Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

But now that I’m getting to know this stranger, I’m finding I like her. A lot. I’m intrigued by the dissonance between her calm, cool exterior and the fire in her eyes. I like that she has secrets. I fucking adore that she’s a writer. I admire her for taking a chance and writing romance. I also like how I seem to forget all my worries when I’m with her. She has this way of taking up the whole room that clears my mind and lightens my mood.

I definitely wouldn’t mind getting to know Olivia better. As a person. But also in bed.

See if we can recreate that just fucked hair she sported that first morning.

I’m only human, y’all.

I start when Louise guides a small paperback with a turquoise cover into my hands. Say Yes to the Marquess by Tessa Dare.

“Start with this one,” she says. “Oh! And then the newest Sarah MacLean—Wicked and the Wallflower. So good…”

Half an hour later, I walk out of Rainbow with a stack of books and instructions to purchase an e-Reader, where I can download the list of titles Louise didn’t have available at the shop. Good thing I’m a fast reader. I usually go through a book or two a week—more if I can manage it.

Time to get to know these dudes in breeches Olivia likes so much.* * *Later that night when I get home from the restaurant, I open my mailbox to find a neatly arranged packet inside, the pages held together by a small black binder clip.

The light of a nearby gas lamp catching on the first page, I smile. My Enemy the Earl by Olivia Gates.

I wonder if that’s her real name, or if it’s a pen name she uses to protect the innocent.

A post-it note is stuck on the page underneath her name. Her writing is even and careful.

Eli—

THANK YOU again for reading this. Excited (nervous) to know what you think.

—Definitely NOT the Most Badass Romance Novelist Ever

I glance up at her window. I feel a stab of disappointment when I see that it’s dark. She’s probably asleep. Most normal people are at eleven-thirty on a Wednesday night.

Still wish she were awake. I’d throw a rock at her window, high school style, and invite her over for a drink. Pick her brain about this Earl. Make her laugh again. The belly kind of laugh.

At least I have this chapter to read. After the day I’ve had, I’m grateful for any kind of distraction. I got more bad news about The Jam—we’re running low on money even after my emergency cash infusion and the time I spend over there, and we’re going to have to pull the plug in the next few weeks if things don’t improve. Which doesn’t seem likely.

Tucking the packet underneath my arm, I head inside. Billy lumbers over to say hello. I give him a good scratch behind his ears. Let him out in the backyard. I take off my shirt—sweet baby Jesus, I’ve been waiting all day to do that—and grab a glass of water before letting Billy back in.

The two of us head upstairs to my bedroom.

Turning on the light, an image flashes through my head. Me throwing Olivia onto the bed, the mattress dipping as I climb on top of her. She’d be breathless, I’d be hard, we’d be naked in five seconds flat.

No, scratch that. I would take my time with her. Kiss her hard and deep. Put my hands on every fucking square inch of her body. Spread her legs and eat her out for an hour, driving her so wild she’d be tearing out my hair, waking up the neighbors.

She’d be anything but careful and collected. I’d unleash the fire I saw in her eyes.

I blink, the image of Olivia on my bed dissolving into Billy, who has jumped onto the mattress and is now contentedly licking his nonexistent balls.

“Dude, come on,” I say, trying to urge him to the other side of the bed.

He doesn’t budge.

I sigh. Dog’s getting too comfortable up there.

Been too long since I had another human in my bed.

I take a quick (cold) shower, washing away the smell of the kitchen, and brush my teeth. Then I grab a pen from the drawer in my bedside table, prop myself up against the pillows, and get to work on My Enemy the Earl.

I don’t know what I was expecting. But I’m immediately struck by the seductive mix of beauty and humor in Olivia’s prose. I can hear her voice, clear as day, in the structure of her sentences. In the word choices she makes. One of my favorite paragraphs comes when Gunnar, the hero, is eye fucking a stranger across the ballroom—a stranger he’ll later discover is Catherine, the daughter of his family’s enemy. The Juliet to his Romeo.