Page 365 of Steamy Ever After

He says the contents are meant for McPhearson women’s eyes only, but I wonder if he ever stole a peek through the years. Knowing my uncle's character, he probably never considered it, respecting the family tradition.

I settle in Aunt Martha's recliner, excited to read my namesake's words. The first pages include a family tree and the passing of the journal through the first-born daughters. Aunt Martha’s name is the last entry with a penned line for the first-born daughter she never had.

I rub my finger over that empty space. My name goes there, but how to annotate it correctly? Then it hits me. I’m the last female in the McPhearson line. Before I finish tracing Martha’s lineage back through the decades, a knock sounds at the front door.

"Coming," I call out.

Opening the door, my breath catches. Drake stands, hand raised, ready to knock on the door again.

"Drake?" The quickening of my pulse catches me off guard. There’s just so much of him to take in. From the devastation of his dark eyes to the jagged scar on his cheek, he quickens my breath and brings heat to my face.

Incredibly handsome, Drake stands with purpose, his feet spread on a wide base, completely unaware of how his overwhelming presence makes my heart flutter.

A storm brews in his eyes, not of anger, but of a more pressing need. Cotton strains over the broad expanse of his chest, every ripple of muscle outlined underneath. With his height, my attention focuses firmly on the cut definition of his chest and the bulge of his biceps. I catch myself staring and drag my attention up to take in the rugged features of his face.

He crooks up a dark eyebrow, fully aware I’m checking him out. Heat builds in my cheeks, and the curve of his lips bows into a grin.

"City girl," he says with a mischievous smirk. "Bert told me I could find you at Doc Bateman's house. I’ve never been stood up by a girl before, must be something you city folk do all the time. You owe me a dinner date.”

"I'm sorry. Something came up."

The breeze blowing in through the doorway is warm. The unseasonably cold weather seems to be on its way out.

"I was just …”

"You were just getting ready to tell me how you’re going to make it up to me.” He palms the door jamb and dares me to deny his demand.

Speechless, my ribs expand with a sharp inhale while I stare at him like a fool.

A devilish grin takes control of his face, softening the jagged line of his scar. The stubble across his hard jaw makes me itch to run my fingers across the coarse whiskers and steal another taste of him. We regard each other for a minute until he leans in to whisper in my ear.

“I’m reading your mind, and while I’d love to take another kiss, let me take you on a proper date first.”

My breath rushes out as the whisper-light press of his lips against the side of my neck makes my muscles tense and my heart race. My fingernails bite into my palms with the struggle to not lose all control.

He lets out a strained laugh, his lips hovering over my ear again. “An odd thing we’ve got going, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” My voice wavers with my response. “What is it?”

“The air crackles between us. Tell me you’re interested in exploring this further.”

Interested?

That word doesn’t begin to describe the need burning within me, but I didn’t leave a bad relationship to jump blindly into another. And I’m certainly not ready to land in any man’s bed after knowing him for only one night, even if he saved my life.

I step back, breaking the electrical connection supercharging the air. I need a breath without his overwhelming Drake-ness muddling my thoughts.

“Um, give me a second.” I bite down on my cheek.

The polite thing would be to invite him in, but I have a feeling things will rapidly escalate if we’re in a room alone together. When Drake doesn’t budge, I make a big deal of closing the door. If he wants to play the city-country angle, then he can wait on the porch like a proper country gentleman.

As soon as I shut the door, I bring my hands to my mouth to suppress a girly squeal, then I press my shoulders back, and try to gain some semblance of control. He tracked me down the same way I planned on finding him.

I run to my room and rummage through my suitcases until I find a black skirt. The fabric doesn’t need ironing and is perfect for an emergency outfit change. Shimmying out of my pants, I pull on the skirt, hoping Drake will appreciate the tight fit.

Since it is still cool outside, I opt for a dark sweater and layer a dressy tank top underneath. I have no idea what he intends—there are few bars in Peace Springs—but if they’re anything like the ones in Redlands, a sweater will be too hot if there’s a crowd heating up the inside.

I grab my purse and drape the coat Bert lent me over my arm. I want Drake to get the full impact of my outfit and will endure the discomfort of the chilly night air.

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