Page 33 of Cajuns. Love. Curves.

Before he can respond, one of the flight attendants wrangles us out the door and onto the tarmac.

Nick shoulders his duffle before taking my bag from me and slinging it up with his. Then he turns me toward the exit. His hand rests on my hip and I swear I can feel the heat of each of his fingers through the thin fabric of my sundress.

As we walk out onto the tarmac, I murmur, “So, you just went with the whole fake boyfriend ploy.”

He leans close, so that only I can hear him. “Guess that’s how it looks.”

“This is not what we planned.”

“Oh yeah. This is much better than what we planned.”

“How? How is this better?”

As if on cue, Tripp and Delany walk around the group of us waiting to board the plane. It’s my first glimpse of them since they left for their engagement vacation ten days ago. Tripp looks like he rolled in honey and wandered through a Tommy Bahamas while blindfolded. Delany is in a tight maxi dress that shows off her baby bump perfectly, even though it’s her first, she’s only a few months along, and I’ve had bigger “baby bumps” after eating sushi.

She’s trying so hard to show off her baby bump, I’m worried she’s going to throw out her back.

Delany apologizes, giggling, as Tripp pushes her to the front of the line. “Sorry, y’all! I get a little motion sick and just want to make sure I can pick out my own spot.”

I really don’t want to think ill of a pregnant woman. I really don’t.

I smile as they push past me and Nick. It is a big, toothy, friendly smile. So, so friendly.

“I hope they have a dentist on staff at the resort we’re going to,” Nick says.

“Why? Do you have a toothache?”

“No. But you look like you’re about to crack a molar.” He rubs his hand in a big circle, up my back and then down to my hip again. “Relax. We got this.”

Relax? How exactly am I supposed to relax when Nick is this close? Touching me as though he has every right to? Like it’s what he wants to do?

“Do we?” I ask. “Do we have this?”

He grins at me. “Don’t you want him to shit himself with jealousy?”

“No. I don’t. All I want is to make it through the next week with some small scrap of dignity left. I want my coworkers to not pity me. I don’t want anyone to pity me. And I want her to take her goddamn bless your heart attitude and shove it up her ass. I want him to go fuck himself. But I don’t care about making him jealous. And I sure as fuck don’t want the humiliation of him finding out that I brought you along as some sort of fake date to make him jealous.”

He pulls away to stare deeply into my eyes as he brings his hands up to cup my jaw. For a moment I get totally lost in those whiskey brown eyes of his.

And then he says in that low husky voice that I’m pretty sure has lit panties on fire on every continent, “Let’s be clear about three things. Little Miss Put a Ring On it will choke on all of her bless-your-hearts. Sir Reginald Douche Canoe is never going to guess that this is not the real thing. Because when I commit to something, I commit to it. By the end of the next four days, he’s gonna be questioning how he didn’t see your breakup coming a mile away when you’re clearly in love with me. I’m gonna sell the shit out of it.“

* * *

By the time we board the plane, Delaney and Tripp are seated in the cluster of chairs near the front. Delaney is loudly announcing the flight attendant that she needs her mimosa to be virgin, in case there is anyone left in the northern hemisphere who hasn’t noticed her baby bump.

Also, isn’t a virgin mimosa just orange juice? Why can’t she just order orange juice?

Without asking my opinion, Nick guides me all the way to the back of the plane, where there are bench style seats. He tucks me into the corner seat, then sits beside me.

“I hope you don’t mind being back near the engine.”

“I don’t.” Since I’ve never flown on a private jet before, I have no idea what to expect or how loud the engine might be.

“We can move up if there’s anyone you want to sit with, but I figure if we’re back here, no one will be near us and the engine noise will mask our conversation.”

I snort a laugh. “Oh, because you’re planning to whisper all the fake dirty things you’re gonna pretend to do to me?”

I’m still laughing at my own joke when I glance up and see that he’s not laughing. Nope. He’s just staring at me, his gaze intense and serious. Like the idea of him talking dirty to me is not silly at all.

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