Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

Whereas she had her books and her students. Her opinions.

And not much else.

Jane felt an ache in her chest. An ache that intensified when Max cut his gaze in her direction, as if he knew she’d been staring. Their eyes met.

She knew two things in that moment. The first of which was that she was hopelessly, completely in love with him.

The second was that she’d ache like this forever. Because she could never have Max.

Men like him were simply not meant for women like her.

Using my foot, I turn off the water. I wipe my hands on a towel and reach up for my phone by the sink. Hit pause on the audiobook.

Everything today is making me think of Luke, and it’s getting overwhelming. From the guy with the blue eyes who ordered four cold brews to go this afternoon, to the Kenny Chesney song that played (twice!) on the 90s Country Classics playlist I put on at Holy City Roasters, to this section of My Deal With the Duke.

Well. Really it was the section before it that made me think of Luke—the one where Max and Jane get frisky on his big ass dining room table. Considering close to thirty people lived in his manor house, they could’ve easily been caught. So while he thrust into her, he’d held his hand over her mouth, smothering her cries of pleasure. Breeches around his ankles. Her leg propped on his shoulder.

I glance at the tub faucet. The throb between my legs doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. That faucet gets me off every time.

So does Luke.

I glance at my phone, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth. I still feel…uncertain about everything. My emotions are a mess I can’t quite make sense of.

Which is okay.

But is it okay if I reach out to Luke so soon after we hooked up? It’s only been twenty-four hours since I drove out to his place. I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. I don’t want to tangle him up in my indecision.

Then again, I’d be calling to have sex with him, so…

If I’m up front about that, would I be in the wrong? He did seem intrigued by the idea of phone sex. Why not give it a go now?

I make a deal with myself. If he answers, then I’ll broach the subject. If he doesn’t, I’ll straddle the faucet and make shit happen that way. I’ll reach out to Luke later this weekend, when I’ve had time to cool down and think about things some more.

My heart is popping around inside my chest as I hit his number and bring the phone to my ear. Not daring to breathe as the ringtone blares once, twice—

“Somebody’s soaked through her pantalettes and is back for more,” Luke says.

I smile. The balls on this guy.

Acute need twists low in my belly. Heaviness gathering, begging to be let loose.

“I would have soaked through them if I were wearing any.”

A pause.

“You’re naked,” he says.

“Yes. I’m in my bathtub. Listening to My Deal With the Duke. And I got hungry.”

“Romance makes you hungry, huh? Tell me more.”

“It’s a genre that stimulates the mind as well as the body,” I tease.

“Deadly combination. Are you really in the bath?”

“I am.” I lift my leg, making the water splash so he can hear it.

He groans. “Jesus Christ, Grace.”

“What?” I ask innocently.

“Can you at least give me a chance to say hello before you get me all hard and shit?”

The image flashes through my mind: Luke lying down in his bed. One arm tucked underneath his head. The other reaching inside those fucking jeans and grabbing his dick.

My mouth waters at the memory of his taste. Salt. Skin. Him.

“Is now a good time?” I ask. “I don’t mean to bother you—”

“Baby, you callin’ for phone sex is never a bother. I always got time for that.”

My chest swells a little bit. “You sure? And how’d you know that’s what I was calling for?”

“Lucky guess. It’s too late for either of us to travel. And your voice—I could tell by your voice. It’s different. Little huskier than normal.”

My entire body pulses. The water suddenly feels a little too hot.

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.”

I take a deep breath. Making my nipples break the surface of the water.

“Hi, Luke,” I say.

“Hey, Gracie,” he replies. He groans again, a little softer this time.

“What was that?”

“That was me lyin’ down on my bed. Figure it’s best to be comfortable for this kinda thing.”

Oh Goooodddddd.

“Are you wearing a shirt?”

He chuckles. This masculine sound that makes my nipples harden.

“As a matter of fact, I’m not. Had a long day here on the farm, so I just showered. I’m wearin’ a pair of sweats.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“They don’t happen to be grey, do they?”

Another chuckle. “Yes, they’re grey. And yes, they leave very little to the imagination.”