Southern Charmer: A Friends to Lovers Romance (Charleston Heat Book 1)

by Jessica Peterson

  “Last time you surprised me, we didn’t leave your bedroom for twenty-four hours,” she replies.

  I grin at the memory. “Was that really just yesterday?”

  “Oh yeah,” she replies. “I think we got our money’s worth out of that thing.”

  The thing she’s referring to is the vibrator I bought on my way into work the day before last. My girl gets sore too often for my liking. Considering what happened the first time we fucked, I want to be extra careful with her. But I still want to make her come. Often.

  That fun little toy lets me do exactly that. No blood. No soreness. Just Olivia’s contented moans as she orgasms again and again and again.

  Shit. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.

  I love thinking about it. Only thing that gets me through the day is knowing I’ll find Olivia waiting for me in bed at night. She couldn’t have come into my life at a better time.

  Makes me think timing really is everything.

  I put my blinker on. Taking the turn, I guide my truck into the leafy Ansonborough neighborhood. Olivia gasps as we pass impeccably restored mansions, ancient oak trees towering over pools and carriage houses and secret gardens.

  Never gets old, seeing how much she loves my city.

  She’s got a little less than a week left before she needs to go back to New York. I’ve been hard at work, trying to convince her to have faith in herself and her writing.

  Trying to convince her she can build a life here in Charleston so we can be together.

  I slow down to take the turn into the familiar parking lot. My blood buzzes with excitement. A little nervousness, too. Everything with Olivia feels like life and death these days.

  In a way, it is.

  Olivia ducks her head to get a better look at the small sign hanging out front.

  “Rainbow Row Books,” she reads, squinting. She turns to me, eyes sparkling. “Eli, this place is adorable.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” I say. “But that’s not the surprise. C’mon, let’s go inside.”

  I put the car in park and unbuckle my seatbelt. Olivia hops out of the car before I can walk around the truck to open her door, like I usually do.

  She’s practically bouncing on her feet. She walks a stride or two ahead of me, allowing me to shamelessly check out her ass. Her jeans make it look nothing short of scrumptious.

  Is it wrong that I already can’t wait to get her back home and peel those jeans off her?

  Clearing my throat, I give my crotch a discreet tug. Today is about books. Olivia’s career as an author. Sex can wait.

  At least for a little while.

  I open the door for her.

  Olivia bites her lip, looking up at me. “You know, you’re always very polite in public. But in private—”

  “I’m bossy?” I hold the corner of the door in my hand and lean into her. “Rude in my demands and needs?”

  “So rude.” She rises onto her tip toes and kisses me, quick and sweet, on the lips. Then she whispers, “Good thing I like it.”

  “I’m ’bout to get real rude if you don’t go inside,” I say, nodding at the bookstore. “Those jeans are killin’ me.”

  Shooting one last heated look my way, Olivia heads inside. I follow.

  Louise looks up from her usual spot behind the counter, which is strewn with brightly colored paperbacks. Her face breaks into a smile.

  “Eli! Is this the romance writer I’ve heard so much about?” she asks, sliding her glasses onto the tip of her nose to get a better look at Olivia.

  “Sure is,” I say. “Louise, this is Olivia. One of the best damn historical romance novelists working today. I can say that now, because I’ve read a lot of historicals over the past couple weeks.”

  I put a hand on the small of Olivia’s back, guiding her forward. She takes in the store as we move. The peeling paint. The cats. The bookshelves that groan beneath haphazard arrangements of bestsellers and staff recommendations. She takes a deep breath through her nose. I do, too, and together we inhale the scent of paper. Dust. Unopened stories.

  She turns her head and smiles at me. I feel her joy like an arrow through my heart.

  Goodness gracious.

  Louise leaps from her chair and walks around the counter, pulling Olivia into a tight hug. Olivia laughs.

  “It’s so great to meet you,” Olivia says. “Your store is absolutely beautiful.”

  Louise grins at the compliment. “Thank you. We’ve been in this spot since 1982. A lot’s changed since then, but I’d like to think there’s still some magic in this old bookstore. Which is why I’m glad you’re here. I need your help.”

  Olivia looks at me, arching a brow. “Help?”

  “I may have volunteered you for a small project,” I say sheepishly.

  “My romance section is pitiful,” Louise explains, pushing her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what to stock, and I don’t know how to draw romance readers into the store. Since you’re writing romance, I thought you might be able to help me fix that.”

  Olivia draws back. Her cheeks are pink with pleasure. I slip an arm around her waist, keeping her close.

  “Me? Really?” She looks at me. Looks back at Louise. “But I’m not even published. Not yet.”

  Louise crosses her arms. “Have you read a lot of romance?”

  “Yes,” Olivia blurts. “I think it’s safe to say I’m kind of addicted to it.”

  “Then you know which authors to buy. What’s new and exciting. Debuts that are worth reading.”

  “Well. I’m no expert. But I have been keeping up as best I can, especially now that I have an eye towards publishing.”

  My turn to raise a brow. “You do, huh?”

  “I do,” Olivia replies easily, grinning. “I read a lot of romance blogs—it’s a good way to find out about the books everyone’s talking about. I signed up for an author profile on Facebook and Twitter, so I can follow reviewers and other authors. I’ve even reached out to a few with questions I have. And of course I’m always poking around the charts on my e-reader, looking for my next read.”

  Louise nods. “Sounds like you know a hell of a lot more about romance than I do. Would you be willing to help me grow our readership? I’m thinking together we can come up with a plan to spread the word and get readers inside the store. We’d pay you, of course. And we’ll help out however we can when you decide to release your fabulous book.” Louise’s eyes dart to me. “Eli’s talked nonstop about how great it is. I’m excited to read it.”

  Olivia’s blinking, hard. My heart thumps inside my chest. If she commits to helping Louise, then she could very well be committing to staying in Charleston.

  She could be staying with me. Writing her books. Chasing down her dreams.

  “Yes,” Olivia says at last. “Yes. I’d love to help! I’m so—truly, I’m so honored you guys thought of me. I already have lots of ideas we can start with. We can do signings—maybe get a few local romance authors to pop in. We could even put together a local book club that’s dedicated exclusively to reading romance…”

  My heart swells. Then it bursts.

  I resist the urge to tug her in my arms and pick her up off the floor. I give her side a squeeze instead, pulling her a little closer against me.

  I hope this means what I think it does.

  Judging from the way Olivia’s glowing again, I’d say the chances are good.

  I wonder if she really would move in with me. We practically live together these days anyway. I know things are happening fast. But I’ve never felt more sure about a girl.

  I’d like to think Olivia feels sure about me, too.

  Maybe I’ll bring it up on Monday. My day off. Make a big brunch. Make love. Then make my move.

  Together, the three of us sit down behind the counter and chat everything and anything romance. Must buy authors, important new books. Topics to touch on. Covers that caught our eye.

  Seeing Olivia and Louise hit it
off over piles of romance paperbacks fills me with a deep sense of satisfaction. By the time we have to go, they’ve already exchanged numbers and email addresses, and have made plans to grab dinner later this week.

  Olivia is vibrating with energy on the ride home. I think about how different the girl sitting next to me is from the one who walked into my kitchen how many weeks ago. That girl hid her passion. Suppressed it.

  But this girl right here? She’s blooming with it. It’s in her eyes. Her smile. Her fingers and her mind and her body.

  “So?” I say, turning my head a little to look at her at a red light. “Good surprise?”

  Her gaze softens. She smiles, reaching across the console to put her hand on my cheek.

  “The best surprise ever. Well. The vibrator was pretty great, too. All your surprises are great, Eli. But this one was extra thoughtful.” Her eyes lock on mine. “Thank you. For everything.”

  I turn my head and press a kiss into her palm. The light is green. I turn back to the road.

  “You’re welcome, baby. I’m proud of you for how far you’ve come. And I really do think you’re the perfect person for this job. I figure you can learn a bit about the book business while also meeting the right people—readers, other authors.”

  She rubs the pad of her thumb over my scruff.

  “You really want me to make this book thing happen, don’t you?”

  “I really want to make you happen. The real you.” I cut her a glance. “I hope this means you’re gonna be staying in Charleston.”

  Her cheeks flush pink. “I’m hoping that, too. I still need to iron out some details. But I’m trying, Eli.”

  “You just let me know how I can help.”

  Olivia grins. A sexy, saucy thing.

  “Just keep giving me ideas for sex scenes,” she says. “If I’m going to write romance for a living one day, I’ll be working on lots of those.”

  I laugh. “Done. Speakin’ of—you’re still comin’ over tonight, right?”

  Olivia wags her brows teasingly. “How about you come over to my place instead? I’d like to give you a surprise.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I say, grinning.

  She grins back. “I’ll leave a key—”

  “Not under the mat.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. How about in the flower pot at the bottom of the stairs?”

  My turn to grin.

  “That’ll work.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Olivia

  I walk my usual route through the College of Charleston on my way to Holy City Roasters later that day. There’s nothing quite like being on campus on a crisp, sunny fall afternoon. I pass a pair of students—young, sophomores maybe—who are deep in conversation about the ethics involved in robotics. A knot of girls lingers around a bench, doing some last minute crunching together for an organic chemistry exam. The guy in front of me is on the phone with his mom.

  “Yes, Mom, I promise, I’m fine,” he says, clearly exasperated. “It’s just a cold. No—no, really mom, please don’t try to mail soup. Pretty sure that will end badly for everyone. I appreciate the thought, though.”

  I grin.

  I don’t miss my job. The pressure cooker environment. The awful office politics. I never think about the job itself; I only think about how I’m going to leave it. Between all the fictional sex I’m writing and the very real, very excellent sex I’m having, I don’t have time to think about anything else. My new life in Charleston has swallowed me whole.

  I couldn’t be happier about it.

  But I do miss teaching. Interacting with bright young people. Writing can be a pretty awesome gig. It does get lonely, though. Being part of a campus culture was one of my favorite things about being a professor.

  I stop in front of the English Department. It’s housed in a cute yellow Charleston single that looks a little worse for the wear. Through the old wavy glass windows, I can see people moving around inside.

  My heart works double. I’m a little early for my appointment with the Department Head. But I want to make a good impression.

  I can’t live on my writing alone. Not at first. I don’t want to blow through all my savings. Having a part time job teaching would be a nice little bridge between my old life and my new one. I know there are no openings at the moment, but I can at least toss my hat in the ring. Feel the Department Head out on openings in the future.

  It would just be really, really cool to teach something different. Something I’m actually passionate about. No more moody Byron (thank God). No more Dickens. I want to teach Nora Roberts. Beverly Jenkins. And of course Jane Austen.

  I’m nervous.

  A feeling I kinda-sorta welcome. I’ve experienced the gamut of emotions down here. It’s made me realize how numb I am back home. Or maybe how hard I tried to sweep whatever I felt under the rug, because it got in the way of living my “perfect” life.

  Standing here in front of a crumbling house, wearing jeans and my heart on my sleeve, I’m about as far from perfect as it gets.

  I’m also as close to my true, romance-writer-wannabe self as I’ve ever been.

  Taking a deep breath, I climb the steps and go inside.

  Eli’s been working especially late this week. I’ve been trying to squeeze a nap in around dinnertime so I can be awake when he gets home. I have to admit I sorta love the fact that he comes straight to me after walking through the door. He doesn’t put down his keys. Doesn’t grab some food or a glass of water. He always makes a beeline for me, tearing off his clothes as he comes to tear mine off, too. Then we’re up late. Fucking, then talking. Then fucking again.

  Tonight, though, I’m too wired to nap. I’m bursting with good news. Exactly the kind of surprise I wanted to give Eli.

  I finish up some emails to some indie authors I’ve been in touch with. After that, I read a few of my favorite romance blogs.

  I head for the shower next. I want to give myself extra time so I can shave everything. I’ve never been bare for Eli before. I figure it might be nice to try something new.

  Whatever he thinks of it, it definitely turns me on. My skin feels tingly down there. Soft.

  Then I put on his shirt—the one I stole from the cabin that smells like him—and the lacy red thong I know he likes so much.

  No bra.

  I’m in bed reading over the chapter I wrote earlier when I hear a low zip.

  The key being inserted into the lock.

  A heartbeat later, I hear the door open.

  “Hello,” Eli calls.

  The sound of his gruff voice makes my nipples pebble. I see him in my head. Holding his hair back with an enormous hand while he toes out of his sneakers. He’ll smell like a wood fired oven and sweat. Skin.

  “You here, baby?” he says. I hear him put something down on the counter. Open a drawer.

  I leap out of bed, the pages falling from my lap onto the floor. I don’t bother picking them up.

  I can’t stand the thought of wasting another second without him.

  “I’m here,” I say, mussing up my hair one last time in the bureau mirror before heading out into the kitchen.

  For the split second before he sees me, Eli wears a somber expression. It hits me just how tired he looks. There are dark rings around his eyes, and his skin is pale. A few grey hairs dot his scruff.

  But then his eyes meet mine and his face lights up in a smile. He’s halfway through opening a frosty bottle of white wine, but he drops the opener and stalks toward me. His eyes flash with hunger when they catch on my nipples.

  “Hey,” I say, biting back a grin when he blatantly adjusts his hard on.

  “That my shirt?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I kind of stole it. Smelled too good to resist. Smelled like you.”

  “As sexy as you look in it, sweetheart, I gotta admit I want to tear it off you. You joined my shirtless club, remember?”

  I laugh. “Of course.”

  He steps around the co
unter and pulls me into his arms. We’re really good at this by now. I go on my toes, pressing myself against him. His hands go to my ass. Guide my groin into his.

  He’s always hard for me.

  Always.

  And my body is always eager to rise to the occasion.

  A low thrum of electricity sparks in my core when he massages my ass cheeks, giving them a possessive squeeze.

  He buries his face in my neck. Inhales, then grunts. A needy, primal sound.

  “You smell good,” he murmurs against my skin. I feel the prick of goosebumps. “Did you just get out of the shower?”

  “I did,” I reply.

  “Oh? This have something to do with your surprise?”

  “Part of it. Yes.” I pull back, flattening my palm against his chest. “I have some news.”

  One side of his mouth curls into a half smile so handsome and so joyfully familiar it makes me weak in the knees.

  “Oh yeah?” His fingers play with the hem of his shirt at the top of my thighs. “I’m dyin’ to hear it.”

  “I spoke to the head of the English Department at the College of Charleston this afternoon. They aren’t hiring for this semester. But I am first in line for any openings for next semester, and he’s letting me put together a proposal for a commercial fiction class I’d like to teach.”

  His eyes go wide. “Seriously? You went in today? That’s incredible news! Congrats, baby.”

  “He was impressed with my resume, and even more impressed with my knowledge of the romance market. Apparently they’re trying to make the department a bit more career focused, so my specialty lines up nicely with that.”

  Eli tugs me into another hug, giving my whole body a squeeze this time.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, Olivia. This sounds like something that’s so you. You love to write, and you love to teach. Now you’ll hopefully get to do both. And in my city, no less.”

  I’m smiling so hard I worry my face is going to crack.

  “Charleston’s my city now, too.”