Besotted: An Enemies-to-Lovers Small-town Romance (Carmel Cove Book 3)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Besotted (Carmel Cove, Book 3)

  Published by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Copyright © 2019 Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, or recording, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design:

  Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Formatting:

  Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  Editing:

  Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Visit www.drrebeccasharp.com

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Befallen

  Other Works by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To all the hopeless romantics.

  This one’s for us.

  Eve

  “Here, stand front and center,” I instructed Jules with a giggle, placing her directly in line behind her cousin, Laurel, who stood a few feet in front of us. The beautiful bride had her back turned, her white lace train fanning out behind her, waiting for the signal to toss the bouquet.

  “You’re going to catch this,” I added with a grin and a wink. “You’re next.”

  The gorgeous brunette who I’d been working side-by-side with at the local coffee shop in town, Roasters, threw her head back and laughed before informing me, “Mick proposed yesterday. I think that means I’m out of the running for the bouquet.”

  “The bouquet just confirms it,” I teased, and took my place by her side.

  We’d all been there yesterday. Laurel and Eli’s rehearsal had been a cover-up for Mick’s proposal—and it was one of the most romantic things I’d ever seen.

  We’d all watched Jules, Laurel’s maid of honor, walk down the candle-lit aisle at sunset. At the last moment, Mick had switched places with the groom and dropped down onto one knee. So today, she’d walked down the aisle as his fiancée instead of just his girlfriend.

  And, even though I couldn’t be happier for my friend, I wasn’t going to let her out of this bouquet toss.

  “I think you’d be eager to get rid of any competition for the flowers,” she returned, arching her brow.

  I sighed. The fact that I was a hopeless romantic was as obvious as a coffee stain on a white wedding dress.

  “I don’t want to rush my Prince Charming,” I told her, jokingly. “He seems to be taking his grand old time to get here, I’d hate to interrupt what I’m sure are copious grand, romantic gestures he’s planning for when he enters my life.” I sighed. “Either that, or he got washed away in a mudslide.”

  We both laughed, and any further conversation was drowned out by the DJ’s voice booming through the space, gearing everyone up for the toss.

  While the DJ spoke, my attention slid to the sides of the dance floor that had been cleared at the far end of Larry’s Lookout, a local restaurant owned by good friends of ours, Ash and Taylor. Normally, the Lookout was an alcohol-free establishment in honor of Laurel’s grandfather, Larry, but tonight, they’d made an exception for her reception. It was probably the one and only time there would be an event like this held here. Because of Larry and how he’d helped the owners, they couldn’t—wouldn’t—say no to Laurel.

  Happy faces lined the large windows that overlooked the cliffs of Big Sur, the Pacific Ocean, and the setting sun that glimmered red and orange along the horizon.

  As I perused the crowd, my gaze stopped on Mick Madison whose eyes were locked possessively and lovingly on Jules. It wasn’t hard to be stopped by the sight of him, the man was huge; Laurel didn’t call him the Friendly Giant for nothing.

  But he wasn’t really what snagged my attention.

  Instead, it was the almost-identical man next to him—the man I’d walked down the aisle with earlier.

  Miles Madison.

  Not quite as large but a thousand times more devastating stood Mick’s twin. Dressed in the same navy suit that all the groomsmen wore, it was striking how different he could look from his brother—and how much his presence affected me.

  They were both big Texas boys, and the fact they worked their own construction business made their muscles that much more well-earned. Thick and perpetually tanned, they’d moved to Carmel over a year ago like two southern gods looking to expand their mortal reach.

  Mick’s suit looked like it had been wrapped around his bulk. But Miles? His suit hadn’t been wrapped. It had been cut along the hard and harsh planes of his body, carved like steel armor to hide the chainmail underneath.

  Armor to protect him from what, I had no idea. Maybe from himself.

  Compared to his brother’s clean-shaven face and neatly trimmed dirty blond hair, Miles’ locks looked permanently like the dark color of wet sand, with a few light streaks from working out in the sun. He kept his hair longer—long enough that it was pulled back and neatly tied behind his head for tonight. He looked like the southern, sun-kissed version of Jason Momoa but with fewer tattoos. Instead, Miles seemed to carry scars, invisible on his skin but unmistakable in his demeanor.

  Everyone knew the Madison twins—two sides of the same coin. Mick was the chivalrous gentleman, and Miles the troublemaking recluse.

  Reserved. Reticent. He was never an outright ass—at least not to me or any other woman. (I wouldn’t speak for how the boys treated each other.) But he could be quiet to the point of coldness. Short to the edge of snide. And sometimes, careless, mostly with himself, to the point of callousness.

  Still, the swarm of butterflies that moved into my stomach the day he came to town, had yet to leave. In fact, they had yet to awake to any prodding except Miles Madison’s presence.

  As though feeling my stare, Miles’ gaze whipped and locked on mine, causing my breath to catch and those clumsy butterflies to flip and land with an oomph. And, just as quickly as it hit me, those tumultuous eyes were gone.

  I shifted my weight onto my other hip.

  Off and on, I’d caught glimpses of him all night. His face fading from happiness to grim as soon as he wasn’t paying attention to it.r />
  I wondered if he ever softened. I wondered what it would taste like to lick along the tight seam of his lips, wondered what it would taste like if they just relaxed for a moment—for a kiss.

  Heat pooled between my legs—a familiar circumstance when I thought about the gorgeous but guarded man for too long.

  And one that happened more frequently than it should.

  “One… two… THREE!” I jumped, snapping back to my current situation just in time to see Laurel’s bouquet of lilacs and white roses sail smoothly through the air and head straight for me.

  Oh no.

  I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut. My arms instinctively reached in front of me to protect my face and returned with the flowers secured in their grip.

  Oh mercy.

  The scent of the fresh flowers was almost as suffocating as the presumption that came along with them. Sputtering the petals that worked their way inside my lips, I gulped and peeled my eyes open.

  Even with my glasses askew, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Excited. Expectant.

  Adjusting my glasses so I could actually see, it brought into focus Laurel and Jules, along with Jules’ neighbor, Gwen, and a few other girls from town as they crowded me in excitement.

  Before the swarm, I searched out his gaze. And it hit me harder than the flowers against my chest. Hot. Curious. Disinterested. And then he was gone.

  “I knew you were going to get it!” Jules exclaimed, laughter bubbling from her lips.

  “You moved so it came directly at me!” I returned, trying to calm my racing heart.

  She shook her head. “I told you. Your happily ever after is coming for you.”

  I wanted to believe her. I wanted so badly to believe her.

  But I was afraid I wouldn’t know my Prince Charming when he got here because my butterflies were too busy wanting a man who wasn’t interested.

  “I need to sit down,” I told her, letting her lead me off the floor as the music started up again.

  I pressed my hand against the fitted waist of my bridesmaid dress. I was trapped.

  I’d fled from the back patio just as Gavin Ross, Carmel’s most prominent attorney, was about to ask me to dance again. My destination had been the ladies’ room however, when I caught sight of Dex Covington, one of the owners of Covington Security, Carmel’s local security firm, as he stood chatting with his brother, Ace, at the end of the bar next to the bathrooms, I decided against that direction as well because I knew he’d repeat his request for a second dance, too.

  They were both very nice, very honorable, and very good-looking men. And I’m sure they would make some woman very happy someday. But I was not that woman and today was not that day.

  I wished it was. I wished I felt something for them. But I didn’t feel that feeling for them—the one that had the power to spin my butterflies into bursting fireworks that would heat my whole body with a fire that couldn’t be put out.

  So, I’d returned to my seat next to Jules and Gwen, and let their conversation flow around me. And then I felt them, the army of flutters in my stomach that sent a cascade of electric tingles up my spine.

  Looking over, I caught Miles’ gaze again. I didn’t know if it was the setting or the champagne, but since the moment he’d taken my arm to walk me down the aisle earlier, his eyes had been trailing me, playing catch and release. Especially as I danced with our friends.

  “You should ask him to dance,” Jules said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  I blinked, wide-eyed at her. “What do you mean? Who?”

  “Oh, please, Eve. Everyone knows you and Miles have this like a pile of dynamite between the two of you, and we’re all just waiting to see who’s going to be the one to light the match,” Gwen clarified before Jules could get a word in.

  Jules would have told me the same thing, but Gwen was the one who always managed to make the point in a way that was inarguable. Maybe it was her buoyant energy or almost a decade as a nurse, but she could always manage to tell you an uncomfortable, unwelcome truth, and somehow make you comfortable with it.

  I felt my cheeks burning. “I don’t know about that.”

  My two friends looked to each other and then back to me, like denial was some sort of admittance of guilt or something.

  “I know he has a rough exterior,” Jules said with a bit more calm to her voice, having spent the most time with the man in question—her future brother-in-law—out of all of us. “But I think he just needs someone soft to convince him to let go of all that angry armor.”

  I gulped.

  “We all think you should put the rest of us out of our misery and just flirt and dance and kiss and see where things go,” Gwen encouraged. “You are amazing, Eve. He would be so lucky—too lucky—to be able to snag you.”

  “I don’t think he’s interested,” I blurted out.

  They were some of my best friends, but honestly, with my candor, I probably would’ve admitted that to the priest had he been sitting here.

  “You know how he is, Jules. It’s not just the cold shell,” I added more quietly.

  Over the last couple of months, Miles had been breaking out of that shell—and not in a good way. There were numerous times I’d come into Roasters for my shift and Jules would tell me how Mick had to go pick up his brother from the bar again for doing something belligerent. The only time he seemed to escape that fate was when he ended up going home with one girl after another.

  “I know that there’s more that’s hurting him, and I think he could use someone with a good heart to turn him around,” she encouraged with a small smile; Jules always looked for the best in everyone. It was a trait we shared and bonded over.

  I sighed. That wasn’t the plan.

  I wasn’t supposed to save Prince Charming. My head tipped to the side. Or was I?

  “Evie, there is no question that he likes you,” Gwen broke in, wagging her finger at me. “I’ve seen people be given life-saving medication who don’t look at it like Miles looks at you.” She groaned. “Okay, bad example. But regardless. The man wants you.”

  My heart began to hammer to the rapid beat of hope.

  “I don’t know,” I murmured, adjusting my glasses and flicking my eyes over to the topic of our conversation. I chewed on my lip. “I’m attracted to him. I’ll admit to that. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea…”

  “It’s a wedding. Things like this are always a good idea at a wedding.” Gwen grinned deviously at me. “Now, go over there and put what he wants right in front of him, in his very nicely shaped arms.” She winked at me, flashing her megawatt smile. “I promise, it’s the twenty-first century, the princess can ask the prince to dance in modern fairytales.”

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Well, you have a point about that…”

  Not quite believing what they’d talked my shy self into, I stood and set down my glass of champagne, wondering if those delicious little bubbles played any part in my agreement to put myself out there and chase the butterflies in my stomach—and their demands.

  As soon as I began to walk toward him, Miles’ attention whipped to me. His gaze melted down my body, and I swore I could pinpoint the subtle shift in his irises as they followed the sway of my hips.

  Later, I could tell myself it was the deadly combination of good friends and champagne that had me heading toward a man who might not really be interested in me.

  Rather that than admit I desperately wanted to know what it would feel like to be held in his arms.

  “Miles.” His name came out with my unsteady breath as I linked my hands in front of me.

  “Eve,” he greeted me with a shadow of a smile.

  My stare burrowed into his. It wasn’t often I got to stand so close to him, close enough to confirm the oomph in my stomach I’d tried for some time to construe as anything else.

  But it definitely wasn’t anything else. Spoiler alert: it was all because of him.

  “You alright?” he asked when I didn’t say anything else. />
  He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, like he’d been trying to fade into the background of the reception, and his mouth thinned into a firm line.

  I nodded, adjusting my glasses that hadn’t moved when I realized I’d been standing there staring. “Yeah, sorry. Too much champagne.”

  “I see…”

  I licked my lips and caught the twitch of his jaw as he noticed. “I actually came over to see if you wanted to dance?”

  His face might be a stone mask most of the time, but he wasn’t able to hide the surprise at my question.

  “With you?”

  Oh, God. This was a bad idea.

  Still, there was no turning back now.

  I nodded. “Yes. With me, I mean.”

  His eyes narrowed, looking over every inch of my face as he took a step closer. For a second, the way his head was angled and how close he stood, I thought he might kiss me, and it felt like the whole world stopped and tipped on its axis, bringing him as close as possible to me without the kiss actually happening.

  “And if I agreed to only one dance, would you still want it?” he rasped, his voice like salted silk over my skin.

  “Yes…” I answered slowly, recognizing that he said the word dance but made it seem like he was talking about something else entirely.

  There was a flash of white—a rare glimpse of teeth that I knew formed the perfect smile when set free—before his hand was on my back and he was leading me onto the floor.

  I’d been the one to ask for the dance, but now it felt like I’d just said yes to so much more.

  My mouth opened to say something, to blurt out some attempt at a question, but the words were sucked down deep into my lungs as his arms came around me, and the butterflies in my stomach spun themselves into knots when he pulled me close.

  I was fairly tall. Not as tall as my older siblings who were somewhere in the room, but I was knocking on five-foot-seven. Still, Miles stood at least half a foot taller than me, his eyes locked on mine.

  He didn’t try to keep his distance here. The hard planes of his chest were pressed firmly against mine, leaving no space—and no room for questions between us.