Luckily, he seemed like such an easygoing guy I had to hope this wouldn’t sour his opinion of me.
Only minutes ago I’d been thinking about my future, wondering what I was going to do now. But I couldn’t get ahead of myself. I was still getting back on my feet.
Did it count as getting back on my feet if I’d never stood on my own to begin with?
Either way, I was in Evan’s debt. For now he seemed to be okay with me turning into a long-term houseguest, but I didn’t want to do anything to risk ruining that.
Acting like a Peeping Tom certainly wasn’t helping.
I made a resolution to myself: I wouldn’t let anything like this happen again. I would give Evan his privacy. No more ogling. It didn’t matter how handsome, and kind, and sweet, and sexy he was.
I paused in the middle of searching the fridge for eggs.
Since when had I started thinking of Evan as sexy? Sure, he was a good looking guy, but I’d never had thoughts like that about anyone before, not even Jacob. Especially not Jacob. That was one of the reasons why I knew I couldn’t marry him.
But the feelings Evan gave me were like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d considered someone sexy, aside from a few vague daydreams about movie stars.
I’d always assumed I’d feel that way about my future husband. But that hadn’t been the case. The only one I’d ever felt this way about… the only one who made me feel this way…
I looked back at the closed bathroom door. An electrifying thrill of both excitement and panic took hold of me.
The only person who made butterflies take wing and my stomach? The only one who made my heart race? The only one who made my insides turn warm?
It was Evan.
Only Evan.
11
I was scraping the eggs back and forth in the pan with a spatula when the scent of thin black smoke wafted into my nose.
“The toast!” I threw down the spatula and rushed to the toaster. The blackened and burnt toast popped up just as I went to press the stop button. I took the two pieces out gingerly, holding them with the tips of my fingers. Completely ruined.
I heaved a sigh. So much for toast. At least I had the eggs.
Another smell wafted through the kitchen, bitter and plastic-y. I rushed to the eggs to find that I’d thrown the spatula down too hastily and now the tip of the handle was singed and melted from touching the edge of the hot pan.
“Oh no…” I lamented as I examined the spatula. The dent of melted plastic was quite obvious, but at least it was still usable.
I stirred the eggs again. The consistency was odd. I forked a small piece out of the pan with a fork and blew on it to cool it down. I carefully tasted it, full of dread. It was rubbery and tasteless.
“Dammit!” I smacked my fist to my forehead.
“Having some trouble?”
Evan came into the kitchen, freshly washed and dressed for the day. His hair was still slightly damp, turning it a shade darker than normal.
“Were you trying to cook breakfast?” he asked.
The question was obviously rhetorical as there was no way he hadn’t noticed the smell of burnt toast in the air, the melted utensil in my hand, and the dejected expression on my face.
“I melted your spatula,” I said mournfully.
He quirked a smile. My heartbeat sped up. He took the spatula from me, his fingers brushing mine. A tingling sensation went straight up my arm. He held it up to take a look.
“It’s not so bad,” he said, turning it this way and that. “It’s just a little dent.”
“And I burnt the toast,” I continued as if confessing my sins to a priest. “And the eggs are awful.”
Evan looked around the kitchen, then let out a chuckle.
“How about you let me do the cooking from now on?” he said.
“I was trying to do something nice.” I hung my head, my eyes lowering to the floor. “You’ve been so good to me, so kind and helpful. I wanted to do something to make it up to you.”
Evan put a finger on my chin and tilted my head up.
“You don’t need to make anything up to me,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything, Alice.”
His eyes were so soft and sincere. He really meant it.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, my voice on the cusp of wavering.
He paused, looking thoughtful. He let go of my chin and put his hands in his pockets. He shrugged casually.
“A pretty girl like you wouldn’t last two minutes on the street,” he said. “I’d feel bad kicking you out.”
“So it’s because you feel bad for me?” I didn’t know why my heart sunk a little.
“It’s like I told you before,” he said. “My protective instincts kicked in. Besides, you’re a quiet houseguest and we ended up getting help at the bar. It’s win-win for both of us.”
I didn’t continue pushing. It was as good an explanation as any. Besides, exactly what sort of answer was I expecting, anyway?
“I’ve got some cereal in the cupboard,” Evan said. “Think you can handle pouring the milk?” He winked, and I flushed.
In the end, we both sat down at the kitchen table with bowls of some kind of frosted shredded wheat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had plain cereal for breakfast.
As we tucked into our food, Evan set a tablet on the table and picked up a stylus in his non-spoon hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. I rarely saw anyone use a stylus on those things. Everyone just tapped with their fingers.
“I’m working on a commission,” he said, using one hand to bring the cereal to his mouth and the other to swipe at the tablet.
I didn’t know what he meant by commission until I leaned forward in my seat to take a closer look at the screen. It seemed like he was working on some kind of drawing.
“You’re an artist?” I asked. I didn’t know why I was surprised. Maybe because a hot bartender who lifted weights in his spare time didn’t fit the artsy stereotype. “What kind of things do you draw?”
“People hire me to do lots of different stuff,” he said, lifting his eyes briefly to meet mine. “Once I had a lady who wanted an illustrated portrait of her dog. Some software developers want artwork for their mobile games.”
“Can I see?” I asked eagerly.
I wondered if Evan would be shy about his work, but he lifted the tablet to show me a half-finished illustration of a dragon. My mouth dropped.
“That’s amazing!” I exclaimed. “There’s so much detail!”
The dragon had hundreds of tiny scales all along its back, and its face was so intricately detailed, it almost looked real.
“This is for a fantasy book cover,” he said.
“You do book covers, too?” I asked. “That’s so cool.”
“Yeah, it’s a fun job,” he said. “It’s not the most stable of incomes, though. Commissions come in waves. That’s why I’m working at the bar. It’s a good way to make consistent money during the slow times.”
Evan had two jobs, while I hadn’t held a single job in my life until a week ago. Now I felt like even more of a privileged, pampered princess.
But, I had to remind myself, I was trying to change that. I was working hard to make a new life for myself.
“Have you done many book covers?” I asked. “Any books I would recognize?”
He named off a few I hadn’t heard of, but I was still impressed.
“I have copies of every book I’ve done illustrations for on my bookshelf,” he said. “You can take a look yourself.”
“Oh my god!” I put my hand to my mouth, remembering when I’d found that boxset. “You worked on my favorite series. You know, the one with the girl who can talk to ghosts? I loved those covers. She always had these cool, badass poses.”
“I remember that one,” Evan said with a nod. “It was tough, but fun.”
“Wow,” I said, taken aback. “You’
re so talented.”
“Sometimes I don’t always feel that way.” He looked uncomfortably sheepish. “When the work is really challenging, or when I just can’t get something right, I always feel like I’m never going to be good enough.”
“I think you’re amazing,” I said effusively.
A faint flush graced his cheeks. He must have been the type who didn’t take compliments easily.
“Thanks,” he murmured. “I’ve been dealing with a tricky bit for this illustration. That’s why I’m working on it every spare minute. I keep re-doing it over and over again.”
“What’s tricky about it?” I asked.
“I’ve got to draw a woman in another one of those badass poses,” he said. “It’s hard to get the limbs to look natural and with the right proportions. It’s not like drawing a fruit bowl where the subject is right in front of you, or drawing something that isn’t real, like a dragon where I can make it look however I want. Drawing real people is hard because everyone can tell when it looks a little off.”
“Want me to pose for you?” I joked. “I can be your fruit bowl.”
Evan tilted his head at me, scanning me up and down.
“You do have the right proportions,” he said with a sly smile. “Think you can make a pose like you’re defeating a dragon?”
I chuckled, but Evan’s smile stayed on his face.
“Wait, you’re serious?” I asked. “You want me to pose for one of your drawings?”
“Why not?” he said. “You’re the perfect reference model.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “This isn’t some trick to get me naked so you can draw me like one of your French girls, is it?”
Even as he burst out laughing, his eyes flared bright with an alluring glint.
“If I got you naked,” he said with a simmering heat beneath the words, “it wouldn’t be because of some trick.”
My cheeks turned hot.
I knew what Evan sounded like when he was amused, when he was being serious, when he was showing sympathy.
I’d never heard him like this before. I’d never heard that velvety smooth way his tone lowered to a near murmur, as if revealing secrets meant only for my ears.
I’d thought Evan was sexy before, but this took me beyond that. That voice, that sly smile, that glint of heat in his eyes…
My insides turned equally heated, throbbing with a sweet, unfamiliar ache. This was another new sensation. Another feeling I’d never experienced before.
My eyes dropped to his lips, watching them part as he inhaled a breath. My throat went tight with anticipation. I wondered how pillowy soft those lips might be. I wondered how they would feel pressed against mine. I wondered—
“So?” Evan asked. “What do you think?”
It took my mind a second to re-route my thoughts. Right. The posing thing. The book cover thing.
I blinked and swallowed to wet my dry mouth.
“Sure,” I croaked. “Sounds fun.”
“Great!” He stood and pointed at me with the stylus in his hand. “Go get showered and dressed, and put on the tightest clothes you own.”
I nearly choked on my tongue.
“I’m assuming Lizzy didn’t loan you any leather pants?” he asked.
“Uh.” I blinked. “No. She did not.”
“We’ll have to go with yoga pants, then.”
My mind turned to static.
I only wore yoga pants as pajamas for sleeping in. I didn’t wear them when I was out and in front of people. My parents always said they were too revealing and un-ladylike to wear in public, clinging to a girl’s backside the way they did.
And now I was supposed to wear them as Evan posed me every which way?
The heat inside me cranked up to an almost unbearable degree.
“Okay,” I said, my voice weak and raspy. “I’ll get dressed.”
I only hoped I didn’t spontaneously combust in the meantime.
12
“I feel silly,” I told Evan.
“You look fine,” he said. “More than fine. You look badass.”
“I look like I’m searching for something I dropped on the floor while waving a broom around.”
“Exactly,” he said. “It’s the perfect pose. Now don’t move.”
I suppressed a sigh and continued crouching down, one leg extended and the other curled under me while brandishing the broom Evan had found in his storage closet. It was supposed to be a sword, and I was supposed to be fighting a dragon.
My thighs were beginning to cramp up and my arms were tired from holding the “sword” above my head.
“How much longer?” I tried to sound innocently curious, not irritated and impatient.
“I’m just sketching out the lines and then you can move into another position.”
“Another?” I asked.
“I need to try out multiple poses to see which one looks better on the cover.”
I groaned inwardly, already regretting having agreed to this, and we were just on the first of however many contortions I’d be stuck in.
“All right, I’m good for now,” he said, not taking his eyes off the drawing. “You can stretch and rest for a bit.”
I went to stand and toppled over on my numb legs, landing on my behind — my very exposed behind, seeing as how I was in tight-fitting yoga pants. I was also wearing a skin-tight tank top with a low scooped neckline.
It wasn’t exactly a revealing outfit or anything. Not a lot of skin showing. But every one of my curves, the few that I had at least, were quite visibly defined.
“Ow,” I complained with a wince, rubbing at my hip.
“I’m sorry,” Evan said, reaching down a hand to help me up. “I didn’t mean to keep you in that position for so long.”
I took his hand, his warm palm engulfing mine. The hairs on the back of my arm stood up as a shiver went through me. His fingers curled around the back of my hand, his thumb on my pulse point. I wondered if he could feel my increasing heartbeat.
Evan pulled me to my feet. I stumbled back, my legs tingling and not yet ready to hold my full weight. He wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me from collapsing back to the floor. I put a hand on his shoulder to steady myself.
His arm tightened around me. Our chests pressed together. His fingers were spread out along my back. I could feel the press of his fingertips, could feel the heat of his skin through my thin tank top. His deep green eyes bored into mine, dazzling me with their brilliant color. Evan’s usual good-humored expression was gone, replaced by an intensity I’d rarely seen before.
My heartbeat hammered in my chest. I dug my hands into his shirt, my fingers clenching down unconsciously. He pulled me closer. My lips parted. His eyes dropped to my mouth. I tipped my head up, and my lids fluttered shut. I heard him inhale a sharp breath. I stood up on my tiptoes, leaning toward him.
“Alice…” Evan murmured quietly.
“Yes?” I breathed.
“What is this?”
My eyes popped open. I landed flat on my heels.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I don’t want you to think—” He paused, then let out a breath and put his hands on my shoulders. “I don’t want you to think I expect anything, okay?”
I frowned.
“Expect?” I repeated.
He lowered his head to meet my eyes.
“You don’t owe me anything, remember?” he said.
My cheeks burned. I stepped back until his hands dropped from my shoulders.
“Is that what you think this is?” I asked. “That I’m doing this because…”
He ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head, looking uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to insult you or make you feel bad. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“And what page would that be, exactly?” I didn’t want to snap, but I was now crushed and more than a little ticked off.
Evan looked me
straight in the eye.
“I like you, Alice,” he said.
My heart fluttered. Now my cheeks burned for an entirely different reason.
“But I don’t want you to think I let you stay with me because I want something from you,” he continued.
“I know that,” I said. “I would never think that of you. I know that’s not the kind of guy you are. I’m doing this because—” I lowered my head shyly. “Because I like you, too.”
Evan did the same thing he’d done earlier when I’d ruined breakfast and said I wanted to make it up to him. He lifted my chin so I was looking at him.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked.
The fluttering in my chest became a storm of flapping butterflies.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Evan pressed the softest of kisses to my lips, sending a shock of desire through my system.
I’d shared a few tentative kisses with boys before, but I’d never had someone kiss me with such care, with such affection — and I’d never felt a wave of arousal as strong as this one before.
He moved his mouth against mine, soft and full. I gasped and pressed closer to him, wanting more of the delicious friction. His tongue swiped a line between my lips, seeking entrance. I opened to him with a moan. His tongue flicked against mine, the taste of him filling all my senses. He ran his hands down my back, gripping my hips and pulling me down to grind against him. I felt his hardening length against my thigh.
I froze, my mouth going slack.
“What is it?” he asked, pulling back immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said, my cheeks flaming. “It’s just— I—”
My mouth flapped uselessly. Tears of frustration and embarrassment stung the backs of my eyes.
Evan stroked my cheek with a tender caress.
“You can tell me anything,” he said.
“I’ve just never…” I trailed off, hoping he’d get my meaning, but he just looked at me patiently, waiting for me to continue. “Aside from kissing a few boys in school, I’ve never done any of this before.”
His eyes went wide.
“You mean, never?” he asked. “Not even with—?”
Hot and Bothered (Sin and Tonic Book 4) Page 6