Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

He stops, shoes making a flinty sound as they catch on the sidewalk. Turns to me. Even in four inch heels, I’m almost a head shorter than him.

I can’t read the expression on his face. He looks equal parts pained and aroused. Eyes stormy.

Butterflies are everywhere inside my torso, their wings brushing up against my sides.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. Voice barely above a growl. “But the most beautiful thing about you, Gracie, is that mind of yours.”

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. I don’t know what else to say. So I go with a simple: “Thank you.”

“I hadn’t considered that idea. And yes, I agree that those are the things that matter. We been talkin’ a lot about truth, and I do think our truths and our minds get along real nice. We can be ourselves with each other—that’s important. And special. But I still think—in the long run—” He furrows his brow.

“What?”

Luke lets out a breath, gaze roving over my face. That pain in his eyes. It’s killing me.

“Nothing,” he says, giving his head a shake. “You’re right. I’m gettin’ way too in my head here. We’re more alike than we are different.”

I turn my head to look at him from the corner of my eye. “You sure? You don’t sound entirely convinced.”

He looks at me for a beat. Then another. The storm in his eyes rages. I can feel the fierceness of the waves. Hear their angry roar.

Luke blinks, and in the space of a few heartbeats the storm passes. Leaving calm, glittering blue in its wake.

The transition seems sudden. Almost a little forced.

But then he’s reaching up, brushing the hair out of my face and cupping my cheek. The feel of his fingertips on my neck makes my skin come alive.

All hesitation—all the questions I have—disappear.

Fuck the maestro. This guy is a magician.

“Baby girl,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “Why you gotta make me feel this way when you’re with me?”

I roll my tongue between my lips. “Feel what way?”

“Like everything’s gonna be okay.”

My heart is working double. Gut screaming at me. Say what you feel. Tell him tell him tell him he needs you now don’t wait.

And telling him isn’t committing to anything. It’s not any kind of promise.

It’s just the truth.

Searching his eyes, I say, “What if it is?”

The idea hangs between us. It’s as novel to me as it is to him.

Am I ready? Is he ready?

Are you ever ready?

This is moving in the direction of what I’ve always wanted—the one great love. But in my search for it, I’d never once considered that as wonderful as it would be to hand your heart over to your soul mate, it would also be terrifying. That person now has the power to crush you. Devastate you.

Make a fool of you.

But looking in Luke’s eyes, I see softness. Kindness. Certainty.

He knows what he wants. He takes care of what he loves.

I’d like to think he’d take good care of me. My heart, too.

“What if it does work out, Luke? Your farm. My new place.” I roll my lips between my teeth. “Us.”

My breath catches when he reaches up. Takes my face in his hand. It makes my skin come alive—the feel of his fingertips on my neck.

“What if,” he murmurs. Drawing his thumb across my lips.

“You,” I say.

“What?”

“You’re always asking me what I want. I want you,” I say softly. “Come home with me.”

Luke’s brows scrunch together.

Another pause. Does he really have to think about this? He’s never hesitated before.

“I’m followin’ you,” he says at last.Chapter EighteenGracieI’ve barely closed my door and locked it before Luke is reaching for me.

It’s dark in my condo. But he somehow finds my hand, wrapping his palm around mine as he pulls me to him.

Not another minute, the movement says. I cannot wait another fucking minute.

The memory of his earlier hesitation evaporates.

I can only make out the shape of his head. He tilts it, taking a breath through parted lips before they come down on mine. He pulls at me with open mouth and hot tongue. Nose catching on mine. Surrounds me with the bulk of his body, arms curling tightly around my waist as my body rises to meet his kiss.

His mouth roves over mine. Hungry and ardent. Hard and sweet. I just stand there, stunned, softening with need, head falling back against the onslaught, as he pulls and pulls and pulls. Scruff scraping my skin. Tongue in my mouth. Stealing. Conquering. My breath and my soul and my careful careful careful.

He’s got me. So tight and so close. I don’t know if I can withstand the enormity of his need.

Ah, shit, my legs are shaking. Heart scrambling, I grab at him. Grab his face, my fingers digging into his scruff. He groans. A sound I can feel reverberate in his throat and chest.