Dean stood, pulling me up by the hand. “Come on. Let’s make some bad decisions.”
Laughing, I let him lead me to the dance floor, my hand warm in his. The night, and all its possibilities, awaited.
The DJ transitioned from an upbeat party track to a slow, sultry love song with a heavy bass line that vibrated through the sand and into my bones. Dean pulled me into his arms, his hand confidently resting on the small of my back. We fell into an easy rhythm, our bodies swaying together.
“Having fun yet?” I murmured, my lips close to his ear.
His hand tightened, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the hard planes of his chest and the solid strength in his thighs.
“I’m starting to see the appeal of these things.” His voice was a low vibration against my cheek. “The open bar helps.”
“Just the open bar?” I teased, letting my hands wander from his shoulders to the back of his neck, my fingers playing with the soft hair at his nape. His breath hitched, a tiny sound that sent a thrill through me.
“Okay, maybe the company isn’t so bad either,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “You feel incredible in my arms, Brynn.”
The directness of it stole my breath. “Being your fake girlfriend is a tough job. But someone has to do it.”
His eyes darkened, the blue turning to a deep, stormy cobalt. The air between us crackled, thick with the memory of our last kiss and the unspoken promise of the next one. This wasn't for show anymore. We both knew it.
“We’re still on duty, right?” he murmured as he maneuvered us to a more dimly lit section. “We have to make it look convincing for the audience.”
He leaned in and captured my mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss. There was no pretense of performance. It was pure desire. His lips were firm and confident, moving over mine with an ease that made my knees weak. He tasted of whiskey and salt, the intoxicating flavor of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
When he pulled back, I was breathless, my lips tingling. I looked up at him through my lashes, a slow, wicked smile spreading across my face. “Absolutely. Can’t let our audience down, can we?”
Before he could react, I initiated the next kiss, rising on my toes to meet him. I slanted my mouth over his, my tongue swiping against his bottom lip, a bold invitation he answered immediately. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and opened for me, our tongues tangling in a heated dance. It was a kiss that spoke of long nights and messed sheets, a kiss between two people who were done playing games.
The music was a distant thrum, a bassline for the beat of my heart. Dean’s hand slid from the small of my back, his fingers tracing a fiery path up my side until his thumb brushed the curve of my breast. I gasped into his mouth, the shock of pleasure so intense my hips instinctively pressed closer, seeking more. I could feel the hard ridge of his erection against my thigh, undeniable proof of what this was doing to both of us. My hands, which had gripped his hair, slid down his neck, my nails grazing his skin. He shuddered.
The song faded, the final notes hanging in the humid air like a held breath. He pulled me in for one last, deep kiss that had nothing to do with rhythm or romance and everything to do with raw, possessive hunger.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing heavily. The rest of the party was a blurry constellation of fairy lights. No one was paying us any attention.
“Come up to my room?” My voice was a husky whisper I barely recognized.
His dark, turbulent eyes widened for a second. Then a slow, sexy smile spread across his face, a look of absolute victory.
“I thought you'd never ask.” He captured my hand, his grip possessive. “I need to get you out of here. Now.”
We left the warm glow of the fairy lights behind, moving at a pace just shy of a run. He pulled me past the shimmering blue of the resort pool, our footsteps crunching on the shell path that led toward the room blocks. The air was charged with anticipation, humming with tension.
Suddenly, he stopped. In the deep shadow between two sheds, under the heavy scent of a frangipani tree, he spun me around and slammed my back against the rough bark. The impact knocked a sharp gasp from my lungs. His mouth crashed down on mine, a brutal, claiming kiss. This was pure, desperate need. He pressed his body against mine, his shaft a hard, insistent ridge against my stomach, grinding against me in a slow, torturous rhythm that made my knees buckle.
“I've been thinking about this for days,” he rasped, his lips brushing mine as he spoke. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Me, either.” I fisted my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer. We kissed again, now fueled by frustration. “So why are we standing here?”
With a grunt, he captured my hand again. His grip was almost painfully tight as he pulled me down the path. Thelast fifty feet were a blur of urgency, every step charged with the promise of what was coming.
We reached Room 215. I fumbled, the key card slippery in my sweat-slicked hand. Dean was so close behind that I could feel the heat of his chest. His hand closed over mine, gentle then firm, as he slid the card in and shouldered the door open. I stumbled inside.
The room was cool and smelled of fresh flowers. I set my purse on the desk, my heart galloping. When I turned back, Dean was closing the door, the soft click echoing in the silence. He leaned against it, his eyes dark and hungry, then yanked his tie loose with a sharp tug. He pulled it free from his collar and dropped it on the floor, his gaze never leaving mine as he raked a hand through his hair, leaving it wild. There was something desperate in his expression as he stalked toward me, as if he were afraid to blink and miss this.
He reached for my face with both hands, fingers threading into my hair. I rose up and kissed him, mouth open, all the careful rules and fake-dating contracts dissolving under the salt on his lips. He pressed me back against the wall, a picture frame digging into my shoulder. His mouth never left mine, his hands pulling the pins from my hair to let it cascade down my back. Moving down, he gripped my ass, lifting me until my toes skimmed the floor. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it, the sound of my need making him shudder.
He tasted of whiskey and lime, and I couldn’t stop myself from nipping his bottom lip. I scraped my nails over his scalp, and he groaned, low and ragged. I wanted to hear that sound again.
He broke the kiss to drag in a shaky breath. “Brynn. I really want you.”
