Not So Charming: A Hate to Lovers Romance (Carlisle Cellars Book 1)

by Fabiola Francisco

  She bites down her smile, her eyes flickering between mine as if she were dissecting the most important book she’s read. She finally breathes out slowly and nods.

  “I’ve surprisingly had fun.”

  “Ouch.” I clutch my hand over my chest, causing a sweet giggle to escape her lips.

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect.” She waves my hand off my chest, but I grab hers and place it under mine so she can feel my beating heart. My fingers curl around hers as I stare into those gorgeous eyes.

  This time I don’t second-guess or let doubt creep in. I scan her eyes for a brief moment before lowering my lips to hers. She inhales sharply in surprise. When she doesn’t push me away, I kiss her softly, her lips moving with mine in a gentle caress. I bring my other hand to cup her jaw and press my mouth to hers harder, in an open-mouth kiss. Her free hand rounds my body and presses into my back.

  If I seek her tongue with mine, I’ll be a goner, and we’re in the middle of the street. The first time I fully taste June, I’m going to make sure we’re in privacy. Then, I’m going to get my fill until I’m drunk off her, and she’s panting breathlessly.

  I lift my head, staring into her eyes with a crooked smirk.

  “So sweet.” I run my thumb along the edge of her lips. She doesn’t have any lipstick smudged since it’s long rubbed off after dinner and wine, but I want any excuse to touch those lips.

  Her eyes are wide in shock, her lips parted, as she nods silently. My chest expands with unfamiliar emotions, so I pull her to me in a hug. My thumb hooks under her chin and tilts her head up so I can brush my lips across hers one more time.

  “We should go,” my voice is hoarse, and I greedily want more from her.

  We walk back toward the parking lot in silence, never letting go of her hand.

  “What are you thinking?” I finally ask when I can’t take the quiet anymore.

  June shakes her head. She’s somewhere else, and I’m desperate to reach her and bring her back to me. I tug her hand, forcing her eyes to mine.

  “Talk to me.” I stop by the passenger door of my car, caging her in.

  “Nothing,” she whispers.

  “Nah, there’s something runnin’ through that mind of yours.” I tap her forehead. “Tell me what it is.” I lower my head, so I can whisper close to her. June shivers at my proximity.

  “I was just thinking about that kiss.”

  “It was a good one,” I nod.

  “Yeah,” she sighs. I relax now that I know it isn’t a negative thought. “It wasn’t even a full kiss.”

  I open my eyes and lean back. “Excuse me? Felt pretty complete to me.”

  She laughs nervously, curling her hair around her fingers. “What I mean is…we didn’t…use tongue.”

  I grin, my eyes never leaving hers. My hand cradles her face again, my thumb brushing her lip.

  “Because when I do, I’m going to make sure we won’t risk having an audience. If I took it to that, I’d want so much more, and we’re out in the middle of the street.” To punctuate my statement, I press my lower body to hers. June’s eyes snap up to mine in wide surprise.

  “Yeah, Junebug. The kiss was as complete as it could be right now. I’m a man, and I only have so much self-control. You in that dress and those heels, your hair, your body, your smarts, and your guarded eyes. I want it all.”

  June wordlessly nods, and I kiss her hard one more time before stepping back. I open the door for her, admiring her ass as her dress stretches over her body when she moves to sit. I bite back a groan and close the door, walking around slowly as I think about cold rivers, sports stats, anything to cool my body.

  The drive to her house is quiet, but I keep my hand on her—her knee, her hand, anywhere I can feel her warmth. When I pull into her driveway, June turns to me with a smile.

  “Thanks for tonight.” She squeezes my hand.

  “Already told you, you don’t have to thank me. You should know I’m selfish, though, and I expect to take you out again.”

  Her eyebrows lift slowly. “You mean if I agree to it?”

  “If I need to convince you…”

  I lean over the console, tangling my hand in her hair. I stare into her eyes, tilting her head, and I bring her lips to mine. I kiss her in even beats until the tip of her tongue finds mine, and I lose the control that was slipping away. I angle her head, deepen the kiss.

  My heart races with adrenaline as my tongue swipes against hers, tangling as though this kiss is necessary for our survival. As if her kiss would breathe life back into me, and in a way, it does. Being with June means I have something that’s just mine.

  Our heavy breaths echo in the car, and I smirk at seeing her as affected by the kiss as I am. I brush my lips against her forehead, tightening my hand in her hair, scratching her scalp. June sighs contently.

  When her eyes meet mine, they’re unguarded again—a gift she probably doesn’t even realize she’s given me.

  “I want you to cook for me.” I lift my brows at her words. “When we were at the restaurant, you said that you love cooking. I want to see that. You pick your favorite meal, not what you think I’ll like, and cook it for me.”

  “Deal,” I say with a smirk. “You’ll definitely agree to a third date after you taste my cookin’.”

  The laughter that flows from her is full of joy. I smile as I watch her. She’s got this…thing about her. Whatever it is, I want more of the way June makes me feel.

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Friday,” she counters.

  “You’ve got yourself a date.” I wink.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miles.” Her smile is tight-lipped, probably at the reminder that she works for me.

  “Yeah, Junebug. I’m looking forward to it.” I drop a kiss on her cheek and step out of the car. By the time I reach her door, she’s already getting out. I extend my hand to guide her out. I know she can do it on her own, but I want to help.

  I walk June to her door, settling on a soft kiss in case her mom’s watching through the window.

  “Thank you for tonight,” I tell her, squeezing her hand.

  Her responding smile is enough. I turn and put distance between us because I’m tempted to throw her back in my car, drive her to my place, and spend the night showing her how thankful I am. Not yet.

  Once she’s inside, I whistle my way back to my car and grab my phone. When Madison doesn’t answer, I try again. After a second unsuccessful call, I type out a quick message for her to see whenever she’s free. I need to talk to my sister about these feelings I have for June. I don’t understand them and could use a woman’s perspective.

  Miles: Dimples, call me

  After, I head home on a June high as I plan what meal I’m going to cook for her. Thinking about June gives me a sense of fulfillment. It’s only our second date—because I definitely count our coffee date—so it might just be the excitement that comes when you start dating someone new. Yet, that excuse doesn’t settle right with me. June isn’t a shiny new toy. She’s the kind you’ve had since you were a child, your favorite one you keep on a shelf and always remember with fondness.

  No, June is… She’s nothing like I’ve known before, even if what I’m feeling is inexplicable. It wasn’t wrong to open up to her. I did it unknowingly, no filters, no masks. She asked questions, and I answered honestly, telling her the depth of my feelings when it’s not something I openly admit. I don’t understand it, and maybe I don't need to. I just need to live it, enjoy it, breathe it in.

  Chapter 17

  Miles

  I’ve been planning my date with June since I dropped her off at home on Wednesday night. I’m convinced we have the possibility of a great relationship, but I need to prove that to her. Besides her judgment of me, she has reservations about the difference in our status, insisting she’s nothing more than part of the help. She has no idea how wrong she is.

  We never saw her mom and her as the help. My parents have always been grate
ful to Scarlett for all she’s done through the years, helping us when we were younger, cooking, cleaning, and being trustworthy. When your father is a famous retired football player, it comes with a different kind of package that extends Willow Creek. It’s most definitely a double-edged sword.

  I check my phone for the hundredth time today. I still haven’t heard back from Madison, and she never goes this long without responding to me. I don’t know if it’s my twin radar, as Madison calls it, or if I’m just overreacting, but I’m starting to get worried.

  With about an hour left of work, I head to the restaurant to make sure everything’s ready for the weekend and then sneak into the tasting room purely for selfish reasons. I catch June’s eyes and smile with a wink. Her eyes widen, and a worry line deepens on her forehead. She focuses on the couple in front of her, holding a bottle of our rosé.

  Seeing as she’s busy and I know I’ll have her to myself tonight, I head back into my office, shut everything down, and leave for the day. I’ve got a dinner to prep, and I need to figure out what’s going on with Madison.

  I dial her number again once I’m in my car, the Bluetooth coming to life with the blaring ringing from my phone. I lower the volume and wait…and wait…nothing. I get her voicemail and leave another message, less patient this time. My voice is tight.

  “Dimples, you have to call me back. A-sap. I’m getting worried. What the fuck?” I hang up and call my mom. Maybe she’s heard from her or knows if she’s off at some silent retreat because that’s the only reason I can think of for her not answering the damn phone.

  “Mom?”

  “Hi, Miles, what’s wrong?” She must hear the anxiety in my tone. I hear whisking and my nieces’ giggles in the background.

  “Hey, have you spoken to Madison recently?”

  “No, I think your father did. I’ll ask him. What’s going on?” Her voice drops, and she whispers something to the girls, shuffling coming through the speaker. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’ve been calling her since Wednesday, and I haven’t gotten ahold of her. Not through text or calls. It’s actually been a couple weeks since I spoke to her. It’s just weird… I don’t know.” I blow out a deep breath and turn into my driveway.

  “I’ll call your father and let you know. Maybe she’s rehearsing for a tour. You know how hectic her schedule is. She’ll call soon,” my mom says with conviction.

  I hope she’s right. I don’t tell her that a weird feeling is nagging me. There’s no need to concern her over something I have no proof of.

  “Thanks, Mom. Let me know if you hear anything.”

  I hang up after a quick goodbye and get out of my car, turning on lights as I walk in. The sun’s still out, but it’s a habit. I make it to my room for a quick shower before I start cooking. June will be here in about an hour and a half, and I want to get some of the prep work done. Throwing on a pair of dark jeans and a white t-shirt, I keep my feet bare and head down the hall.

  Once I’m in the kitchen, I pull out the steaks, scallops, and mushrooms and grab the bottle of red wine in the corner of the counter. I look around, slapping my hands together. First things first, I grab the container with mushrooms and set a cutting board in front of me. With a damp cloth, I wipe the mushrooms clean, placing them on the cutting board.

  Cooking has always kept me sane. It’s my meditation, and it helps clear my mind so I can see any situation with a level head. And right now, I’m worried about Madison’s silence. Being in the kitchen will melt the stress away and allow me to see the situation without preconceived worry lining my thoughts. I don’t want this to interfere with my night with June.

  Once the mushrooms are sliced, I organize my thoughts. My nerves are interfering with my cooking plan, and I’m working backwards.

  The appetizers should come first. A deep breath moves through my lips, and I get my head on straight. I pull a crisp, green apple, prosciutto, and goat cheese from the fridge. With a clean cutting board, I cut the apple into thin, round slices and place them on a white, square plate. Opening the prosciutto, I roll small pieces and place them on the apple slices. I steal a piece, chewing the cured salty ham.

  I’m lost in the preparation, adding goat cheese over each slice and drizzling honey over each one, smiling as the honey adds a touch of rustic messiness on the stark white platter. I set the plated appetizer to a side and pull tomatoes and fresh mozzarella from the fridge, working next on the salad.

  I grin to myself as I imagine June’s reaction when she sees all this. She was so intrigued when I told her I loved to cook. The pressure is on, and I have to impress her. With the tomato and mozzarella sliced into round pieces, I place them in the fridge. Once June arrives, I’ll plate the salad and make the grilled zucchini to top it off, along with my homemade balsamic dressing.

  I’m seasoning the scallops and steaks when the doorbell rings. Checking my watch, I smile. Right on time. I wipe my hands with the towel draped over my shoulder and make my way toward the door.

  When I open it, my greeting sticks to the back of my throat as my eyes wander over June’s body. She’s wearing some kind of rose-colored, wrap-around skirt, and my eyes zero in on the bow tied on her left hip. I wonder if it’ll float off her body if I tug an end of it. A fitted white tank top with thicker straps is tucked into her skirt, and her camel-colored sandals expose her magenta toes.

  “Wow,” I finally say, my eyes lifting to meet hers. Her eyebrows are slightly lifted, and she’s failing at hiding her amused smile.

  “Hi,” she speaks when I don’t say anything else.

  “You look stunning.”

  “Thank you.” Her cheeks turn pink.

  “Come in.” I step aside, shaking off my desire and inviting her into my home.

  “This place is…” She looks around the house. “It’s a gorgeous home.”

  “It’s a nice place.” I shrug it off. My home is my sanctuary, but I don’t want her making a big deal about it.

  “I don’t smell anything. Have you started cooking?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

  I laugh and nod. “Mostly prep work and appetizers. I can’t feed you cold and stale food.” I wink, reaching for her hand, unable to hold back from touching her.

  “That’s true. You should know that I have high expectations and will be a tough judge of your cooking skills.” Her eyebrows lift as if she could intimidate me.

  I smirk crookedly and guide her into the kitchen. “I’m sure you’ll be more than pleased.”

  “Whoa.” Now it’s her turn to whisper in awe as she sees my kitchen. “This is…wow.” She blinks rapidly as if it were a dream that will disappear.

  “Yeah, this was the selling point for me, although I did switch out some things, like the stove.” I point to my professional 6 burner gas stove with a grill top.

  “It’s amazing.”

  “Thanks. Come sit, I have wine. Do you want white or red?” I pull out a leather-upholstered stool for her and help her on though she’s capable of sitting on her own. My hands seem to have a mind of their own since they keep reaching out to touch any part of her.

  “White would be great, thank you. Can I help?” She takes in the spread on the island.

  “Nope. You drink wine and eat this,” I push the plate with the appetizers in front of her. “And we talk while I cook,” I wink.

  While I uncork a bottle of white, June doesn’t hesitate to try an apple prosciutto slice, moaning while she covers her mouth.

  “Goodness, that’s really good.” She nods in appreciation. “The sweetness from the crisp apple is the perfect contrast to the prosciutto.

  “Thanks.” I serve two glasses of wine, rounding the island to stand before her. Once she has her glass in her hand, I tap mine to it and smile. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” she returns my smile. After a full sip, she says, “I’ll admit. I was nervous about coming tonight.” She stares into her glass instead of my eyes, so I lift her chin.

  “Why?” I don�
�t break eye contact.

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “We had a great time on Wednesday, but…” She pauses for too long.

  “But?” I prompt when she doesn’t finish her sentence.

  “Well, dinner out is one thing, but at your house, it’s… I don’t know. Intimate?” Her nose scrunches up.

  I groan, standing between her legs, and place both of our glasses on the counter. I cup her face and make sure she’s looking at me. My thumbs brush back and forth on her cheeks.

  “Intimate is good,” I whisper. “We won’t do anything you’re not ready for. I just wanted to spend time with you in private, without wandering eyes and rumors. I want to be able to kiss you without an audience and touch you and hold you.” I brush my lips to hers to emphasize my point.

  June’s hands come onto my biceps, squeezing gently. “And you wanted to show off your cooking skills.”

  I chuckle. “Guilty. How am I doing so far?” I tilt my head toward the plate of appetizers.

  “I’m impressed so far, but anyone can slice apples, roll some prosciutto, and crumble goat cheese. I feel like that’s beginner’s stuff.” One eyebrow arches, challenging me.

  “Prepare to be impressed.” I drop another kiss on her lips, tasting the lingering honey, and step back with my glass of wine. I need distance, or I’ll be eating something else for dinner.

  As if sensing the tension, she says, “Tell me what you’re making.”

  This I can do. I explain what I’ve already done, telling her about the Caprese salad while I cut long slices of zucchini and let the grill heat.

  “I love Caprese salad,” June comments.

  “Good,” I nod.

  She crosses her leg, exposing more of her thigh, and I swallow thickly, focusing on her face. I’m grateful the counter is a barrier between us. The sizzling of the zucchini on the grill fills the kitchen. While that cooks, I work on the polenta since I can keep it in the warmer. The scallops and steak will be made on the spot. There’s no way I’m going to give her a steak that’s been sitting there for God knows how long.