Page 39 of Ruthless Love

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” I’m stalling, but not just to avoid the inevitable. Also because the gorgeous bastard has left me hanging. “What’s your bucket-list item for the evening?”

“Hmm?” he asks innocently.

I give him the stink eye, and he completely caves under the weight of my glare.

“Okay. Fine. I’ve, um, never been line dancing.” His eye roll is precious.

My wide-eyed reaction makes him shift uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh. My. God. And you’ve wanted to?”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes on anything but mine.

“Well then, Mr. Byrne. That means after dinner we’re hittin’ a club.”

Okay, my accent is getting thicker by the second. Although I’d normally cringe at the unmistakable proof of my Southern upbringing, in this moment, I just don’t care.

“Well, you’ve got to down an oyster first. And there might not even be a line-dancing joint in Big Sur.”

“Oh, there is,” Rusty says helpfully, returning to bring fresh plates and clear the scavenged crab legs. “About six miles away. It’s a pretty jumping place. My brother is bartending tonight. I can call ahead so you can slip your whiskey inside, and he’ll keep it safe behind the bar.”

Austin ignores my squeals of delight as he deadpans to Rusty, “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Actually, do you mind if we leave my car here overnight? If it’s that close, we’ll grab a Lyft. I’m going to need a few drinks to get through a night of line dancing.”

“No problem at all,” Rusty says, grinning as he carries away the seafood shells.

Austin raises his half pour to me, and I lift my glass, ready for the clink. “To firsts.”

“To firsts!”

Chapter Twenty-One

AUSTIN

It’s well after two a.m. before we’re back at the beach house, and between boozing it up and dancing the night away, neither Evie nor I make it upstairs to our rooms. Somehow, settling in the living room is cozier—and easier.

I grab the remote to flip on the gas fireplace and turn it down to give the room a warmth and glow perfect for lounging. I expect Evie to take the comfy couch, but instead she’s made herself busy tossing the decorative sofa pillows to the carpeted area before the fire.

“I love glamping,” she says softly with a nostalgic smile. Creating a little nest for herself, she curls up on the rug, losing herself in the flames.

I’m fully ready to take the abandoned sofa when she asks, “Do you ever want a do-over?”

That conversation starter alone is enough to make me join her.

I kick off my own shoes before tending to hers, which I do for no other reason than I think she’ll be more comfortable. “Who doesn’t want a do-over?”

Her eyes never leave the fire, but her gaze is a million miles away. I grab the only throw blanket I can find, because who knows what the hell happened with the other ones. Apparently, what’s lacking in blankets has been made up for in throw pillows.

I lay the soft fabric over her, then tuck her in like a burrito until a smile sneaks onto her lips.

Satisfied I’ve given her the slightest reprieve from her heavy thoughts, I plop down beside her. Close enough to keep our talk low, but not too close. For both our sakes.

“If I marry Dimitri ... I think I’ll want a do-over.”

I’ve got a million things to say to a comment like that, but keep my big mouth shut. A consequence of both my training and my manners.

“What do you think?” she asks before refocusing her distant gaze on me.

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