Tori
THE BEEFY GUY standing behind Carter clenches his fists and stretches his thick, tattooed neck. Are all bullies taught to signal their willingness to fight in this way? I tried to warn Carter that the man had been looming in the background, but Carter’s incapable of reading a signal. Since I got him into this mess, I suppose I should help him out.
When I reach the table, the Hulk appears to be one button way from busting out of his shirt.
“That’s not what I asked, dipshit,” he says to Carter. “Why are you sniffing around my woman?”
The woman rolls her eyes at her boyfriend. “Greg, stop being a jerk.”
Greg places his hands on his chest. “Oh, I’m the jerk? Some guy’s trying to pick up my girlfriend, and I’m the jerk? That’s classic, Janine.”
Greg pounces on Carter, grabs him by his shirt, and pulls him close. “As for you, I should kick your ass.”
A few chairs scrape across the patio floor as other guests move out of the way.
“Do you mean that literally? Because if you do, I should tell you that my ass is indestructible. It’s like a superhero’s ass.” Carter says this last bit under his breath. Or tries to.
The guy tightens his hold on Carter’s shirt, because Carter is just as incapable of muttering under his breath as he is incapable of heeding a signal. “Is this a joke to you?”
I wedge my arm between their chests and separate them. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy. Settle down. He’s with me.”
“Then what’s he doing trying to pick up my girlfriend?”
I shove Carter behind me while the guy waits for my explanation. “Well, you see, um . . . my boyfriend and I have this thing we do. Um . . . we pretend to be single and pick up other people.” My heart is racing. And damn, this is embarrassing. Carter owes me big-time. “We like watching the other flirt with someone else.” I reach back and clasp one of Carter’s hands. “Don’t ask me why, but it turns us on to pretend that way.”
“It’s a shit thing to do,” the Hulk—rather, Greg—says.
With a vigorous nod of my head, I agree with him. “Yes, you’re so right. I . . . I mean, we see that now, and we’re going to put this game to bed. Right, Carter?”
“Right,” Carter says behind me with laughter in his voice.
I will kill him if he’s smiling. Of course, when I turn around, I see that he is. My sandal-clad foot “mistakenly” connects with his shin, and the smile disappears.
“Okay, again, we’re sorry about this,” I say to Greg and his girlfriend as I pull Carter away. “Have a nice evening.”
“Yeah, right,” Greg says.
“Have a nice evening, you two,” his girlfriend chimes in, a cheesy grin on her face.
“Thanks for the save,” Carter says as we walk back to the opposite end of the bar. “I would have been fine, but having a fight in Aruba is not my idea of a relaxing vacation.”
It hits me then. Carter lives in an alternate universe where skinny men overpower guys twice their size simply by force of will. The guy continues to stare at us despite his girlfriend’s efforts to engage him in conversation, until she grabs him by the chin to redirect his gaze toward her. But seconds later, when I peek behind Carter, Greg’s again preoccupied by Carter and me, likely wondering if we’ve tricked him out of a fight he clearly wanted to have.
“So that didn’t go as planned,” Carter continues.
“Carter, be serious for a minute. That guy’s going to be on you the entire vacation if you don’t convince him you truly had no designs on his girlfriend.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did, and he’s looking for a reason to make you pay for it.”
“And what do you suppose I do about that?”
I’m going to regret this. It’s a bad idea, yes, but I don’t want the remaining two days of my supposedly stress-free vacation to be affected by the Hulk. And I don’t want Carter’s mug pulverized. It’s a nice face, and it’s growing on me. “Kiss me.”
Carter shakes his head as though the idea is ludicrous. “What?”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Kiss me, Carter.” I jab my finger into his chest. “And make it look like you can’t get enough of me. Our audience is watching.”
Carter’s gaze darts to my mouth, and then he peers at me as he bites his bottom lip. After he puffs out a harsh breath, he asks, “You sure about this?”
“Just do it already,” I say through clenched teeth.
After a moment’s hesitation, Carter springs into action, closing the space between us and sliding his hand around my waist so that we’re chest to chest. He reaches under my hair and cups my neck, his fingers gently coaxing me to tilt my head upward. The tenderness with which he’s approaching this charade roots me to the spot. My brain, on the other hand, is running like a turbocharged engine. Will a single peck be enough? Should I touch him? If I moan, will Greg and his girlfriend hear me?
None of this contemplation matters, though, because I float away into a dream state when Carter presses his lips to mine. Oh, they’re so soft. And warm. Oh God, they’re fuzzy-socks-on-a-frigid-day warm. And I’ve never kissed a man with a beard. The brush of it against my cheek makes me think of frantic sex, the kind where neither person takes the time to remove their clothes completely. I gasp against his mouth, and he slips his tongue inside, the contact that much more startling because he’s simultaneously drawing small circles against the nape of my neck with a single finger. A random thought penetrates the haze: Greg can’t see Carter’s finger. Oh, but I can feel it, so it must be just for me.
My arms hang at my sides. I make several attempts to place my hands somewhere on Carter’s body as he presses butterfly kisses against my lips and jawline, but nothing feels right. “Did you know the average person will spend more than twenty thousand minutes kissing during their life?” I squeeze my eyes shut after I share that fun fact. Dammit, when did I become this awkward?
Carter smiles against my neck. “That’s a lot of kissing.”
I scan the area around us. We’re in a dark corner, a few feet shy of the bar, but people are milling around everywhere. And we must be attracting attention, so I should stop him, right? But then the pads of his thumbs land on the sensitive spots behind my ears, and oh, that’s nice. Really nice.
Carter nudges my chin up and dips his face into the crook of my neck. “Stop thinking so much, Tori.” His voice rumbles against my throat, and I raise my face to the sky in answer. “Just enjoy this for what it is.” He takes my hands in his and guides them to his waist. When I take hold of his sides, he releases me with a squeeze and slides his hands under my hair, bringing his mouth to mine again.
Just enjoy this? What is this, exactly? Oh, I know. It’s too much, too soon, and for the wrong reason. Still, I can sense a good kiss when I experience one, and this one rivals all the kisses before it. Except I’m not an active participant, not in the way I’d like to be, and I want so much to correct that.
I lift my hand from his waist and thread my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Carter smiles against my lips, and a burst of electricity slams against my belly, as if someone lit a sparkler inside my stomach. He widens his stance, pulling me deeper into his space, making it ours, and I collapse into him. With his lips still close, and his breath floating over my face, he asks, “Was that enough?”
I drop my head to avoid his questioning gaze. “Can’t really say,” I mumble at his chest. “Maybe a little more to be sure?”
“Yeah,” Carter breathes. “That’s a good plan.”
Desperate to get his mouth back on mine, I take the lead this time, drawing up on my toes and pulling him down to me. Carter groans his approval. Another man might have been inclined to whisper dirty thoughts in my ear, but the guttural sound of Carter’s desire is significantly more effective.
I like this man’s hands on me. I like the way he swirls his tongue with mine, a light touch that gives me the confidence to take him deeper into my mouth. He slides his hands down my back and caresses my ass, pulling me flush against him, and oh my, he’s so happy to see me he’s damn near delirious. I like that the most.
After our mouths separate, he cups my face and swipes a thumb across my tender lips. “Was that okay?” His voice, sure and inviting, massages me like strong hands kneading sore muscles. I want to groan in relief, but I manage to hold myself together while I consider what just happened between us.
Okay? That was way more than okay. So okay that I want to burrow into him while I catch my breath and then continue the kiss in private. You know what? An island fling might not be such a bad idea after all. Carter would—
Somewhere behind the bar counter a glass shatters, serving as the proverbial sound of sense being beaten into me.
Mason.
I haven’t even talked to Mason.
And I’m kissing a man I met just two days ago.
I pull back and search Carter’s face, noting his dilated pupils and labored breathing. He’s as dazed as I am.
Afraid to acknowledge the explosive nature of the kiss, I downplay its significance instead. “Wow, Carter. That was an Academy Award–winning performance.” I clap enthusiastically. “Bravo.”
Carter’s face pales as he rubs his lips with two fingers. Is he still thinking about the kiss? Regretting it? Wanting more?
Remembering the reason for the kiss, I step around him and search for our audience. I spot the couple walking by the other end of the bar, leaving for parts unknown. And when I turn to tell Carter the good news, I see nothing but his retreating form—because he’s leaving, too.