Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

“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 NineteenOliviaEli’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.