by Joya Ryan
“What do you hate so much about the idea of a family?” she asked.
Damn, he should have been slyer with his nervousness. He had no choice but to answer her, though he’d keep it as simple as possible.
“A wife and kids and love are way too much responsibility,” he said.
Especially since he hadn’t been able to keep his own mother alive. She’d gotten cancer. With his father long gone for years, it had fallen on Blake to be the man of the house. To be the rock his mother could lean on. To keep her safe and keep her alive.
He’d tried to save her, but he’d failed. Tried to protect her, failed. Tried to help her, failed. Everything he’d given, his heart, his soul, his love, and she’d still died.
He vowed never to let that happen again. Loving his friends, like Lane and Carrie, was different than loving a woman and sharing a life together.
“Says the man who is responsible for people’s safety and weapons in the middle of nowhere,” Carrie said.
She had a point there. But that was different. Guiding was something he did because he was capable of keeping strangers safe within the rules and guidelines he set. He knew the country, knew how to operate a firearm. Knew how to get in and out. A few hours at a time, he could be responsible for a life.
Not all day, every day.
Not love.
That just complicated things and put way too much out of his control.
“You want all that, though,” he said, trying to shift this back to her.
She shrugged. “Yes, I do. So much. With the right person.”
“Kevin wasn’t.”
She shook her head. “I thought he was. Maybe it was my idea of him. The fantasy. I don’t know. Now, I’m responsible for no one.”
Could they be at more opposite ends? Blake wanted less, Carrie wanted more.
“Well, you should enjoy the kid-free, single life while you can,” he said. “Now what’s on the docket today for our fake relationship?” he asked, hoping this was a good distraction.
She glanced at her phone calendar. “Hula lesson tonight,” she said.
“I always did have a thing for coconut bras,” he said, and tossed her a wink.
She smiled. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m sure they’ll let you wear one.”
“Oh, game on, little girl.”
…
Why did life hate Carrie so much?
She showed up to the hula lesson, and of course, there were several other women…including Wendy. She was starting to hate package vacations.
What was even worse was that Wendy, like most women there, was tall and lean and “perfect.” Carrie was the only one under five-foot-ten by far and had the biggest butt there.
She inhaled deeply and took a spot in line, as far away from Wendy as possible, but Wendy felt the need to gravitate toward her.
“This will be so much fun,” she said to Carrie, stretching. Although, Carrie was certain she was deliberately bending over for the sake of it. Poor yoga pants… She’d never seen anything so tight on a woman before.
Carrie glanced down at her sensible sneakers and slightly baggy T-shirt and tried not to fidget.
“Yeah, fun,” Carrie said.
Wendy leaned in like she was going to tell Carrie a secret, but she spoke at a normal volume, as if wanting everyone to hear what she was going to say. “I took a stripping class,” she said.
Carrie frowned. “I wasn’t aware strippers had to take classes.”
Wendy scoffed and tossed her hair like she was half amused and half pissed. Carrie hoped for the latter, since she really didn’t want to fake a friendly relationship with this woman. She already had enough fake stuff going on in her life.
“No, it was an exercise class, but you work out with a pole and learn to strip and dance. It’s all the rave. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of it.” Wendy looked over Carrie as if assessing her outfit, but Carrie felt the scrutiny all the way to her soul. “It brings out femininity. You should try it. There are classes in Denver all the time.”
Carrie felt heat rise in her that was equal parts rage and embarrassment. This woman had been cheating with her fiancé for the past year and now she had the nerve to discuss femininity with her? On her honeymoon? No, not her honeymoon. Not anymore. Carrie was in a tight spot, literally, that involved keeping a brave face and salvaging her pride. She might not know much about stripping classes or overly tight yoga pants, but she knew what decency was. And Wendy didn’t have it. But Carrie would be damned if she let her make her feel small.
Carrie did her own stretch and shrugged. “Blake has no complaints about any part of my femininity,” she replied happily, as if it were true.
Which could be true, but Carrie had no idea. The whole relationship was fake. She couldn’t trust that Blake wasn’t pretending to like her, to adore her, in order to help her play her part. But she had to gain footing somehow in this conversation with Wendy, and giving in to the fantasy of being with Blake was surprisingly easy.
Wendy just gave her a sideways glance.
If only Blake were here. This was so much easier with him. His eyes on her. His mouth on hers. His body—
Stop. Stop. Stop.
Thankfully, the instructor came in.
“Welcome, everyone, I’m Miss Luna,” a short, plump woman in her fifties said, walking to the front of the room. The term “room” was used loosely, since there was only one wall and the backdrop was the ocean. Fortunately, no one was out walking the beach at the moment to witness this lesson.
“We are here to learn the art of hula dancing. Now, this is a lovely expression of a woman’s body, and so with that in mind, follow my guide and flow, but find your own rhythm.”
Carrie nodded and tried to concentrate, and Miss Luna went through various motions of the dance.
“Oh yeah, my stripping class was kind of like this.” Wendy leaned and whispered this time, as if Carrie cared about the topic. “You have to be sensual.”
Wendy was moving and working her hips like a pro, and Carrie tried not to pay attention to her. Her self-esteem could only take so much.
So she did her best to follow along to the instruction as Miss Luna went around the room and chatted with each woman individually.
That’s when Carrie heard a soft whistle. A whistle that wasn’t meant for her.
Wendy turned around and saw Kevin hovering nearby, pretending to take a walk along the beach but giving an exaggerated appreciative look at Wendy bending over.
Wendy blew him a kiss.
Carrie’s whole stomach twisted. God, the simplicity of the gesture. He’d never shown her such a casual love. The closest she’d come in all her years was Blake, starting with that fake kiss she’d planted on him when they’d first seen Kevin here.
She took a deep breath and refocused on her dancing. Maybe she’d show Blake these moves later. All in the name of practice. Like their time under the pineapple tree. Or last night, when she’d run his length between her legs until—
Miss Luna clapped, getting everyone’s attention, and taught another move. Then another. One at a time, until an hour had passed and all the motions started to combine together. It was fun the more Carrie got into it.
Kevin wandered along, leaving a bad taste in Carrie’s mouth and a smiling Wendy next to her. No matter how much she tried to focus on the lesson, she still felt stiff. She watched the women around her. Their slim hips barely moving and flat stomachs flexing. Maybe that’s why Kevin had never shown such genuine love and affection for her. She looked nothing like Wendy or any other woman in class.
Miss Luna came around to Carrie while everyone was practicing. Apparently it was her turn for the one-on-one chat.
“Finding your strength and femininity is key,” Miss Luna said, coming to stand beside Carrie.
Wendy must have heard her, because she gave Carrie a look that said, “I told you so, you cow.”
God, she wanted to crawl under the sand. Building her self-es
teem back was a lot harder in the presence of her ex’s mistress.
Miss Luna took Carrie’s hand and led her to the side of the room, while everyone else kept practicing. Whether she picked up on the hostility between her and Wendy or the fact that Carrie wanted to run out, Miss Luna seemed to sense just what Carrie needed.
“You are beyond lovely,” Miss Luna said. “Own what you have. Never be ashamed. Head up. Always.” Her kind black eyes bore into Carrie with softness. “Just as their bodies have their own qualities, your body has unique strengths.”
Carrie raised her eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Miss Luna nodded. “You’re the only one here who can keep a grass skirt on.” She
winked and gave a little shimmy of her own. The woman just let her hips move, like they had their own mind. That was when Carrie noticed Miss Luna had sizeable assets, too. But Carrie hadn’t noticed before because of the confident way Miss Luna carried herself.
“Own it,” Miss Luna said again.
“…Okay.”
Here goes nothing.
…
I have a surprise for you.
Blake had guided people to the tops of mountains, faced down wild animals, jumped out of airplanes, but none of that made him as excited as those few words from Carrie.
She’d been so enthusiastic he’d agreed to join her at tonight’s luau dinner. The resort threw a luau on the beach three times a week, complete with a suckling pig and entertainment on a massive stage.
So Blake sat at the front table, fire dancers wrapping up their performance and the suckling pig smelling well-cooked, while he waited for Carrie. Maybe she was an extra in one of these shows? The curtain raiser or something?
But when a man in a headdress of sorts and grass pants blew into a shell, the fire pit in the corner rose and a line of women came onto stage in grass skirts and bra-like tops and—holy shit, there was Carrie.
He’d never seen any woman look so beautiful.
Her long hair was down, and a crown of flowers sat atop her head. A long grass skirt with a row of leaves accented her perfect ass. She looked native. Natural. Gorgeous.
He heard Wendy whisper from the table next to his. “They didn’t ask me to join because I think I intimidate everyone,” she said.
Yeah, or her flat ass couldn’t hold up a breeze, much less a skirt.
The drums started and Carrie smiled. Blake winked and clapped.
Swish, sway.
Her hips moved back and forth slowly to the beat of the drum.
The women were all dancing in a line, but his focus was on Carrie.
Her body was made for this. Her toned stomach flexing with the moves, and her arms out to the sides, toes pointed as she whipped back and forth, back and forth.
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.
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.
“Last night,” he started. “There’s more between us. More happened.”
She nodded in agreement and met his eyes. “Yes.” She licked her lips and shifted to look at him head-on. “I want my fantasy, to really feel it, experience all of it.”
“Okay, I can help with that.” He thought had been helping with that. “What more do you need?”
She shook her head. “I need to get out of my own brain.” The tone in her voice sounded defeated and frustrated. “I know what I want. But it’s not going to happen. And I see all these reminders all the time about what an idiot I am, and I just can’t take it.”
“Why the hell would you think you’re an idiot? Kevin is the idiot.”
“I know,” she said. “But it hurts. And I wanted so much, but I’m the idiot for thinking he was the one I could have what I want with.”
