Chapter Twenty-four
Evan
“This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.”
The Tempest
I unlocked the gorgeous front door, feeling exactly as giddy about the space as I’d been when the owner showed me around.
It wasn’t a cheap rental, but ever since I was a kid, I’d coveted these historic homes.
When I found the listing, I crunched numbers and decided it would be worth starving a little for a place like this.
It gave me ideas. Like, getting a dog. Buying real furniture. Settling in.
“It has a backyard,” I said, as we stepped into the foyer.
Elizabeth breathed in. “These places always have that certain smell, don’t they?”
I sniffed the air. “It’s like Monticello but with more Pine-sol.”
She snorted. “It’s musty, but not in a bad way. Like a library. Or a shoe.”
I laughed. “A shoe?”
“Not a foot. Like leather and old paper. It’s nice.” Her eyes softened, a little dreamy. “I love the new library, but to be honest, I miss the old space too, the dank lair of it, all heavy with dust, like being buried alive with knowledge.”
“Yikes,” I said, laughing at her description. No wonder she was a writer. I had no response to that, but I understood what she meant. Instead, I waved her in to the den, boasting hardwood floors and a fireplace. All empty now.
“Oh, my God,” Elizabeth said. “Look at these built-in bookshelves.”
“Of course, you’d notice that.” They were pretty cool though, floor-to-ceiling with glass doors. I could picture her books all collected there. I shook my head. Where the hell had that come from?
We continued into the modern kitchen. “Bas would love this. I’m hoping he’ll want to come here and cook for me.”
After a quick peek at the mudroom and laundry, we headed upstairs. Elizabeth squealed over more built-in bookshelves in the study. “Where do those steps lead?”
“I have to show you.” I led her through the door into the bonus room.
“It’s like a secret lair. You have to put in a fake bookcase to hide the entrance.”
I’d been daydreaming about what to do with that hidden space. Maybe make it a game room. But I could suddenly picture Elizabeth tucked away in a corner on an oversize bean bag with a paperback on her knee.
“My lair is back this way,” I said, trying to keep my thoughts on level earth. I directed her back across the landing to the bare bedroom.
She went straight to the walk-in closet, snickering. “Oh, I bet you have quite the wardrobe. Don’t you, Mr. Spurlock.”
She spun around with a coquettish grin, mocking me, and I was consumed with the same urge that struck me in the weather office yesterday—and in the car Saturday night. I had a primal need to lift her onto the window ledge and let her wrap her legs around me.
I raked my fingers through my hair and stepped away, but she stalked closer, her eyes locked on mine, and it was clear she’d read my thoughts somehow. Her smile faded, replaced by a look of pure hunger, and fuck if that didn’t make my cock sit up and take notice.
She moved closer. “You know, I never did get to find out what happens when the barometer rises.”
I chuckled. It was weird how her dorky humor made me want to kiss her even more. Turned out what got my motor revving was someone being playful, treating me like a person and not a piece of meat.
She lifted on her toes, higher, closer, until I couldn’t ignore her intent. “Elizabeth,” I said.
“Evan.” Her eyes narrowed. “We’re not coworkers. So what’s your excuse this time?”
I had no good excuses. I wanted to explore whatever this was, but what exactly was this? We still didn’t know each other well. She started out a fiction, and I still worried about placing my trust in someone who didn’t fully exist.
I let her weight push me back a step, and she laughed, like it was a game, like she was pursuing me, never quite catching me, until my back was against the wall, and wasn’t that a metaphor? She nipped a kiss, then backed away, giving me an out.
A need in me flared, and I claimed her wrist to tug her back toward me, bending forward to catch her mouth with mine, but it was a butterfly kiss, here then gone, as she grinned and pulled away, looking at me with the same kind of surprise I felt. How was this happening?
“Do you still hate me?” she asked, smiling in a way that proved she knew I didn’t.
“I think I like you,” I said. A week ago, I’d hated her. A month ago, I thought I could fall in love with her, or at least someone like her. But this was good. I wanted more of this. I wanted to let go of all that fear and relax into something easy.
A pretty flush colored her cheeks, and I suddenly wanted to spend the whole day studying the texture of her skin, the way the light would catch in her hair.
She palmed my chest. “Well, I know I like you.”
Her fingers twisting into my sweatshirt were a pretty solid clue that she did, and it felt amazing, this connection. I lifted my hand and brushed her hair out of her face, just gazing into her eyes, just hoping.
Hoping I wasn’t stepping off a cliff into the abyss.
She lifted onto her toes, and my breath hitched.
I wanted to lose myself in her, but I held back, studying her.
When she moved close, so close, I had a moment where I could have rebuffed her again, like that first night, but I leaned into the gap, and then her lips were on mine, her hand sliding around my back, and I reached for the hem of her shirt, wanting to feel her again.
I turned her around, pressed her back to the wall and skimmed her jaw with my mouth, her throat with my teeth, and she gasped.
Her smell, her taste, and the feel of her skin left me breathless and needy. But we were in a bedroom with no bed, a house with no home. Daylight streamed through windows with no curtains, and there was nowhere to release this urgent desire.
Somewhere in the distance, a phone chimed, and I realized where we were, what we were doing.
“I—” I stepped away. “I’m sorry.”
“What? Why?”
“I just kind of”—a breath popped from my pursed lips—“I never lose control like that.”
She grinned, all vixen. “Seriously?”
As inevitable as the tides, that deep fear broke across the shores of my subconscious, and I blurted, “I’ve been careful about who I date for the past year, since—” I didn’t finish that sentence.
I didn’t want to freak her out with my emotional baggage.
She might only want something casual, and I was a deep well of need.
I ran my fingers through my hair, mussing it up even worse. “It’s just been a while.”
She sighed. “Same.”
“Yeah?” It was good to hear her say that.
I gazed into her pretty eyes. “The night we met”—I felt her brace, but I had no intention of chiding her again—“I hadn’t been drawn to anyone like that in a long time.
I thought it was because I knew you, and I guess I’ll never know how much that colored my emotions, but even after sorting it all out, hell, even when I was still plenty mad at you, there’s something about you. I can’t get you off my mind.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I’m sorry. I keep doing that. It’s just I want us to know each other better before we, uh—”
“Go hang gliding?” she supplied. “Make origami cranes?”
I snorted. “If those are euphemisms, then yes.”
“You still don’t trust me, do you?”
My head fell back, because I wanted to, but I’d made so many mistakes. “It’s not exactly about you.”
Her expression clouded even more. “Are you about to say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”
Shit. “What I mean is, I don’t think I can trust myself.”
“Isn’t that saying the same thing? You’re questioning your judgment for trusting me, ergo, I must be untrustworthy?”
I stared out the window. The skies remained a picture perfect blue, just the hint of cirrus clouds.
“I’ve been burned so many times, by bad people.
Liars, two-timers, mean girls, bullies spreading false rumors.
” It sounded so pathetic out loud. “If they weren’t fooling me, they were wrecking my reputation. ”
Her brows shot up. “So now I’m a bad person?”
“No.” Why was this so hard? “If you were, I wouldn’t be here. You made it sort of impossible not to like you.”
She made a face. “Well, that’s a hell of a recommendation.”
“I mean it. I was trying to protect myself, but you turned out to be disarming as hell. You’re funny and smart.
I started laughing out of nowhere yesterday remembering your whole thing about the bears.
And it’s more than that. You’re kind and gentle and just easy to be around.
Despite my initial hesitations, I can’t help wanting to get to know you better, to peel back the layers and find out who you really are. ”
“Past the person you thought I was.”
“No, Elizabeth.” I took her hand. “Past the easy surface-level banter and pretty face. I want to know you.”
“And I want to know you, so what’s the problem?”
“I’m terrified to show you who I am. I’m worried you won’t want to buy this lemon if you see how deep my darkness goes.” I just wanted to be loved for who I was, but what if I wasn’t enough?
“You’re not a lemon, Evan. Everyone has their demons.
I’m not going to force you to open up to me, but if you want us to get past the surface level, you’re going to have to at some point.
We can only build trust one brick at a time.
” She squeezed my hand. “Tell me about one of these people who burned you.”
Where to start? “A couple of years ago, I met a woman online, and we got along well, so we agreed to meet in person. That was when I sensed something was off.”
“How so?”
“Like she was never free, or when she was, she only wanted to spend time at my place.”
“That’s bizarre. Who wouldn’t want to be seen in public with you?”
I relaxed a little hearing that. The fact she’d wanted to hang out at the library with me proved she wasn’t living a secret double life. “So long story short, when I pushed to meet at her house or even go to the movies, she confessed why she couldn’t: she was already married.”