by Tara Wyatt
Her tropical home away from home for the next few days.
“Welcome cocktail, señorita?” A server all in white approached her, a silver tray full of what looked like mimosas perched on one gloved hand. Carly wondered how he wasn’t melting in his uniform; she was in jeans and a T-shirt and could feel the sweat starting to trickle down her back and between her boobs.
“Yes, gracias,” she said, plucking one off the tray. Not only did she want it because it was something cool to drink, but she’d more than earned it by surviving that plane ride. She took a sip and glanced over to where Dean stood by the check-in counter, a couple of people still ahead of him. His black T-shirt clung to his back, and she suddenly realized that she’d likely get to see him shirtless a whole bunch.
Yes, please.
Her mind flashed back to the plane and the feeling of his hand in hers, how sweet he’d been with her, how he hadn’t made fun of her fear of flying. And she was having sex dreams about him and wanting to see him shirtless. She took a long sip of her mimosa, trying to cool herself off.
She reminded herself that the only reason he’d invited her on the trip was because of his reputation, and because his family had asked him to bring a date. Clearly, he’d chosen her because there was zero chance of anything happening between them. Maybe the key to surviving this trip would be to stuff herself silly with Mexican food, so that she felt bloated and unsexy. The burrito method of abstinence.
“Carly?” A familiar male voice came from somewhere behind her, and she turned, taking another sip of her mimosa. She almost choked when she saw who’d called her name.
Dr. Mike Travis, her ex-boyfriend, stood only a few feet away, wearing a linen shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. His short, reddish blond waves were artfully mussed. “Uh, Mike? What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to think of anything else to say. She was relieved to find, though, that her inability to say anything more intelligent than that was only because she was genuinely surprised to see him. Looking at him, the only thing she felt was the dull ache of her bruised pride. No flare of attraction, no pang of longing.
“I’m here for a wedding,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. Over the past week, Dean had filled her in on the details of the wedding, and it only took her about half a second to put two and two together.
“You work with Christie,” she said, not a question, but a statement, because she already knew she was right.
He cocked his head and smiled condescendingly at her, as though she were a little kid who’d just put together a puzzle. “That’s right. I do. I didn’t realize you knew her. So, then I take it you’re here for the wedding, too?”
She nodded. “Yeah, with the Grayson side.”
An awkward silence fell between them. Mike cleared his throat. “Listen, Carly, I’ve been meaning to get in touch.”
She frowned, unsure where this was going. “You have?”
“Yeah. I just . . . I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”
She fought the urge to snort and roll her eyes. “I’m fine.” And really, she was. Sure, her ego was bruised, but bruises healed.
He looked at her pityingly, as though he didn’t believe her. “I know how tough breakups can be, and I hope you’re all right.” He glanced down at the floor, and she couldn’t tell if it was because he genuinely felt bad, or if he was putting on the “oh, poor Carly act” for his own egotistical purposes. Hunting her ego with his own.
Before she could respond, Ashley sashayed up to Mike, a fruity cocktail in one hand and a large, floppy sunhat in the other. She actually sashayed, like some old-timey movie star, as though walking normally wasn’t fancy enough for her. Her thick, blond hair fell down her back in waves, and her pristine white sundress fluttered around her slender calves in the breeze. She turned her big brown eyes on Carly.
“Oh, Carly, my goodness. I didn’t realize you’d be here, too. How are you? You’re doing okay?” she asked in the same condescending tone Mike had used. She studied Carly, frowning sympathetically. Carly had no idea if her misplaced sympathy was genuine or not, but frankly, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t wanted, or needed.
Carly didn’t blame Ashley for “stealing” Mike; she didn’t buy into the myth of the man-stealer. Mike had found someone who suited him better, and that someone happened to be Ashley. If Mike had been happy with Carly, if he’d had deep feelings, he wouldn’t have found someone else, plain and simple.
“I’m fine,” she said again, this time through clenched teeth. Anger flooded her, at Mike for the way he’d made her feel, at Ashley for her condescending bullshit, at the fact that she’d have to deal with these two for the whole trip.
“You’re so brave to come to a wedding alone,” said Ashley, smiling at her as though Carly were some sort of hero, as though she couldn’t possibly be here with someone, pathetic creature that she was. “I think I’d die of embarrassment.”
Carly’s nostrils flared, and she forced herself to stay calm. “I’m not here alone. I’m here with Dean.” She tipped her head in the direction of the check-in desk, where Dean was currently signing something.
Ashley’s mouth dropped open and Mike frowned. “You’re here with Dean Grayson?” he asked, the pretentious condescension gone from his tone. Something about the way Mike looked mildly perturbed, while Ashley looked equal parts surprised and impressed, made her feel good. As though she’d somehow flipped the conversation around and now had the upper hand.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize he had a girlfriend,” said Ashley, eyeing Dean appraisingly.
“Oh, uh . . .” Carly knew she should correct them and set the record straight. But then she’d have to put up with their pitying, condescending looks for the next several days. So, she opened her mouth before she could talk herself out of the lie. “Yep. Dean and I are dating.”
She’d barely finished her sentence before she saw Dean out of the corner of her eye. He’d apparently finished checking them in and had arrived just in time to hear the lie. Her heart thundered to life in her chest, and she held her breath, waiting for him to correct her, to challenge her on what she’d just said. She could practically feel her nose growing. But he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Room’s ready,” he said simply, smiling at her.
She froze for a second, but then managed to regain her composure. “Great. Dean, this is Mike Travis, and his girlfriend, Ashley. Mike works with Christie,” she said, directing the conversation away from her and Dean.
“Doctor Mike Travis,” he said as he and Dean shook hands. Dean smiled affably, clearly not fazed by Mike’s dickish attitude.
“Well, we’ll let you two get settled. See you around,” said Mike, taking Ashley by the elbow and leading her away. He glanced over his shoulder once before disappearing around the corner.
“So,” came Dean’s voice in her ear. “You want to fill me in, sweetheart?”
Chapter Three
Dean led Carly out of the lobby and down the wide limestone path toward their building, which, according to the map the woman at the reception desk had given him, was about halfway between the lobby and the beach, near the pool. The sun blazed in the sky even as it sank toward the horizon. With the warm air filling his lungs and the sun heating his skin, he could feel his tension ebb away. Looking around at the gorgeous scenery, he was pretty sure stress wasn’t on the menu here.
“I’m sorry,” Carly finally said, not looking at him as they walked. Around them, tropical music floated on the air, punctuated with laughter and splashes from the pool. “I shouldn’t have said that.” She kept darting little glances at him as though she expected him to be pissed, but he wasn’t. Curious? Sure. Intrigued? Hell yeah. But not pissed.
He was pretty sure he’d never actually been pissed at Carly.
“What exactly happened there?” he asked, wondering what had prompted her to claim that they were dating. Wondering why the lie didn’t bo
ther him as much as he knew it ought to.
She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “That was Dr. Mike. As in my ex-boyfriend, Dr. Mike. And his new girlfriend, Ashley.” Her lip curled a little, as though the words tasted bad.
The pieces clicked into place, and Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, shit. Does he know Christie or something?” There was only one hospital in Cheyenne, so it wasn’t difficult to figure out the connection.
She nodded. “Yeah, they’re friends, apparently. Anyway, they were just so . . . so . . .” She held her hands in front of her as she talked, her fingers bent into claws. She let out an anguished little grunt. “Condescending. And smug. And pitying. They assumed we were here together, as a couple, and I totally panicked.” Her steps faltered, and she squinted up at him. “I’ll fix it. I’m sorry.”
Dean shrugged, and the seed of something, an idea, maybe, took root somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain. “I get it. It’s shitty that they’re here, and you didn’t want to deal with their whole ‘poor Carly’ routine.”
Her eyes widened. “Uh . . . yeah, actually. That was a big part of it.”
He laid a hand on the small of her back and gently guided her down a side path toward their building. Lush, green grass filled the space on either side. Gardens sat in the center of the lawn, crowded with bright tropical plants. A neon orange hummingbird flitted by them, its wings buzzing as it made its way toward a bush with large pink flowers.
“I’ll fix it,” said Carly, firm resolve in her voice. “It was a stupid thing to say.”
The seed of an idea bloomed, fully formed, and Dean stopped walking. He wasn’t entirely sure where it had come from, but now that it was in his head, he didn’t want to dismiss it. Carly made it a few more steps before she realized he wasn’t beside her anymore, and she stopped and spun. He met her gaze, weighing his words before he spoke. “I’m not sure it was that stupid.”
She pulled her head back, a frown on her face. “What do you mean?”
The back of his neck prickled, and he rubbed a hand over it. “Maybe pretending that we’re dating, just for the few days we’re here, isn’t such a bad idea.”
She stared at him and blinked slowly. “Wait, what? You want to . . .” Her fingers fluttered at her sides. “Pretend to date?”
He huffed out a breath and held his hands out at his sides. “My family thinks I’m a manwhore who can’t keep it in his pants to save his life. If I—”
She cut him off. “You want to lie to your family?”
He opened and closed his mouth, a tiny sliver of guilt slicing into him. “Not really, but I also don’t want them worried about me.” Maybe if he put an altruistic spin on it, it wouldn’t sound so bad. But he knew he was being selfish.
And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t want to let it go.
“And you’re upset at how they see you.” She raised her eyebrows, turning her sentence into a question.
He tipped his head. “Yeah.” In truth, he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since his conversation with Luke and Christie. He couldn’t disagree with what they’d said. And he couldn’t deny he that he wanted more for himself.
Holy shit. Everything became clear as he realized that he wanted to play out the little charade Carly had started with her panicked lie. An experiment of sorts, to see what it would be like to be with someone. A relationship with a built-in safety net. Training wheels.
What an asshole.
But he didn’t take it back.
For several long seconds, he and Carly stood on the little path, staring at each other, playing chicken with the lie they were both contemplating seeing through. That he wanted to see through, for both his own insanely selfish reasons, and to help Carly.
He took a step toward her. “Pro: you don’t have to deal with Mike and Ashley and their fucking pity. Pro: I don’t have to deal with my family’s judgement.”
“Con: it means lying to your family,” she said, her hands on her hips.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “It was your lie to begin with.”
She threw her hands in the air. “And I said I was sorry and I wanted to fix it! Not that I wanted to double down!” Her eyes blazed up at him, and something tightened in his gut. Fast and searing-hot like lighting, the image of Carly beneath him, eyes blazing up at him just like that, flashed through him. His cock grew heavy, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Unspoken pro: he’d have an excuse to explore whatever the hell was going on with them. With him.
“So, you want to go find Mike and Ashley and tell them that we’re not actually dating? That you made it up?”
She glanced off to the side, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. After several seconds, she sighed. “Not really.”
“I want to help, Car. I can. Let me.”
“And what about when we go home?” she asked, her brows knitting together.
“It doesn’t need to be a big deal. We’ll fake it while we’re here, keep everyone off our backs, enjoy our trip, and then once we’re home, we’ll just say we decided that we’re better off as friends.”
Something flickered across her face, almost like a flinch, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
She sent him a wry smile, rolling her eyes. “This won’t be awkward at all. You know, just casually fake-dating my friend and boss. No big. I’m sure people do this kind of thing all the time.”
“So, you’re in?” He smiled at her, raising his eyebrows.
“I . . . shit. Yeah, I guess I’m in.”
“Whoa. You wanna tone down the enthusiasm, there?”
She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. Had she always been this cute?
“Let’s go find our room. The porters will bring our bags—we just have to call the front desk when we get in.”
She nodded and awkwardly stepped aside for him to lead the way.
“So, we’re really doing this, huh?” she asked, following him into one of the pretty, white stucco buildings. A small plaque indicated it housed rooms 300-330.
“Yeah. I don’t want Mike being an ass and wrecking this for you. Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “We’re on the top floor, room three-twenty-four.”
Like the lobby, the rectangular buildings housing the rooms were open air. A courtyard with a fountain and greenery sat in the center, cordoned off with an elegant railing and open to the sky above. Hallways ran along the sides of the courtyard, sheltered by an overhang. Sleek, dark wood doors spaced several feet apart led to the individual rooms.
At room 324, Dean tapped his key card against the pad and the lock gave with a soft beep. Carly stepped in ahead of him.
“Shit. You said there’d be two double beds, right?” she asked. He followed her inside, his gaze zeroing in on the king-size bed in the center of the room. That image of Carly beneath him came roaring back, heating his blood.
She turned around to face him, and their eyes locked. The door fell shut behind him, sealing them away from the world. Just the two of them, alone in paradise, with a king-size bed.
Funny how instead of feeling weird, he found his mind wandering to all the different ways they could use that bed.
“Do you want me to see if we can change rooms?” he asked. His voice had come out low and raspy, and he cleared his throat.
She stepped forward and trailed her fingers over the duvet. “It’s fine. We can just make a pillow wall, or whatever.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, and heat licked up his spine. “Unless it’s weird. Is it weird?”
“No,” he reassured her. “It’s not weird.” He pressed a finger into his own chest. “I don’t think it’s weird. I mean, if you think it’s weird . . .”
She licked her lips, and something kicked low in his gut. “I guess it’s not weird?” She shook her head. “I feel like I’m saying weird a lot.”
She didn’t give him a chance to answer before she moved farther into the room and then stepped out onto the balcony. “Hey, check ou
t this view!”
He stepped out beside her, leaning his forearms on the stucco wall of the balcony. To the right, the blue-green ocean glittered in the last rays of daylight, waves lapping softly at the shore in a soothing rhythm. Palm trees arched up from the white sand into the sky, sheltering the blue and beige beach loungers facing the water. To the left, they could see the massive pool, surrounded with more of the same blue loungers, straw and wood umbrellas spaced every several feet.
It was absolutely gorgeous. Warm, and peaceful, and lush.
As he surveyed the breathtaking scenery, he tried to make sense of his confusing jumble of feelings for Carly. Something had shifted between them on the plane. Something was still shifting, and he wasn’t sure what had triggered it. But for the first time in their two-year friendship, he found himself attracted to her. And it wasn’t because she’d done anything differently. No, the change was happening in him. What he didn’t understand was how, or why.
But he didn’t necessarily want to fight it either; hence his willingness to go along with her ruse. Not to mention that it worked in both his favor and hers. And it gave him a way to . . . explore. To see if he could be . . . different. Better.