Page 17 of The Southern Thirst Trap

The smile fades when I realize once again I’m about to break one of my steadfast rules: don’t contact anyone you’ve already fucked. That’s how things get messy. That’s when attachments form and expectations spring up. I’m not relationship material, and I never let anyone consider the idea because I’m out of their life too fast. But if I keep after Harlowe like this, whether or not she wants it, there will be a problem. I know this for a fact.

Harlowe was trouble from the start, and we both knew it.

And yet, here I am, going against my better judgment. I grab my suit jacket and leave the building without another thought to my own rules.

I’m already pulling up the message from Javi with her insurance card as I slide into my sleek, vapor gray Karma SC2 electric car, knowing I’m crossing so many lines by typing it into my GPS and starting the drive to her home. I know there’s a process I should take, a better road to conversations with her about the kid who could very well be mine, but the only path I’ve ever taken has been the hard one I found for myself. I’m treading on unknown terrain with baggage that wants to take me down, but I’m starting the trek, anyway. I’ve scaled actual mountains. How hard can this be?

Harlowe lives a ways from downtown, but still in Atlanta proper, and it’s strange rolling through the very suburban neighborhood when I normally stick to the highrises of downtown. I know I can't just walk up to the door and expect her to let me in for a chat, so I pillage more of her information from Javi’s message and dial her number.

I’m surprised she answers an unknown number, even one with a local area code.

“Hello?” Her husky rasp floods me with a sense of nostalgia that shouldn't exist, and it takes me a moment to reply.

“Hey.” I swallow. “Lowe, it’s me.” My voice is low and casual, not disclosing the internal turmoil as my brain screams warnings about how bad this could be. My heart is pounding a rapid staccato beat in my chest, expecting her to hang up on me. The adrenaline rush of the situation keeps me on the line, feeling each roar of my spiked pulse like a drug.Rush. Rush. Rush. Mine. Mine. Mine.She gets me so fucking high, and I’ve only heard her voice. Seeing her will send me to the fucking moon. I won’t need to jump out of another plane for years if I keep this up.

Her sharp intake of breath is clear through the line before she slowly says, “Zander?”

“I’m at your house. I have Javi’s insurance card for you.” I use the last-minute excuse I created for what brought me to her home after dark. I clench my jaw, knowing she won’t buy it any more than I can sell it, and that’s saying something, given I have built a world-class business based on how I can sell a vision.

She chuckles softly, but the sound holds no mirth. She’s laughingatme. Fuck.

“Your audacity knows no bounds. Javier could have sent me a photo of his insurance card like he said he would, yet here you are, skulking outside my house, using it as an excuse to be there because you think you have the right to everyone else’s time and attention, you pompous ass.”

She saw right through me and fucking called me out like I’m nothing. I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I don't want to fight with her, not when there’s so much on the line. “You’re right,” I grit out, leaving it at that. She doesn’t need to know how on the money she is.

“Oh, wow! Well, that’s new. I didn't know you could ever admit defeat,” she says, the warmth of her voice soothing despite the words that needle at me. “Why are you here, Zander?”

I scrub my hand across my face, feeling the rasp of beard and grit from a day in the trenches of business. “I need a drink,” I say, more to myself than to her.

She sighs. “There are bars strewn all across this city and you chose to come all the way out here to get a drink from me.” She’s quiet for a beat, and I’m readying for the disappointment when she turns me away. “Get your ass inside and be quiet about it. And do not, under any circumstances, make me regret letting you in.”

I’m out of the car before the call ends. There’s a lightness to my step that shouldn't be there with the weight of responsibility and the shattering of rules put in place to protect me and those around me. I rap my knuckles against her door, stilling in anticipation, and she opens it a moment later. Warm light spills out onto the dark porch as she’s revealed in a blue and white striped pajama set that, while not skimpy by any means, hugs her curves and looks adorable on her. Her face is bare of makeup, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and calling for my hands to twist in the long tresses.

Just seeing her calms some of the manic energy in me. I'm able to take a full breath for what feels like the first time since I saw her last. She stays silent, wariness in her expression as she looks at me on the threshold of more than just her home.

I’m bathed in her presence, memories of nights spent with her barreling straight to the forefront of my mind like a good bourbon on an empty stomach. The thoughts tangle around my limbs and trip me as I hesitate on the doorstep. Every instinct in me says to gather her in my arms and crush her against me, to take those full lips with mine and kiss the hell out of her. To touch her the way I know she likes. But, while I’m acting irrationally and against my better judgment, I’m not my baser instincts, and I know better than to rush into her space and take what isn't offered.

Who the fuck am I to want her this badly after walking away? I made my decision, knowing full well it was the best option. I shouldn’t want her still, after having had my fill of her. But there is something more than our explosive chemistry and memories holding us together, and that’s what is driving me to be this out of control of myself. If I can just get some answers from her, maybe I can stop this madness and get back to what I do best—no attachments.

“Are you going to stand there all night, or are you coming in?” she finally asks, cocking her hip and placing a hand on it. My eyes are drawn to where her hand rests, the new fullness calling to my hands, asking me to sink my fingers into her lush curves and pull her tight against me.

I blink the thought away. Being around her and not putting my hands on her is going to be a nearly insurmountable task. Good thing I like a challenge.

I follow her inside without a word, softly shutting the door behind me. She pads over the warm-toned hardwood, her bare feet peeking out from under the cuffs of her pajama pants, her ass jiggling through the stretchy material, and I have to will myself not to grow hard at the tantalizing sight. We pass a comfortable-looking living room and make our way into a spacious kitchen that has been done in the home’s modern-meets-traditional style.

“I have a bottle of merlot open, and I may have some gin and tonic around, but this bar ain’t stocked with much else.” She pulls open the fridge and eyes the contents, arranged to perfection with carefully labeled containers holding a host of ingredients, and fresh produce stocked in the crisper drawers. “I have sparkling water, milk, and juice boxes, too.” She turns back to me and shrugs a shoulder, not apologizing for her lack of drink options. A heavy pour of bourbon is what I really need.

“The wine is fine.” I settle myself at a stool along the island, the thick marble veined in a deep blue-green that reminds me of the Indian Ocean we swam in together and I can’t help but trace it with a finger while she pulls out a wine glass. There’s one glass sitting in the sink, so I know she opened the wine for herself. At least there’s not a second glass in that sink, so she wasn’t drinking with the fucking jock she’s seeing.

Rage fills my blood at the thought of him and the feeling of—what the fuck is this?Jealousy? I look up when she sets the wine in front of me. I smooth my thoughts away to contemplate later and let a smile touch my lips. It’s my disarming expression, but her face hardens when she sees it.

“Are you going to tell me why I’m playing bartender to you tonight, or should I guess at your nefarious intentions?”

She leans on the island across from me, the undone first few buttons of her pajama top gaping with the movement and showing me the swell of her tits. It’s hard to drag my gaze back to her face when memories of her incredible body and how responsive she is under my touch surface in my mind. On Monday, her nipples grew hard when she saw me, so even if she hates me now, her body remembers and may not feel the same way. Mine fucking knows what it wants, my cock twitching at the very sight of her.

“I was dealing with a lot of shit at work today. You may have heard about the cyber attack on Olympus?”

She nods warily. “Who hasn’t?”

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