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She dragged her eyes back up to his, and at the cocky smirk on Dean’s face, she knew she’d been caught checking him out. She knew she should say something, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her brain had drifted down somewhere toward her hoo-ha.
“Like what you see?” he asked, making his pecs bounce a couple of times. His smile took on a goofy slant, his blue eyes sparkling with humor.
A laugh burst out of her. “Don’t do that!” Although, truth be told, she was grateful that he had, because it reminded her that he of the chiseled chest was still just Dean. The Dean who liked cheesy eighties music, who could recite pretty much any Mel Brooks movie verbatim, who could fit half a hamburger in his mouth if he really tried.
“Do what?” he asked, bouncing those chiseled pecs again in time with his words.
“That!” She laughed harder, pointing at his chest.
“What, this?” He did it again, and then he started laughing, too. His laughter was contagious, and she doubled over, wiping tears from her eyes. He’d managed to go from sexy to playful dork in about three seconds flat, and she had to admit that she was grateful. Drooling wasn’t a good look on anyone, including her.
Dean picked up the beach tote holding all their stuff and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the door. He handed her one of the beach towels as he passed, close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin on hers. “Cute bikini,” he said, his voice a bit rougher than it had been just a minute ago.
She draped the towel over her shoulder and followed him out the door, their flip-flops smacking in unison against the hallway’s marble floor. As though it was completely natural, he took her hand, weaving their fingers together. She opened her mouth to remind him that there was no one around, but then decided, screw it.
A little hand-holding had never killed anyone. As far as she knew.
“Do you practice that in your bathroom mirror?” she asked.
He glanced down at her and winked. “Nah. Just naturally talented.”
They stepped out into the sunshine, and she slipped her sunglasses on. Everything around them was lush, alive, and vibrant. The willowy palms, arching gracefully into the sky, fronds rustling softly. Shrubs exploding with color, a riot of pinks, oranges, and yellows. The intensely blue sky, dotted with the tiniest, puffiest white clouds. The warm, humid air, heavy with the scents of freshly cut grass and tropical flowers.
When they joined the main path, they took a right, heading for the beach. A swath of mangroves separated the beach from the rest of the resort. A pretty wood bridge arched through the lush vegetation, ending in the white sand of the beach. They crossed it, boards creaking softly beneath their feet as they were momentarily engulfed in the shade of the mangroves.
Directly in front of them, close to the water, stood a large, elegant, raised gazebo. She nudged Dean. “I think that’s where the wedding’s going to be. I heard someone mention it at dinner last night.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Nice spot.” The wedding was to take place in a couple of days, at sunset, with the ceremony in the gazebo, followed by a catered twilight reception on the beach. Carly couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting for a wedding. A lump formed in her chest, and even though she didn’t really know Luke and Christie, she had a sudden burst of happiness for them. She’d always been this way when it came to weddings. The idea that two people could love each other so much that they would stand together in front of friends and family to say, “Yes. I choose you, now and forever. You are my person, no matter what,” always got to her.
Probably because she wanted it so badly for herself. Wanted not just a boyfriend or a lover, but a partner, in every sense of the word.
The beach itself was wide and open, all white sand, palm trees, wood and straw umbrellas for shade, and beach loungers. A cabana-like bar sat near the beach’s entrance, by the bridge, along with a beach volleyball court. The scents of salt and sunscreen hung in the air, and Carly took a deep breath, soaking it all up.
Dean led them toward their group and then dumped their stuff onto an empty—and thankfully shaded—beach lounger. With his olive complexion, she knew Dean tanned easily, but her . . . not so much. She had two modes: ghost or lobster, and there was no in between. Her skin already felt warm, so she plunked down onto one of the loungers and fished her bottle of SPF sixty out of the beach bag and began applying it. Several others from their group were spread out on loungers, talking or reading. Luke and Ethan stood near the water’s edge, playing tag with the lapping waves.
“You want a hand with that?” asked Dean, tipping his chin at the bottle of sunscreen in her now greasy hands. “I’d hate for you to get burned.”
“Uh, sure,” she said, not sure at all. But before she could say anything else, he’d moved from his lounger to hers, straddling it to sit behind her. His thighs brushed against hers, and she’d been so focused on the feel of his legs around her, the heat of his body behind her, that she hadn’t even felt him take the bottle from her.
But he must’ve, because suddenly, his big hands were on her, gently rubbing the sunscreen into her shoulders, his hands big and warm. “You have really nice skin,” he said, his breath tickling her ear. Her nipples tightened in response, and she hoped her bikini top hid her body’s response to him.
“I . . . um . . . thanks,” she said, the last word coming out on a sigh as he dipped his fingers underneath the straps of her bikini. He worked his hands lower, down her back, almost to her bikini bottoms, massaging her as he went. She held her breath, wanting him to touch her more. She shouldn’t want it, but she did. The tips of his fingers trailed just under the edge of her bikini bottoms, and she almost gasped. She clenched, suddenly aware of a hot, insistent throbbing in her clit.
“You keep this up, I’m going to start wearing sunscreen to work,” she joked, trying to regain her footing. As though if she could make it funny, it wouldn’t matter so much that having Dean’s hands on her was turning her on. Big time.
“Oh yeah? You gonna start wearing this bikini to work, too?” He toyed with one of the straps, the backs of his knuckles dragging over her skin.
“I’d probably get better tips.”
“True. But I’d probably end up punching some dude for staring at you, so you’d have to use all those tips to bail me out.”
She smiled and tipped her head forward. It should feel weird to flirt with him like this. They were friends and co-workers, and weren’t actually dating. And maybe if they’d been in a familiar setting, it would’ve felt weird. But everything about this was new, and it only felt . . . good. Right.
Too bad it was all make believe. And she knew better than to catch feelings for Dean. Knew better than to jeopardize their friendship just because his hands felt amazing on her, and he made her laugh, and was a pretty great guy. None of that changed the fact that he wasn’t relationship material. He was like the faux leather of relationship material. Looked good from far away, but once you inspected it closely, you could tell it wasn’t meant to last, that it would only be temporary. Not like the real thing.
And she wanted the real thing.
Her back was covered now, sunscreen fully applied, but he didn’t take his hands away, continuing his leisurely massage. “Mike and Ashley are watching us,” he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and found he was right. From about ten feet away, Mike and Ashley were watching them, their faces unreadable thanks to their sunglasses. Not just watching. Staring.
