But the only opinion I cared about was Frasier’s. I tapped his shoulder twice, our secret code asking if he was okay. He double tapped my thigh in response, his hand resting close to my hip and ass, encompassing me.I’m good.
“Damn.” One of the guys was about to say something more but then stopped himself abruptly. When I looked back at Frasier, he was glaring.
“Grumpy bear.” I played with the hair at his nape, trying not to laugh at his stern expression.
He leaned in, his lips trailing along my ear. “Can you blame me? That was fucking hot, and I don’t like that anyone else saw you like that.”
I shivered, both from his words and his possessive tone.
His hands were on my hips. And god, it felt so good—to be touched. Not by just anyone, but by him. My skin burned from his touch, my body reawakening as if from a long slumber. Frasier smoothed his hand up my spine, sliding it beneath my hair until he was cupping the back of my neck. I sighed aloud at the pleasure of it—his large, warm hands on my skin. The way he was looking at me, as if I were precious.
I watched him, dumbfounded, as he caressed my back, his eyes darting between mine. Searching mine. When he nuzzled my nose with his, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“We should kiss,” I blurted, soft enough so only he could hear.
Not for the sake of our fake relationship. Not for any reason except that I wanted to.
And yes, maybe I was a coward, using the situation tolean in,as Georgia had suggested. But I felt so empowered by my performance that I was willing to push the boundaries a little.
He chuckled, the sound low and deep like thunder rumbling over an open plain. My heart was galloping at full speed. I had no idea what he was going to say.
“Angel,” he drawled. “I’m completely at your mercy.”
I cupped his cheek, savoring the feel of his scruff scraping against my palm. He leaned into my touch, and something warmed in my chest.
In the back of my mind, I questioned whether this was a good idea. But I pushed those doubts away. I closed the distance before I could talk myself out of it, feeling a little thrill as I brushed my lips against his.
I’d planned for a quick kiss—just a taste, really. But the moment our lips locked, Frasier took control, cupping my nape as he demolished every plan, every thought in my mind.
There were no more games. No more lies or pretend.
I parted my lips, granting him access as he claimed me. He tasted of coconut rum and pineapples, comfort and wicked promises. He’d always made me feel safe, and right now, I knew I was in big trouble.
Because with every graze and glide and nibble, I was falling deeper and harder. I clutched his shirt, desperate for this man. Because, holy fuck, could he kiss. And I wanted more.
I didn’t mean to, but I arched my hips against him. And that’s when I felt it—his hard-on. I gasped at the sensation, seeking that friction despite all the layers separating us. He groaned, deepening the kiss.
We kissed for what could’ve been seconds or hours, I was so lost to him. At least until someone bellowed, “Get a room!”
The sounds of hoots and hollers broke through the haze, and Frasier pulled back. His eyes were still locked on mine, tuning out everything and everyone else, just like he did on the ice. To be the center of his focus was…exhilarating.
I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to return to reality.
But it was unavoidable. And when I remembered that everyone was watching us, cheering for us, I buried my face in Frasier’s chest. His woodsy citrus scent was grounding, and he cupped the back of my head, cradling me protectively and with tenderness.
“You ready to get out of here?” His voice rumbled through me.
I nodded, anticipation coursing through my veins. My nipples were hard, grazing against his chest. I had no idea what came next, but my body was alive for the first time in almost two years.
“More than ready.” My voice was throaty, my pulse careening.
“Hang on tight,” he said to me. Then to the group, he added, “And on that note—” Before I could even process his words, he stood with me in his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, enjoying the feeling of being weightless. Protected. Cared for. “We’re off to bed.”
That elicited another round of whoops, and I laughed even as my cheeks burned. I buried my face in his neck as he scooped up my shoes from the sand, quickly pocketing our phones from Kit’s top hat. Frasier and I might have agreed this was pretend, but it was all beginning to feel a little too real. And as he carted me off to our room, carrying me in his arms, I found myself wishing it were true.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sometimes I hated being right.
