Page 64 of Craving Consequences
“I don’t want them.”
Everly is staring up at him with big eyes and parted lips, and a bottomless need that tugs on my gut.
“Mr. Weaver?” she whispers.
In an act that has even me sucking in a breath, Van reaches up and lightly brushes a coil of hair off her cheek. His fingers grazes the flushed contour, making her lashes flutter. When she looks up at him again, there is a bomb ready to detonate in her eyes that could take us all out.
“It’s Van. And I don’t wantthem,”he repeats softer, but with an implication that has my molars grinding.
Everly skates a pink tongue over the bottom curve of her full lip before whispering, “Not even Maisie Baker? She—”
Van’s big hand clamps around the back of her slender neck and she’s yanked into his chest. Into his arms. Her fingers twist into the fabric of his t-shirt for balance as he holds her hostage.
“No,” he growls down into her upturned face.
The slim column of her throat flexes even as she visibly fights to contain her every ragged pant. “You’d get fresh muffins every morning.”
He must have tightened his hold; Everly gasps as she’s dragged up onto her toes. Front fully wedged against his.
“Can you bake?”
Goddamn this guy. What the hell is he doing? This is the exact opposite of what we discussed the night before.
“Do you want me to bake you muffins, Van?”
I think she’s teasing him, but it’s hard to tell when the question is a weak murmur.
“I like chunky chocolate,” he murmurs, and even I’m sucker punched by the timid little grin uncurling across her face.
“I’ve never been good at baking.”
“I’ll teach you.”
I’m going to punch the man in the mouth if he doesn’t stop soon. If he doesn’t fucking kiss her already. He’s already inches from her sweet mouth. What the fuck is he even waiting for? I swear to God, if he doesn’t get his ass on it, I’ll—
“Hey, Everly, I saw you pull in,” calls a male voice from just outside the door.
The two entwined in the murky depths of the dusty storage unit scramble apart like a lit match has been tossed between them. Everly hurriedly brushes small hands down her front, smoothing invisible wrinkles while Van glowers at the opening behind me just as Bryan Markley ambles into view in his white uniform top with the storage logo emblazoned across the right breast and faded jeans. He scoops back a heavy swatch of straw-blond off his blue eyes.
His mop of straw-blond falls over squinting blue eyes that he flips back with a hand.
Everly is the only one who smiles, but even I can tell it’s forced and tight with barely restrained panic.
“Hey, Bryan.” Even her voice is too loud in the silence. “How are you?”
Bryan slants her an easy grin that he extends to me and Van. “Doing good. Hey, Mr. Shaw. Mr. Weaver. Didn’t know you guys were here, too.”
“The giant white truck didn’t give it away?” I snip back.
It’s uncalled for. My tone is rude and dismissive, but I really hate the way he keeps staring at Everly. I dislike his eyes on her at all, but more so the way he keeps drifting back to her like she’s a magnet he can’t shake.
“I guess you’re right.” He barely even glances in my direction before he’s staring at Everly again. “We missed you last night. Was kind of hoping you’d show up.”
I don’t know whoweis, but I definitely don’t like it.
“Show up?” Everly asks softly.
All ten fingers vanish into the front pockets of his jeans and Bryan rocks back from toe to heel. “Yeah, the bonfire? Bron and Lauren were there so I kind of guessed you’d be coming, too, especially because Lauren kept looking for you.”
