The Evie Effect: Sometimes love is an art, page 18
“Is this why The Pie Monkeys never toured in Australia?”
“I couldn’t hack going back there.” He stared down at the table, a muscle in his jaw working furiously. “Carl died not long after I got to England.” He threw back his head with a derogatory snort. “You can bet he’d have sold the story if he’d lived. And then after I got famous, Mum didn’t want any publicity. She went and lived with her sister in a small town in New South Wales and in the end made peace with her life, I think. I visited her a couple of times, but I was totally absorbed in The Pie Monkeys by then.” He sucked in his lower lip. “I sent money… I should have done more—much more. But I didn’t, and I regret it like fucking crazy. And then five years ago she got an aggressive cancer and it killed her within a month. I got home to see her—just.” His voice cracked.
“Oh. Shit. Oh Byron.” Evie reached out and curled her hand around his arm. He looked down at it and, uncertain all of a sudden, she made to pull away, but then he smothered it with his bigger one and held on tight.
“So yeah, just one more thing I pushed into a deep dark corner. Locked it up and pretended it never happened. Byron Logan could do that. Logan Baine couldn’t, it seems. That night in Berlin, Logan won out.” He barked out a laugh. “Sometimes I feel like Byron Logan is one of those movie characters that get vaporised and all that’s left is a pile of empty clothes and a puff of smoke.”
She stared at him, wide-eyed. He squeezed her hand. “You must understand about that.” Then, softly, “Tell me, who is Evie Winters? Or is little Evangelina Winterton still in there, hiding?”
She shook her head. “There’s no Evangelina. Hasn’t been for a long time.”
“No? I reckon I see that sad little girl lurking in your eyes. And jeesh,” he gave a lopsided smile, “you really were the cutest kid. No wonder the cameras loved you.”
“How do you know?”
“How do you think? I checked out the footage on YouTube. That series was pretty damn popular, wasn’t it?”
Evie’s lips thinned. How she hated the fact that Evangelina still floated around on the internet, and probably would forever.
“You want to know something?” she said, and he cocked his head. “Every ten years the whole of your body changes, every single cell. You become a completely new person. Every decade you are all brand new. So you are no longer that boy Logan, and I am no longer that girl Evangelina.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Evie sipped her wine. “My psychologist at Hedgedown Lodge. She told me things like this to help me understand what a miracle the human body is, to teach me to respect mine.”
“How could you not respect your body?”
“I do respect it. Now. For years I was at war with it. But now I know it’s strong and capable and powerful.”
“And beautiful.”
She played with the skull pendant at her neck. “You haven’t seen all of it.”
“Just give me the chance,” Byron replied, whisper soft.
Evie’s breath hitched. “That statement could lead to all kinds of mischief.”
Across the table, their eyes fused. Gently, sensually, he toyed with her hand, sending sparks up her arm, along her spine, and deep into her belly. Evie swallowed hard. They’d reached the tipping point. She’d known for weeks that this would happen. Maybe from that very first moment when she’d stared up into his eyes on that London street.
“What kind of mischief?” Byron’s voice took on a deep huskiness, eyes sparking in the candlelight. Slowly, he stroked along her middle finger, encasing it in his thumb and forefinger in a gesture with unmistakable intent.
“This kind.” Evie barely recognised her own voice as she rose and kicked back her chair.
It was like everything happened in slow motion. The way Byron’s jaw clenched, his pupils dilating as he watched her prowl towards him. How his chair scraped back from the table, his legs spread wide in invitation and how, in a beat, she’d straddled him, her quads sandwiching his thighs, hands on his shoulders, as a fire built inside her.
A fire that would surely burn her up.
Like a moth dancing into the flame, Evie lowered herself onto him. When the ridge of his leather-clad cock finally pressed against her bare sex, she gasped. With a triumphant growl, Byron’s arms banded hard around her. She took his face between her hands and stared into his heavy-lidded eyes, their bodies pulsing to the same beat, speaking the same language.
“Tease,” Byron muttered thickly. “Come here.” And with that, he tugged her pelvis hard against him. With a whimper, Evie dove her fingers into his hair and lowered her mouth to his.
It was a kiss that took no prisoners; rough, exhilarating, bruising. Their tongues duelled as she felt the heat of his palms move up either side of her legs. Higher, higher… Suddenly he stilled, ripping his mouth from hers, eyes wide with surprise. “You’re not wearing panties.”
“Really.” She stared in mock horror at his beautiful flushed face. “I must have mislaid them on the way here.”
“Witch.” With a low laugh he buried his head between her breasts, his breath hot and ragged against her skin as he released each of them from their confines and took one swollen nipple, then the other into his mouth and sucked them into hard little peaks. Evie cried out, arching into him, and pressing up to meet his ministrations. Still lathing her nipples, he held her tight as she ground against his cock. Finally, as if he knew neither of them could take much more, he lifted his head and gazed deep into her eyes.
It was like teetering on the edge of a precipice, about to launch into the most spectacular dive of your life. And as if Byron knew exactly when she needed to jump, he whispered, “Fuck, I want you.”
“Then take me,” Evie whispered back, and allowed herself to fall.
Chapter 19
Oh sweet Jesus, he knew already what those lips were capable of.
And yet, here, now… this was taking things to another level. With her grinding her sweet naked pussy into his still sheathed cock and her breasts in his mouth his whole body was thrumming. And when she said those magic words, “Then take me.” How could he resist that?
A part of him wanted to slowly savour her beautiful body. But with no panties on and the smell of her musky desire, it was too late to tell himself to slow things down.
Byron’s arms clamped around her, his cock burgeoning against the leather of his pants until he was sure it would be zipper scarred for life.
And then, thank fuck, he felt her hand on his zipper, and in one swift move she’d freed him, palming him magnificently until everything was way too close to…
Oh no. No fucking way.
“Ah, no you don’t, you beautiful demon.”
Abruptly, he stood, and laughing, she clung to him, those amazing thighs riveted around his butt as he lowered her onto the table, casting dishes and glasses aside with one sweep of his hand.
“I feel like part of Mrs Rose’s feast.” She giggled and pulled him into her for more deep, mind-blowing kisses.
“You are the feast,” he whispered huskily when he finally came up for air. And with that, he pushed her skirt up and ducked between her legs. A plethora of lace and silk rode around his head and her strong thighs squeezed his ears as he lowered his face into the sweet heaven of her pussy. He pressed his tongue onto her swollen clit and circled it, flicking then circling again until she whimpered and bucked and opened wider. Thrusting two fingers into her, he curled them against her quivering internal muscles, knowing he’d found the G spot by the way her hips rode up and she ground into him with a long moan of satisfaction.
He pushed her skirt higher and gazed at the curve of her hip bones, her pale skin and the dark blonde hair of her pussy.
“You weren’t lying.”
She raised her head, her eyes cloudy with lustful confusion. “W-what?”
He grinned lasciviously. “You are a natural blonde.”
“Why would I lie? Oh, Jessussssssssss.” Her head fell back against the table with thunk as he moved back down her body, pausing at her exposed breasts and sucking in first one nipple, then the other, before letting them pop out and point heavenwards.
And then, the little demon, she grabbed his hair and pushed his head lower.
“You want me to get on with it, is that it?”
“Oh, YESSSSSS.” It turned to a long sigh of approval as once again he flicked his tongue against the swollen nub in the centre of her sex, revelling in how soaked she was. For him. Anchoring her hips with his hands, he sensed his way, going on her little cries and the spasms at her entrance. “You like this?” She let out a guttural assent as his tongue swept over her clit, along her cleft and into her entrance, sensing the rhythm and cadence of her body as the tension built inside her, until she thrashed and writhed and became beautifully vulgar in her expletives, her hands digging deep into his hair just before her release.
She chanted his name, and he rode her orgasm with her, the waves of her climax rolling over his tongue.
It was such a turn-on, this totally earthy and abandoned Evie, and Byron was almost certain his cock was going to spill its seed along with her release.
Somehow he stopped himself from thrusting into her in the glow of her aftermath.
Besides, there were no freakin’ condoms in the folly.
That was bad planning.
So instead he kissed her damp thighs, lapped at the juices that she’d shed there, trying to ignore that his dick was close to self-combusting. But really, so what if he had to remain forever frustrated? Would it matter? Because pleasuring Evie was sheer wonder. That was the truth of it: Evie Winters filled him with a wonder he’d thought long gone. Right now, he could bay at the moon with the fucking wonderfulness of it. He was at risk of saying something moony and ridiculous as he moved up to cradle her in his arms, but to his surprise those two strong hands pushed at his chest until he was forced into standing and then she slid off the table, wearing the most wicked smile in the whole wide world.
“Your turn,” she said, and proceeded to kneel in front of him and push his leather pants down his thighs.
Before he could say a word, she’d taken his cock in her soft, wet mouth and sucked. And then licked all the way down to his balls and back up, and Byron had no say over his body’s reaction, nor the animal growl that ripped from his lips. His body jerked like a marionette. Evie was pulling every one of his strings, and all he could do was dance to her tune.
He braced through his legs, his leather pants around his ankles now, trying to hold onto some restraint as she licked him as though he was the best lollipop in the whole wide world.
No chance. He was on the edge of being blown to kingdom come.
Desperately, he grabbed a nearby chair and held onto it with one hand, gripping it so hard that it vibrated on the flagstones as the feeling built in his abdomen. He made the mistake of looking down to see her pretty pink head bobbing and the muscles of his abs rippling with his impending release and that fucking did it…
“Fuck fuck FUCK! Jesus, Evie.” Byron clasped his fist so hard on the back of that chair it was a surprise it didn’t snap in half as he came. His head kicked back, and his body felt like it was levitating; all that held him in place was his fist around that damn chair and the other hand tangled in her hair. Finally, when he had no more to give and his legs had turned to jelly, Evie emerged, laughing and smacking her wet lips, and asked, “Are you trying to drown me here?”
And suddenly they were both laughing, and he’d hauled her into his arms and they were kissing, tasting their juices on each other, sticky and sweaty and their clothes in all sorts of disarray.
“Was that okay for you?” he finally murmured into her neck. What a stupid question, but he asked it anyway, stroking her hair.
“Don’t expect a score, because I don’t have the brain capacity left to give you one.”
“Did I blow your mind?”
“Completely.”
“Same here.”
Grinning like an idiot, Byron nuzzled his face into her neck, and it occurred to him he could possibly stay here in the folly with her forever, making love. Until time ended and the planetary system crashed into Earth. Or whatever actually happened when time ended. Who fucking cared?
Finally, Evie pulled away and looked around, tapping at her lip endearingly. “I think we might have made a mess.”
“Does it matter?”
“Poor Mrs Rose, we seem to leave havoc behind us.”
This wasn’t havoc, this was heaven, was all Byron could think. He gazed at her, dumbstruck, lost for words, a thousand songs forming in his head.
All of them about Evie.
It was close to midnight when they made their back up to the house, not at all steadily, arms clasped around each other and giggling like a pair of school kids. Evie had brought the bottle of champagne and they passed it between them, taking long slugs.
They stumbled a little in the dark, guided by Evie’s phone torch, and when they got to the house, Byron led her round the back.
“I asked Mrs Rose to leave the kitchen door unlocked,” he explained, then there was a loud thunk and a volley of expletives as he stumbled into a bin.
“Shhushh, you’ll wake Monty up,” Evie giggled.
As they made their way along the corridors, Evie shone her torch up at the paintings lining the walls.
“Do you think they disapprove?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. They came with the house.”
“You really aren’t related, then.”
“Nah, though I am apparently descended from Cornish tin miners who went over to South Australia in the nineteenth century. But unless the lord of manor screwed my grandmother when she was a chambermaid I doubt I can claim any ancestry.”
As they finally reached the doors to Byron’s wing of the house, Evie hesitated. “I should go to my room,” she said, but his grip on her hand tightened and he reeled her into his chest.
“Don’t,” he whispered against her ear.
“I should.”
He pulled back and narrowed his eyes. “Get your rocks off and then desert me, was that the plan?”
“If we wake up next to each other, we might regret it.”
“Why?”
“I guess… It might feel more than… more than…” Words failed her.
“So, I’m just a quick shag to you, am I?” He looked suddenly hurt, and his raw emotion sliced into her heart.
She ducked her head, hiding from his gaze in case her eyes gave her away. A gentle finger under her chin brought her face up, so she couldn’t help but look at him. “I haven’t taken a Xanax since the day you kissed me,” he said softly.
“Wow!” she tried to make light of how deeply that affected her. “Perhaps you should bottle me.”
“Stay. Please.” His breath was soft on her cheek now as his arms pulled her close. “Let me show you I can make love sweet and slow, not just fast and furious.”
Oh, that offer was beyond tempting. Evie’s legs turned wobbly and the only thing that helped was to melt into his embrace and raise her face to his.
While they kissed, she realised he’d managed to open the door with his other hand and then somehow they were moving as one, like some four-legged creature into his room and towards the bed.
“You evil beast,” she managed between kisses. “You’re trying to seduce me.”
He laughed against her lips, “I thought we’d already gone past that stage,” then stroked deep into her mouth with that wicked tongue and she was done for. With a sigh, Evie wound her arms around his neck, climbed his body and wrapped her legs tight around his butt.
Like this, they stumbled over to the bed.
“My oh my,” she said, staring up at the ornate canopy after she’d landed on her back on the mattress. “A four poster.”
“Pretty majestic place to fuck, right?”
“Do you have notches on your bed post?”
He smirked. “Wouldn’t be any bed post left if I did.”
“Villain.” She tried not to think of that as she pulled his head down to her. All the women, and possibly men too, if the rumours were true. But then, she’d hardly been a nun.
But this between them, this felt different. Was she fooling herself or was there… a connection? One that went beyond sex?
Profound.
Beautiful.
Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Connecting sexually with Byron was altogether different from letting herself get emotionally involved, and she needed to remember that.
As if he’d sensed her stiffen, he stopped and looked searchingly into her face.
“Sure you want to stay?”
Evie gazed into the emerald of his eyes and it was impossible to resist the pull, the magnetism of him. Right now she’d probably dive headlong into the sun if he asked her.
Focus on now. No past, no future.
“Yes, I want to stay.”
And then an idea struck her. Her lips quirked. “Want a show?”
“What kind of show?”
“A pole dancing show.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You pole dance?”
“Yeah, I go to a class up in London once a week. It’s my favourite way to get exercise… since I cut out random sex.”
His brows ruffled. “Getting your own back for the bed post comment now?”
“Jealous?”
“Nah, I don’t do jealous. Not worth the energy.” He shrugged, then added, “So what kind of show are we talking about here?”
