Your skin.
Your neck.
That spot just below your ear.
A lot of things looked good to him, and they were all Carrie. But he kept his thoughts to himself and glanced at the menu again. All the restaurants near the resort were part of the damn resort. The whole “private, secluded, yet all-inclusive” deal. Which meant options were limited but beautiful. Having an omelet in a private cabana on the beaches of Hawaii wasn’t a bad way to start the day.
Of course, he preferred his breakfast of champions to be Carrie. Especially when she was sitting across the table from him, wild golden curls, tan skin peaking from beneath her tank top while she bit her plump bottom lip and analyzed the menu.
That lip.
That mouth.
He adjusted in his seat. This whole situation he was in felt less fake and more like torture. They hadn’t spoken about last night. But they’d both come and there’d been nothing fake about it. Yet Blake couldn’t bring himself to start out the topic and was trying to get a gauge on how Carrie felt.
She bit her lip again, and his mind flashed to last night.
Again.
“Ice,” he finally said, adjusting himself. Yes, Carrie had made him come last night, but over the last twelve hours with no sleep and relentless thoughts about her, he was permanently and uncomfortably hard and needing more.
“Ice?” she asked.
“Orange juice,” he amended. He’d use an ice pack later for the boys. Only another eighteen hours of a fake relationship and a ton of real teasing to go for today. And then again for another few days.
“You going to eat anything?” she asked.
I want to eat you.
Jesus, he needed to get his thoughts under control. This was all kinds of bad, and he needed the boundaries back. Otherwise he’d be the guy he was trying to keep Carrie from.
“My appetite is off today,” he said.
She smiled and raised a brow. “That’s a shame, so many good options.”
Okay, so she was still avoiding the topic of last night, too. They’d apparently made some silent agreement last night that didn’t involve talking about their almost disastrously real fake sex. Which was fine with Blake. This was all pretend. Exactly how he wanted it. No strings, no commitment, no love, and Carrie was happy. Strong.
A little blond girl with pig tails and matching flowers in each ran up and threw herself at Blake’s shins in a big hug. Her chubby arms encased his knee. She was apparently just learning to walk, and judging by the trail of concerned parents she left in her sandy wake, he wasn’t far off with his assumption.
“Unkie!” the toddler cried, and smiled and clutched his knee.
“What the…” He wanted to shake the child off of him, but he was pretty sure that would be frowned upon. He had no idea how to handle kids. All of his interactions at his outfitter were with adults. There were no real kiddy trails. The youngest customer he’d ever had was thirteen, and he’d been there with his father on a hunting trip.
He looked at the toddler and winced at the drool coming out of her open mouth.
The concerned mother ran up to them. She had the same blond hair as the child. “Oh, I’m so sorry. She’s faster than she looks.”
The woman went to scoop her up, and the girl protested, saying “Unkie” over and over. Blake felt like that monster he’d seen on a commercial once. The blue one that was convinced children were half poisonous.
“Sorry,” the mother tried again. “You look just like my brother—her uncle.”
“Oh, it’s no problem!” Carrie said with so much joy in her tone that it made Blake snap his attention to her.
The toddler looked at Carrie and went straight to her. “Up, up!” she exclaimed.
Carrie looked at the mother. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” the mother said.