Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

I look at her, my heart thumping in my chest. Her mention of orgasms is doing nothing to help my hard on situation.

“I do. It’s a nice reminder that happily ever after exists. That it’s possible, no matter how shitty your situation is.”

“Exactly.” Olivia’s throat moves as she swallows. “I love the variety of happily ever afters. It showed me there are a million different kinds of happy endings for women. Not just the ones I saw in my own life.”

This piques my interest. She hasn’t talked much about her life before.

“What kind of endings were you seeing?”

She shrugs. “All of my friends back home, my family—well. None of them have ever really pursued any kind of interest or passion. Which has always been kind of difficult, because I do have this thing I’m really passionate about. I mean, I know not everyone is going to be a weirdo who binge reads romance and wishes Mr. Darcy was a real person who really looks like Colin Firth. But I just—living where I’m from made me think actually pursuing my passion was silly, because I’d never seen it done before. Then I read about a heroine who was passionate about justice, so she became this kickass FBI agent who takes down all these bad guys. Or the heroine whose happily ever after was running a taco truck with the boyfriend she felt no need to marry or have babies with.”

“So romance gave you the go ahead to be who you are,” I say. “To seek out your own version of happily ever after.”

“Kind of,” she replies, eyes flicking to meet mine. “I’m still figuring that part out. Seeing that kind of passion at work in real life is definitely helping.”

I step around the counter and stand next to her. I can’t help it. She’s magnetic when she talks like this. Full of heat and truth and excitement.

“Oh yeah?” I sit on the stool beside her. Our elbows brush. My blood jumps when she doesn’t pull away. “Where are you seeing that kind of passion?”

Olivia’s eyes are still on mine. They radiate heat. Want.

“Right here.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “In this kitchen. In the kitchen at The Pearl. You’re clearly yourself when you’re working. You’re doing something you love, something that lights you up. I want to be lit up like that.”

Her praise—her belief in me—fills me up. It’s fucking nice to hear someone still has faith in what I do and who I am. I’ve been plagued with so much doubt lately. Doubt about my future. My ability. My path. In my darkest moments, I doubt my ability to provide for a girl like Olivia. She deserves the world. But what if I can’t give that to her?

Now, though, her confidence makes me feel confident. In her eyes, I’m still the capable, successful chef I’ve worked my whole life to become.

Makes me want her so bad I’m sick with it.

“You wanna find your happily ever after,” I say, “so do it. Start looking.”

We’re sitting close. Real close. She’s looking at me like that. Eyes flicking to my lips.

Do it, I silently beg. For the love of God, kiss me.

For half a heartbeat, I actually think she’s going to. She leans in, just a little, her pupils dilating until her eyes are more black than blue.

Her mouth looks ripe and soft. Like a fresh peach.

Is she that soft between her legs, too?

I don’t lean in, but I don’t pull back, either. Can’t spook her.

We meet eyes. Understanding, lightning quick and hot, passes between us.

Want.

Olivia draws a sharp breath, blinking.

Then she falls back and puts her palm on my chest. She wants to keep me away.

I’m crushed.

Fucking crushed.

I can’t take it anymore.

“Olivia—”

“I should go,” she says, standing. “I’m sorry, Eli.”

I can’t even formulate a response. I just watch her set her mug down and shove her hands in her pockets and turn to leave.

Spearing a hand through my hair, I let out a long, low breath.

For chrissakes, why won’t this woman let me in?Chapter SeventeenOliviaI’m shaking when I get back to the carriage house. I close the door behind me and pace in the tiny kitchen, unable to stand still.

I almost just kissed Eli.

I wanted to, more than I wanted my next breath. That mouth of his. It’s juicy. Infinitely kissable. And the way he was looking at me—the way he was asking such intelligent, interesting questions about romance and happy endings—

I grab onto the back of a stool. Oh God, I’m an idiot. I totally should have kissed him.

It would’ve been just a kiss.

Who am I kidding? It would’ve been so much more than that. It would’ve been a leap. A choice that changed everything.

I just don’t want to hurt anyone. And if I kiss Eli, I’ll be hurting Ted. I’ll be disappointing everyone I know in New York.