Southern Heartbreaker (Charleston Heat 4)

But damn, do I wish things were different. It hurts, knowing I fucked up the one shot I had.

Doesn’t mean I can’t be there for Eva as a friend. Help her out with her cookbook. And if sex gets thrown into the mix—well, we’re not lovesick teenagers anymore. We can separate feelings from fucking.

I hope we can separate the two, anyway. I’m out of practice when it comes to these things.

“Let’s get back to this idea of comfort food,” I say. “I really like the concept for your book.”

Eva nods. “You know, yesterday my mom actually made that grits casserole you mentioned. I felt the exact same way you described eating it—like all was right in the world. For that hour, at least.” Pulling away, she reaches for her bag and digs out her phone. “How the hell did I not think of this before? I gotta write it down. You’re right—I like the comfort food concept too. Maybe my book can be my own take on the comfort food I grew up on. The unglamorous stuff my mom made day in and day out. The stuff I now crave as an adult. More, even, than any fancy pants meal I can get at a nice restaurant. Because I have an emotional connection to this kind of food. It’s not just a meal, it’s a memory. A way of connecting with my family and friends. It’s not fancy, and it’s definitely not complicated, but it’s satisfying and filling. It fills you up in more ways than one. Wow that’s good! Jesus, Ford, you’re making lightbulbs go off left and right.”

I wipe my hands on my napkin, yet again trying to rein in the impulse to reach for her. She’s burning with passion, with excitement, and it’s almost too much to take.

Do I really think I can keep my feelings at bay here?

“Lightbulbs were already going off. I’m just alerting you to the fact that they’re there, and that you should pay attention to them.”

“Thank you.” She looks up from her phone, her thumbs hovering above the screen. “Sincerely. For talking to me about this stuff. For still being you. That’s rare too, you know. Being who you genuinely are in spite of—hell, because of—the curveballs life slings your way. You’ve changed since college, sure, but deep down, you’re still the same. Right down to the Shakespeare and the porn.”

I curl my fingers around my beer in a death grip. Keep it together, asshole. We’re having a nice conversation over a very nice lunch. It would not be appropriate to reach across the table and rip off her shirt and lay her down on the bench and bury my face between her legs.

Not unless she asked me to. If it’s just sex—that’s okay, right?

I finish my beer in one, two desperate gulps.

“Another?” I ask, holding up my empty can.

She sets down her phone. “You know, I think I’ll stick to one for the time being. Want to let all this digest so we can take a dip in a bit. It’s kind of too hot not to be in the water, you know? Plus I can’t remember the last time I went swimming. Least of all in the ocean. I miss it.”

Eva wants to go swimming.

Which means she’ll be taking that shirt off.

She’ll be wearing nothing but that bikini I glimpsed on the ride out here.

I blink at the sound of the can crumpling in my hand.Chapter ThirteenFordWe clean up from lunch and hang out for a bit in the shade. Satisfied that her food has had enough time to digest, Eva stands, reaching for the hem of her shirt.

“Ready to go for a swim?”

“Yup,” I lie. “Ready when you are.”

I mentally prepare myself. Tell my dick to behave. This day is fucking magical, and I don’t want to ruin it with an egregiously visible boner (these goddamn board shorts hide nothing).

I don’t think I’ll scare Eva away. I just don’t want to make things uncomfortable between us, or suggest, without saying a word, that I’d very much like to do things she may not be comfortable doing.

Even though I find her irresistible. Her food. Her thighs. How sexy she is when she gets excited or inspired.

She starts to tug up her shirt, and I catch a slice of tanned lower back.

It’s enough to make my blood rush hot.

Too hot.

I turn and busy myself with my own shirt and flops. Need gathers in my groin nonetheless, filling me with an ache that grips me and won’t let go.

Shiiiiit I’m getting hard despite my best efforts to keep my body in control.

And get harder still when I turn around and see Eva shucking off her jean shorts. She’s in nothing but that black bikini that’s just a bunch of strings and a few tiny patches of fabric covering her tits and crotch.