“Evan Alexander,” she snorted, her tone sounding so much like her mother, he narrowly avoided asking her when Patricia Mosley had entered the building.
“Let me guess.” He threw down the paintbrush and faced her before she condescended further. “Your work is more important than mine.” Another theme of another repetitive argument. They were on a loop.
“You ruin people’s skin, baby,” she said in the same calm tone while his blood began to boil. “If I have a needle in my hand, I’m saving lives.”
“You able to show up tomorrow?”
Evan snapped out of the memory to see Gloria standing over him. “Library, yeah,” he confirmed.
“Two o’clock.” She turned to Charlie. “Awesome turkey burgers by the way.”
Charlie smiled, but it looked forced. “Thanks.”
“Come on, big boy.” Glo hauled Ash out of the chair. When he stood, he wrapped an arm around her and Evan watched as she melted into him like a snow cone on a hot sidewalk.
“To my cabin, wench,” he joked—maybe. “Thanks for having us, Ev. Charlie, a pleasure.” Asher added a hand kiss.
Evan refused to react.
When they’d gone, he turned for the house to look in on his boy.
“I checked on him a few minutes ago,” Charlie said. “Teeth brushed, pajamas on, television set on a twenty-minute timer.” Lyon liked to fall asleep to noise, something she must have picked up on when she’d stayed with them in the past.
He nodded his thanks, feeling a wave of shame for not getting his kid ready for bed.
Picking up on his mood, she shrugged and said, “You were busy.”
Busy ignoring his son. Though that could be Rae’s voice haunting him.
“I’m heading home,” Charlie said. “Thanks for dinner.”
“No.” He grabbed her hand before she walked off his porch. “You’re having a drink with me.”
Her eyes strayed in the direction of her house with a look that was almost longing. “I don’t know…”
“I do. Haven’t had a chance to talk to you all evening, Ace.”
“Evan.”
He took two full steps toward her until he stood so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “One drink.”
They had things to talk about. He wasn’t letting her run from him again.
CHAPTER TEN
The wind blowing off the water had turned cold, and since she’d had about enough of sitting out in the dark, cool air in a short, sleeveless sundress, Charlie poured a glass of wine and pointed to the studio.
“Do you mind if we have our drinks in there?”
Evan had cracked open a bottle of beer and chucked the lid into the trash. “Whatever’s clever, Ace.”
She walked into his studio, but once she was in there, the big space felt claustrophobic. And dark. She looked for an overhead switch but didn’t find one. A side lamp clicked on, followed by a reading lamp on the desk where he’d stacked his drawings when she was in here earlier.
“You need better lighting in here if you hope to work at night.” She nodded to the large shadows yawning over his papers.
He pointed to the track lighting on the ceiling running the length of all four walls. “Don’t need light for drinks.”
True, but she might need it for drinks with him. She’d managed to keep her distance from him this evening, avoiding the awkward tension choking this very room earlier. Come to think of it…
“On second thought, why don’t we go out on the deck? You can throw a few logs in your fire pit and—”
“Ace.”
She fell silent and tried to think of something to say. She didn’t think of a darn thing the entire time he sauntered, one foot in front of the other, to the desk, forcing her steps back until the backs of her knees collided with the chair. She sat with a rather ungraceful whump! and gripped the wooden arms. He abandoned his beer bottle, backed his butt against the desktop, and stood sentry over her, arms crossed.
Forcing her eyes from his long, strong legs encased in cargo shorts to the drawings on the surface next to them, she finally thought of something to say. “What did Gloria say about your new character?”
“You snarl her name when you say it.”
Crap. She did. She knew it. She played dumb anyway. “What do you mean?”
He remained silent, statue still.
“I like Gloria,” she argued, with herself apparently¸ but her voice was a little too high, making her sound like she was lying. To be fair, she wasn’t exactly lying, but Glo was sort of… blunt. Charlie didn’t do well with bluntness, preferring to smooth over the tops of subjects rather than plumb too deep.
“What is it about her that rubs you the wrong way?” His body choked the air between them, and she felt like he was looming. He wasn’t. Not really, but he was near. Too near for her to think.
I don’t like the way she rubs against you, she thought. But after an appreciative look at the man before her, what woman wouldn’t get as close to him as humanly possible?
His T-shirt ringed defined upper arms where the mane of the lion on one arm, and the broad rose petals on the other, poked out from beneath the hem of the short sleeves. His shorts were loose, but there was no mistaking the muscular thighs beneath them, or his visible and, oddly enough, attractive knees (who had attractive knees, anyway?). The whole of him was tanned from his time at the lake, his brown hair starting to lighten the slightest bit on the ends from being in the sun. His blue eyes were bright and eagle-sharp.
In short, Evan Downey was a tall, sexy, ridiculously attractive hunk of man. And having that gaze settled on oneself was enough to make any woman swoon, and enough to make Charlie, who’d known him for years and should be immune, forget what he’d asked her a second ago…
“Ace.”
Right. She remembered.
“The truth?” she offered, feeling sweat prickle her underarms.
He didn’t move an inch.
“Okay, well. Gloria’s… uh.” How to say this? “Do you think she’s a good role model for Lyon? Do you think him seeing you two…” She waved a hand while she thought of a way to say this delicately. “… Carry on the way you do is healthy for a seven-year-old?”
“Carry on? I don’t have a problem with it, no.” He watched her for a seemingly infinite amount of time. Continents could have shifted in the millennia that passed before he finally asked, “Do you?”
She reached for her glass and took a sip of peppery red. It did little to wet her throat. “No, of course not,” she lied to her wine.
Then the glass was gone, taken from her hand and placed on the desk next to his beer. She tucked her elbows into her sides and clasped her hands together. He dropped a hand on one of the chair’s arms and repeated the motion with his other hand. He was straight-armed and this time, yes, looming over her.
“Know what I think?” It was a question, but his question sounded like a command and not a question.
It was a question she had no interest in answering.
Digging around in her head, she nabbed the first topic she thought of—a topic that happened to be the one she’d brought up earlier. “I was thinking of Rae when you were cooking burgers on the grill. Do you remember the time we all—”
“That’s not how this is gonna go, Ace.”
His blue stare was so intense, she had to swallow twice before she eked out the word, “Sorry?”
But he was gone, had straightened from his loom and moved to the opposite side of the room where an easel with a huge, blank pad of paper waited for the touch of a talented hand.
He dragged a wheeled stool from there to the front of her chair. Like, right in front of her chair and sat. Then he grabbed her chair and rolled her until one of her bare knees was between two of his.
Her grip tightened on the chair’s arms when he reached past her to hold the rungs at the seat like a man in prison might hold the bars. He had her caged, his arms brushing her arms, his face inches from her face.
Her heart ratcheted up about a thousand notches.
With zero chance of escape, she could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at him and wish she had something to hold on to besides her crumbling resolve.
Words. She could hold on to words. Opening her mouth, she tried again to change the subject. “Is Asher going to play at the Starving Artists Festival? Because I have a friend who—”
“Not the way this is gonna go, either, Ace.” His intense gaze was on her like Blue on Bayou.
But she had to say something, because this was… unnerving.
Because it’s turning you on.
Especially for that reason.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think Gloria is good for you.”
His face morphed from intense to almost relaxed. Well, not relaxed, but the concrete set of his mouth had softened enough that she believed he might almost laugh. “Hell, I know that.”
His comment stunned her.
“Glo and I didn’t fit in Chicago. Tested it out, didn’t work.”
She cringed. Tested it out? So they had slept together. She’d known it, on some intuitive female level, but to hear it…
“Ugh, I don’t want to know. Let me up, please.”
His arms tightened around hers, his body warming her to the point her face heated. And so did the leg trapped between two of his.
“Not gonna let you bolt when something’s happening between us.”
At this, she didn’t blink. She stared. Something was happening between them? Not only her but them?
“Good,” he said as if she’d spoken aloud. “Like when you pay attention. Keep paying attention. Gloria and I kissed. One drunken kiss that did nothing for either of us. She is one of the guys. Gorgeous as all hell, but make no mistake, she can match any dude whiskey shot for whiskey shot.” His eyes went to the side as he thought. “Except for Asher. He has a titanium liver.”
He was joking. She felt her mouth lift in a smile of relief. Some of the tension had ebbed from the minimal space between them, enough to allow room for her to inhale some oxygen. Then there was the iota of relief that all he’d done with Gloria was kiss her. Followed by the truckload of relief because he hadn’t liked it.
“Next subject.”
Oh, great. He wasn’t through yet. Her smile fell.
“Why do you bring up Rae whenever I’m close to you?”
“I don’t,” she was quick to say.
“You do.”
She did. It’s just that she didn’t want to tell him why she did it. Because it would involve her admitting she was bringing up Rae as a defense mechanism. A way to keep her new, confusing, and delicious sexual fantasies about him at bay.
Gosh, it was hard to think with him this close.
“Ace,” he prompted.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be close to me.” This came out in a whisper. He heard. There was no way he couldn’t have heard. He was right there.
“I disagree,” he whispered back. He smelled like suntan lotion. His hair was beachy and mussed, his body heat radiating around her. Unfair. The steadiness of his eyes made her gaze flutter around the room like a moth bouncing off a lightbulb.
Unbelievably, he leaned closer. She pulled back until she realized she likely had a double chin, then settled her head on her neck in a more reasonable position.
Gosh. He was making her crazy.
“Know why I moved here?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
She wrenched her eyes from his and focused on a spot over his shoulder.
“Because you didn’t want to live in Columbus anymore.” That’s what he’d told her. That he wanted a change. That he and Lyon had outgrown the house. And, she imagined it’d be hard to live in the house where Rae had passed.
“But why here?”
“Um…”
His fingers grazed her jaw and turned her head, his palm moving to her neck where he cupped her nape and forced her eyes to his.
Reluctantly, she met them.
“Rae’s more alive when you’re around, Ace.”
Her heart, oh her heart. Kicking against her chest in a confusing, hectic rhythm.
“You bring her to life for Lyon—more than anyone else. I need him to remember her because he can’t remember her alive.” His hold stayed, his palm warming her neck, his gaze unwavering.
She tried to separate the two feelings she was having—one, she was now talking about Rae with Evan, and two, he was touching her while talking about Rae.
Before she could, his lips closed over hers.
Her thoughts short-circuited.
This wasn’t anything like a soft peck hello. This was his lips moving over hers, slanting over hers, warm and firm and then his mouth opened and—
Oh my gosh!
His wet, warm tongue slid along the seam of her lips. She stopped being passive and started kissing him back. When she would have touched her tongue to his, he relocated it, running along her bottom lip instead and tugging with his teeth.
If she’d been standing, her knees would have given out and dropped her right on her butt.
The palm on her neck speared through her hair and clutched on to a handful of it. He held her captive, his hand fisting her hair as he angled his mouth again. In response to the whimper escaping her throat, he swept his tongue into her mouth. He tangled his tongue with hers once, twice, then released her.
When he pulled his mouth away, a long, satisfied sigh escaped her lips. Because that was a kiss. A kiss to rival all other kisses.
She opened her eyes to realize (a) she’d closed her eyes, (b) she’d at some point wrapped both hands around his forearms where she was holding tight, and (c) Evan looked as pleased as she felt.
“God damn, Ace. Your mouth.” His eyes flicked to her lips. Lips still tingling from the rough scrape of the stubble surrounding his.
She concurred with his sentiment. Not that she said anything. She’d gone dumb, completely mute.
He backed away but held on to her chin and tweaked it lightly with the rough pad of one thumb. “That’s the way this is gonna go from now on.”
Her breathing went shallow, her thoughts went muzzy, and her head blurred as her heart palpated to the point of panic attack.
“Sorry, Rae.”
She didn’t mean to say it, and it had only been a whisper, but by the look twisting Evan’s face—the angry look twisting his face—he heard. And he hadn’t liked what he heard.
“Sorry,” she said to him this time. “I should go.”
Surprisingly, he gave her space. She used that space to stand, push the chair back under the desk, and dart for the door. Not surprisingly, before she escaped, his hand wrapped around her wrist.
She ground to a halt and lifted her eyes to his.
His face was utterly unreadable. When he finally spoke, it was the last three words in the English language she’d expected.
“Watch Lyon tomorrow?”
“Uh… sure.” Whatever it took to get away from the man who had slid his tongue along hers seconds ago and was loosely gripping her wrist now. Because both the kiss and the grip were distracting to the nth degree. She needed to get back home and sort out her thoughts. Not like she could do that here. Around Evan, her thoughts were thoroughly unsorted. Obviously. Since she kissed him.
Oh no.
He gave her hand back. “Tomorrow, Ace,” he called as he crossed the room. Back to her, he brushed a hand over the blank page leaning against the easel.
Without a word, she left the studio, grabbed her purse, and dashed across the beach to her house.
* * *
Charlie examined the Make It an Event! brochure on her breakfast bar for the third time. “I don’t know. Do you think I should have lightened up this one a bit?” She tapped a fingernail on the photo of Faith’s stunning smile.
“No nitpicking!” Sofie closed the brochure and stuffed it into her purse. “I think they look great. You’re a great photographer. Now come with me. I have shoe shopping to do,
and so do you, because I’m treating you to a pair as your bonus for the amazing photos you took for me.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
She grabbed her arm. “I know.”
Cobbler’s Cove had not only the best shoe shopping in town but the best shoe shopping—according to Sofie—on the planet. Sofie had a penchant for heels and boots and slides… and just about every other kind of footwear.
She slipped on a pair of short cowgirl boots and twisted her ankle to admire them. “Gah. I’m going to have to get these, too!” Kicking off her shit-kickers, she dropped them in a box and stacked it atop four others.
Four.
Charlie had found a cute pair of beach sandals, which Sofie claimed were identical to her other pairs of beach sandals, but she knew better. The color of these was clearly stated as fawn, and her others were beige, camel, and sand.
Hmm. Maybe Sofie had a point.
After shoe shopping—Sofie had racked up so many points at the shoe store because of her frequent purchases, not only were Charlie’s pair free but the boots as well—they swung by Cup of Jo’s for an afternoon caffeine hit.
Jo was behind the counter, a spunky forty-something with streaked blond hair, not a hint of gray showing, and a deep voice like she was a smoker or maybe used to be. Jo had been an Evergreen Cove staple for as long as Charlie could remember. Sofie walked in and Jo shouted, “The usual?” proving Sofie was a frequent flyer.
“And for you, gorgeous?” Jo smiled at Charlie, pleasant lines crinkling her eyes.
“Oh, um. I have to care for a very rambunctious seven-year-old in an hour, any suggestions?”
“Double caramel mocha latte, with whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate syrup.” Jo snapped her fingers and went to work without waiting for her to confirm.
When Sofie reached for her purse, Charlie beat her to the punch and paid the young girl working the cash register. “You bought me shoes, let me at least buy you coffee.”
Cups in hand, they took to the sidewalk, sipping their drinks. Despite the warm day and warm breeze, the hot coffee tasted amazing, and the sugar-slash-caffeine dump had Charlie’s adrenal glands rolling around like a feline in catnip.
Bringing Home the Bad Boy Page 10
