CHAPTER 30
Phoebe
Oh, boy.
Apparently, I lied just a moment ago, when I assured Evander he’s not the swoon-worthy kid from my sixth-grade poems.
Because.
He.
Is.
And here I am, still swooning, after all these years.
But that’s just the starting point.
I’m vibrating from head to toe. Buzzing with desire and emotion. I’m squeezing my thighs together, but it’s pointless.
My switch has been flipped. All the way on.
I watch Evander backlit by the fire. The rugged lines of his face, the musculature of his shoulders and arms, the power in his neck. He is a very big man, a strong one. But he’s impossibly sweet with me.
I can’t defend myself against this Evander, the one with the shadow of a beard and the tousled, raven-black hair that seems to have a mind of its own.
The one who listens patiently. Smiles at me. Isn’t in a rush to be somewhere or irritated because he can’t find a pair of chinos that fit over his cast.
There’s no point in even trying to resist.
I see Evander in this moment, and I know I’d give him anything he wanted, let him take whatever he desires.
I feel my face flush.
Just now, when Evander pressed his lips gently to the top of my hand, it felt overly polite. Like he was a restrained gentleman, and I was the demure lady he was courting.
That didn’t last long, though. Thank you, sweet baby Cheez it!
He’s just flipped my hand over to kiss my palm. He trails his lips up the inside of my wrist like he wants to gobble me up.
I feel the hot tip of his tongue travel up the tender skin of my forearm. The slight pinch of his teeth is added to the sensations. Next, his mouth covers the crook of my arm, and I feel the barest tug of suction.
He raises his violet-blue eyes to me, like he’s making sure I’m paying attention.
Holy shit, I think he’s preparing me. Sharing what he has planned for the rest of me. He’s giving me a preview of his intentions.
Those violet eyes are focused and dangerous. One corner of his mouth curls, like he’s amused by the look of shock that must be plastered on my face.
“Wow,” I whisper, because that’s totally something a non-virgin would say. Ugh, Phoebe!
But I can’t think! I’m in a daze. Part of me worries that it’s more than that. A hypothermic coma, maybe. That I’m making all this up in the cold confusion of my poor brain. Because it cannot possibly be my life.
Can it?
Evander’s hands are on my ankles. His touch is firm.
What is happening right now?
“Phoebe, can I tell you something?”
“Okay.”
He spreads my feet a bit wider on the floor. Then his hands slide up to the outside of my calves. Then the inside of my calves. The inside of my knees. The crook of my knees.
I may be hyperventilating.
“I’m so fucking glad you’re not a virgin.”
“Me too. A virgin couldn’t handle this.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re a handful, Evander. What if you’re too much for me, virgin or not?”
“You’ll set the pace. All you have to do is tell me to stop and I will.”
His hands go higher. To the outside of my thighs. Up to my hips. Across my belly.
My head falls back against the couch. I hear myself make a pitiful whimper as I feel the blankets slide down my shoulders and slip down my upper arms. I’ve gone limp. I’m trying not to feel self-conscious about what Evander is seeing.
Because he’s seeing it all.
I’m loose. My head remains thrown back and my breath is quick. He’s pushed open my legs and my arms have fallen useless at my sides.
His hands grab my waist and then slide to the center of my belly. He lingers there, exploring me before he goes sliding down, down. I gasp.
Oh, he’s good.
He takes a detour, his hot palms going directly to the inside of my thighs. He’s teasing me. He opens me just a little bit more.
“I don’t want you to be cold.”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. Of course I’m going to be cold! It’s cold in here!
“I’m about to burst into flames,” I tell him.
Evander’s hands slide up my sides and he sends the blankets flying from the front of my body. He goes perfectly still. I look down to find him staring.
He sucks air through his teeth. “Holy fuck,” he croaks. “Holy fucking fuck, Phoebe. You are just so… fuck me.”
I chuckle again.
He raises his gaze to me, an appreciative smile spreading across his handsome face. “Sorry. That wasn’t exactly poetry but come on! You’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You’ve already seen me, Evander.”
“Yes, but…” He rakes his gaze up and down my body, then looks up again. The man appears nervous. Evander? Nervous?
“And we’re talking from head to toe.”
“While I was focused on saving your life. I didn’t look at you. But this time, fuck yes, I’m looking. Because I’m a selfish, greedy bastard and I fucking love every inch of what I’m seeing.”
“That’s a relief.”
Evander grips the wooden couch frame and does a pushup, stretching his legs straight out behind him. Then moves up and in. His face hovers over mine. A lock of hair falls over his forehead. He blesses me with a wicked smile.
“You are beautiful, sweet Phoebe.”
“So are you.” I raise my arms. I want to feel him. I want to know him. Everything about him.
My fingers brush over the cut muscle and tendon of his upper arms. Rock solid and chiseled. Holy shit on a stick. Yes, I’ve touched him before. To put in an IV or take his pulse or check his surgical site or to hold his hand and reassure him, but this is totally different.
My hands explore him because he wants me to. He’s letting me. He’s propped himself over me so that I can understand what I’m dealing with. Everything he’s offering me.
That’s nice of him.
My palms run up and down his arms. Hard twists of muscle sculpted by discipline. Even through the fabric of his thermal underwear shirt, I’m stunned by what I’m feeling.
Outrageous physiology, just like the surgeon said. He could probably lift me over his head with one hand. The man must work out like a dog every day. I might want to watch that sometime, if he’ll let me.
“Phoebe?”
His voice drags my attention away from the playground of his upper body. I look up to see him suppressing an amused smile.
“I’m about to kiss you. Thought you should know.”
He drops his gaze to my mouth, eyes shadowed by dense black lashes. But I see the hunger there. It’s unmistakable.
He’s hungry. For me.
He lowers his lips to mine. And that’s it. Game over. Heat rolls through me and I instinctively arch my back, rising up to him.
His kiss is sizzling. Evander’s lips are soft but insistent as they move on mine, opening, tasting, taking. Heaven help me—he’s a fabulous kisser.
Well, of course he is. And I have a feeling that there’s a lot more fabulousness headed my way.
He tilts his head to change the angle of his kiss. There’s no misunderstanding the message. The man knows what he wants.
And I’m telling him he can have it. He can have anything.
Take it.
His kiss deepens, becomes rougher. I clutch his arms and hook a leg over his waist.
Just like that, this is no longer his kiss. It’s ours. We’re both giving and taking. We’re learning each other.
He lowers down on top of me, pressing some of his weight into my body. I’m dizzy. He feels so good. I bring the other leg around him and pull him in even tighter.
“Ow!”