by Penny Reid
“You guys take this party pretty seriously,” Aria murmured, most of her attention on her sketchbook. She stared at the little 3-D heart she’d just finished shading. What should she write in the centre? Get fucked? Or Dior slut?
“You’re damned right we do!” Georgia cried. “Especially the lads. Most of them don’t get much time to relax.”
Aria flicked a gaze over to the pool. The guys, plus a couple of girls she hadn’t met yet, were playing some sort of raucous game involving three footballs and a series of highly questionable underwater tackles. “The poor dears,” Aria deadpanned. “They seem so stressed.”
Georgia snorted out a laugh. “Oh, you and Nik are so perfect for each other. I bet he absolutely dies over you! Bless him.” She chuckled as if Aria and Nik pairing up was the sweetest event in modern history. Then she said something in French and Laurie started laughing too. Georgia must be some kind of linguistic genius, because earlier on she’d been speaking fluent Spanish with Alvaro. Then there was Kieran, who must speak French to date Laurie—and, of course, Nik, who spoke two languages at least.
Aria made a mental note to download DuoLingo.
“Do you fancy a bagel, babe?” Georgia asked suddenly. “I’ve really got a hankering, you know. Love a bagel, me.”
“Oh, no thanks.”
“Laurie, veux-tu un bagel?”
“Oui, merci,” Laurie drawled. Aside from the movement of her bee-stung lips, the brunette remained completely still. She reminded Aria of a cat lounging on hot concrete.
As Georgia hustled off, Aria wondered if sketching Nik right now—those thick muscles dripping wet and glistening in the sun—would count as work. Because if she was his real girlfriend, she’d probably draw him. So, as his fake girlfriend…
“He-llo.”
Aria looked up sharply at the shadowy figure looming over her. “Uh… hi?”
The figure sat down on the sun lounger Georgia had just vacated. Now he was out of the sun, Aria saw an unusually tall man whose low-slung trunks displayed a lean, cut, tattooed body. Unfortunately, the tattoos were shit. His hair surrounded his face in loose caramel curls, the kind white children had sometimes, and his eyes were a bright, startling green. He gave her a grin that displayed deep dimples and strange teeth. Each one looked like a twin of the next, identical in size and shape, shoved into his mouth like a shiny brick wall.
Perhaps they were bad veneers. What a shame.
“I’ve never seen you before,” the man said, leaning back on his hands in a way that sort of… puffed out his chest. He ran his eyes over her body, brows raised, and she became slightly conscious of her tiny bikini. “I’m Baxter.”
Ah. There was another name she’d heard. Nik didn’t like this guy. He hadn’t said so, of course; she got the feeling he’d never say anything unkind. But when they’d been running over the endless guest list on the plane, he’d sneered slightly as he said Cam Baxter’s name.
“I’m Aria,” she said, offering the man a tight smile.
He gave a leisurely nod that could only be described as arrogant. “Who are you with?”
She cocked a brow, her irritation piqued. “Who says I’m with anyone?” But wait—that didn’t sound very I’m-so-excited-to-be-Nik’s-girlfriend, now, did it? Slapping on a smile, she added quickly, “But I am. Obviously. Just…”
Baxter’s brows drew together as she stumbled over her words. Oh, fuck. This wasn’t going well. When all else fails, flirt. Aria set her sketchbook aside and mirrored the man’s posture, thrusting out her own non-existent chest. His gaze flickered, not to her tits, but down to her thighs. Good enough.
“Why don’t you see if you can guess?” she asked, making her voice as breathy as it was ever gonna get. Maybe the Marilyn Monroe impression would draw attention away from her rambling mouth.
“Alright,” he drawled, looking over at the pool. She followed his gaze and found the weird ball game still going strong.
Except for Nik, who stood in the middle of the watery pitch, glaring directly at them.
Oh, dear. Was she not supposed to talk to Baxter? Oops.
“I’m going to guess,” Baxter murmured, “that it’s Nik, since he’s looking over here like he wants to murder me. But if you are with Nik, you won’t be for long—”
“Charming,” she snorted. “Do you often get to know people by insulting them?”
His confidence faltered a little, that odd smile slipping. “Well, I… I just meant, Nik only does casual, so if you’re interested in—”
“Nik’s my boyfriend, actually. And he’s coming over here.” Why is he coming over here?
Aria watched his progress with a combination of alarm and appreciation. Alarm because he had a smouldering sort of rage-y look on his face that she’d never actually seen before. Appreciation also because of that smouldering look, along with the droplets of water sliding down his deliciously muscular legs. Lord, the man had some thighs. She supposed it made sense, considering his profession, but damn.
“Boyfriend?” Baxter’s expression betrayed a hint of worry, which was smart. Because, while Nik was a sweetheart with a constant smile, he also gave off this low thrum of dangerous energy, the kind that suggested he wasn’t to be messed with.
And Aria, she reminded herself, was not at all attracted to that. Not in the slightest.
Ah, Cam Baxter. A storm cloud on a sunny day. A shit in a showroom toilet. The man was more adept at ruining Nik’s mood than he was at keeping—and, Nik’s hatred aside, he had to admit Baxter was a damned good keeper. The twat.
Whack—Kieran’s hand landed between Nik’s shoulder blades in what the short, circumspect full-back probably considered a friendly pat. “Head in the game, Christou.”
Nik grunted in reply. His glower remained pinned to Aria and Baxter, chatting away on the sun loungers. Truthfully, he’d spent half the afternoon staring at Aria from the corner of his eye, anyway—she was pretty fucking easy to stare at. Especially in that shimmering string bikini, blue as the pool and tiny enough to display a body he could drown in.
Which he absolutely was not going to do, obviously.
Until she asked for it.
Suddenly, Aria and Baxter turned to look at him as one—as if they were talking about him. Ri’s eyes met his, and something electric shot through his body, strong enough to snatch his breath for a second. Fuck.
“I’m going over there,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Still, Kieran replied. “You don’t need to worry about Baxter. That’s your girl.”
Wise words, except she wasn’t his girl. She was just pretending to be. And while Nik knew, logically, that his fake girlfriend wasn’t going to fake-cheat on him, his blood turned to ice at the thought of his very real obsession falling for someone else right under his nose.
That was easy enough to avoid, though. He’d just have to make sure she liked him best.
“Nik,” Varo shouted. “Where you going? You’re down one-nil!”
“Time out,” he called over his shoulder as he hauled himself out of the pool. He could feel Aria’s eyes on him, burning just like the sun-baked stone under his palms. So, he might have flexed a little more than necessary as he stood, and he may have walked over to them kind of slowly, just to enjoy the way her gaze raked over his body.
And, since she was unashamedly staring, Nik decided he could do the same.
Jesus, she looked good. Sweet little tits, thick waist, hips and a belly he could grab while he fucked her. Not that he was going to fuck her. This was all just theoretical. Or rather, hopeful. She really was covered in tattoos, and he found himself desperate to trace every single one with his tongue—from the gemstone heart below her collarbone to the little jellyfish swimming up her ankle. She leant back against her sun lounger, one leg bent, so he caught a glimpse of the plump, bikini-covered V between her thighs.
I want that. Bad.
The need hit harder than a set of studs to the gut, almost hard enough to stop Nik in his track
s. Fuck. If he didn’t stop thinking about this—about her—he’d be flashing his hard-on to the whole damn house in the next five minutes.
Nik tore his gaze from Aria and glared at Baxter instead, letting the man’s smug-fuck face erase every last scrap of desire. Ah. Perfect.
“Baxter,” he growled as he strode closer.
“Christou.”
The conversation ended there. His back firmly to the other man, Nik bent by Aria’s sun lounger and met her eyes. They were huge and doe-like without all the smokey makeup she preferred, tilting slightly upward at the edges. She gave him a teasing smile that set his racing heart at ease. Obviously, she didn’t like Baxter. Nobody with any fucking sense liked Baxter—Varo just had some primary school determination to ‘include everyone’, so the prick was always invited to these things.
In fact, Nik decided, Aria probably hated the guy. Sure, they’d only spoken for five minutes, but it was possible. In which case, she might be sitting here silently begging him to rescue her from the man’s irritating presence. And Nik could never abandon a lady in distress. So he slid an arm under her bent knees, wrapped the other around her waist, and picked her up.
She sucked in a breath so hard, he was surprised she didn’t choke. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“You’ve been watching long enough, chrysí mou. Come and play.” Was it his imagination, or did she shiver in his arms at that last sentence? Maybe she was cold. Somehow. In thirty-degree heat. He held her tighter just in case.
The guys in the pool cheered as Nik came closer. Aria didn’t seem nearly as impressed, but he was kind of enjoying her iron grip on his biceps. He wondered if she’d dig her fingers into his skin like that when she came on his cock.
If she came on his cock. Which she might never do, if he fucked this week up.
“This is a health and safety hazard,” she said, her voice dry as ever. “You’re about to slip, drop me, land on your arse and crack both our heads open.”
“I can assure you, my motor skills are better than that.”
“Isn’t your knee fucked up?”
“It’s still stronger than the average knee.” According to his physio, anyway.
“Sounds like bullshit,” she sang. He liked the smile on her face, liked the sight of her eyes sparkling in the sunlight and the way she tapped her tongue against her lip ring. Her navel was pierced too, twice. He didn’t even know you could pierce it twice.
He wondered if she’d pierced anything else.
“Throw her in!” Varo shouted. Everyone in the pool cheered, and the shout caught on. “Throw her in! Throw her in!”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Aria whispered. And then, almost immediately, she winced. She must realise, then, that she’d said exactly the wrong thing.
Nik’s grin widened. “But sweetheart, I want to get you wet.”
“Oh, you filthy fuck—ooh!” she half-screamed as he started running, escalating to a full-on screech when he jumped into the pool, carrying her with him. As they plunged in, Nik pushed her up, so her head wouldn’t be submerged. He doubted she’d remembered to hold her breath in between screaming “You absolute prick!” Plus, he had a feeling that she might punch him if he got her hair wet.
The water felt ice-cold against his sun-warmed skin. When Nik’s feet hit the bottom of the pool, he pushed up and broke the surface again, sending a spray of water arcing through the air. He shook his head like a dog and grinned in the face of her death-glare. “What? You don’t want to swim?”
“For all you know, I can’t swim!”
He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. “You don’t need to swim. I’ve got you.”
“Oh, bugger off,” she muttered. But her hand rose to slide over his jaw. She turned her head and kissed his cheek. It was that kiss, combined with her soft arse pressing against him below the water, that sent every drop of blood in Nik’s body rushing to his dick. He was hard as a fucking rock, painfully hard, within seconds. And he saw the instant Aria felt it, because her smile faded, and her eyes flashed up to his, wide and questioning.
He froze. They hadn’t discussed this, because he hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t some kind of depraved sex pest. Regardless of his hopes, he had not foreseen a situation where he ended up rubbing his erection all over Aria in front of about twenty people. And because of those twenty people, he now had to let go of her in a way that wouldn’t seem suspicious.
Or at least, he thought he did. Until she reached up and kissed him.
Because his friends were all five years old, a cheer went up the minute her lips touched his. Fireworks would have been more appropriate, because for the second time in his life, Nik was absolutely undone by a kiss. It was the way she arched her back, pressing her arse harder against his cock, and the gentle tug as she sucked his lower lip into her mouth. When the tip of her tongue teased his, Nik actually moaned. He wanted to shove down his trunks, slide her bikini aside and thrust his aching—
“Heads!” Varo shouted. One of the three footballs in play plopped into the water beside them, sending up a huge splash. Aria broke the kiss with a laugh, as if it was that easy. As if she could go from that impossible heat and uncontrollable need to carefree playfulness within seconds.
Which, clearly, she could. But Nik, for the first time in his life, was struggling to do the same.
She pulled the ball closer with her fingertips and shouted to Varo, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“You’re on my team,” he grinned. “Bring it over here.”
“She’s on my team,” Nik managed to growl.
“Too late,” Aria teased, her tone sing-song. “Sorry, love.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek and whispered in his ear, “How am I doing?”
Then, as reality filtered in—as he remembered that she wasn’t his, that the kiss hadn’t been real at all—she winked and swam away.
Chapter 7
There wasn’t a single clock in Varo’s huge, fancy house. Aria knew, because when the sun hung low in the sky and her lungs were exhausted with laughing and swimming, she’d excused herself to wander through the villa’s cool, cavernous halls.
The place was like a magical world; timeless, unbelievably luxurious, and oddly silent—except for the chatter of the cleaners, who flitted in and out of rooms like fairies.
But the disorientating bubble of the villa didn’t faze the industrious Georgia. It was around 6 p.m., according to Aria’s phone, when the little bombshell—a word that described her in every possible way—began running through the house, ordering everyone to get ready. “We’re going out! No, don’t moan Kieran, it’s just a light one tonight. Dinner! A bar or five! It’ll be fun!”
One of the guys whose names Aria refused to remember wandered into the room, dripping wet, a phone pressed to his ear. “Sí. Sí, queremos—wait, hold on a sec. Hey. Yo, Nik’s girl.”
Aria looked up from her own phone, pasting a smile on her face. Her thumbs kept moving as she tapped out an outraged text to Jen.
Everyone keeps calling me Nik’s FUCKING girl!
“Yeah?”
“You want some blow?”
She narrowly avoided gawping like a cartoon character. And only because she had decades of experience in being cool as shit. “Um… nah. No thanks, man. I’m good.”
“Cool, cool.” The guy switched back to Spanish and disappeared.
What the hell kind of people just… ordered their cocaine by phone? Like it was a bloody Chinese takeaway? Rich people, she supposed.
“Aria!” Georgia shrieked, barrelling back into the room. “Get ready! We’re leaving in four hours!”
“Am I… supposed to take four hours to—?”
Georgia slapped her hands against the cushions either side of Aria’s head and leaned in, her expression grim. “Time is different here,” she whispered darkly. “It’ll take you forty minutes just to get your falsies on.”
Aria didn’t mention the fact t
hat it took her forty minutes on a good day. False eyelashes were not her area of expertise. “Oh, right. Okay then.”
“Chop chop!” Georgia cried, already running off through the house. “Let’s go, people! Let’s go! Where’s Varo? Varo, pon tu trasero aquí, you tit!”
Three hours later, Aria realised that Georgia hadn’t been exaggerating. She’d never taken this long to get ready in her life.
She rifled through her makeup bag for some lip gloss and ran through a mental checklist. Dress: present and correct, the low-cut neckline secured with acres of tit tape. Shoes: by the bed, just waiting to be worn. Jewellery: her bracelets were fine, her necklace was fine, but she might change the studs in her earlobes for some hoops…
She barely registered the fact that the shower’s distant splash, audible through the bathroom door, had stopped. But she sure as shit noticed a second later when that door opened to reveal Nik, his tawny skin glistening, his gorgeous body barely covered by the little white towel slung low on his hips.
Aria stared at his reflection in the mirror, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart pounding. Despite herself, she squeezed her thighs together under the dressing table, a spark of heat flicking to life in her belly. Baby Jesus on a cracker, he was so damn fine. He raised an arm to scratch his head, revealing that even his fucking armpit hair was sexy. How could armpit hair be sexy? Was she high?
No, just horny. Basically, the same thing.
Nik’s absent gaze found hers in the mirror, and his distracted expression disappeared. He was all focus now, dark eyes sharpening, that wide mouth tilting into a smirk. Probably because she was staring so hard.
“Close your mouth,” he winked, “before you catch something.”
Aria dropped her lip gloss. Oops. “Piss off.”
“Just some friendly advice.” The lip gloss rolled toward him, and he bent to pick it up. Call her a perverted motherfucker, because Aria watched eagerly for some slippage in that towel. It was just plain curiosity, that’s all. She’d never been with a guy who had thighs like fucking tree trunks. She wanted to know if they made his dick look smaller by comparison.