Evin's Fight (Southern Charmers 3)

“Caesar salad and whatever wine you prefer,” she informs me.

I nod, my eyes traveling along every inch of exposed skin until they meet hers. “Baby, lock that door.”

“Why?”

“I’ve discovered the one thing that may make me lose control.”

Her eyes light up triumphantly as she slowly closes the door.

I adjust myself and pray for will of steel when the lock never clicks.

Chapter 6

Poppy

It’s a struggle to keep from laughing as Evin tries to get comfortable in the compact space. His knees hit the dashboard, his shoulders are well beyond the side of the seat, and his seatbelt stretches tautly across his chest. When I glimpse over again, he’s staring at me. “Something funny?”

“You seem uncomfortable.”

“I’m strapped in a death trap.”

“I think that’s a little overkill. This is a perfectly safe vehicle.”

“For you. I’m at least one-hundred pounds heavier and over a foot taller than you. This wasn’t designed for a man like me. Next time, I’m renting a truck.”

My stomach and heart flip at the way he casually throws that out.

We pull into my driveway, and he’s out of the car with lightning speed, grabbing my bags out of the trunk. Ryanne’s on the phone, laying on the couch when we walk in. When she sees us, she bolts up, her eyes bulging.

“Mom, I have to go! Popsy waltzed in our house with Chris Hemsworth!”

I freeze, sucking in a breath, the heat soaring up my neck.

“No, it’s not actually him, but think of Chris with bright amber eyes.” Her mom’s squeals reach across the room. “Yes, I’ll take a picture. Got to go, Poppy looks like she’s about to pass out.” She disconnects.

“You’re Evin?”

“I am.” He doesn’t hide the humor in his voice.

“I’m Ryanne.”

“Figured as much.”

She casts her gaze back to me. “Pips, you need to take a breath. Your face is red.”

“I wonder why.”

“Oh, calm down.”

I swallow my groan and twist to him. “It shouldn’t take long for me to pack.”

“Lead the way.”

“Why don’t you go pack and leave me and Evin to chat.”

“Not on your life.” I slice my eyes in warning.

Evin follows me to my room and places the bags on my bed, looking around.

“This is my sanctuary.”

“It’s exactly what I’d expect.” He runs his hand along the dangling crystals on my bedside lamp and picks up the flower-shaped pewter dish, glancing at me curiously.

“It’s an incense burner.”

He replaces it, turning to face the wall covered with my favorite photos. Most of them are self-explanatory, span through the years, and feature Dante and Ryanne often. I observe him closely, knowing the instant he spots it.

“Jesus, Poppy. This is you?”

“My last performance my senior year of college.”

“You’re breathtaking.”

I try to picture it through his eyes. My blonde hair tied tight in a slick bun, the stage make-up applied to perfection, my costume molded to my body. All of it sets the image of the impeccable ballerina. But it’s not any of that I remember when I see myself in this photo.

It’s the impossibly wide smile and the feeling of that moment.

“As soon as my feet left the ground, that was it. Years of training clicked into place and my muscle memory took over. The photographer caught the most perfect leap of my lifetime.” I run my finger over the glass, pointing out the form of my body.

“It was flawless, and as soon as my piece was done, everyone backstage surrounded me to tell me so. The best praise came next. No words exchanged, but my biggest critic locked eyes with me, her approval shining bright, and I knew. Her simple curtsy was the best compliment I’d ever received.”

For a second, I allow myself to go back to that moment. My twenty-one-year-old self, buzzing with adrenaline and eagerness, wanting to see that same approval on my family’s faces.

Little did I know that a few hours later, my naïve world would implode and I’d be facing a nightmare that would eventually change my life.

Evin pulls me to him. One arm circles my waist while his hand comes to cup my jaw. His beautiful eyes scan my face and fill with concern. “There’s more to this story, isn’t there?”

“There was, but I left it behind. That picture represents a split second in time that led me to where I am right now.”

His gaze softens, and he ducks, skimming his mouth across mine. I sink into him, my body lighting up with the familiarity of his touch. My lips part, and he takes the silent invitation, gently sweeping his tongue through my mouth.

In the last two days, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve kissed this man. Each time, I get more and more in tune with his mood.

Slow, delicate, sweet, loving, frenzied, hungry, passionate—I’ve experienced it all. But this kiss is different. He’s deliberately taking his time, delicately twirling our tongues together in an unhurried rhythm. He knows I’m holding back a piece of myself from that photo and that period in my life, but he’s not pushing.