His brows flew up. Mission accomplished. “How’d you know I was in the army?” he asked.
The truth was that she’d stalked his social media through her friend Marjaana’s account—since Ruth didn’t have Facebook. But that would sound incredibly odd, so she lied. “It was your speech about Captain America on Saturday. You’re a complete fanboy.”
Evan smirked. “That doesn’t mean I was in the army.”
“There’s honestly no other reason for anyone to like Captain America.” Which was true. “Unless you think he’s hot.”
“Well, I don’t think he’s hot.”
“He kind of looks like you.”
Evan’s eyes lit up. “Do you think he’s hot?”
Ruth froze, her fork halfway on its journey to her mouth. “I…” Her mind rushed to process what, exactly, had just happened. It failed, probably because it was trying so hard. So she blurted out, “Yes. I do.”
For a moment, Evan’s eyes seemed to darken. He leaned forward, and Ruth licked her lips. She was suddenly hyper-conscious of her breathing—or rather, the rise and fall of her own chest.
Which was a bad sign.
But then, just as quickly, the crackling tension in Evan’s eyes seemed to fade. He sat back in his chair and said, “Well, you’re right. I was in the army. But that’s not why I like Captain America.”
Relief flooding her, Ruth stuffed a mouthful of pasta into her gob and mumbled, “Why then?”
Evan put down his fork, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. He seems very… noble. Is that the right word?”
“He’s an annoying do-gooder.”
“You’re a very harsh woman.” He said it almost… fondly. A smile tilted his lips.
Ruth reminded herself that harsh women were not to anyone’s taste and took another bite of pasta.
9
When they were done, Ruth grabbed the plates and took them both to the sink. She turned the taps on as high as they’d go, and watched the water rise over the dirty dishes, and tried to convince herself that she could not feel Evan staring at her.
That would be ridiculous.
To prove it, she took a peek over her shoulder at him. Just a little one, she told herself, to quiet her rambling mind. To prove to herself that, just because he was awfully attractive and funny and sweet, and he seemed to like spending time with her, didn’t mean this was a… thing.
She found him lounging in her tiny kitchen chair, watching her with almost painful intensity.
Oh.
When he arched a brow, his lips curving slowly into a smile, Ruth realised that her little peek had become a very long look. Her cheeks heating, she turned back to the sink.
Step one of washing dishes: water. What was step two, again? She couldn’t remember. Every time she tried to get her mind in order, she was assaulted with images of Evan. Evan’s long legs spread wide, his thighs straining beneath his jeans, tattooed arms folded over his chest. Right behind her. Shit.
“The way you look at me sometimes,” he said. His voice was low. She shouldn’t have heard him over the running taps, and yet the deep rumble seemed to vibrate in her belly.
And between her legs.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, turning off the stream of water.
“Really?” There was something in his voice that might’ve been humour if it hadn’t been so heavy. “The day we met, you looked at me like you’d never seen a man before.”
Because I’d never seen a man like you. “That was shock, actually. You know, because I fell.” She was impressed with the steadiness of her own voice. Her own lying voice.
“And Saturday?”
Ruth swallowed. “I don’t know why you’re fishing for compliments. You must know that, objectively speaking, you’re very attractive.”
She heard the scrape of chair legs against lino, heard his familiar tread as he crossed the narrow space. “Maybe. But I’m trying to figure out your opinion on the matter.”
She knew, somehow, that he would touch her.
When he did, it was better than she’d expected.
His chest pressed firmly against her back, the heat of his body surrounding her. He put his hands against the counter in front of them, bracketing Ruth with hard, warm muscle. “You see,” he said, his tone conversational, “sometimes I think I can read you. Then something happens, and I realise I can’t. Not completely. Not yet.”
Ruth shivered.
He leaned in even closer, bending down until his mouth brushed her ear. “So why don’t you tell me, Ruth? Tell me what’s going on inside your head.”
She couldn’t speak. She also couldn’t help herself. Ruth raised a hand, reached back until her fingers slid into his hair, felt the curve of his skull, pulled him closer, and wondered what the fuck she was doing.
Then she let her head fall to the side, exposing the line of her neck. A moment later, she felt his breath whisper over the sensitive skin of her throat.
Ah. That’s what she was doing.
Oh, dear.
Evan kissed her neck, his mouth soft and hot and everything she’d ever needed. Ruth’s knees might have buckled if she hadn’t been ready, completely ready, to feel this level of ecstasy at his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m usually much better than this.” His hands came to rest on her hips, sliding under the hem of her pyjama top.
“Better?” she echoed faintly. His fingers traced circles over the sensitive skin of her belly, and she moaned. Heat flooded her pussy, zipping up to her nipples.
“Better at controlling myself.” His tongue slid over her pulse, and then, lightly, he bit. “I don’t know what I’m doing. We barely know each other.”
Ruth arched against him, pressure building deep inside her core. “You’ve never slept with someone you barely know?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep with you yet. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly.”
Of all those nonsensical words, yet was the one that caught her attention.
It had never occurred to her, while she was drooling over his unreasonable hotness, that he might somehow find her attractive. Why had that never occurred to her?
“They all think you’re ugly. But I know you’re beautiful, Ruth.”
She pushed the memory away. It wasn’t even hard. Not when one of Evan’s hands slid away from her hips, down toward the apex of her thighs. His palm flattened against her cotton-covered mound and he pushed her more firmly against him. The thick column of his erection pressed into her lower back.
“Jesus, Evan,” she breathed. At the feel of that insistent length, a pulse of energy rocketed to her clit. Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t felt like this in so long. She hadn’t deserved it. She wasn’t sure if she deserved it now.
He laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh she recognised. It was low and dark and sent a thrill up her spine. “Do you like this, love?” He pressed the heel of his palm against her clit, the pressure delicious even through her clothes. “Tell me.”
Ah.
Just like that, the blazing purity of pleasure drained away. The reality of who Ruth was—how Ruth was—crushed her the way pianos crush cartoon characters: she was still breathing, somehow, but she shouldn’t have been.
Ruth absolutely could not tell him anything. Anything at all.
Swallowing down her sudden panic, she said, “We should stop.”
In a breath, he went from surrounding her to disappearing. She felt suddenly cold, suddenly alone, without his arms around her.
But that, she reminded herself, was the safest way to feel.
“Are you okay?” Evan asked softly.
Hesitant, she turned to face him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted. Beautiful. Still, she saw apology written over his face. He folded his hands in front of his waist, and she wondered if he meant to hide the bulge straining against his jeans or draw attention to it.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You don’t seem fine.”
Ruth didn’t know what to say to that.
After a pause, he said, “I’m… I’m sorry, Ruth.”
“You don’t need to be sorry—”
“But I am. I shouldn’t have done that.” He cleared his throat. His posture was perfect as ever, almost painfully stiff.
Almost, her mind thought feverishly, as stiff as his—
“I didn’t come over here to… to harass you,” he said. “I just wanted to see you. I hope you believe that.”
She licked her lips and nodded. She had no idea what, exactly, was happening here, but it seemed polite to let him finish.
“I very much enjoy spending time with you,” he said. “I hope you might consider me a friend.”
“I do.”
That, at least, drew the ghost of a smile from his lips. “Good,” he said, almost to himself. “Good. I… I’d understand if you didn’t want me to come over anymore.”
“But I do,” she said firmly. “I do want you to come over.”
She should be grateful, really. He was saying all the things that should be coming out of her mouth, as if following a script. So why was she arguing?
His gaze was intense. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she practically cried. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” He gave her a short nod. “Well… I’ll be going, then.”
“Alright.”
“Alright.”
For a second, they stared at each other across the kitchen. She could still feel the rasp of his fingertips against her belly, could still feel the pressure of his palm against her clit. She tried to make herself forget—she was good at forgetting—but found that she could not.
When he finally walked out of the kitchen, she sagged against the counter in relief.
And when he came over the next day, and the next, she told herself that talking and joking and never, ever touching was absolutely fine.
10
“Evan! You going out?”
Yes. To avoid you.
Evan pulled his face into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but at least didn’t feel like a scowl. Then he turned to Daniel Burne and said, “Yep.”
“I’ll join you.” Daniel fell into step with Evan as they pushed out of the forge’s double doors. “Need to pick up some fags.”
Great. So they’d head to the newsagents together and make stiff, forced conversation that made Evan want to stab himself in the gut.
Usually, he liked to talk. Just not with Daniel Burne.
“So,” Daniel began.
That short, sharp word was all it took to set Evan on his guard. He shot a glance over at Daniel and found the other man a picture of calm, looking straight ahead, nodding politely to passers-by.
“So,” Evan echoed.
“You meet your neighbour?”
Evan clenched his jaw. He remembered the way Ruth had felt against him three days ago and said, “Yeah. I met my neighbour.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Nice guy?”
Evan sighed. “Do you think you’re being subtle?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You want to know if Ruth is my neighbour. Just ask.”
Daniel gave a rueful smile. “I suppose that right there is my answer.”
“I suppose it is.”
There was a brief, blessed pause. During that pause, Evan allowed himself to hope that the conversation would now be over.
He was, of course, disappointed.
“I hope you didn’t judge me too harshly, the other day,” Daniel said. “It’s just, I’ve known her a long time, and we… we don’t get along.”
Evan failed to see how anyone could not get along with Ruth. Yes; she was prickly and awkward and blunt to a fault. She was also adorably excitable, unapologetically passionate, and secretly, achingly, shy. But then, a man like Daniel would respond poorly to a woman like Ruth. He seemed to expect instant adoration, and Ruth wasn’t capable of that.
Evan liked her wariness. It made every inch of her trust a reward.
And you almost ruined that by throwing yourself at her. As if you’ve never known a beautiful woman before.
He pushed that thought away, because it was woefully incomplete. Ruth was not just a beautiful woman. She was the woman who’d made him want so badly, and with so little effort, that he’d completely lost control.
“You’ll find out eventually,” Daniel said. Apparently, he took Evan’s silence as a cue to continue.
“Find out what?” Evan asked. He wasn’t remotely interested in anything Daniel had to say, and yet, his upbringing would only allow so much rudeness. He was closely reaching his personal threshold.
“How she is.” Daniel paused to greet a pair of older men in flat caps, his smile wide and genuine. He introduced Evan with grace and charm, and Evan wondered how the man who had been so cruel to Ruth could seem so thoroughly… decent.
They went on, the newsagent in view now, but their pace so meandering that it might take another five minutes to reach.
“We were at school together,” Daniel continued, as if the conversation had never stopped. For someone who didn’t like Ruth, he really liked to talk about Ruth. “I’m older than her, but… she lost all her friends, you know.” Daniel paused. “She destroys relationships.”
Evan pushed down his rising temper. “I don’t think that’s any of my business. Or yours.”
“I’m just warning you. If you want a girl in this town, you won’t get one with Ruth sniffing around. All the women in Ravenswood know what she is.”
“Good thing I don’t want a girl.”
Daniel gave him a sideways, knowing look. “Because you want Ruth, right? I get it. She’s kind of cute, in her own little way. But I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
It was funny, because Evan had been thinking that, too. Not about himself, but about Ruth. He didn’t want to see her get hurt. He’d touched her because he wanted to, in the way his body wanted to draw breath. And then something had changed. Some odd tension had fallen over the room, and she’d stopped him, and he’d been struck with dread at the thought that he might’ve done something wrong. He did not want to see Ruth get hurt.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said.
Daniel nodded sympathetically, falling into a silence that lasted until they reached the newsagent. If Evan was watching this interaction from afar, he might think that Daniel really meant well.
He was like a seller at the market, Evan decided, turning bad fruit over so shoppers couldn’t see the mould.
Mrs. Needham, proprietor of Needham’s Newsagent, was one of those who didn’t see the mould. She cooed like a demented dove when Daniel stepped through her door, and Evan’s presence only seemed to magnify her excitement.
The woman bustled out from behind the counter, throwing her hands in the air as if she’d found a long-lost son. “Daniel!” she trilled, reaching up to pat his cheeks. “How are you?”
“I’m very well, thank you, Beverly. Have you met my friend Evan?”
“Oh, yes!” Mrs. Needham turned her watery, blue eyes to Evan. “Our newcomer! I’d never forget a face so handsome!”
Of course, the few times Evan had come in here alone, Mrs. Needham had barely said a word—except to warn him about the shop’s 360 CCTV. But Evan dredged up a smile anyway, as if they really were friendly. He’d never embarrass a lady.
He’d love to embarrass Daniel, though. Every time he saw such an awful man treated like royalty, the injustice of it gnawed at Evan’s gut.
Another old woman appeared in the doorway behind the counter, apparently emerging from the shop’s backroom. She had an armful of Kit Kat boxes, but she set them aside as soon as she set eyes on Daniel.
“Well, good afternoon, darling!” she cried, pulling off her silver spectacles. Brushing her hands on the front of her linen trousers, she shuffled out from behind the counter, too.
Resigned to a long and effusive visit, Evan floated off to
ward the magazine rack.
There were kids’ magazines lining the bottom shelves; they screamed about Disney Princesses or Charlie and Lola. One featured the face of a disturbing cartoon pig. Evan skimmed past those to the next shelf, which was filled with what appeared to be American gossip magazines.
He stared for a moment, frowning at the incongruous row of paper rags, their front pages splashed with headlines and images more audacious than anything he’d ever seen.
“Oh, you’ve found our imported stock.”
He jumped slightly and turned to find Mrs. Needham standing beside him. Apparently, he was more than worthy of attention now. Or perhaps she was just making sure he didn’t intend to steal anything.
“These are from the U.S., right?” he asked.
Mrs. Needham nodded. “Strange, I know. Daniel’s wife, Laura, started requesting a few, and next thing we knew, all the town’s girls were buying them! We have a regular shipment, now.” She looked proud as punch. “It’s expensive sometimes, but Laura’s always happy to buy up any extra. The Burnes are such a help to this town.”
Ah. That explained Daniel’s warm welcome.
“I’m sure that’s not what you want, though.” She peered up at him, and Evan realised that she was right. He’d come over to the magazine stand looking for something specific.
He wanted to see if they had any comics. For Ruth.
Before he could open his mouth to say as much, Mrs. Needham plucked a magazine from the middle rack. “This is very popular with our menfolk,” she said conspiratorially. The glossy magazine read, Classic Cars. “I think we even had one of those, around here,” Mrs. Needham murmured, tapping the little green car on the front cover. A frown creased her wrinkled brow.
“I’m not much of a car guy,” Evan admitted.
She shook her head, as if to displace a buzzing fly. “Nonsense. Here, Daniel, darling.” Waving the magazine over at the counter, where Daniel stood, she said, “Didn’t you have a car like this?”
Daniel squinted at the image. “Not exactly,” he said, his voice slow. “That’s a Lancia Flaminia GT.”
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