That’s when she spotted Shay herself delivering drinks to a table full of guys. She wore a short, low-slung denim miniskirt and a thin, fitted tee bearing a picture of Marilyn Monroe in the famous white dress, standing over the street vent that blew it up around her. Shay’s dark nipples jutted clearly through the white cotton on either side of Marilyn.
When she turned to walk past, Carrie lifted her sunglasses and said, “Shay.”
Shay stopped, blinked. “Sweets? Is that you?”
Carrie nodded. “I need your help.”
“Please tell me you’re here to fuck Chris’s brains out. He’s been hell to be around lately.”
“Really?” It was a relief to find out that maybe he still missed her, just like she missed him.
“God, yes. He’s just a big lump of surly, and I can’t stand it much longer.”
Carrie let a small smile escape her. “Then maybe you can help me by putting me in touch with Scott. I was afraid to call—afraid Chris would answer. And I need his help planning a surprise.”
The concept of a surprise had been Diana’s brainchild, when Carrie had called her in Vegas to share her decision. “You need to do something shocking and seductive,” she’d said. “Something to really knock his socks off.” She’d known instantly what her course of action would be.
Shay smiled. “Oooh, sweets, I love surprises, even when they’re not for me. Sit down and have a drink—I’ll call Scott right now.”
* * * * *
Chris leaned back against the bar on the Party Barge, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to be here; in fact, he’d originally talked Jake into taking his place on the brightly colored boat yet again, until Scott called, saying Jake couldn’t make it.
“It’s time for some tits, guys!” Scott’s voice boomed through the microphone. The partiers on the boat cheered. As usual, they’d consumed half a vat of rum punch and had already played the banana game and Spin the Bottle, so they were thoroughly worked up, ready for the wet t-shirts to come.
Maybe those wet t-shirts would do something to get his mind off of her, he told himself. He didn’t really believe it, of course, but what the hell—surely he could still enjoy watching girls bare their breasts. Shit, maybe he’d even try to get into party mode for a change; maybe he’d find some hot, drenched babe and hook up with her for the night.
Maybe…but he doubted it.
The truth was—he just didn’t feel the same about casual sex since Carrie. He didn’t want it anymore. Damn, he thought, washed up at thirty. He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head slightly. He had to shake this off. He just didn’t know how.
Scott’s voice sounded again, above the hard rock music that played. “Up first, we have the lovely Carrie!”
Great, just what he needed. A girl named Carrie getting hot and sexy on that stage just like his Carrie once had.
Sighing, he looked up as a cute redhead danced onto the stage, wearing red bikini bottoms and a tight white cutoff tank top bearing the words Sexy Devil in red. She was undeniably hot as she sashayed up to Scott, who did the honors, dumping a bucket of water down over her large round breasts, now clearly visible through the thin cotton.
The hot girl danced around the stage, working her ass and jiggling her breasts for the howling crowd…when he finally took a really good look at her.
His mouth dropped open as he drew back in shock. Was he seeing things? Or was that girl…his girl? His Carrie. His angel—turned devil.
He shook his head, still watching her little show. As Scott prodded her, saying in to the mike, “That’s right, baby, show us what you’ve got!” she molded her breasts in her hands, then eased one down to her crotch, stroking it once, lightly, to the roar of the guys on the boat.
Chris stood stunned, trying to figure out if he was imagining things or if that might really, possibly be the woman he loved—when she turned and made bold eye contact with him.
God, it was her. Looking gorgeous and sexy and like a dream come true. She was here!
Smiling boldly, she reached out and pointed directly at him. Then she turned her arm over and curled the same finger toward herself, beckoning him. Letting a smile of his own unfurl across this face, he took long strides toward the stage.
Stepping up on the platform, he drew her soft, wet body into his arms, looked into those hot emerald eyes, and lowered his mouth onto hers, as hungry for her kiss as a man could possibly be. He kissed her hard, his mouth demanding, his tongue invasive. He let his hands slide down onto her beautiful ass and picked her up, her legs wrapping tight around his waist.
He carried her down from the stage, feverishly kissing her all the while. Only when he’d taken her to the back of the boat and lowered them both onto the bench in that same semi-private spot where they’d first gotten intimate, did he stop kissing her.
Her arms lay twined around his neck, her breasts beautifully on display behind those tantalizing red words. “Nice shirt,” he said with a grin.
She returned the smile. “I thought it was apropos.”
Moving his hands up from her waist, he let his thumbs rake over her dark, distended nipples. “Maybe, but you’ll always be my angel.”
She bit her lip, looking like some amazing cross between the innocent Carrie and the vixen he’d uncovered inside her. When he stroked his thumbs over her hard, cotton-covered peaks again, she let out a heated sigh and said, “I thought you weren’t allowed to touch.”
“I don’t care anymore. Why are you here?”
“Because I let go.”
“What?”
“You
