You're Still the One

by Rachel Harris

  Regardless of where Lana’s loyalties lay, however, the simple fact was that Ella was there now, alone other than Charlie, and she was determined not to hang on his arm like a salivating puppy. Her heart had gotten the entirely wrong message about their little situation over the last few weeks, and the delightful new things she learned every day only made it more confusing. It was high time she got a harsh dose of reality.

  Exhibit A: the tall redhead holding up the wall near the entrance. When Ella and Charlie had first arrived, she’d looked Charlie up and down as though she wanted to lick him like a lollipop—and the familiarity in her wandering eyes made it appear as though she’d already sampled the goods. How wonderful.

  Exhibit B: the raven-haired beauty on the sofa. She, too, had grinned flirtatiously when Charlie had stopped to tell her hello, leaning down to kiss her cheek. He’d even been so kind as to introduce Ella—whoopee!—and as the woman struggled to hold back a sneer, Arabella had to wonder how many of the females present had slept with the man who’d just a few days ago strummed John Mayer until she fell asleep.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Ella reminded herself that it didn’t matter. Okay, so yes, she’d had a crush on Charlie Tucker for as long as she could remember, and yes, the more she got to actually know him, the more infatuated she became. But friendship rocked, too. Charlie made a fantastic landlord, he was an incredible boss, and his interest in her top-ten list had been amazing.

  Other than the near constant desire to jump his bones, their whole dynamic was pretty fantastic. Arabella may not know Charlie the way the other women in the room obviously did—that is to say biblically—but she did have a piece of him that they never would.

  She knew the man.

  “Yes, but friendship doesn’t tick off boxes, Ella-girl,” she mused aloud, thankfully in a whisper so her new neighbors didn’t think her crazy. Her stolen summer was already half over and, while she’d made incredible headway on her list, there was one glaring activity that Charlie seemed rather hell-bent against helping her accomplish.

  Experiencing a toe-curling kiss.

  In the grand scheme of things, she supposed she could cross off the other nine and still call it a win, but Arabella didn’t want that. What she wanted was to feel adored and sexy. She needed to experience those tingles and the delicious thrill her favorite songs talked about.

  It wasn’t that she’d never been kissed before; she had, and she’d even slept with a man to lukewarm results. But she’d never felt that heart-thumping, all-encompassing, world-tilting explosion of heat.

  And if I don’t abandon the silly dream of Charlie wanting that with me, too, I never will.

  A server trotted past balancing a tray of white wine, and Ella snatched a glass, tossing her head back to take a long gulp. With new eyes, she glanced around the room bursting with people and made a decision.

  It was high time she tried something new.

  The four completed tasks had all involved Charlie in some way…although, technically, his involvement in her naked mirror gazing had been accidental. Nevertheless, Ella needed to prove she could do this alone. That she was daring and bold on her own two feet. Maybe not by jumping straight into someone’s mouth, but she could build up to the kiss by starting with another item on the list, an almost tame one in comparison:

  Asking a stranger for his number.

  “Ella, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Arabella nearly choked on her wine. Sputtering with a hand to her mouth, she turned to discover Colby Landry, Sherry’s older sister and the owner of the delicious restaurant catering the party, smiling as she motioned toward the handsome guy beside her.

  “This is Evan, hands down my best waiter at Robicheaux’s and our all-star server on the company volleyball team.” She sent Ella some sort of secret smile and said, “Something tells me you two will hit it off.”

  With those parting words, and an indiscreet wink, Colby sashayed away—as if she hadn’t just pushed Ella into the deep end without a floatie. Granted, plopping a hottie in front of her was sort of an answer to a prayer, and it was a move Lana had pulled on her a thousand times before. But still.

  “That’s the last time I ever tell my boss a woman is beautiful,” the guy mused with a slight chuckle, and Ella snapped her gaze back to his.

  Beautiful? Had he just called her beautiful?

  A charming, self-effacing grin curled his mouth and his green eyes sparkled with humor. “But I can’t say her methods aren’t effective.” He held out a hand. “Evan Coles, pleased to meet you.”

  Arabella slid her palm against his with an answering smile, and while there was no sizzle of heat in the touch, his handshake was confident and strong. “Ella Stone, and likewise.”

  “I take it you’ve met the Robicheaux clan,” Evan said, gesturing to the room at large with his gaze but not yet releasing her hand. “I feel as though I should warn you. Once they get their claws into you, people tend to not leave Magnolia Springs.”

  Ella’s smile widened. “Yes, well, unfortunately, staying is not an option. I’m due back in Nashville next month.”

  She almost shared the details about her job at Belle Meade Records, who her dad was, and even why she was only here for the summer. That whole runaway mouth syndrome. But then she remembered she didn’t need to share those details. Evan probably didn’t care about country music, and even if he did, he hadn’t been living and breathing it for years, making preconceived judgments about the industry’s so-called princess.

  This moment was exactly what she’d envisioned when she first bargained to come to New Orleans for the summer. A chance to be truly anonymous. Be whoever she wanted to be.

  A rush of heady excitement surged through her.

  “But I’m very much enjoying my time while I’m here,” she quickly added, noting that Evan still held her hand. The contact remained pleasant, and the longer they stood there, his kind eyes and soft smile focused entirely on her, a solo butterfly roused in her belly to perform a singular loop. It wouldn’t kill her to fan the flames a bit.

  “Glad to hear it.” He smiled down at their linked hands before finally releasing her, and Ella curled her fingers inward as if to hold on to the memory. “Though I feel compelled to tell you that I’ve been to Nashville, and I think you’re better off staying here.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Arabella shook her head with a laugh. “Got something against the great old state of Tennessee?”

  “Other than their football teams? No.” He slid her a wink and she laughed again. Men and their football. Sheesh. “But Magnolia Springs has one thing Nashville doesn’t.” He paused a beat for dramatic effect, then that self-effacing grin returned. “Me.”

  Ella snorted. The line was total cheese, but it was the grin accompanying it that made her laugh and lean a little closer. Basking in his attention, wanting to prolong the exposure. This sort of thing didn’t happen to her often.

  Men went after Lana. They talked music with Ella, slid demos across the table for her to pass to her dad, and occasionally bought her a drink. But they didn’t flirt. Not really. And while Evan was no Charlie, and her body didn’t react quite the way she’d hoped, he was cute, his attention was flattering, and pining over Tucker was getting her nowhere.

  “You’ve got me there,” she replied, lowering her voice a bit and fluttering her eyelashes. “Guess that means I should soak you up while I can.”

  Inwardly, she cringed at her own cheese, and when Evan’s eyes widened, she felt the resulting blush in the tips of her ears. Dang, she sucked at this. You’d think years spent playing wing-woman to Lana’s vixen would’ve provided better material but, alas, her best friend never needed lines. The challenge she exuded was beacon enough. Oh well. Onward and upward, right?

  Plowing ahead, she said, “Maybe I can get your number and we can hang out sometime.”

  Boom! There it was. The flirting was subpar but it was evident, and as embarrassed as Arabella felt in this moment, joy
overtook it because she’d done it!

  Even better, Evan’s genuine smile lit his dark green eyes, and he immediately nodded.

  “Absolutely, but only if I get yours, too.”

  The thrill of victory coursed through her veins as she opened her clutch for her phone. A storm of hideous wildebeests couldn’t swipe away her grin as she closed her hand around the slim plastic case and tugged it out, finding a text message waiting from Lana.

  Go and get that kiss!

  Not yet, Ella thought, half wishing she could text her now and give her a play-by-play. But she was well on her way to the kiss, at least further than she’d been five minutes ago, and one more item on her list had been checked.

  They swapped phones so they could exchange numbers, and when Arabella handed his back, Evan took things a step further by wrapping his arm around her shoulders and snuggling in close for a selfie. “For the contact photo,” he explained, and she chuckled as she pressed her face against his clean-shaven cheek.

  With his khaki pants and polo shirt, spiky hair and easy smile, Evan had a preppy look that reminded her of the fraternity guys back on campus. They’d never really been her type—she tended to lust after scruffy guys with tattoos, unruly hair, and a bass in hand—but maybe that was the point. It was time to go against type. Try something new.

  She was glad she’d added this item to the list. Who knew that opening herself to possibility and putting herself out there could be so much fun?

  No sooner had she thought it, and Evan had pressed click on the phone, than Charlie appeared on the other side of them, all intense eyes and firmly set mouth. Ella froze, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong, which was completely ridiculous. But there it was.

  Sensing a change in the atmosphere, Evan’s carefree grin fell, and he lowered his arm from around her, pocketing his phone with an inquisitive look toward Charlie. Her friend met his stare with a sharp one of his own, then placed a hand on Arabella’s arm. “Can I speak to you a minute?”

  She glanced at Evan, who nodded and sent her a small smile of understanding. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, ignoring the growls coming from the moody beast. “It was nice meeting you, Ella.”

  Arabella opened and closed her mouth, trying to find the appropriate words of apology…but, at the same time, she was completely floored by the thunder of jealousy on Charlie’s face. Her thoughts were scattered.

  She should be miffed. She should tell Evan to stay, and tell Charlie that she had every right to talk to whomever she wanted to, male or female, and that he had no right to storm over and play the jilted lover. Especially when he’d made it abundantly clear that they would only ever be friends.

  Yep, that was what she should’ve done. Unfortunately, she was too busy fighting back a grin to follow through.

  “You, too, Evan,” she said instead, and Charlie rolled his eyes.

  “Great. Everyone’s happy, and I’m sure she’ll be biding her time until you call.”

  Dismissing Evan with a look, Charlie took her hand in his and tugged her down the hallway, away from her new friend, like a man on a mission. She glanced back once to see Evan watching with a slightly amused expression, but then she nearly tripped over her own two feet and had to turn back around.

  Wouldn’t that be her luck? Two men nearly fight over her attention, and she pulls a Lucille Ball during her exit.

  Charlie didn’t stop walking until they reached a large window overlooking the backyard. Only then did he glance down at his other hand still clutching her arm and, seeing his firm grip, release her with a furrowed brow.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His voice was rough as he brushed his fingers lightly over her skin, and the sizzle she’d been looking for with Evan heated her blood.

  “No.” She pretended not to notice the goose bumps pricking her flesh, and hoped like heck he didn’t, either. Sliding her arm away from his ministrations she said, “You, uh, wanted to speak to me about something?”

  Charlie stared at her blankly for a moment, as if he had no clue what she was talking about, but then he shifted his gaze to where Evan stood behind her, and his eyebrows ticked up. “Right. I did.”

  But he didn’t say anything else. Didn’t elaborate on what was so important that he’d stormed over and interrupted her pleasant conversation. No words about why he’d pulled her down the hall like a caveman. He just shifted his weight, looking a bit lost, and a swell of amusement rose in Ella’s chest.

  Charlie Tucker was rattled. By her, of all people.

  Well, hell’s bells.

  Clearing his throat, he glanced out the window. “The sun’s going down.” His tone was distracted as he clearly searched for a viable answer for his behavior, and a second later, his mouth twitched. He turned back, the picture of confidence again.

  “We’re both wearing our suits,” he remarked, and she narrowed her eyes, trying to find his angle. “If we’re gonna take a dip in the water, we should do it before it gets too late. We don’t want you getting sick again.”

  Arabella’s nod was slow and amused. Right. That was the reason he’d dragged her away from another man…to go swimming. Uh-huh. And she had oceanfront property in Idaho for sale.

  There was a huge part of her that wanted to call him out on the fib, make him own up to his obvious jealousy. See if he was feeling even a tenth of what she’d felt earlier, seeing him talking to those other women. But another part—the rest of her, really—decided to let it slide. She didn’t need for Charlie to admit why he’d wanted her company. They both knew the truth.

  Smiling freely now, no longer able to hide her joy, Arabella curved her hand against his stubbled cheek. She always did prefer a man with scruff. “Ready when you are, Tucker.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  What in the hell am I doing?

  Charlie breathed deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth, as his feet traversed the distance between Cane’s porch and the emptying backyard pool. Overhead, the sun was setting low in the sky, bathing the land and bordering bayou in a wash of orange and pink, and the huge crowd was streaming through the wrought iron gate, eager to catch the best spot on the grass to watch the impending fireworks.

  Cane’s property sat in the middle of three acres, and last year the partygoers spread wide, covering the ground like a checkerboard with their bright picnic blankets and lawn chairs. Food was rerouted, music kicked on, and, while everyone waited for the pyrotechnic display to start, kids zapped in and around the snoozing group, laughing as they chased one another. The entire day was a blast, the show was impressive, and having the local fire captain as a brother-in-law certainly didn’t hurt things.

  Nodding hello to a couple headed in the opposite direction—away from the pool and toward the gate—Charlie popped his knuckles at his side.

  This was such a bad idea. Bad on an epic scale.

  But it was also sort of genius.

  With the neighbors off doing their thing, oohing and aahing over the fireworks, the backyard would be empty for at least a solid hour. Which meant Charlie and Arabella would have it all to themselves. Another private pool, with wet limbs touching and Arabella’s soft lips just begging to be kissed…and Charlie’s body already raring for round two. The difference was that this time no one would interrupt.

  Yup, this was a recipe for unmitigated disaster, and with the hot sting of jealousy currently roiling in his gut, demanding he lay claim to what was his, the smart thing for Charlie to do would be to turn tail and run before they breached the point of no return.

  Don’t push too far, Tucker. Remember, she’s not for you.

  See, even his conscience knew better than to suggest bailing. Completely walking away wasn’t an option anymore. The attraction was too strong. The oppressive Louisiana heat boiled his blood just enough to make dangerous ideas seem possible.

  “It’s a beautiful night.” Arabella was a low whispered voice behind him, and when Charlie turned it was in time to watch her cov
er-up fall to the ground.

  Sweet Jesus. The dress she’d worn all day had been typical Arabella, classy and feminine. She’d looked beautiful as always, so much so that it hadn’t been a shocker to find another guy hanging on her with drool on his chin. But the swimsuit hidden beneath the simple dress almost dropped Charlie to his knees.

  The two-piece was emerald green, a spectacular color set against her olive skin that made those doe eyes pop. It was vintage in style, like everything she owned, and the bottom consisted of more fabric than half the women’s shorts today, but it cupped her hips and thighs in a way that his hands itched to replicate. And the swimsuit’s top… Charlie swallowed thickly. Arabella’s small, high breasts were lifted in a mouthwatering display of cleavage that was a feast for the eyes.

  She looked seductive and innocent and, good God, she was trying to kill him.

  Charlie was moving before he even realized it, walking in a lust-filled daze toward her. But then, his feelings were more complicated than simple lust…and that was the problem.

  “You take my breath away.” The line was cliché, like a lyric from some lame power ballad, but for the first time in his life, Charlie understood the meaning. Arabella’s eyes latched onto his, and her chest rose and fell as her pink lips parted in an exhale and, for a moment, he legitimately forgot his own name.

  Arabella made his chest ache with want. She made him forget everything in the world other than how it felt to hold her in his arms. How their bodies aligned, her height allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder if she wanted to. Or stare into his eyes if and when he kissed her.

  Right now, he wasn’t thinking about the many reasons why he shouldn’t want that, why he didn’t deserve her or why it would be so wrong to reach out and slide his hand along the gentle curve of her waist. No, Charlie forgot all those things, so when his palm grazed across her petal-soft skin, and Arabella’s gasp hit his ears, he also forgot why it was wrong, so very wrong, to act on his needs.