The Six Month Lease (Southern Hearts Club Book 2)

by Melanie Munton

  To say we both have mommy issues is putting it mildly.

  And Violet has bigger daddy issues than I do. At least I found a way to connect with the frequently absent man. But Violet never developed a liking for sports, which means she’s been turning to Mother for affirmation and approval with fierce desperation since she learned how to talk.

  West remains by my side as we somewhat listen to the others’ conversation, one they clearly don’t have any interest involving us in. Thank God.

  What I really care about and shouldn’t is the way West’s warm hand feels on my lower back. He placed it there right after he finished shaking everyone’s hands and has yet to remove it. I can’t tell if he’s doing it for the sole purpose of maintaining the role of doting boyfriend, or if it’s in a show of support. He knows how debilitating being around my mother can be for me.

  Either way, I need that touch on me. Too much.

  And when he starts massaging his thumb over the base of my spine, I nearly moan aloud.

  “Dinner is served,” Ilene announces.

  Five minutes later, we’re all sat around the monstrous dining room table, our first course of carrot-ginger soup with chile butter placed in front of us.

  “So, Mr. Devereaux,” Dan speaks up, locking eyes on my ex/fake boyfriend. “What is it that you do for a living?”

  West uses the cloth napkin in his lap to wipe his mouth before he answers. “I’m a helicopter pilot.”

  Chad’s eyes light up from across the table. “How exciting. Your job must never get boring.”

  “Not often, no,” West agrees. “Nodding off in boredom isn’t something I’d advise doing inside a cockpit.”

  Everyone chuckles.

  Everyone except my mother, that is. Her expression remains a combination of patronizing and unimpressed. “What kind of career can you make out of that?” she asks with a nose-up-in-the-air tone. “I mean, who hires you to pilot helicopters?”

  Everyone at the table hears the snottiness, West included.

  But he remains the gentleman. “Right now, I’m working for a small tour company that offers short flights around Charleston. But I hope to be starting my own business soon that will offer commercial charters all over the Lowcountry, as well as cities like Atlanta and Charlotte.”

  Mother narrows her eyes in contemplation but doesn’t respond.

  Dan’s eyebrows lift. “That’s a sound idea.”

  West nods. “The numbers are promising. The problem right now is having enough start-up capital to get going. Helicopters are expensive to maintain, not to mention the fuel and insurance costs.”

  “Interest rates on business loans are currently at an all-time low,” Chad chimes in eagerly. “Come into the bank sometime, and we can discuss your options.”

  Chad is the vice president of one of the largest banks in Charleston, but I never thought to pass his name along to West. One, because I don’t know a whole lot about Chad, so I didn’t know if he’d be willing to help. Two, because West and I aren’t together anymore, and I figured it would be awkward if I involved a person connected to my family.

  West leans forward in his seat, clearly encouraged by Chad’s suggestion. “I appreciate that. I’ll call and schedule an appointment.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “Is that something you went to college for?” Mother interjects snidely.

  It doesn’t make any sense for me to get defensive of West, considering he’s not even my boyfriend anymore. But I feel my claws elongate anyway. I know he didn’t go to college, and I know she’s going to judge him for it. My mother’s condescending tone is growing more and more tedious by the second.

  “Do you consider flying an aircraft an easy task, Mother?” I ask haughtily. “Whether or not it requires a degree, it doesn’t mean that just anyone can do it.”

  Mother straightens her shoulders in a how dare you take that tone with me in my own home way. Even though it’s not her home. “I suggested nothing of the sort, dear.”

  West lowers his hand to my thigh, as if communicating I’ve got this, princess, but thanks for the backup. “I actually worked my way through flight school after high school,” he explains evenly. “Flight training is expensive and my parents couldn’t really afford to help, so I worked two to three jobs while logging my flight time. Because I had to work on the side, it took a little longer than it otherwise would have to log the necessary hours required for all my licenses.” He shrugs. “But I came out of it without any student loan debt.”

  “And without a degree,” Mother adds.

  “His oldest sister had her daughter out of wedlock with her now-husband,” I throw out. “Perhaps you want to interrogate him about that, too?”

  West’s hand squeezes my thigh, but I don’t look away from Mother, who is now glaring at me.

  “Ilene, I would just love one of your famous sweet tea mint juleps whenever you get a chance,” I call out in a saccharine sweet voice. Mother’s eyes go flinty at my request. “Sounds refreshing, doesn’t it?”

  Drinking hard liquor in public—even around others in her own home—is also considered inappropriate by Mother’s standards. The harder you drink, the higher the risk of doing or saying something uncouth. Wine and champagne are the most acceptable alcoholic beverages when around others.

  Tense silence poisons the air around the table while Ilene makes my drink, and Mother and I engage in an epic stare-down.

  West brings his mouth to my ear. “Hey—”

  “Thank you so much, Ilene.” She places the glass down in front of me. “Looks great.”

  I make a spectacle of taking an unladylike sip that lasts several seconds, ensuring that my gulps are extra loud. Chad and Dan avert their gazes, clearly uncomfortable. Violet glowers at me from her chair. While Mother…

  If she grips her silverware any harder, she’ll snap it in half.

  My chest swells with perverse pleasure.

  “You know, West comes from Creole heritage,” I say conversationally, turning toward him pointedly. “Your family is originally from Louisiana, isn’t that right?”

  It’s a well-known fact that when it comes to southern heritage, Mother believes that not all family lineages are worth preserving, particularly French-Creole. I’ve heard her call people of that bloodline “the white trash of the South” and “dirty,” with a “poverty-stricken history who clearly have no interest in changing it.” And I just can’t resist pushing this button.

  But I’m unprepared for the look on West’s face.

  It slams into me so unexpectedly, I nearly lose my grip on my glass.

  The muscles in his jaw are so tight, I’m worried he might crack his molars. It feels like his eyes are burning a hole through my skin. I can’t tell if he’s pissed, confused, or just deep in thought. Maybe all three.

  I thought he’d be happy. We’re supposed to act like we’re together, right? And I’m not ashamed of him. Not now and not when we actually were a couple. I’m not about to hide anything from Mother. Except for the fact that West and I broke up three months ago and are still living together, so I guess there’s that. But still. If she can’t accept certain aspects of my life, including my pseudo-boyfriend, then that’s her problem, not mine.

  Then, right before my eyes, his face goes through a transformation that ranges the entire emotional spectrum.

  Whatever that look was before, it’s now morphed into one of calculating ruefulness. His smile is wide with self-assuredness, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. And even though he’s leaning casually back in his chair, his shoulders are tense, the rest of his body bowstring tight.

  “That’s right,” he answers amiably, playing up more of his Louisiana accent that I usually only hear hints of. “My great-grandfather owned a lot of swampland down in southern Louisiana. That’s where my grandfather and father were raised. My aunt and uncle own the land now. I spent a lot of my youth by the river down there, having crawfish boils and listening to stories about ‘ol Grand
pappy thinking he had a curse put on him by a local witch doctor.”

  He laughs at that, drawing stiff laughter from the other two men at the table. Then he snags my glass out of my hand and brings it to his lips, meeting my eyes over the rim.

  “You don’t mind, do you, princess? I’m suddenly feeling pretty parched myself.”

  Okay. I get that he’s hamming this whole thing up. But why? I’ve just been telling the truth. And if the truth happens to piss Mother off, then so much the better.

  Why is he acting almost…fake?

  He drains the rest of my drink and slams it down on the table with a loud thunk.

  “I really should apologize,” he says to the whole table. Chad, Dan, and Violet have become incredibly fascinated by their meals. Mother is just sitting there simmering. “For not insisting that I meet you all sooner. After all, Harper and I did take things rather quickly after meeting. I’m sure you were all curious about the man she dove headfirst into co-habitation with. It’s been rude of me to be a phantom for the last few months.”

  His hand that’s remained on my thigh moves upward, beneath my dress. And when I say up, I mean way up. He reaches the edge of my lace panties with one swift slide of his fingers.

  I mask my gasp with a cough. Thankfully, the table is so enormous, I don’t think anyone can see what he’s doing underneath it. When I asked him to act like my boyfriend, I wasn’t exactly asking for this. Him putting on a show while groping me under the dining room table. Not because it’s scandalous and we could get caught.

  But because he’s not acting like himself.

  Therefore, it feels wrong.

  “No need to apologize,” Violet says, the color of her cheeks matching that of her dress. “We knew you had to be someone special for Harper to act so impulsively. She’s not usually like that.”

  “Is that so?” West ticks his head at me with a smirk. “I guess I’ve corrupted you, haven’t I?”

  I try to discreetly bat his hand away when his fingers snake underneath the edge of my panties, but there’s no budging him. When I attempt to snap my legs shut, his hand clamps down on my inner thigh, sending a clear, unmistakable message. I’ve got the upper hand now, princess. And I won’t be giving it up until I have you at my mercy.

  This plan may have just backfired on me.

  “Don’t give yourself so much credit,” I manage, just as the pad of his finger makes contact with my clit. “I’ve always been a problem child. Haven’t I, Mother?”

  “There’s one in every family,” she replies charismatically.

  “Two in mine,” Dan quips, infusing some much-needed levity into the conversation.

  Everyone laughs, including both West and Mother.

  Everyone except me.

  Because I’m too busy trying to work out how the hell this night got turned upside-down all of a sudden.

  After their laughter dies down, West leans over to kiss my cheek, lingering awful close to my mouth. At the precise moment his lips brush the corner of mine, as if going for a full-on kiss in front of everyone, his index finger pushes through my folds, which have admittedly gone wet with arousal.

  Which I did not give them permission to do.

  Because it’s not supposed to go down like this, whatever this is.

  I scoot my chair back, the legs scraping against the expensive hardwood. West at least has the decency to remove his hand before everyone gets a mini peepshow of our under-the-table fornications.

  “Would you please excuse me? I need to visit the facilities.”

  I march off without a backwards glance. If West is going to act like this, I need a new strategy. Because now, instead of just wearing armor to fend off my mother, I’m going to have to fashion a completely different kind of shield to protect myself against West’s onslaughts.

  He could just be taking this whole boyfriend thing a little too far, a little too literally. But it feels like he’s trying to make a point.

  No more than you were trying to make a point to your mother.

  Just before I can close and lock the bathroom door down the hall from the kitchen, it swings open, forcing me further into the room.

  Eyes spearing me with their intensity, West slaps his palm on the solid oak and pushes the door shut. His expression is even more furious than it was at the table. The charming smile is gone. The smooth laughter is nonexistent. All that’s left is fuming man and vibrating muscles.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demand.

  And I’m not just talking about the near-fingering under the table.

  “You want a bad boy, princess?” His voice is taunting, almost violent. Charging forward, his hands frame my face in an unbreakable hold. “Then let’s show them just how bad I can be.”

  His mouth crashes against mine.

  My words of outrage are muffled against West’s insistent, unyielding mouth. Not an unpleasant experience, but whatever this kiss means, it can’t be healthy.

  I finally manage to pry my mouth from his and push him back. “What the hell, West? What is this?”

  His lips are swollen and shiny from ravaging my own, but I force myself to ignore how good he looks after kissing me. Getting answers needs to take precedence here.

  “What the hell am I doing?” he seethes, his hands fisting at his sides. “More like, what the hell are you doing? Did you only bring me here to piss your mom off? Am I just some tool you’re using to needle her with? Is that the only reason I’m standing here right now?”

  “No!” I nearly shout. “I brought you here because I didn’t want to listen to her tell me that I made another stupid mistake in my life by moving in with a guy I barely knew.”

  His head drops, his broken laughter full of disbelief. “Well, she clearly thinks that I’m a stupid mistake in general. And you knew that. You knew she wouldn’t approve of me, didn’t you, Harper?”

  Feeling fidgety, I shove my hair off my forehead. “So? We would have been in the same situation if I’d brought you here three months ago. Do you think I honestly care whether or not she approves of the guy I’m dating?”

  “A little, yeah!” he yells, throwing his arms out to the side. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been goading her the way you were.”

  My hands go to my hips, my repressed anger mounting inside me. “I’m sorry, what was I supposed to say? We’re supposed to be dating, West. And as your girlfriend, I would be proud to talk about your career plans and where you come from. It’s not my problem if the truth doesn’t fit into her mold of what my future husband should be like.”

  “No, but you loved shoving it in her face,” he retorts. “You used my life as fodder for whatever revenge game you have going on with her. Jesus, is that the only reason you were with me in the first place? Because Princess Harper wanted to cement her role as the family rebel?”

  I have to admit those words hurt. “Of course not. Do you really think I’m that shallow? I was with you because I wanted to be. Because you made me laugh. And you didn’t care what family I came from or who my mother was. Knowing she wouldn’t like me dating someone like you had no impact on my decision to move in with you.”

  He slowly nods. “Right. That was just your own stupid mistake.”

  God, the hurt.

  The hurt in his voice just about topples me like a Jenga tower after a wrong move.

  “I never said it like—” My shoulders sag. “That came out wrong.”

  He throws his hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s no big deal. I can play the bad guy. I just prefer to know from the beginning, so I know where I stand. I like to have time to develop my character, you know?”

  I let out a withering sigh. This is so not going how I intended. “West—”

  “It’s too bad I wore this suit, huh? If you’d have told me your plans ahead of time, I would have just worn my leather jacket and ripped jeans. Really given them a show. We’ll just have to work with what we’ve got, though, right?”

  “Please, stop.”

/>   “You should probably muss up your hair a little. Maybe smear your lipstick. I mean, if I can’t actually get any, we should at least make it look like I fucked you dirty in your mother’s bathroom.”

  Motherfucking ouch.

  Never before has he spoken to me this way. Never have I imagined he would. And never have I thought his words could cause me such devastating pain. Which tells me he’s extremely, past-the-point-of-no-return upset.

  I’m still frozen in place, breath lodged in my throat, when he loosens his tie and unbuttons his top two buttons.

  Just before opening the door, he winks at me over his shoulder. “Showtime, princess.”

  Okay. I get it.

  I screwed up.

  Majorly.

  And I can’t even blame Slut-sheeba for this one.

  

  The rest of the evening far surpassed the standard level of misery I’ve become accustomed to enduring in my mother’s company. Despite the fact that it was hers and Dan’s anniversary party, everything was still about her. Dan might as well have not even been there. And to make matters worse, West didn’t stop touching and doting on me like the sweet boyfriend he once was.

  But he never looked me in the eye again after our bathroom scuffle.

  Anytime he glanced my way—for appearance sake—he would lock in on my forehead or my cheek. Never my eyes.

  And I can’t really blame him.

  The car ride home was akin to having your fingernails ripped off. I made the mistake of asking West a simple question at one point, to which he responded by cranking up the music on the radio. After that, I super glued my mouth shut. His hands maintained a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, the leather creaking in his vice-like grasp. He even had to visibly calm himself down at one point when the speedometer reached ninety miles an hour on the freeway.

  He stomped inside the house when we got home and hasn’t come out of his room since. That was twenty minutes ago. Since then, I’ve been staring up at my bedroom ceiling, vacillating between getting up to apologize to him…and just letting it go. Deciding what I would say if I do go knock on his bedroom door has made me restless with nervous energy. On the flip side, how will I handle the next two and a half months of living with him if I do nothing and he stays furious with me?