“Of course,” he repeats. “I want the same thing for her, Eli. Always have.”
I keep my eyes on him for another beat, trying to figure out what’s going on. He looks like a lost puppy dog. It’s pitiful.
Whatever. Luke’s love life is none of my business.
I turn my back to the bar and lean against it as I scan the crowd.
That’s when I lock eyes with a gorgeous brunette who steps through the side entrance nearby.
My heart skips a beat again.
It’s her.
Holy shit she’s here.
“Eli!” Olivia says, eyes going wide with surprise.
Chapter Eighteen
Eli
“Olivia!” Can’t help it. My gaze flicks down her body. “He—hey.”
Of course.
Of course Yankee girl shows up to The Spotted Wolf looking hot as hell five seconds after I decide to pump the brakes.
What a sick fucking joke.
Thanks for nothing, universe.
Olivia, bless her, is wearing blue jeans that are tight tight tight. Her white button down would be prim if it wasn’t partially see through. The red lace bra she’s wearing underneath—
I can’t.
I focus my gaze on her feet instead. She’s wearing cute Chuck Taylors that are a little scuffed up.
Her hair falls in loose, unruly waves around her shoulders. I bite the inside of my bottom lip, hard, to keep from winding a lock around my finger. I imagine how silky it would feel. How her lips would fall open and her cheeks would flush when I gave it a tug.
I can smell her shampoo. Something clean and herbal.
She smells good enough to eat.
“I finished my chapter early today, so I thought I’d do some exploring. I saw the lights from the sidewalk and came in for a quick drink…” Olivia puckers her brow. “Eli? You all right?”
“Yep,” I bite out, blinking. “Sorry, I just—uh. Long day. Beer—” Bullshit.
I go in for a hug. It’s awkward, all thanks to me. Olivia has to go on her tip toes to reach me, and I kind of half crouch, half bend over. My brain screams slow. But my body—
Well. There’s a reason I keep my crotch region bowed away from her.
I fall back. Luke gives me a not so subtle nudge.
“Don’t be rude, Elijah,” he says. “Introduce us.”
I tug a hand through my hair. “Olivia, this is my friend Luke. Luke, this is my new neighbor, Olivia.”
“Nice to meet you,” Luke says, aiming his all-American-baseball-player smile at Olivia while extending his hand. “I hear you’re new in town.”
She takes Luke’s hand. “I’m already smitten with it.”
“Charleston’s a great city. Only downside is that this grump lives here.” Luke points his thumb at me.
“I’m not a grump,” I bite out.
Luke shrugs. “See what I mean?”
I resist the urge to punch him in that handsome mug of his.
Grace gives Olivia a hug, and they chat for a minute. It’s obvious they’re friends, both of them laughing and gesticulating wildly as they catch up. I have to say that seeing how well they get along makes me feel all warm and mushy inside. Olivia’s a natural conversationalist. Good listener, thoughtful talker. Grace shoots me a look, grinning.
I like this one.
Because Olivia wasn’t great enough. Now she’s got to go and be wonderful with my sister, too.
Yet another reason to think I might not deserve this girl. I’m gripped by the terrible idea that I have nothing to offer her. Which, in my rational mind, I know is ridiculous. I’m feeding her. Editing her book. Encouraging her to chase after this incredible career she wants. I’m inspiring her in the same way she’s inspiring me.
That counts for something. It has to.
Has to.
“Let’s get you somethin’ to drink,” I say to Olivia during a pause in their conversation. “What’re you having?”
Olivia glances at my beer, then at the empty shot glasses on the bar. “That looks good.”
Behind the bar, Jake nods, checking out Olivia before turning to grab the Fireball.
My grip tightens on my bottle. I am not a jealous guy. But all of a sudden I’m fantasizing about clocking every dickhead in this bar who dares to so much as glance at Olivia.
I spear Jake with a look when he turns back around. He takes the hint, quickly pouring our shots and handing Olivia a beer before busying himself with the dishwasher.
She picks up the shot glass and gives its contents a sniff. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a shot. What the hell is this stuff? Smells like candy.”
“Tastes like it, too.” Luke grabs his glass and taps it to Olivia’s. “Actually, that’s a lie. It kind of tastes like fiery death. But it gets the job done.”
Olivia cocks a brow, smiling. “Fiery death. All right then. I’m in.”
We take the shot together, my eyes glued to her face the whole time. She winces, blinking hard, after she swallows. Her eyes water a bit. I can tell she wants to sputter, or maybe gag, but instead she just shakes her head and grabs her beer, taking a long pull.
“Whew,” she says, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “That is…interesting.”
I’m smiling now, too. God damn she’s cute.
“Yep. You’re definitely gonna feel interesting tomorrow morning, that’s for sure,” Grace says.
The patio is really getting packed. People hang out in front of the stage, waiting for the band to begin. I look up when the lead singer from Buns ’n Roses introduces himself into the microphone. A beat later, the band bursts out into a loud, throbbing version of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard.
Immediately the front half of the patio turns into a dance floor. Hands are in the air, there’s hollerin’ and hootin’ and some pretty egregious dry humping going on.
I turn to Olivia, half hoping she’s got a look of disgust on her face because she hates eighties music and/or Def Leppard. I need a reason to want her a little less. A reason to help me pump the goddamn brakes.
Instead, her face is lit up with a smile as she mouths the lyrics, nodding her head in time to the beat.
“You like Def Leppard?” I say, raising my voice so she can hear me.
Olivia nods, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. “Love ’em. Although Bruce Springsteen is probably my favorite. From the eighties, at least.”
My uncle introduced me to The Boss when I was a kid. I’ve been obsessed ever since.
I meet Luke’s eyes over her head.
Goodness.
I’m in big fucking trouble.
As if on cue, Buns ’n Roses plays “Dancing in the Dark”.
Olivia looks at me. I look at her.
“Wanna dance?” I ask.
She chews on her bottom lip. My heart falls. She’s gonna turn me down again. God, why do I keep doing this to mys—
“Would love to,” she replies with a smile. She looks at Luke and Grace. “Are you guys going to be okay? I hate to leave you…”
“Y’all go have fun,” Luke says, hardly giving us a glance as he turns to my sister.
I shoot him a dark look.
“You two behave.” Then I nod my head toward the band. “Let’s go, Yankee girl.”
She follows me as I try to nudge my way through the crowd. It’s slow going; the patio is really packed. I turn around to see some asshole cutting Olivia off, shouldering her aside.
“Hey!” I shout at the guy, stepping back. “Watch it.”
Then I reach behind me and grab Olivia’s hand. For a second, it stays lax in mine. I worry I’ve made her uncomfortable. But I don’t want her to get lost in the throng. Shit—
But then she firms her grip, fingers curling around my palm. I glance over my shoulder and she meets my eyes.
“All right?” I ask.
She nods, her smile returning. “All right.”
My pulse hiccups. Her hand feels small
and warm in my own. She’s trusting me.
I feel like I could fucking fly.
I turn back around and head for the stage, keeping Olivia close. Once, when I stop unexpectedly, she kind of crashes into me. I swear to God I almost bite off my tongue at the feel of her tits pressed against my back. Am I imagining that she lingers there for half a heartbeat?
I keep moving. I don’t wanna do something stupid. We burrow our way to a spot in the middle of the dance floor. The lead singer has busted out a saxophone, and everyone around us is going nuts. Olivia comes to stand beside me, her hip brushing against mine when she shimmies.
I take a chance and give her hand a squeeze.
Olivia smiles, squeezing back.
I can’t let her go. Not yet. I crave this. Whatever this feeling is.
I raise my arm and twirl her around. Then she raises her arm and attempts to twirl me, and even though I bend my back, I somehow manage to fuck it up, spilling beer all over the front of my button up shirt. Her eyes widen when they fall on the stain. She puts the flat of her palm over it. Over my stomach.
“Sorry!” she shouts.
My entire body warms at the simple contact. I don’t wanna read too much into it. That she’s the one touching me now.
But I do.
I lean into it. Into her palm.
Into her.
And she doesn’t pull away.
“Don’t give me an excuse to take my shirt off,” I reply.
Olivia laughs, taking a step closer. “Like you need one.”
I cock a teasing brow, my free hand going to the top button. “Should I?”
“I don’t wanna get kicked out yet. Band’s too good,” she replies, swatting away my hand.
Her playful touching—her flirting—is driving me up the wall. It’s such a fucking turn on. The blood inside my skin feels downright giddy.
I catch her hand, guiding it onto the back of my neck. Her eyes flash with heat, and she steps into me, sliding her other arm onto my shoulder. Pressing our bodies together.
The solid, soft feel of her against me is enough to make me wanna scream. Our bodies fit together perfectly.
Her curves are all over me.
My cock starts to feel heavy when she digs the tips of her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, gently dragging her fingernails across my scalp.
I curl an arm around her waist and hold her closer. Duck my head to murmur in her ear.
“I like that.”
Olivia’s nose brushes against the line of my jaw. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not. But it turns me on in a really big way.
“Thought you might.”
Her voice is different. A little husky.
The band is playing “Jesse’s Girl” now. Olivia pulls away a little. Just enough to meet my eyes as she starts moving her hips, her body practically writhing against mine.
Don’t get a boner.
Do. Not. Get. A. Boner.
I’m terrified of scaring her off. She’s never been so open with me. So free. Her fiery side has finally come out to play, and I’m not about to send it back into hiding by poking her with my badly behaved dick.
So I twirl her a few more times, hoping to put some distance between us. But then she turns around and presses her ass into my crotch, rolling it to the beat of “1999”, the song the band plays next.
I brush her hair over her shoulder so I can lean down to her ear again.
“You tryin’ to kill me, Olivia?”
She shoots me the sauciest, sexiest, hottest look ever over her shoulder. For a second I can’t breathe.
“What? You really expect me not to dirty dance to Prince?”
Jesus, take the wheel.
By some miracle, I manage to keep my body under control. The night is warm and the music is loud, and Olivia and I dance like we have nothing to lose. No worries. No disappointments. It’s just us and Pat Benatar and U2 and Foreigner underneath a cloudy night sky.
At one point, I glance toward the bar. I let out a silent sigh of relief when I see Gracie there with her boyfriend Nicholas. Luke is MIA.
Good. Gracie’s in safe hands. I don’t have to worry. Which means I can focus on Olivia.
She’s one hell of a dancer. Never would’ve guessed the girl in the designer shades would act out the lyrics to “Addicted to Love” in public while taking slugs of Bud Light. But here she is, laughing, making me laugh, rolling her hips and biting her lip and throwing her arms in the air as she sings about one track minds.
Throwing her arms around me.
It starts to rain. Just a sprinkling of droplets. No one seems to notice. Least of all Olivia, who’s behind me now, hands on my hips as she encourages my ass to press into her crotch.
I oblige my lady, and give her as much booty as she can handle until I pull her around, her back to my front, and hold her against me, our bodies moving in tandem.
We’re both sweating. Both breathless. My heart is going apeshit inside my chest. I feel like I’ve been plugged into a socket, blood electric, skin charged. Our chemistry is real.
My feelings for this romance writing, dirty dancing woman are real.
Feelings I would very much like to express physically. I’m too warm and too turned on. I want her too much.
It begins to rain in earnest, followed by an ominous rumble of thunder.
I look down at the back of Olivia’s head. She’s been raking her hands through her hair all night, making it messy.
Just how I like it.
The band calls it a night, blaming the thunder for their shortened set.
Without a word, I grab Olivia’s hand and head for the covered bar. But we’re not the only ones with that idea, and about five seconds later, the bar is packed and we’re edging back out into the rain.
I notice Gracie is still here with Nicholas. I wave to her.
“You okay?” I shout.
She gives me a thumbs up.
“C’mon,” I say, giving Olivia a gentle tug. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay,” she replies, jogging after me.
We leave the bar, only to find ourselves on the crowded sidewalk. People are on their phones, trying to get Ubers. The rain is really coming down now.
I start to dig my phone out of my pocket, but Olivia tugs on my arm.
“Let’s just walk. It’s not that far. We’re already soaked.”
“You sure?” I ask. I move closer to her when I see I’m not the only one who’s noticed her wet shirt is completely see through now. “I’m happy to get an Uber.”
She grins. “I’m sure. Last one home is a rotten egg.”
Then she takes off into the rain.
Chapter Nineteen
Olivia
Eli’s footfalls are sure and even behind me, thudding on the wet pavement.
“Wait up, Yankee girl!”
I keep running. Keep smiling.
When was the last time my heart has pumped like this outside of a gym? Probably explains why I had my hands all over Eli tonight. I definitely didn’t expect to run into him. I was just minding my own business, grabbing a drink on a Monday night at a cute bar I spotted in passing.
And then there he was, standing on the patio in all his scruffy, plaid-shirted glory.
I knew the second I saw him that I was a goner. The way his eyes lit up when they fell on me—the way they darkened when he watched me dance—
I’ve never felt sexier. More desired.
The touching started out innocently enough. He took my hand, and then I put my hand on his stomach. His rock hard stomach that literally rippled with muscle underneath my palm. Touching him made me burn with longing.
Him touching me pushed me over the edge. Having those big, capable hands on me made me lose my fucking mind.
So did his dancing. He was confident. But he could still laugh at himself. Still shimmy his cute little butt while singing Kenny Rogers at the top of his lungs.
I’m beginning to think there’s not
hing the man can’t do.
I am hyperaware of his presence behind me. The rain, cool and insistent, does nothing to soothe the heat running just inside my skin.
My ribs ache from laughing. I had so much fun tonight with Eli. I loved the dancing, sure. But it was also cool meeting his friend Luke and running into Grace.
Speaking of Grace—I caught a glimpse of her at the bar as we were leaving. She was with some guy—it wasn’t Luke—and she looked pretty miserable with him. Until Eli was waving at her, and then she managed a smile. It’s clear the two of them are close. I like that. It’s sweet.
Sweet and sexy. Eli in a nutshell.
I feel my heartbeat in my lips. They are tingly. Heavy. Full of blood and longing.
I have to make my choice already. I can’t keep hurting Eli. Leading him on like this.
He catches up to me. He pulls at my elbow, slowing us both down. His fingers move down my forearm, capturing my hand.
I glance at him. He runs his other hand through his hair, coaxing the wet strands away from his face. I get that funny feeling again. The one I got over and over again on the dance floor. That weak-in-the-knees feeling of joy, just being with him. Just being myself, dancing and singing and smiling like an idiot.
He’s unapologetically ardent in everything he does. He’s not afraid of his heart. His body. Clearly he hasn’t divorced them from his life in the name of having it all.
He made them his life.
Do I have the courage to do the same? Because damn does he make it look good.
Not effortless.
Not easy.
But good.
Then again, what if this is just momentary insanity? Who wouldn’t be seduced by everything this sexy southern chef represents? Everything he does?
And as delicious as this world is, am I really ready to leave everything I have with Ted behind?
Bottom line: how can I trust myself to make the right choice when I may have been making wrong ones all along?
The questions flit through my head, somehow only heightening the potent want coursing through me.
“This way,” Eli says, pointing to Longitude Lane.
Southern Charmer: A Charleston Heat Novel Page 13