Page 40 of Ruthless Love

“You already know what I think,” I remind her.

“I need to hear it.”

Taking a deep breath, I stack my hands beneath my head and stare at the ceiling. “I think,” I say slowly, “that you’ve got a lot to think about.”

“I don’t want psychoanalysis. I want your opinion.”

Deliberately, I keep my opinion as neutral as a tan suede boot. “And you need to think about what makes you happy.”

She doesn’t say anything, probably pondering my sage words in silence. I reconsider that thought—realizing silence is an Evie trait reserved for extreme emotions. But a second later, her silence turns into an unbelievably adorable snore.

I flip on my side, resting my head on one hand as I watch her sleep. Pulling the blanket higher around her neck, I say softly, “Have faith in yourself, little baker girl. Trust your instincts. Follow your heart.” I leave a whisper of a kiss on her head. “And don’t marry Dimitri Antonov.”

As I roll onto my back, she whispers, “I won’t.”

Even before I turn to glare at her, I know her cheesy grin is on the verge of a full giggle. “You faked sleeping to get my opinion.”

“When I ask a direct question and you clam up like fucking Switzerland, desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, you of all people should know I don’t snore.”

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t snore, and bears don’t shit in the woods.” I get a pillow in the face for that one, and my vengeful fingers tickle her sides in retaliation.

Her squeals and giggles spur me on before my sober half stops cold, shushing her sternly. In a rare combination of playful and aggressive, she shushes me back and shoves the pillow in my face again until I roll back to the line of demarcation I’ve claimed as my glamping spot.

After a few moments of quieting our breaths, she weaves her fingers through mine. “You know what else is on my bucket list?”

“What’s that?” I ask, rubbing my thumb along her knuckles for encouragement.

“I always wanted to marry for love.”

“Me too,” I say, letting my not-quite-sober state do the talking.

“I think my mom might be getting it right this time.”

Confused, I turn to her. “Your mom’s remarrying?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says with a yawn. “To Everett Long. But it’s not public knowledge. I think they might elope.” She pops the p at the end of the word elope, then begins motorboating her lips to the air. Apparently, I’m not the only one teetering on the edge of drunkenness.

“See,” I say, followed by my own yawn. “True love does exist.”

Her fingers walk across her lips as she pouts. “I’m not even sure I’ve been kissed by a man who actually loved me.”

Staring at the tremble of that full bottom lip, I can’t believe how fucking kissable she is.

“Impossible,” I say, letting my gaze linger for a moment, tracing the soft lines of her mouth before I roll to my back. I suck in another yawn and close my heavy eyes. “You’re absolutely lovable,” I mumble before drifting off.

Chapter Twenty-Two

AUSTIN

The jab to my side wakes me instantly, and it only takes a few sleepy blinks to realize Coop is looming over me like a murderer seconds before the lock of a choke hold. The little snore in my ear reminds me where I am and who I’m with, making my eyes pop open wide awake in an instant. Fuck.

I slide out from under Evie’s little body, gently tucking the throw around her. She stirs but remains asleep.

In seconds, Coop and I are in the kitchen, and it’s all I can do to keep the man from a full-on throat punch. In a show of surrender—and protectively in case that throat punch is still on the table—I throw my hands up.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Right,” Coop says, not buying it at all. “Evelyn Banks—who’s very much engaged—is in your fucking arms, and it’s not what I think. Because I’ll tell you what I think—”

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