Page 13

Eve

I walk past him and out the door. My house, the one I’d like to burn down, is only three or four blocks away.

I don’t even feel the chill of the night air.

I was freezing when we first went out to sit with our feet in the pool, but then the heated water and wine kicked in.

Not to mention how the heat of embarrassment raised my temperature and burned so hot I could’ve toasted a marshmallow with my bare hands.

I haven’t accurately felt the outside temperature for hours.

“Get in the car, Eve.” I close my eyes as Tate calls to me from a fancy black sports car crawling down the road next to me.

Ignoring him, I hold my phone to my ear and pretend I’m on a call.

Maybe the best way to face what I’m going to find in the house is with a few drinks in me.

If I tell him where I’m going, he’ll act chivalrous and try to stop me.

I need to do this. I continue walking, not bothering to acknowledge him .

“Damn you, Eve. What the hell did I do this time? I need a damn translator or a how-to pamphlet to help me talk to you.”

Ass. “Go home,” I answer back, the fight drained out of me. “We’re not friends, and you don’t have to pretend you want to spend time with me anymore.”

“It’s not safe for you to walk by yourself,” he calls after grumbling something inaudible. “It’s dark and late, and it’s a twenty-minute drive to your house.”

I don’t respond, thinking he’ll give up and turn around. He doesn’t. I’m not sure if that bothers me or flatters me, because as much as I want him to turn and speed off, I want him to stay even more.

The black sports car spins its tires, perfuming the air with the scent of burning rubber as he pulls over to the curb and parks a few feet in front of me.

Tate jumps out of his car and, with one hand on the hood, practically jumps over it, landing on the sidewalk in front of me.

I hastily end my faux conversation and tuck my phone in my rear pocket so he has no opportunity to grab it.

“Listen, Mr. Tate.” I feel a little off balance and wonder if this dizzy feeling is a reflection of a growing attraction to him or if the wine got to my head. “I’m great!”

“No, you’re not. Hell. You keep mistaking my first name for my last. It’s not a good idea for you to be out here.”

Again, I’m unsure if it’s an insult or if he’s acting from a good place.

I want it to be the latter, but I can’t trust my judgment.

I never even suspected Brandon had a secret house that I’d donate a kidney to live in.

Or that he was involved in an ongoing affair.

Why else would she have belongings at the house?

All I know is that I was naive, weak, and vulnerable with Brandon. I can’t be that woman anymore.

“I don’t know what kind of women you surround yourself with, buuut I don’t need a man to take care of me.” I don’t need a man to take care of me, but it would be nice to have one that wants to be with me.

“I know you’re strong. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Good. Do you know that I took care of everything in the house? Not just the cooking and cleaning. Nooo. I hung pictures—repaired things, too. Hell, I even took care of my own orgasms.”

His eyes look off to the side as he clenches his jaw. He looks pissed. What the actual hell?

I inch closer to him so that we’re toe to toe. “Did I say something to upset you?” I whisper.

The lump in his throat bobs as he swallows, but he doesn’t speak. I can almost hear the seconds tick as we remain in this moonlight standoff.

His dark eyes look as black as the night sky as they meet mine. He doesn’t just look angry. He looks toxically enticing, and it makes me want him more.

“You know damn well what you did.”

Realizing how poorly lit and remote the street is, I tremble as I shake my head in disagreement.

Taking hold of my shoulders, his big, strong hands pull me closer.

So close I feel his warmth blanket me. Tate looks down at me, and his breath tickles my lips.

“I . . . all I wanted to do was get to know you better. Become friends, maybe. I didn’t count on .

. .” He stammers. “I could use a friend. ”

Great, I disappointed him. What the hell else is new? “What changed?”

“That little visual you just gave me. Friends shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts.”

“Visual? You mean me cooking and cleaning?” Isn’t that what I said? What’s so wrong with that? I think I said something about hanging pictures, too. Nervous, I slide my hand down the column of my neck to my collarbone.

“Not that visual,” He whispers before removing my hand and replacing it with his own, stroking my skin with a tenderness I don’t expect. “The problem, Eve, is I can’t decide if you’re playing dumb or if you just gave me an engraved invitation. One I’m finding incredibly difficult to pass up.”

I’m so lost, but I can’t think about that.

He’s so incredibly close, my mind can’t focus on anything but fighting the urge to touch him.

Touch his strong arms and broad chest. Kiss him.

His free arm snakes around my waist. Without my realizing it, he’s pulled me closer.

Closer still, until my chest touches his.

My hands rest on his muscular shoulders as I look up into his dark brown eyes.

I lick my lips, feeling something hard press against my belly.

I want to believe I did that. That his hard-on has my name written all over it, but there’s no way I turned him on.

Not when he has barely legal twits like the waitress from yesterday hanging all over him.

His fingers stroke my neck, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake.

I close my eyes and savor the feeling, breathing deeply.

It’s been so long since a man touched me like this, gentle and tender.

Tate closes his eyes, and a pained look crosses his face.

His hold on me loosens. I feel like I’m falling down a black hole, and I’m desperate to claw against the wall to stop the free-fall.

“I’m sorry.” His voice deepens. “I’ll stop.”

A panicked fear settles in. I haven’t felt this way, had this kind of excitement, in at least a decade, and I worry I’ll never feel it again.

Maybe it’s the wine that has me ready to toss away my inhibitions, or maybe it’s the man in front of me that I can’t stand but still find irresistible.

Either way, I don’t care. I want more, I need more of Mr. Tate Grimm, and for once, I’m not afraid to vocalize my desires.

“Don’t stop. I don’t want to have to go home and ease the ache myself. Not this time.”

His hold on me tightens again, this time crushing me against his chest with force, hinting at the strength and power within him. Tate’s mouth searches for my all too eager lips. His kiss steals my breath.

I’m weak in the knees, and Tate’s strength is the only thing keeping me upright. His lips leave mine as he dots warm kisses down my neck, then peppers them across my collarbone. My fingers thread through his hair as I throw my head back and moan, basking in the moonlight.

“Eve,” he whispers my name as his exploring hand travels from my back to my chest. Ever so gently, he brushes his thumb over the hardened peak of my nipple.

Even though he touches me over my shirt and bra, shockwaves rack my body.

“Tell me to stop.” He whispers in my ear while exploring every inch of my exposed skin with his mouth.

“Because I know I should, but I don’t want to. ”

“I don’t want you to stop. I want this, Tate. I want you.”

His thick thigh invades the space between my legs, separating them. Rubbing against my cooch. My lips part, “Ooh.”

“Fuck, Eve.” His teeth close on my bottom lip. He nips me gently before swiping his tongue over the area to soothe it. “If you were any other woman . . . It’s taking all my energy not to sweep you up and take you right here on the hood of my car.”

I glance at the little black sports car. I’ve always been so concerned about appearances. About what other people think about what I do in the privacy of my own bedroom. About the more debased desires I’ve had but never verbalized. I’m ready to leave that all behind.

Brandon complained more than once that our sex life was boring, but I always felt too self-conscious and insecure to tell him what I wanted.

I was afraid he wouldn't look at me the same. Maybe deep down, I sensed there was someone else. But maybe if I told him to take me on the hood of his car, he wouldn’t have felt the need for someone else.

I won’t make the same mistakes again. This time, it will be different. Starting with this moment.

“What are you waiting for, Tate? Take me now.”