Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

Greyson is still looking at me. But now his grin is in his eyes, too. Gives his expression this wistfulness. This…

Adoration.

My stomach dips.

“What?” I say, turning back to my food.

“Nothing.” From the corner of my eye I see him shake his head. “No, wait, it’s not nothing. Julia, you light up the whole fucking room when you talk about shit you love. I’ve—I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

I swallow a bite of chicken. Swallow again.

“The same way you lit up when I gave you free reign to talk tits?”

He erupts with laughter. A big, deep belly laugh that tickles me to the point that I start to laugh, too.

“I’m only human, sweetheart.”

I put my hand on his chest. For half a heartbeat I consider grabbing his shirt and pulling him to me and kissing him.

I give him a playful shove instead.

Before I can pull back, he grabs my wrist. My body leaps at the contact, pulsing with awareness that gathers between my legs.

“I mean it,” he says. “You know who you are, Julia. And you’re not afraid to be who you are. To take chances, even after you’ve been through hell. I admire that.”

I look at him. Heart thumping.

Lightning flashes through the windows. More thunder, louder this time.

“This afternoon on the way to the doctor’s office—you said something about how many bullshit-y people there are in your world. Ever consider the idea that those aren’t your people?”

“I think I’d considered it. But I hadn’t taken the idea seriously.” He draws his thumb gently over the inside of my wrist. Once, twice. Making the throb inside my skin grow tenfold. “Not until now, anyway.”

There’s a universe inside that reply. A novel’s worth of scenes, stories, answers.

I want him to tell me that story. More, even, than I want him to touch me like this all over. Softly, intently, knowledgeably.

“Tell me what you mean by that,” I say.

But before I can ask him to, he’s dropping my hand and gathering up our empty plates. Both of which are, coincidentally, in front of me.

I blame Charlie Brown. Even though he/she is only the size of a raspberry right now, when my appetite is back, it’s back in a big way.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the couch?” He nods at the sleek sectional on the other side of the room. “Have you picked a movie you want to watch? I can get pretty much anything On Demand or through Amazon.”

I push back my stool and stand. Lordy, I’m full. In the best way.

“I told you, Greyson, I do the dishes.”

“I got it. Go sit.”

“You sit. This meal must’ve taken you hours to prepare. My turn to do the work.”

“You’re not gonna let this one go, are you?”

I pull the sleeves of my hoodie up to my elbows. “Nope.”

“Fine. How about we clean up together then?”

“Last time I’m letting you help.”Chapter FifteenGreysonThe lights flicker just as we sit down.

“Good Lord.” Julia glances over her shoulder at the windows above the sink. “Getting nasty out there, isn’t it?”

I turn on the TV. “Let’s hope the electricity stays on long enough to finish a movie. Whatcha thinking?”

She looks at me, blue eyes alive with mischief.

Julia’s felt like shit. She’s had an exhausting week, same as me. But she’s still burning with energy. This liveliness that throws my own cold, dead heart into depressing relief.

My house is buzzing with her warmth. Same as my blood.

Probably explains why I almost kissed her. By some miracle I was able to curb that impulse at the last minute. But it’d been close.

Too close.

“Can’t decide if I want sweet or salty.”

“Sweet or salty?”

“Yeah. Sweet, like Father of the Bride. Or salty, like episodes of The Sopranos. I was going to suggest Twilight, but then I assumed your inner werewolf fangirl has seen that one a hundred times, so…”

I smile. I love how she holds no punches. There’s no beating around the bush with this girl. No bullshitting. She’s straightforward about who she is and what she wants, and I fucking like that. A lot.

“Team Jacob for life. Your pick.”

“Go figure, I’m team Edward. No wonder we never got along. How about The Sopranos?”

“I could go for some Tony and Carm,” I reply, pulling up the OnDemand portal.

“Isn’t Carmela kind of the best?”

A boom of thunder rattles the windowpanes. Sounds close. The storm must be right over us.

Immediately my mind goes places it shouldn’t. What if it lasts all night? What if it’s too dangerous for Julia to walk home?

What if she stays and we touch and we flirt and we end up naked?

“Kind of? She is the best. There are so many great characters on this show, but I have to say that she’s my hands down—”

I nearly jump when the electricity blinks out with an audible zap.