Page 25 of The Hardest Hit

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him.

“To clarify, I was joking about Tuesday. You didn’t need to wait that long.”

“Well, I might have called,” she said, letting go of him, and taking a half step back. He was not happy about that. “But I don’t have your number. And I might have looked you up online, but I don’t know your last name.”

“Right,” he said, feeling like an idiot. He was so used to people knowing who he was—he had just assumed she would reach out. But she was new in town. Why would she know him?

“And I’m assuming that’s also why you didn’t call me,” she added.

“Right,” he said again, “because we kind of skipped that part.”

“Right,” she agreed, her green eyes sparkling in laughter.

“Olivia?”

“Yes, Evan?”

“What is your last name?”

“West. What’s yours?”

“Deveraux,” he said evenly, hoping it meant nothing to her.

“Well, Mr. Deveraux, it’s very nice to meet you.” She held her hand out as if to shake.

“No,” he said, batting her hand away and sliding his arms back around her waist. “We’re not doing that again.”

“But we’re doing this again?” she asked, nibbling tiny kisses along his jaw.

“Among other things,” he agreed, leaning into her.

She tasted sweet like sugar, and her lips met his with a matching eagerness. He let one hand slide downward, to feel the curve of her ass, pulling her tight to him, while the other went upward, burying itself in her hair. He found himself hampered by the wine bottle between them and he stepped back.

“You brought wine,” he said.

“I brought wine,” she agreed, blinking at him.

He plucked the bottle out of her hand and glanced at the label. “Oh. I like this one.” He was surprised. It was rare that anyone brought him a bottle he actually liked.

“Do you? Good. It’s one of my favorites.”

He was torn between approval and mentioning that he had three in the cellar.

“I like it,” he said. “I just like it better when you’re not holding it while I kiss you.”

That made her laugh. “So,” she leaned forward and let her hand drift up his thigh, “I shouldn’t hold…anythingwhile you kiss me?” He found his breath suddenly short. “I’m not sure that was mentioned in the rules.”

“Oh, there are additional rules,” he said. “Did you not get the handbook?”

“Why, no, I did not!” She pulled her hand away and placed it with mock shock on her chest. “I hope I have not violated any Evan Deveraux policies. Do I need to take a class? Is there going to be a test? Do I get a hand-out?”

“Hand-out?” he asked, sliding his hand along the buttons on her shirt and popping them one at a time. “Sure. Hand, out.” Her breasts pushed the shirt open as if they had resented being covered. She looked down at herself as he slid his hand inside her shirt and along the smooth skin of her ribs. He pulled her to him again, leaning in to kiss her.

“Stop holding the wine,” she said before his lips made contact.

“Right,” he agreed. He turned around and walked the few steps into the kitchen and dropped the wine on the counter, then he grabbed her by the hand and tugged her toward the stairs.