Presley kept her mouth shut. They had an agreement, after all.
He waved her into the booth. “What would you like to drink?”
“An Old-Fashioned, please.”
His stare lingered over her, heavy-lidded and full of wicked promise. “I’ll be right back.”
Evan returned with her drink and a tumbler of amber-colored liquor for himself.
They were on their second round of drinks by the time the trio started to play. They were wonderful. Everything Presley had hoped they would be.
By her third drink Evan had switched to club soda, and they hit the dance floor. The trio could bust out a New Orleans style party tune just as quickly as they could play a melody so haunting and deep, she felt it low in her belly.
Or maybe that was the man she was dancing with. Evan held her close as they moved in sync with the languid rhythm of the guitar. With one hand splayed across her lower back and the other cradling her hand against the front of his shoulder, Presley felt safe and protected…and maybe a little drunk.
She lifted her cheek from where it rested against his chest. She tilted her head back, gazing up at him. “You’re an excellent dancer.”
“Only because I have a good partner.” He looked happy, relaxed. “Have I told you how fucking ravishing you look tonight?”
“You might’ve mentioned it.” She let go of his hand, and he immediately slid it around her waist. She eased her fingers under his jacket. She sought his heartbeat, pressing her hand flat against his chest so she could feel the steady beat against her palm.
“This is a good look for you,” she said, giving him a sly look from beneath her lashes, “but I’ll be honest, I can’t wait to see you in your best man tuxedo at the wedding. You’ll be the most handsome man there. Save me a dance? I haven’t technically been invited, but I’ll be there making sure all of our plans go off without a hitch.”
“You’re invited. Trust me.” Evan’s brow furrowed. “Do you mind if we sit?”
“Sure.” He took her hand and led her from the dance floor. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” He waved a hand, indicating she should slide into the booth ahead of him.
“Do you mind if I go to the ladies’ room first? All those drinks have caught up with me. I’m afraid I won’t be able to focus on you if I can’t stop thinking about my bladder.”
His kiss was soft and sweet. “Of course, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
Walking in heels was a challenge when she hadn’t been drinking, so her trip to the ladies’ room took longer than it should have. After she took care of business and washed her hands, she took a minute to press a cool, damp paper towel to the back of her neck.
Twice in two weeks. That was a record for her in the over-indulgence department. Of course, one was usually her limit, so her tolerance wasn’t worth a crap.
Remembering Evan had something to talk to her about, she tossed away the paper towel and exited the bathroom, stopping short in the hallway.
“Presley.”
Brad shoved away from the wall where he’d apparently been waiting for her. His blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, and charm were quintessential California pretty boy. He wore designer clothes and expensive cologne.
Looking at him now, Presley couldn’t find a single thing about the man that she found attractive. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Rachel sent me a text and told me you were here with some guy.”
Who was Rachel? One of the waitresses? Or maybe a bartender? Presley wasn’t sure. “Why would she do that?” Presley caught the guilt in his eyes a second before he lowered his gaze to the floor. Of course. “Because you’re seeing her.”
He shrugged a defiant shoulder. “We’ve been out a few times.”
Rachel had probably been laughing at her all night, thinking Presley was using Evan to play a pathetic game. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. Evan would never allow himself to be used that way. He was strong and proud and…waiting for her. “I need to go.”
“Really, Presley? That’s how you’re going to play this?”
“I’m not playing at all. Someone is waiting for me.”
He touched her arm, and her skin literally crawled, sending a shiver through her. Clearly misinterpreting the reason for her response to his touch, Brad’s smile was as condescending as she’d ever seen.
“Presley. Baby. I can’t have you coming into my work and starting trouble.”
Presley jerked her arm away from him. “First, don’t call me baby. Second, how is having a few drinks and dancing on your night off causing trouble?”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “You had to know word would get back to me that you were here. Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work. We’re over. I’ve moved on. You’re a sweet girl, Presley, but at the end of the day, a guy needs more than what you have to give.” His gaze travelled over her. “Although that dress has me second-guessing my decision. That’s hot, babe. Maybe there’s a wildcat under there after all.”
His fingertips barely made contact with the exposed skin of her upper chest before Presley smacked him away. “Don’t you fucking touch me, Brad. Not ever again. I can’t believe I wasted my time with you. I can’t believe—” Her words choked off, tears she refused to let fall blurring her vision.
Brad laughed. “Now, see, if you’d shown that kind of passion while we were together, maybe I wouldn’t have broken up with you.”
A deep rumble came from the end of the hallway. “Or maybe she just needed a real man.”
12
Evan wanted to throttle the asshole. The scene played out in his mind—the satisfying crunch of the guy’s facial bones when his knuckles connected. The copper tang of blood as his lip split and maybe a few teeth came loose. The pleasure of witnessing this dickhead hit the floor in a crumpled heap at Presley’s feet.
Presley.
“Presley.” In four strides, Evan was by her side, cupping her face, taking in her watery eyes. His throat swelled with emotion at the anguish on her face. He gathered her against him and sent the man responsible for her tears a warning glare.
Oh, I know who you are. Open your mouth, motherfucker, and I’ll end you, here and now.
“H-how much of that did you hear?”
Presley’s words were so soft, Evan almost missed them. He kept his hard stare on Brad. “I heard enough.”
A tormented sound came from her throat, capturing his attention. She averted her eyes. “I’d like to go, Evan. Please, could you just take me home?”
He nodded as disappointment at ending their night battled with the desire to pummel the reason. “Yeah, of course. I grabbed your bag when I left the table, so there’s no need to go back in. We can just go.”
Evan handed her the clutch, and she tucked it under her arm, all the while watching the floor. Every cell in his body screamed to retaliate, but Presley was the only one in that hallway who mattered. She was his main priority. She wanted to go? He’d get her the hell out of there.
A blind man could see the encounter with her ex left her rattled. From what Evan had witnessed, Presley had held her own, though. In truth, the fact she’d slapped Brad’s hand away before he’d made contact was the only thing keeping Evan’s shit together. The guy would’ve been on the fucking ground right now if he’d actually laid a hand on her. Guaranteed.
At that point, the ex found his voice. “Yeah, it’s best if you go. And don’t forget what I said, Presley. It’s ov—”
Evan moved fast, his control snapping like a twig under his size twelve’s. He released Presley and shot out his arm, pegging the guy just under the throat and shoving him hard against the wall. Holding him there. “Not another fucking word to her, you hear me?”
“Hey.” Brad grasped at Evan’s wrist. “I don’t give a shit about her. There’s no need for violence. She’s all yours.”
Slimy little bastard.
“That’s right, fucker.” Evan leaned into his hold, making sure it hurt. He had several inches on the guy—no doubt in more places than one—and he took a cruel pleasure in looking down on him. “She is mine. She’s mine because I earned the right to claim it’s so by treating her with the respect she deserves, by giving her what she needs, and being the man she needs.” Evan looked at the guy like the trash he was. “Not because some piece of shit like you says I can have her.”
“Evan.”
Presley’s voice eased his anger somewhat, but Evan wasn’t done. Keeping his voice low, menacing, strictly man-to-asshole, he warned, “If I see your face again, you’ll answer for your words here tonight. You have my word on that.”
He punctuated the last bit with a final hard shove before he let the guy go.
Evan whisked Presley out of the bar and into the truck without further incident. With the exception of Presley’s occasional sniffle, the drive to her house was as quiet as the drive to the bar had been. Evan held her hand and his tongue, giving her the space she seemed to need while keeping them connected, a need that was all his.
He didn’t blame her for being upset. Brad’s words had been harsh and cruel. Less than a month ago, Presley had thought Brad cared about her. She had cared about him. And goddamn, didn’t that burn a hole in the middle of Evan’s chest.
When he’d walked Presley off that dance floor tonight, Evan had planned to tell Presley everything. His job, the night of the fire, all of it. He didn’t want anything left hanging over their heads when he surrendered his heart to her. He had planned to lay his cards on the table—past, present, and future.
And then something as simple as her going to the ladies’ room had changed the course of the evening. Maybe it was fate telling him tonight was not the night.
Fate and common sense.
She had enough emotional baggage to deal with for one night.
Presley didn’t protest when he took her keys and let them into her house. She left him by the door to decide whether he would stay or go, so he locked the door behind him and went in search of her.
He found her in what he assumed was her bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of a quilt-covered bed, staring down at the hands folded in her lap.
“You should go,” she said, her voice small.
Evan approached slowly, drawing the scent of honeysuckle into his nose, his lungs, his soul. He crouched in front of her. “Not until I’m certain you’re all right.”
He slipped a hand around the back of her knee, ran it down her calf, and lifted her foot off the floor. Gently, he eased the shoe from her foot and set it aside.
“Talk to me, sunshine. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
As he removed her other shoe, tears welled in her eyes. Each one that spilled over hit him like a knife in the chest.
“The things Brad said…me not being…” She took a stuttered breath. “It was bad enough that I had to hear those things, but to have you—”
A sob choked out of her throat. Evan surged to his feet. He scooped Presley into his arms and turned, taking her place on the edge of the bed with her secured in his lap. He thought she might fight his hold, but she snuggled against him like a cat seeking warmth.
Evan rested his cheek against the top of her head, holding her tight. “Do you really think I care what that asshole thinks? It’s obvious that guy is an idiot who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if you gave him a detailed diagram.”
Evan sighed, wishing Brad hadn’t had the power to shake her confidence. “Presley, sweetheart. He doesn’t matter. What matters is right here. You and me. And believe me when I say that you’re the most passionate woman I’ve ever had my hands on. When I touch you, you burn for me, sweetheart. And what you do to me…” He shook his head. He couldn’t continue down this road and not get inside her. “What you do to me should be illegal.”
“But I haven’t done anything to you.”
His dick didn’t need the reminder. He was fighting like hell as it was not to pop a full erection with her in his lap.
“You don’t have to do anything to have an effect. Being you is enough. You’re enough, Presley. You’re…everything.” Evan swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise, you hear me?”
He felt her slight nod. He held her close, gently swaying as her sniffles subsided. She relaxed against him, and he knew the alcohol she’d consumed would lull her into sleep, probably sooner rather than later.
He heard a soft snore. Sooner, then.
Gently, he laid Presley on the bed. She curled around her knees, her long hair fanned out behind her. She was so beautiful; she took his breath away. He allowed himself a quiet moment to enjoy the sight of her, peaceful and curled up in sleep, before he had to disturb her again. She wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in the dress that had tormented him all night.
Evan glanced around the room, looking for signs of what she usually wore to sleep and came up empty. He didn’t like the idea of rummaging though her things to find something, so he took off his jacket and hung it on the edge of the door. He divested himself of the button-down he was wearing and laid it across the end of the bed.
Mustering every ounce of self-control he had, Evan stripped Presley’s dress from her body. The black lace barely-there thong and bra he found underneath were almost his undoing, but he shoved his lust on lockdown and got her to sit up.
She woke up enough to help him get her arms in his shirt. He made quick work of the buttons then eased her back to the bed.
“Mmm.” She fisted the material between her breasts and buried her nose in it. She turned her back toward him, her hand reaching out. “C’mere.”
Evan chuckled. Drunk Presley was cute now that her tears weren’t slicing him open. He slipped off his shoes and joined her on the bed. He pulled her in close, loving the feel of her smaller body cradled against his.
“Are we…?” She pulled his hand to her breast and arched her back, pressing her ass harder against his lap.
With herculean effort, Evan slid his hand from her breast to the round curve of her hip. He dug his fingers in, certain he would not survive the night. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings, so let me be very clear. I want you, Presley. I want inside you more than I want my next breath. I ache for you, but we are not having sex tonight.”
“Why not?”
Her pouty tone made him grin. “You’ve had a lot to drink, for one. After the run-in with your ex…it’s too soon.” He pressed his mouth against her ear and whispered, “When I slide into you, Presley, I want to know I’m the only man you’re thinking about.”
“You are the only man I think about,” she whined. “All the time, Evan. Constantly.”
“You’re in my head, too, Pres,” he admitted. “Now, get some rest.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“For as long as I can. I have an early morning. I’ll have to leave before the sun comes up.”
“Oh!” She stiffened suddenly. Evan let go of her immediately, not wanting to delay a mad dash for the bathroom if she needed to be sick. Thankfully, she just wiggled around to face him. “You said there was something you wanted to talk about.”
He pressed a kiss in the space between her eyebrows, smoothing the crinkles with his lips. “It’ll keep. Go to sleep now. We’ll talk later.”
Later never came.
Evan walked into a shit storm when he got to base the next morning. For the next three days, he spent the majority of his waking—and more than a few of his sleeping—hours on base with the team, watching, waiting, training, as the tension in South America boiled over.
There was no way to know what would happen next. That was the nature of the job. He was on-call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. He went where he was told, when he was told, for as long as he was told. He wouldn’t waste time sitting around waiting for the phone to ring, because at some point, it always did. He prayed not this
week, but his odds lessened with each passing day.
Thank fuck the network pulled their people out. Chloe was currently in route from Bolivia and would touch down on US soil the next day. She’d be home, safe and whole—one less thing for Evan to worry about—but she’d also be home in time to finally tie the knot with his best friend.
The wedding was at the end of the week. Evan didn’t need a ticking clock to know his time was running out.
“I’m going to tell Presley tonight,” Evan announced. He talked to Presley several times a day, but he hadn’t had an opportunity to get her alone long enough for them to have a meaningful conversation. She deserved to learn about his job before she saw him standing beside John in his dress uniform as opposed to the tuxedo she expected.
“It’s about time,” John yelled over the motor of the pressure washer he was using to clean his side of the barn while Evan sprayed the other. The groom had finally shown up out of nowhere to help, apparently having finished what the network had asked of him. Or maybe John had purposely waited until most of the work had been done. With John, one never knew.
Between them, C-Note and Rooster were navigating the flow of water with wide brooms to ensure the floor of the barn didn’t wash out. Evan had to promise to be C-Note’s wingman at a wedding in the spring in order to get his ass to help, but it wasn’t so bad because Rooster got roped into going as well.
“I can’t believe you waited this long,” Rooster said.
“I can’t believe you got away with it this long,” C-Note added. “How the hell do you hide being a US Navy SEAL? You have a big-assed SEAL Trident tattooed on your back for fuck’s sake.”
Conversation wasn’t the only thing he and Presley hadn’t gotten around to doing. Yet another situation he—and his balls—would like to rectify, tonight.
“Presley hasn’t seen my tattoo.”
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