Southern Gentleman: A Charleston Heat Novel

by Peterson, Jessica

Greyson blinks. Extinguishing the heat and humor in his eyes as quickly as they appeared.

  Replaced by that ice again.

  My stomach dips.

  He lifts his arm, his sleeve pulling back, and checks the enormous chrome Rolex on his wrist.

  “I have another meeting. Y’all have the budget and timetable. Julia, please respond to that email I sent you this morning. My investors are eager for a schematic of the barn’s new layout.”

  Without another glance in my direction, he stalks out of the barn. As if he can’t get out of here fast enough.

  Talk about hot and cold.

  Yeah, there’s definitely a story there. One I’m suddenly curious to know more about.

  Luke lets out a low whistle beside me.

  “You can put up your duelin’ pistols now.” He cuts me a glance. “You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. That guy’s just…” Ballsy. Blunt. Intriguing. “A total dick.”

  “I don’t disagree with you. But I’ve done my research, and he’s the best of the best. Just promise me this project won’t end with a homicide, okay? I can’t weigh in on preservation versus profit, but I do know murder sure as hell isn’t good for business.”

  I smile. Nudge his shoulder with mine. “I promise. Just like I promise to do my best to make your dreams for this place come true.”

  “You’re the best of the best, too,” he says. “And if there’s anyone who won’t let a guy like Greyson push her around, it’s you.”

  “That’s kind of the best compliment ever. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for your help,” he says. “I’ll see you later, Julia.”

  “See ya.”

  On the drive home, I listen to My Romp With the Rogue.

  Callum was not expecting much of his bride.

  He certainly wasn’t expecting to find her waiting for him in a transparent chemise, gauzy and fragile and so damn arousing it made his blood roar.

  She sat by the fire in her chamber, book in hand. When he cleared his throat, announcing his entrance, she turned her head and met his gaze.

  Nothing fragile about the look in those blue eyes. They were steely. Determined.

  Brave.

  She set down her book and stood, plastering the fabric to her body.

  Her nipples were pebbled, fine points, and very much visible through the chemise.

  Just like that, he was hard. Painfully so.

  It made him angry.

  “Do you provoke me?” he growled.

  The minx didn’t even blink. “Isn’t that the point?”

  “Are you not afraid?” he asked, stepping out of the shadows into the light of the fire.

  She did not flinch. Barely moved a muscle. Not the usual response he got to his presence.

  “Are we going to keep asking each other questions without answering them?”

  He would not smile.

  Would. Not.

  “You should be afraid,” he said.

  “I am not.” Her eyes flashed. “Shall you punish me for it?”

  Oh, he’d punish her all right.

  Punish her by making her as hot and needful as he felt.

  Punish her by making her shake and moan.

  By making her take him into her mouth on her knees.

  Callum reached out. Took her breast in his hand. Her breath caught when he ran his thumb over her nipple.

  “I shall indeed,” he said.

  He gathered the chemise in his fists and pulled it over her head.

  The flash in her eyes burned hotter.

  Whew. Nothing like some play on power dynamics to get me hot and bothered.

  Only when I reach between my legs later that night in bed, I don’t imagine it’s Callum the angry Scot touching me.

  I imagine it’s Greyson the cocky venture capitalist.

  He’d say my name. He’d pull my hair.

  And then he’d make me come.

  Chapter Two

  Greyson

  She’s infuriating.

  Everything about Julia makes me feel like I’m on the verge of bursting an artery. Or bursting out of my pants.

  Case in point: I catch a whiff of her perfume—just a hint, sweetening the otherwise dusty air as I step inside the barn—and I’m already at half-mast.

  Motherfucker. At least it looks like no one else is around. The parking lot is deserted except for her bright orange Mini Cooper.

  One month. I’ve been around the woman all of one month. But mercy, it’s felt like a lifetime.

  I stupidly allowed myself to flirt with her the day we met. I was just so drawn to her. Her honesty. Her sharp, shameless wit. Moth to a flame and all that bullshit.

  But I won’t make that mistake again.

  I do not mix business and pleasure. My firm—and my family—are on the line, and in my right mind, I’d never put them at risk by fucking an employee.

  Too bad I’m not in my right mind around Julia. Probably explains why I haven’t just put my brother, Ford, on this project. That, and I don’t want to put too much on his plate. As a single dad raising his three-year-old daughter, Bryce, he’s always juggling a lot.

  I still have to try to keep this woman at arm’s length. For her sake, and for mine.

  Luckily—shockingly—we make a decent team. We argue a lot over the budget, but we somehow make it work. When I push her, she (mostly) manages to find creative solutions to problems or ideas that would otherwise put us in the red. My contractor reports she always shows up, even if she’s late. His sub-contractors adore her.

  Julia is talented, hardworking, and clearly flexible.

  Unique as hell, too. It’s her quick mind. Quick mouth. The way she dresses like some sexy bohemian Stevie Nicks goddess. How fearless she is when she’s calling me out or coming after me. The truth doesn’t scare her, and apparently neither do I.

  Girl does not give two fucks about what I think. About what anyone thinks.

  I give too many fucks. About everything.

  We couldn’t be more different if we tried.

  But I swear, fighting this bizarre, hugely inappropriate, hugely inconvenient boner I have for her has turned me into a legit monster.

  I roared a lot to begin with. Now—

  Now I’m one of Khaleesi’s dragons. I breathe fire and bring instant death upon anyone who crosses my path. I’m a broody jerk when I go too long without seeing her. I’m a broody jerk when I do see her.

  It’s a vicious cycle. One I can’t seem to break, as evidenced by today’s visit. I don’t need to be here. But Julia was on the schedule this afternoon for a site visit. I told myself I came to double check the HVAC install and have a conversation with her about reworking some budget stuff.

  Deep down, I know I’m full of shit.

  Julia is standing in the center of the barn, facing away from me. Bent at the waist, elbows on a sawhorse as she looks down at the plans draped over it. One booted foot taps softly against the worn floorboards in time to a silent song. Wild, wavy blond hair everywhere.

  When my eyes fall on her ass, simultaneously cute and luscious, just like the rest of her, I consider impaling myself on the pitchfork beside the barn door.

  A fitting end for a heartless schmuck like me.

  Instead, I stare. Julia usually wears long dresses. But today she’s wearing one that’s short—weather is warm for this time of year. Seeing her bare legs makes me want to pull my hair out. Then pull her bottom lip between my teeth.

  Would she bite back? Or would she whimper? Surrender?

  I groan. A sound I manage to turn into a growl, thank fuck.

  Julia glances over her shoulder. She straightens, crossing her arms.

  She doesn’t greet me. Looks at me instead, waiting for me to explain why I’m being extra dickish before we’ve even said a word.

  I think about you too much. I want you too much. I need to stay away from you but I can’t, and it’s driving me insane.

  “Cabinet estimate came back,” I blurt
. “It’s triple what we have budgeted. A storefront selling grits and collards doesn’t need custom cabinetry done up in high gloss European paint.”

  Julia straightens, narrowing her eyes.

  “Luke just harvested his biggest corn crop yet. He’s going to have a lot of product to sell. Whatever cabinetry we install has to hold up to serious wear and tear. You put stock in here—and use crappy paint—and I guarantee within a year you’ll be replacing it. Whatever we spend on cabinets we can make up for with countertops. I selected a honed black granite that’s reasonably priced—the place stocks it, so we don’t have to buy whole slabs—but very durable. It’ll look great with the cabinet color. I also found some brass hardware for cheap at an antique place over in Mt. Pleasant.”

  She never holds back. Never tempers her words with politeness or patience. Granted, neither do I. But I appreciate her no-bullshit attitude. It’s refreshing.

  And arousing.

  And infuriating.

  “Cutting costs on two hundred square feet of countertop isn’t going to put a dent in the extra ten grand custom cabinets will cost us. We hired you to stick to budget. Rework your proposal and have it in my inbox by tomorrow morning.”

  “No, you hired me to make this place feel special.” Julia puts a hand on her hip. “And I usually make the budget work, don’t I? Why haven’t you learned that yet? Be honest. Did you really come all the way out here just so you could be rude to me in person?”

  I tilt my chin toward the duct work above our heads. “I came out here to check on the HVAC.”

  Only half a lie. A lie that Julia picks right up on.

  “The HVAC,” she says, leaning her head to the side. “It was installed last week. You’ve been out here twice since then.”

  See? See how quick she is?

  Goddamn it.

  I look at her. She waits for an explanation. Patiently. No judgment in her eyes. Just annoyance.

  Annoyance and a hint of something else. For a crazy heartbeat I imagine it’s arousal.

  Shaking the idea from my head, I’m overwhelmed by the need to apologize to her. For being such a miserable jerk. For making things difficult just because feeling things pisses me off.

  But that would open up a can of worms I do not want to revisit. Too soon.

  Too late, really.

  At last, Julia digs a silver tape measure out of her coat pocket—she’s wearing this beat-up, teeny tiny leather jacket over her dress—and shoots me one last look. Blue eyes alive, set of her shoulders determined.

  “Whatever,” she says. “Just don’t get in my way, all right?”

  She turns, taking a quick, angry step past me. But in her hurry, her boot catches on a loose floorboard. She pitches forward with a gasp.

  I tear my hands out of my pockets and lunge to the right, determined to block her fall with the bulk of my body.

  My left arm hooks around her waist. I catch her, my other arm curling around her back as I try to reverse her forward momentum by pulling her against me. She’s a little thing, petite, so it doesn’t take much effort. But my heart still pounds as her body collides with mine, her warmth seeping through my shirt and her perfume filling my head.

  My body leaps. For a second I just stand there, Julia in my arms. Both of us breathing hard.

  For a second, she lets me hold her.

  A second I read way too much into. Poor thing nearly broke her face. She’s startled, that’s all. Startled into stillness.

  Her lingering in my arms has nothing to do with her feelings on how well our bodies fit together, despite their difference in size. It has nothing to do with the hot wash of energy that floods my skin and the air around us.

  Tension so thick it hangs between us like the humidity on a hot July day.

  So thick I can hardly breathe.

  I’m sorry, I want to say.

  “You okay?” I say instead. I don’t recognize my voice.

  Her hand unfurls against my chest. Palm flat against my suit jacket. The movement is small but trusting.

  My heart clenches. Swelling with a protective urge I haven’t felt in ages. Julia is not helpless. Girl’s got a spine of steel. But here in my arms, she’s vulnerable. Open.

  Real.

  “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You sure? How about your ankle? Can you move it?”

  Her hair falls across her face as she looks down. Lifts her leg and rolls her ankle, making the muscles in her calf ripple against her smooth skin.

  Lord. Have. Mercy.

  “Feels fine.”

  I let out a silent sigh of relief. “Good. Julia, please be careful.”

  She looks up at me. Eyes curious as they move between mine. I’ve noticed she likes it when I say her name. The blue in her eyes—it brightens.

  Her hand is still on my chest.

  “You know, that’s only the second time I’ve heard you say ‘please.’”

  I clear my throat. Swimming in ferocious need, heat gathering between my legs.

  I’ll make you say please.

  I’ll make you beg.

  “You said it yourself,” I manage. “I’m rude. And rude people don’t say ‘please.’”

  “But you just did.”

  “Be honest. Did you come all the way out here just to call me out on my bullshit?”

  She grins, digging her teeth into her bottom lip.

  Loooooord.

  I should not flirt with this woman. But I can’t seem to help myself.

  Not when she’s touching me like this. Not when I’ve made her smile. A smile she’s turning on me. Warmth like the sun spreading through my skin.

  Considering I’ve lived under a cloud the past three years, it feels really fucking nice.

  “Surely you’ve picked up on two things about me,” she says. “One, I am making the budget work. And two, I very much enjoy calling you out. Sometimes I think you do it on purpose—you throw me these lay-ups, just to see if I’ll rise to the occasion.”

  It’s like we’re playing truth or dare, and we keep exchanging truths.

  Wrong that I want a dare?

  “I’ve never met anyone as quick or full of conviction as you are, I’ll give you that,” I say.

  “I’m anti-bullshit,” she replies. “Can’t help it.”

  “I like that about you,” I say without thinking. “There are way too many superficial people in the world. In my world, at least.”

  “You included?”

  I grunt. Search her eyes. “Me included.”

  “Actually.” She arcs a finger lightly over my lapel. “I don’t think you’re very bullshit-y at all. You just don’t share your story. The real story. You hide it, don’t you? Why?”

  My heart blares inside my ribcage. My lust burns hotter, even as my stomach contracts.

  How did Julia pick up on that?

  And how do I keep her from digging any deeper?

  By sheer force of will, I step back, unwrapping my arms from around her body.

  Her body.

  My body.

  I’m on fucking fire.

  And I’m going to be in trouble if I don’t get out of here.

  “Keep an eye on that ankle.” I spear a hand through my hair and look away. “I—meeting—be in touch—”

  I stalk out of there like the place is in flames.

  I start my truck. The engine roars to life, air conditioning blasting through the vents. I settle my hand on the top of the steering wheel. Hold it in a death grip as I take a steadying breath.

  Better.

  That’s marginally better. Good enough to get me through the rest of the day at least.

  I put the truck in reverse at the same moment the back driver’s side door opens.

  My stomach falls a hundred stories when I glance at the rearview mirror and see Julia slide into the backseat.

  She closes the door behind her.

  Our eyes meet in the mirror. Hers glimmer.

  Oh, yeah.
>
  Oh, fuck. That’s arousal in her gaze.

  I think.

  Then again, I’m a lunatic when it comes to this woman, so my radar is questionable at best.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. Grinding my foot into the brake pedal.

  Her eyes bore into mine. A beat passes.

  “Exactly what you think I am,” she replies.

  My stomach drops another hundred stories as understanding dawns. Is this happening? Is Julia really propositioning me?

  “I don’t fuck employees.”

  “I don’t fuck bosses. Or assholes.” She takes a breath. “Tell me to get out, and I’ll leave. It’s just—Greyson, the tension between us…it’s eating me alive.”

  I don’t want her to leave.

  I should. I really, really should ask her to go.

  But I don’t. I can’t.

  I mean, I can fuck Julia and still keep a safe distance, right? Anything more and I’d be playing with fire. But casual sex? It’s never been a problem before.

  Above all else, I don’t want to hurt her. Which will inevitably happen if the sex turns serious.

  But we’re both adults. She just said I’m not her type. And this is not my first rodeo. Hell, maybe fucking her will make this dragon boner finally go away. Why not give it a try? Worst case scenario, one of us catches feelings and we end it. No big deal. This project will wrap up in less than six months anyway.

  “Tell me to leave, Greyson,” she repeats, more forcefully this time.

  A voice inside my head tells me I’m being an idiot. It tells me Julia is different, the way I feel about her is different, and that I am going to burn us both to the ground.

  But I shove the truck into park anyway.

  Julia’s breath catches. My dick goes full salute.

  “You’ll stay,” I reply, eyes locked on hers.

  I turn off the ignition. Unbuckle my seatbelt. Reach across the console to open the glovebox. Inside, there’s a pack of Marlboro lights, a half bottle of local rye whiskey, and a handful of condoms.

  Ford calls it my sinner’s chest.

  I call it being prepared for whatever life throws my way. Good days, bad days. Celebrations.

  Opportunities to fuck the woman I want so bad I can’t see straight.

  I grab a condom. Climb out of the car and open the back door.