Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

I smile. And feel with a new, sweeping certainty that this crazy decision I’m about to make is the right one.Chapter Twenty-NineEli“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Olivia asks, watching through the windows as we inch forward in the ever-present traffic on East Bay Street.

“You do know how surprises work, right?”

She shoots me a wicked little look. My cock perks up. God damn I love when my girl gets an attitude. It’s been a week since we got back from the cabin, but my thirst for this woman has only grown. I can’t stand to be away from her—to not be inside her—for a fucking second.

“Last time you surprised me, we didn’t leave your bedroom for twenty-four hours,” she replies.

I grin at the memory. “Was that really just yesterday?”

“Oh yeah,” she replies. “I think we got our money’s worth out of that thing.”

The thing she’s referring to is the vibrator I bought on my way into work the day before last. My girl gets sore too often for my liking. Considering what happened the first time we fucked, I want to be extra careful with her. But I still want to make her come. Often.

That fun little toy lets me do exactly that. No blood. No soreness. Just Olivia’s contented moans as she orgasms again and again and again.

Shit. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.

I love thinking about it. Only thing that gets me through the day is knowing I’ll find Olivia waiting for me in bed at night. She couldn’t have come into my life at a better time.

Makes me think timing really is everything.

I put my blinker on. Taking the turn, I guide my truck into the leafy Ansonborough neighborhood. Olivia gasps as we pass impeccably restored mansions, ancient oak trees towering over pools and carriage houses and secret gardens.

Never gets old, seeing how much she loves my city.

She’s got a little less than a week left before she needs to go back to New York. I’ve been hard at work, trying to convince her to have faith in herself and her writing.

Trying to convince her she can build a life here in Charleston so we can be together.

I slow down to take the turn into the familiar parking lot. My blood buzzes with excitement. A little nervousness, too. Everything with Olivia feels like life and death these days.

In a way, it is.

Olivia ducks her head to get a better look at the small sign hanging out front.

“Rainbow Row Books,” she reads, squinting. She turns to me, eyes sparkling. “Eli, this place is adorable.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I say. “But that’s not the surprise. C’mon, let’s go inside.”

I put the car in park and unbuckle my seatbelt. Olivia hops out of the car before I can walk around the truck to open her door, like I usually do.

She’s practically bouncing on her feet. She walks a stride or two ahead of me, allowing me to shamelessly check out her ass. Her jeans make it look nothing short of scrumptious.

Is it wrong that I already can’t wait to get her back home and peel those jeans off her?

Clearing my throat, I give my crotch a discreet tug. Today is about books. Olivia’s career as an author. Sex can wait.

At least for a little while.

I open the door for her.

Olivia bites her lip, looking up at me. “You know, you’re always very polite in public. But in private—”

“I’m bossy?” I hold the corner of the door in my hand and lean into her. “Rude in my demands and needs?”

“So rude.” She rises onto her tip toes and kisses me, quick and sweet, on the lips. Then she whispers, “Good thing I like it.”

“I’m ’bout to get real rude if you don’t go inside,” I say, nodding at the bookstore. “Those jeans are killin’ me.”

Shooting one last heated look my way, Olivia heads inside. I follow.

Louise looks up from her usual spot behind the counter, which is strewn with brightly colored paperbacks. Her face breaks into a smile.

“Eli! Is this the romance writer I’ve heard so much about?” she asks, sliding her glasses onto the tip of her nose to get a better look at Olivia.

“Sure is,” I say. “Louise, this is Olivia. One of the best damn historical romance novelists working today. I can say that now, because I’ve read a lot of historicals over the past couple weeks.”

I put a hand on the small of Olivia’s back, guiding her forward. She takes in the store as we move. The peeling paint. The cats. The bookshelves that groan beneath haphazard arrangements of bestsellers and staff recommendations. She takes a deep breath through her nose. I do, too, and together we inhale the scent of paper. Dust. Unopened stories.

She turns her head and smiles at me. I feel her joy like an arrow through my heart.