“The best,” Bryce says. “Eva, you write the best books and make the best pizza I’ve ever tasted.”
Ford grins. “Who knew the frozen stuff tasted so good?”
“Shhh.” I smile against the finger I hold to my lips. “Y’all are gonna destroy my reputation!”
“With pleasure,” Ford says, wagging his brows.
I put a hand on his back and look up at Bryce. “Let’s go home and get comfy. Think we can steal what’s left of that cake your dad made?”
Ford’s lips twitch. “I’ll go look for the box.”
I can’t resist. “It’s such a nice box.”
“Not as nice as yours.” Ford kisses my mouth this time. “C’mon. Let’s grab the cake and get out of here. Home is calling my name.”
“Mine too,” Bryce says.
“Mine three,” I say.
And that’s how the best day of the best year of my life ends—with the three of us curled up on Ford’s couch, cozy and cake filled and blissed out beyond belief.
* * *
Want to know what goes down when Eva, Ford, and Bryce host their families over the holidays? There may or may not be a ring box involved (!!!!). Grab your FREE bonus epilogue to experience Christmas at the Montgomery household!
Thank you so much for reading SOUTHERN HEARTBREAKER! Like Eva, I wasn’t really sure I wanted kids. And like her, I decided to take the plunge—as I type this, I’m feeling our first baby kick in my (very large) eight-month-pregnant belly. I’ve wanted to write a book about my journey to motherhood for a while now. While Ford and Eva’s story wasn’t easy to write, I’m very proud of how it turned out. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it!
Check out the other books in the Charleston Heat Series if you haven’t yet. Like all my books, SOUTHERN CHARMER, SOUTHERN PLAYER, and SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN can absolutely be read as standalones. Keep reading for a super sexy excerpt from CHARMER. If you’ve already burned through this series (thank you!), check out my steamy Thorne Monarchs Series.
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Join my Facebook reader group, The City Girls, for exclusive excerpts of upcoming books plus giveaways galore!
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Southern Charmer Excerpt
Eli
“Olivia!” Can’t help it. My gaze flicks down her body. “He—hey.”
Of course.
Of course Yankee girl shows up to The Spotted Wolf looking hot as hell five seconds after I decide to pump the brakes.
What a sick fucking joke.
Thanks for nothing, universe.
Olivia, bless her, is wearing blue jeans that are tight tight tight. Her white button down would be prim if it wasn’t partially see through. The red lace bra she’s wearing underneath—
I can’t.
I focus my gaze on her feet instead. She’s wearing cute Chuck Taylors that are a little scuffed up.
Her hair falls in loose, unruly waves around her shoulders. I bite the inside of my bottom lip, hard, to keep from winding a lock around my finger. I imagine how silky it would feel. How her lips would fall open and her cheeks would flush when I gave it a tug.
I can smell her shampoo. Something clean and herbal.
She smells good enough to eat.
“I finished my chapter early today, so I thought I’d do some exploring. I saw the lights from the sidewalk and came in for a quick drink…” Olivia puckers her brow. “Eli? You all right?”
“Yep,” I bite out, blinking. “Sorry, I just—uh. Long day. Beer—” Bullshit.
I go in for a hug. It’s awkward, all thanks to me. Olivia has to go on her tip toes to reach me, and I kind of half crouch, half bend over. My brain screams slow. But my body—
Well. There’s a reason I keep my crotch region bowed away from her.
I fall back. Luke gives me a not so subtle nudge.
“Don’t be rude, Elijah,” he says. “Introduce us.”
I tug a hand through my hair. “Olivia, this is my friend Luke. Luke, this is my new neighbor, Olivia.”
“Nice to meet you,” Luke says, aiming his all-American-baseball-player smile at Olivia while extending his hand. “I hear you’re new in town.”
She takes Luke’s hand. “I’m already smitten with it.”
“Charleston’s a great city. Only downside is that this grump lives here.” Luke points his thumb at me.
“I’m not a grump,” I bite out.
Luke shrugs. “See what I mean?”
I resist the urge to punch him in that handsome mug of his.
Grace gives Olivia a hug, and they chat for a minute. It’s obvious they’re friends, both of them laughing and gesticulating wildly as they catch up. I have to say that seeing how well they get along makes me feel all warm and mushy inside. Olivia’s a natural conversationalist. Good listener, thoughtful talker. Grace shoots me a look, grinning.
I like this one.
Because Olivia wasn’t great enough. Now she’s got to go and be wonderful with my sister, too.
Yet another reason to think I might not deserve this girl. I’m gripped by the terrible idea that I have nothing to offer her. Which, in my rational mind, I know is ridiculous. I’m feeding her. Editing her book. Encouraging her to chase after this incredible career she wants. I’m inspiring her in the same way she’s inspiring me.
That counts for something. It has to.
Has to.
“Let’s get you somethin’ to drink,” I say to Olivia during a pause in their conversation. “What’re you having?”
Olivia glances at my beer, then at the empty shot glasses on the bar. “That looks good.”
Behind the bar, Jake nods, checking out Olivia before turning to grab the Fireball.
My grip tightens on my bottle. I am not a jealous guy. But all of a sudden I’m fantasizing about clocking every dickhead in this bar who dares to so much as glance at Olivia.
I spear Jake with a look when he turns back around. He takes the hint, quickly pouring our shots and handing Olivia a beer before busying himself with the dishwasher.
She picks up the shot glass and gives its contents a sniff. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a shot. What the hell is this stuff? Smells like candy.”
“Tastes like it, too.” Luke grabs his glass and taps it to Olivia’s. “Actually, that’s a lie. It kind of tastes like fiery death. But it gets the job done.”
Olivia cocks a brow, smiling. “Fiery death. All right then. I’m in.”
We take the shot together, my eyes glued to her face the whole time. She winces, blinking hard, after she swallows. Her eyes water a bit. I can tell she wants to sputter, or maybe gag, but instead she just shakes her head and grabs her beer, taking a long pull.
“Whew,” she says, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “That is…interesting.”
I’m smiling now, too. God damn she’s cute.
“Yep. You’re definitely gonna feel interesting tomorrow morning, that’s for sure,” Grace says.
The patio is really getting packed. People hang out in front of the stage, waiting for the band to begin. I look up when the lead singer from Buns ’n Roses introduces himself into the microphone. A beat later, the band bursts out into a loud, throbbing version of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard.
Immediately the front half of the patio turns into a dance floor. Hands are in the air, there’s hollerin’ and hootin’ and some pretty egregious dry humping going on.
I turn to Olivia, half hoping she’s got a look of disgust on her face because she hates eighties music and/or Def Leppard. I need a reason to want her a little less. A reason to help me pump the goddamn brakes.
In
stead, her face is lit up with a smile as she mouths the lyrics, nodding her head in time to the beat.
“You like Def Leppard?” I say, raising my voice so she can hear me.
Olivia nods, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. “Love ’em. Although Bruce Springsteen is probably my favorite. From the eighties, at least.”
My uncle introduced me to The Boss when I was a kid. I’ve been obsessed ever since.
I meet Luke’s eyes over her head.
Goodness.
I’m in big fucking trouble.
As if on cue, Buns ’n Roses plays “Dancing in the Dark”.
Olivia looks at me. I look at her.
“Wanna dance?” I ask.
She chews on her bottom lip. My heart falls. She’s gonna turn me down again. God, why do I keep doing this to mys—
“Would love to,” she replies with a smile. She looks at Luke and Grace. “Are you guys going to be okay? I hate to leave you…”
“Y’all go have fun,” Luke says, hardly giving us a glance as he turns to my sister.
I shoot him a dark look.
“You two behave.” Then I nod my head toward the band. “Let’s go, Yankee girl.”
She follows me as I try to nudge my way through the crowd. It’s slow going; the patio is really packed. I turn around to see some asshole cutting Olivia off, shouldering her aside.
“Hey!” I shout at the guy, stepping back. “Watch it.”
Then I reach behind me and grab Olivia’s hand. For a second, it stays lax in mine. I worry I’ve made her uncomfortable. But I don’t want her to get lost in the throng. Shit—
But then she firms her grip, fingers curling around my palm. I glance over my shoulder and she meets my eyes.
“All right?” I ask.
She nods, her smile returning. “All right.”
My pulse hiccups. Her hand feels small and warm in my own. She’s trusting me.
I feel like I could fucking fly.
I turn back around and head for the stage, keeping Olivia close. Once, when I stop unexpectedly, she kind of crashes into me. I swear to God I almost bite off my tongue at the feel of her tits pressed against my back. Am I imagining that she lingers there for half a heartbeat?
I keep moving. I don’t wanna do something stupid. We burrow our way to a spot in the middle of the dance floor. The lead singer has busted out a saxophone, and everyone around us is going nuts. Olivia comes to stand beside me, her hip brushing against mine when she shimmies.
I take a chance and give her hand a squeeze.
Olivia smiles, squeezing back.
I can’t let her go. Not yet. I crave this. Whatever this feeling is.
I raise my arm and twirl her around. Then she raises her arm and attempts to twirl me, and even though I bend my back, I somehow manage to fuck it up, spilling beer all over the front of my button up shirt. Her eyes widen when they fall on the stain. She puts the flat of her palm over it. Over my stomach.
“Sorry!” she shouts.
My entire body warms at the simple contact. I don’t wanna read too much into it. That she’s the one touching me now.
But I do.
I lean into it. Into her palm.
Into her.
And she doesn’t pull away.
“Don’t give me an excuse to take my shirt off,” I reply.
Olivia laughs, taking a step closer. “Like you need one.”
I cock a teasing brow, my free hand going to the top button. “Should I?”
“I don’t wanna get kicked out yet. Band’s too good,” she replies, swatting away my hand.
Her playful touching—her flirting—is driving me up the wall. It’s such a fucking turn on. The blood inside my skin feels downright giddy.
I catch her hand, guiding it onto the back of my neck. Her eyes flash with heat, and she steps into me, sliding her other arm onto my shoulder. Pressing our bodies together.
The solid, soft feel of her against me is enough to make me wanna scream. Our bodies fit together perfectly.
Her curves are all over me.
My cock starts to feel heavy when she digs the tips of her fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, gently dragging her fingernails across my scalp.
I curl an arm around her waist and hold her closer. Duck my head to murmur in her ear.
“I like that.”
Olivia’s nose brushes against the line of my jaw. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not. But it turns me on in a really big way.
“Thought you might.”
Her voice is different. A little husky.
The band is playing “Jesse’s Girl” now. Olivia pulls away a little. Just enough to meet my eyes as she starts moving her hips, her body practically writhing against mine.
Don’t get a boner.
Do. Not. Get. A. Boner.
I’m terrified of scaring her off. She’s never been so open with me. So free. Her fiery side has finally come out to play, and I’m not about to send it back into hiding by poking her with my badly behaved dick.
So I twirl her a few more times, hoping to put some distance between us. But then she turns around and presses her ass into my crotch, rolling it to the beat of “1999”, the song the band plays next.
I brush her hair over her shoulder so I can lean down to her ear again.
“You tryin’ to kill me, Olivia?”
She shoots me the sauciest, sexiest, hottest look ever over her shoulder. For a second I can’t breathe.
“What? You really expect me not to dirty dance to Prince?”
Jesus, take the wheel.
By some miracle, I manage to keep my body under control. The night is warm and the music is loud, and Olivia and I dance like we have nothing to lose. No worries. No disappointments. It’s just us and Pat Benatar and U2 and Foreigner underneath a cloudy night sky.
At one point, I glance toward the bar. I let out a silent sigh of relief when I see Gracie there with her boyfriend Nicholas. Luke is MIA.
Good. Gracie’s in safe hands. I don’t have to worry. Which means I can focus on Olivia.
She’s one hell of a dancer. Never would’ve guessed the girl in the designer shades would act out the lyrics to “Addicted to Love” in public while taking slugs of Bud Light. But here she is, laughing, making me laugh, rolling her hips and biting her lip and throwing her arms in the air as she sings about one track minds.
Throwing her arms around me.
It starts to rain. Just a sprinkling of droplets. No one seems to notice. Least of all Olivia, who’s behind me now, hands on my hips as she encourages my ass to press into her crotch.
I oblige my lady, and give her as much booty as she can handle until I pull her around, her back to my front, and hold her against me, our bodies moving in tandem.
We’re both sweating. Both breathless. My heart is going apeshit inside my chest. I feel like I’ve been plugged into a socket, blood electric, skin charged. Our chemistry is real.
My feelings for this romance writing, dirty dancing woman are real.
Feelings I would very much like to express physically. I’m too warm and too turned on. I want her too much.
It begins to rain in earnest, followed by an ominous rumble of thunder.
I look down at the back of Olivia’s head. She’s been raking her hands through her hair all night, making it messy.
Just how I like it.
The band calls it a night, blaming the thunder for their shortened set.
Without a word, I grab Olivia’s hand and head for the covered bar. But we’re not the only ones with that idea, and about five seconds later, the bar is packed and we’re edging back out into the rain.
I notice Gracie is still here with Nicholas. I wave to her.
“You okay?” I shout.
She gives me a thumbs up.
“C’mon,” I say, giving Olivia a gentle tug. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Okay,” she replies, jogging after me.
We leave the bar, o
nly to find ourselves on the crowded sidewalk. People are on their phones, trying to get Ubers. The rain is really coming down now.
I start to dig my phone out of my pocket, but Olivia tugs on my arm.
“Let’s just walk. It’s not that far. We’re already soaked.”
“You sure?” I ask. I move closer to her when I see I’m not the only one who’s noticed her wet shirt is completely see through now. “I’m happy to get an Uber.”
She grins. “I’m sure. Last one home is a rotten egg.”
Then she takes off into the rain.
* * *
Want to read the rest of Eli and Olivia’s story? SOUTHERN CHARMER is FREE with Kindle Unlimited!
Acknowledgments
I wrote this book under one of the tightest deadlines of my career (when your baby is due, she’s coming, whether you’re ready or not!). For several months, I had to disappear into my writing cave, and I have a host of people to thank for holding down the fort while I was busy scribbling away.
Thanks to Jodi, Monica, and Ingrid, for keeping our awesome little corner of the internet up and running. The City Girls is my favorite place online, and I have y’all to thank for that. Monica, thank you for helping me find Marco, the cover model for this book! He makes the perfect Ford.
Thanks to Nina and the gals at Social Butterfly. You’ve become an indispensible part of my process, and I sincerely appreciate having y’all on my team!
Thanks to my amazing beta readers, Quinn, Jodi, Monica, Julia, and Heather, who provided invaluable feedback on this book. I’m lucky to have you guys!
Thanks to my editor, Kristin Anders, and my copy editor, Tandy Boese. You guys turned this book around under a tight deadline, and I appreciate you working with me.
Thanks to my amazing ARC team for taking the time to read and review my work. I still pinch myself when I see your reviews. Y’all are making my dreams come true!
Thanks to my cover designer, Najla Qamber, who knocked it out of the park as usual. Thanks, too, to the cover photographer, Dany Fantoni, and the cover model, Marco Boscolo Nale. You guys were great to work with!
Southern Heartbreaker: A Charleston Heat Novel Page 28
