Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

I haven’t checked my phone—my bank account balances—and I don’t want to.

I focus my attention back on Olivia. Nothing I can do about The Jam now. Which means I can enjoy my baby’s company.

Because she is my baby. We agreed last night that we’re together. Although we still have a lot to figure out. Namely, what we’re going to do about Olivia’s job. The thought of her leaving in two weeks fills me with an ache I don’t want to name.

I already have a few ideas about convincing her to take a chance on herself. Because if she believes in her writing—in her ability to persevere—then I think she’ll agree to stay in Charleston. I don’t want her to go back to a job and a life she hates. I want her to be happy.

I want her to be happy with me.

I’d also really like her to move in with me. Sounds crazy, I know. But I like having her around. I love waking up next to her. This morning I about died when I woke to find her next to me, naked and dreamy and hungry.

I just feel good right now. I’m not thinking about The Jam. Not thinking about anything, really, except the girl sitting on my deck.

I imagine making escapes to the cabin a regular thing for us. So far, Olivia seems to love it here. We could sneak down once or twice a month. She’d write. I’d cook. When we weren’t doing those things, we’d be in bed.

Good Lord I want to get back in bed with her.

I devour my book in big chunks. Every once in a while I look up to check on Olivia. She’s moved chairs to be closer to the fire, and now she’s facing me. I watch her type, her face a mask of concentration.

As the hours pass, and her fingers fly over the keyboard, her expression begins to soften.

And then she begins to glow.

She smiles. Bites her lip. Snaps her fingers, her eyes lighting up—I imagine she just hit on something good. Maybe Cate and Gunnar finally fell into bed with each other.

Maybe Olivia falling into bed with me last night inspired that particular lightbulb to go off. The thought soothes my bruised ego.

Writing in the sun, hair fluttering in the breeze, Olivia is nothing short of radiant. What the hell is she doing working a job at some hoity toity university in New York when she’s clearly so happy here?

I kinda love the idea that I’m helping her get to that place of happiness. I’ve always enjoyed mentoring younger chefs in my kitchens. Maybe I’m mentoring Olivia in a way. Showing her the ropes of finding fulfillment. Honoring passion. Taking chances.

I hate the idea of her not taking a chance on her writing. She’s too good to give it up.

I want her too bad to let her go back to New York. It’d be one thing if she loved her job up there. I’d never take her away from that. But it doesn’t sound like she does. Clearly she’s happier down south.

Olivia catches me looking at her. She smiles, this cute, pretty thing that flips my heart upside-down and brings my cock to attention.

“Hungry?” I call through the door.

She grins. “Ravenous.”

“For me? Or for lunch?”

“Both.”

“I think I can help you with that,” I say, getting up. “Which do you want first?”

Olivia purses her lips as she pretends to think about it. “Let’s do lunch first. Then I’ll do you.”

“I like the sound of this plan. I’ll get the grill goin’.”* * *Olivia moans and groans her way through the grouper tacos.

“Eli, this is ridiculous,” she says, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she pops the last bite into her mouth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” I look at her. The question pops out of my mouth before I can think better of it. “Is Olivia Gates your real name?”

Olivia chews. Swallows.

“It’s not,” she replies, taking a sip of beer. “It’s my pen name. Gates is my grandmother’s maiden name. Apparently she was a big reader, like me.”

“Tell me your real name.”

She grins. “Are you always so bossy after lunch?”

“Yes. Tell me.”

Still smiling, she says, “My real name is Olivia Josephine Wilson.”

I roll the words around my mouth.

“Pretty,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you, Olivia Wilson.”

She extends her hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Elijah Jackson.”

I take her hand and give it a little tug. Laughing, she leans forward and lets me kiss her.

I’m hard as a fucking rock. I remember how hot and tight she was last night. The way her pussy fisted around my fingers.

I also remember that I hurt her.

“How’re you feelin’?” I ask, my voice husky.

Falling back into her chair, she puts a hand on her belly. “Full.”

I nod at her groin. “And there?”