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So where did they go from here? Outside of a single night of pure, unadulterated lust, he didn’t want to be with her. She wasn’t his kind of girlfriend. But she couldn’t imagine going back to the uneasily contentious relationship that they’d had before. Wes was coming to her parents’ party tonight, and she longed for him in ways she wouldn’t have thought possible in a short twenty-four-hour time span.
She gritted her teeth as she turned her car onto her parents’ street.
The huge gates at the driveway loomed closer—a lot like the rest of her life—and Evie touched the brakes, slowing the car to a crawl. Heart thumping, she considered turning around and delaying the inevitable. She dreaded enduring her poor mother’s worried face, her father’s disapproval.
And how would Dan look at her? With disappointment?
Her stomach lurched, and she drew in a long, steadying breath. She’d already spent hours driving through her hometown, lost in the memories of her time with Wes and growing ever tenser with the thought of facing her family. Her brother. Pressing her lips flat, she forced herself to turn through the gates. The uneasy knot grew a little tighter as she parked in the circular drive of the palatial colonial-style house with multiple luxury cars lining the driveway.
She glanced back at her suitcase, a pathetic symbol of all she had to show for the last ten years of her life, and decided to leave the bag for later. No sense in announcing her return with her beater luggage with squeaky wheels, symbolizing the mess she’d made of her life to date. She headed up the brick walkway and silently entered the foyer, pausing to take in the familiar smells of her mother’s roses and freshly ground coffee.
Her mom’s voice drifted in from the living room to her right, followed by her father’s and then her brother’s, and Evie’s heart wilted a little more. She needed strength. She needed courage.
At the very least, she needed a cup of strong coffee.
Hoping to postpone the moment of truth, of admitting she needed help, Evie headed down the marble corridor. She pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, only to come to a grinding halt.
Because there, talking on his cell phone next to the coffee pot, stood Wes.
Wes.
Her heart expanded with joy and contracted in fear, all at the same time. Elated to see him again. Petrified of how she’d come to feel about him in such a short time. He caught her eye, his gaze firm on hers as he brought his conversation to a close and hung up.
Five heartbeats passed as they stared at each other, the silence filled with the sound of the coffee streaming into the carafe. She took in the well-muscled chest beneath his blue T-shirt, the lean hips encased in jeans, and the dark, boyishly ruffled hair. But mostly she admired the sinful, hazel eyes. Good God, the thick lashes really gave him a sensually sated look.
Or maybe that was just courtesy of last night.
Goose bumps skittered across her skin, spreading to all corners of her body, setting each cell humming at the memory. Every touch, every fiercely passionate look on his face, and every sigh she’d let out in response, settled into her brain as if to stay forever.
“I thought you had to work today,” she said, feeling as if she’d just sprinted the whole way here.
His brow bunched as he slipped his phone into his jeans pocket. “Maybe I called in sick.”
The absurdity of his statement brought a wry twist to her mouth. “It’s your company,” she said. “You’re the boss.”
His eyes crinkled, his amusement growing deeper. “Just don’t tell my secretary that.”
Several more seconds passed as she barely suppressed the urge to throw herself in his arms and bury her face against that hard chest. To let those strong arms both shelter her and encourage her to move forward. And she couldn’t take the waiting anymore.
“Why are you here, Wes?”
“I wanted to see you again,” he said simply.
She bit her lower lip, the wonderful words rolling through her. Not exactly what she’d expect from the man who’d listed her family as the main reason he shouldn’t sleep with her.
Evie swallowed hard. “At my parents’ house?”
His expression was one of a man who’d grappled with an issue and come to a conclusion. Hip propped against the kitchen counter, he crossed his arms, the well-formed biceps reminding her of his strength when he’d lifted her onto the bar.
He was everything she needed and more.
Focus, Evie. Focus.
“Ever since my father’s embezzlement…,” he said. The words came out slow, thoughtful. “I’ve spent a lot of time worrying about what the rest of the world thinks.”
Evie studied him, the news surprising. She’d always thought of him as this amazing tower of strength. But maybe, in a way, that was a weakness, too.
“Is being perfect getting old?” she asked.
