The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 83

I walk out of my room sassily when I’m dolled up in the figure-hugging cocktail dress. It’s knee length, has a tight pencil skirt and a bust popping upper bodice that has off the shoulder straps and a serious amount of boning to give me a vampy tailored body. I think I’m even more in love with it now than I was the first time I tried it on and it’s one of those dresses that look bland on the hanger, but stunning on a body. It’s definitely not something I would have worn in the past months, to go to some seedy bar with seedy friends, but Arrick’s friends hang out in upmarket, classier clubs, and this dress will totally fit in.

“Wow! You look stunning.” He’s on his feet in a flash, his eyes devouring me in a way that is not Arry at all, and I get that he suddenly feels uncomfortable when his eyes drop away with a slight tense of his jawline. He picks up his jacket and slides it on while avoiding looking at me, then I hand him mine to help me with it. The dress may look amazing, but it’s not easy to do much in the way of maneuvering my body without a little help and getting my arms into my jacket by myself impossible. He comes behind me and pauses before helping slide it on, and I have to wonder if he just checked out my ass; the dress certainly molds to it back there and perks everything up.

“Don’t look too bad yourself. Totally make Batman and Robin jealous.” I grin, pushing aside the fact that I think he’s checking me out, ignoring that rosy glow that develops deep down within my feminine parts.

“Yeah, I think we are way hotter than those two, and look a hell of a lot better arm in arm than I think they could ever pull off. Maybe we are Batman and Catwoman after all.” Arrick slides my jacket the rest of the way over my shoulders and turns me, to help button it up. Reverting to taking care of me, as Jake does to Mia. I watch that focused set of hazels on my buttons and sigh at just how ridiculously flawless that face really is and how sweet Arry can be.

“Oooh, I like that, she’s sexy and phraaar.” I make a cat claw motion at his face and meet an amused frown.

“You’re definitely that alright. You’ve always have been a little ‘phraaaar’. Ferocious kitty cat!” He gazes at me with no expression, and I can’t tell if he’s being funny or just odd, wondering why he’s pulling his guard up.

“That’s not sexy Arrick. That sounds like I’m a rabid stray.” I answer him flatly, a deadpan expression as he seriously killed my self-perception.

“Yep... Sounds about right to me.” He smiles and then grins when my slap gets him in the shoulder. He pulls me into him by the jacket with a sharp tug, body colliding softly into his, so my palms immediately go to his broad chest, and kisses me on the forehead. A tense moment as I really did think he was pulling me in for something a little less platonic, with the ferocity of how quickly he did it. He lingers there a moment, and when he brings his face back down, I can’t miss the way he grazes my nose intimately, eyes panning my face to my mouth and for a second pulls my pelvis into his groin subtly. It’s over so fast that I can’t really gauge what it is. He sighs and moves away.

“Now move, kitty cat, I have a cab waiting downstairs.” He shoves me forward and pats my ass as he ushers me towards the elevator, making me jump that he would smack my butt this way, when not actually fooling around. I widen my eyes at him, torn between reading more into this than I should and letting it go. I’m definitely getting a flirty vibe, and I have no idea if I’m imagining it. If this dress has triggered some sort of horny Arrick tonight, then I’m all for working that angle.

Wishful thinking and all that.

Ushering me in when the doors slide open, he catches my hand in his and laces our fingers together. Back to hand holding again it seems and pulls me to face the door with him. It closes in front of us as he swipes his key card, enters the pin to lock his floor and then hits the ground floor button.

“You obviously don’t get ID’d, right?” Arrick glances across at me quizzically, that hotshot look of a dude in control once more, and knocking my head out of whack, wondering if I’m reading into things too

much. I blink at him with a ‘Really?’ expression, as though he surely can’t have forgotten how many bars he collected me from in the past eighteen months of my life. I’m only twenty, and before the new haircut, I never looked like I was even hitting eighteen. It’s amazing though, how a push-up bra and barely any clothes can make your face unimportant to security at trashy bars.

“Not normally, no … although, I do have a pretty awesome fake if you’re worried they may not let me in.” I turn back to the closed chrome doors and admire the reflection the two of us make. We look right together, I guess we always have, except I agree with him on the dark hair thing. It’s the only part of us that stands out as odd. It just reminds me of Camilla and that creep from the hotel, and I glance away from the reflection with a sour taste in my mouth.

“I don’t even want to know where you got that.” He shakes his head, another furrowed brow overtaking his paternal expression. “I doubt you’ll get pulled looking like that, so try and refrain from illegal ID’s in future.” He chastises me and I eye roll dramatically.

“When did you get so boring? Don’t try and tell me you never had a fake, as I know for a fact you and that brother of yours were hitting it hard when you were only seventeen.” I raise my eyebrows knowingly at him, throwing him a serious look, completely aware of his past because the fool was always open and honest with me.

“It’s different for guys.” He shrugs infuriatingly, and I catch the way his eyes scan my legs in the reflection, as he’s pretending not to look at me. It makes me feel smug, bold, and I subtly pose a little more sexily.

“That’s so sexist!” I hit him with my closed fist in the arm, softly, but enough to make him chuckle at me. This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“Mm, hmmm” He presses his lips together then dodges when I swing a proper slap at his shoulder in sheer outrage this time. I hate when he tries to goad me on the sexism front.

“Hey! I was agreeing with you.” He catches my hand mid-air, stifling his laughter, pulls me forward by the hand, and for a moment, the way he moves in against me, sends bells ringing. He seems like he’s contemplating kissing me, moving in with a head tilt and easy smile so that he bumps me with his body, but instead pulls me in under his arm, to hook me about the shoulders.

“Rabid kitten!” He plants a kiss on my temple, snuggling me in close, a little more ‘couple’ than platonic, a hand sliding down lower than the small of my back and stopping just at the groove of my ass. Risky, not a usual Arry move, definitely causing a burning ache in my lower pelvis as his fingers linger on my butt dimple, yet not quite over the danger point enough for my liking. I sink against him and will his hand to just pass the last distance and do something about this obvious tension building here. If this is how horny feels then I’m definitely all over that, aching, tingling, and warming from the inside out, with just the briefest of little signals from him.

Who knew I could even feel this way?