𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 is far from perfect. Before starting her senior year of college, she's already guaranteed her position as the black sheep of her once prestigious family. To make matters worse, she took up bedding the rival family's eldest...
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"𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅," 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 when Evelyn threw all her sense of self-preservation and caution to the wind to agree to move in with him. And the singular word, just as underwhelming as his response, left her so dazed by the way it punctuated the anticlimactic end to their activities that she just stared at him.
"Good?" she parroted, her mind only beginning to reorient itself from the intense spell that lust had held over it. In its wake, she realized how badly she wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. Kiss him madly. "That's it?"
That infuriatingly dashing smile of his pulled at his lips. "Yeah, I mean, I knew you were gonna say yes." Seemingly aiming to soften the sting of his arrogance, his hands moved to brush a curl away from her face and tweak the plump of her cheek. He chuckled. "Don't look at me like that. You knew you were gonna say yes, too."
Evelyn frowned at him. She knew she would, but how did he? With the question came the foreboding shadow of an old friend: fear. It was whispering to her now, reminding her that this was the power she had been reluctant to give him. Only, what would he do with it?
In a very Michael fashion, he'd plainly told her about his wealth, so her family's money—let alone any money—was no object for him. If sex was something he was after, he had made a damn good show of intending the opposite, and he was taking all the time in the world to indulge. So what was he after? What did he need power over her for?
Evelyn didn't have any of the answers, and because of that, she once again asked herself what she was afraid of. Surely it couldn't be the whimsical, soft-spoken and kindhearted man in front of her, the one who had just pleaded to provide a place of safety and happiness for her when being in his arms and his sweet laughter did so just enough.
Her heart skipping to compel her, Evelyn drew her hands together behind her back and took a step closer to him. "Well, since I said yes, can we go back to kissing?"
Michael shifted slightly on his feet. "I don't think that kissin' is all you wanna do though, Eve."
"And how do you know that, Michael?"
A certain something somewhere between ardency and amusement came about his eyes. "'Cause that's not all I wanna do either," he said. His voice seemed to dip in pitch and volume, then an improbably wicked grin followed. "But wanting it is all I'm gonna do."
Evelyn suddenly had difficulty swallowing. Among many other things she had discovered, his ability to have this drastic effect on her was a mystery. He knew just how to draw it out of her the way a bow could beckon sound from a fiddle. She parted her lips to say more, to say something sensible, but nothing made it to her tongue. Instead, just about the only thing that she could imagine being capable of taking the torrid heat of his attention away at a time like this did just that.
Both their heads whipped up to glance at the shadows of the lounge speakers above them when the all too familiar snare roll of Rock With You sounded beneath the DJ's booming voice. "I just got word that MJ is in the building," the man announced, the overpowering crescendo of cheers that followed nearly drowning him out. "So y'all show him some love, get y'all groove on while I spin his hit sound, and we gonna summon him up on that stage!"
