty intense, too. There’s always so much drama and pressure to get the art out, but the expression of each piece is so illuminating that I have gotten pains in my head just from the beauty the canvas produces.”

  Blake frowned, and Carrie gave a short laugh into her glass of wine. Jesus, was this the kind of shit this guy always talked about?

  Kevin clearly didn’t like that he wasn’t getting fawned on, and Blake didn’t give a Hawaiian rat’s ass.

  “Wendy here was there when I sold my last work. Most expensive yet,” Kevin said, staring pointedly at Carrie. She didn’t meet his eyes. Blake wished she would. The prick was pushing her buttons. Bringing up the mistress, the gallery where he sold—Carrie’s turf—and how successful he was without her. And that shit was going to stop.

  Carrie glanced at Wendy and nodded. “So you work in the Denver area?” she asked.

  This was the most painful conversation Blake had ever been a part of. Poor Carrie, trying to make small talk with her ex and his mistress.

  “I shoot downtown sometimes. When I’m not traveling. Kevin here begged me to come to this little retreat, so…” Wendy shrugged. “It worked out.”

  “I’m sorry, you shoot?” Carrie asked. “Like…guns or…”

  Kevin laughed. “A photo shoot,” he said in the most dickish tone Blake had ever heard a man use. “She’s a model. A famous one. Almost as famous as me.” Kevin winked at Wendy, but she didn’t seem amused. Blake wasn’t, either.

  Carrie took another drink.

  “Never heard of either of you,” Blake said happily, and thank God the food came.

  After a few glasses of wine and awkwardness, Wendy tossed a wrench into the stillness and became the one who couldn’t stop talking. And Blake had thought Kevin was bad.

  “Every time my picture is taken, I try to transcend what a woman is through my eyes.”

  Blake gripped his fork and thought about sticking it in his ear hole. Anything to make this stop.

  “I really feel like the epitome of what a woman is, is something I capture. I mean…” Wendy gave a smile and flicked a lock of black hair behind her shoulder, motioning to her body. “Isn’t this what you want when you think of a woman?” she said in that same low tone again, staring down Blake.

  He didn’t acknowledge Wendy at all. Just looked at the lovely, classy woman sitting next to him and put his arm around her.

  “This is the only woman I think of,” Blake said.

  Carrie’s skin heated beneath his touch. Those big brown eyes searched his as if trying to believe his words. They might be in a fake relationship, but he wouldn’t sit here and let Carrie slowly deflate. This had to be a special kind of torture for her. He wanted to remind her how wonderful she was. And that had nothing to do with the game. That was just the truth.

  But apparently neither Wendy nor Kevin appreciated being ignored, because Kevin droned on, picking up where Wendy left off. And all Blake wanted to do was get Carrie out of there.

  …

  “I really try to capture the essence of a woman in my art,” Kevin said. “You know the last one that sold, Care Bear.” He snapped his fingers at Carrie and she shuddered. “What was it?”

  “Euphoria,” she muttered, and took another drink. The wine was helping her nerves, and the stuff that Blake had just whispered in her ear helped ebb the insecurity rising in her stomach.

  She shouldn’t have come to dinner.

  “Yes!” Kevin said. “It was so transcendent and—”

  “Purple,” Wendy cut in.

  Which made Carrie giggle. Even though the model flirted with Blake, Carrie was almost tipsy enough not to care. She and Blake were just fake anyway, right? Not that Wendy and Kevin knew that. But Blake didn’t seem interested in Wendy. He hadn’t even looked twice at her.

  “I used the lilac and violets to capture a woman’s spirit,” Kevin said. God, he was still on his art and how brilliant he was—

  “Because you know so much about a woman’s spirit,” Carrie mumbled.

  So she’d had enough, too.

  “Seriously, it’s just purple. It looked like Barney threw up on a canvas,” Wendy said.

  Carrie snorted with laughter. “I tried to tell him,” she said between breaths. And she had. He had always given her a hard time for not having vision, but seriously
. “It’s all purple.”

  Kevin looked a little edgy and took several swallows of his wine. “You uncreative types just don’t understand.”

  That made Carrie pause. He always said stuff like that. Always. And it was then she realized somewhere along the way it’d slowly chipped away at her self-esteem. Not tonight. Whether it was Blake next to her or the wine, Carrie would stand up for herself for once.

  “So, you’re claiming that because you’re creative, you know more about women than women?” Carrie asked.

  Kevin laughed. “Blake over there understands,” Kevin said. And Carrie knew what he was doing. Shifting the attention. Normally Kevin loved attention, so long as it was praising him.

  “Oh, I don’t understand women,” Blake said. “I guess you’d call me an uncreative type.”

  “That’s not true,” Carrie said, with a wink. “You know how to do a lot of things involving a woman.” She traced her fingers over his hand, and yep, Kevin noticed. Good. Because she hadn’t had sex with Blake yet, and already she knew he’d be a better lover than Kevin.

  And when did the “yet” slip out?

  Thankfully it only slipped out in her buzzed thoughts.

  “Depends on what the woman gives off,” Kevin cut in, reaching beneath the table to obviously rub Wendy’s leg…or higher. Didn’t matter. She couldn’t see and didn’t care. “Some women are just more sexual, incredible creatures.”

  Carrie didn’t have to read between the lines to get the jab at her. Wendy was clearly Kevin’s “type.” Everything Carrie wasn’t.

  A cake was placed in front of Carrie. She hadn’t remembered ordering at all, much less dessert. But when the slab of lemon butter cake with vanilla frosting was placed right before her, she glanced at Blake, and he winked. He’d ordered all of her favorites. Like he knew her. Like he remembered her.

  She flicked her finger at the frosting, but what she didn’t see coming was Blake grabbing her wrist and bringing her hand to his mouth, sucking the frosting from her finger.

  “Mind if we finish dessert in our room?” he asked, her fingertip still pressed against his lips.

  Carrie couldn’t see anything past the amazing blue eyes and dark stubble, complete with a matching set of dimples.