Chapter Three
“Boo!”
Charlie ran up the walkway of his house yelling his brother’s nickname and jumped into his arms. Caz caught her and swung her around while laughing. “Hey, Littlebit, d’you miss me?”
“Desperately.”
Bastian marveled again that his parents could have produced two such totally different offspring from the same DNA pool. Other than hair and eye color, he and Caz were nothing alike. “How long are you home for?”
His brother ruffled Charlie’s hair then grunted when Bastian tossed him two sleeping bags. Tension tightened his mouth. “Don’t know, couple months maybe. That all right?”
“Sure.” Bastian nodded, averting his face, digging the cooler out of the back hatch.
Caz looped his fingers through both sleeping-bag straps and did his own version of look-away. His long wavy hair bound back in a ponytail caught the afternoon sun. He wrapped one heavily tattooed arm around Charlie’s neck and drew her toward the house. They spoke in low tones up the driveway to the old blue Victorian.
Bastian briefly wondered if he should be jealous but couldn’t muster the emotion. Charlie treated Caz like a long-lost puppy. Plus, his brother had hit on her once long ago. Charlie had shot him down hard enough to leave scars. Now it was a running joke between them.
The zesty scent of Mexican spices reached his nose halfway up the walk. Music and laughter flowed a second later. Fighting a groan, all thoughts of a quiet afternoon disappeared. Boo and crew were in residence.
The scene in his kitchen was pandemonium with salsa music. He immediately gave up trying to identify who was who, concentrating on a select few. Lucinda stirred some heavenly smelling sauce as her dark-skinned husband strummed a guitar across the room. Everyone else was backdrop.
“Luci, if those are enchiladas, I just might have to kiss your feet,” Bastian teased, stowing the empty cooler on the mudroom shelf.
“Drop and worship.” Spanish eyes sparkled at him. He liked Luci. She kept Caz in line on the road, acting as surrogate mother for the entire musical brood her husband played for. He just wished she were around more often to keep Caz clean and sober.
Charlie was pumping Caz for information, her bright eyes lively and animated as she rattled off contacts in the radio industry. Caz had a few insights but warned her he was more backstage now than in-station fodder.
“Boo, please.” An impish lift to her brows mocked him. “Stop downplaying it. You fart and musicians take note.”
“Only because I do it in key,” Caz scoffed and the kitchen erupted in laughter.
“What’s with the Boo thing?” asked a dark-haired man sidling up to Charlie.
Caz sighed. “It’s just a family nickname, Tony. Casper, the ghost, Boo, get it?” Caz’s eyes were hard when he looked at Bastian. “A nickname I outgrew years ago but Sebastian can’t let go.”
“Yeah, face it, Mom sucked at naming us. I got Dad’s name and, sorry, but you got Granddad’s. You’ve been Boo to me since I was three and Mom brought you home from the hospital on Halloween. Deal with it…Boo.” Bastian laughed.
“Ah, I’m sorry.” Charlie wrapped her arm around his brother’s waist and squeezed. “I’ll try to start calling you Caz, okay?”
Caz pulled her toward the back veranda, most of the crowd following in his wake. Even though he spoke low, Bastian heard his words. “Nah, you I don’t mind, Littlebit. It’s just Saint Sebastian who bugs me. When’s he going to stop treating me like a teenager?”
When you start acting like a man. Irritation swept through Bastian with a tired burn. Sometimes being the oldest sucked. So did watching a musical genius piss away a career.
All Caz had to do was hear a score and he memorized it, touch an instrument and he played it, think music and he wrote it. Their piano-teacher mother had been thrilled. From techno and hip-hop to southern bluegrass, music flowed like blood in Caz’s veins. At age seven, he’d announced he was going to be a musician and he’d never strayed from the path…until drugs derailed him.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Luci’s knowing look. “He’s fine, Bastian. Let him be. It takes guts to face every day wanting a crutch and not reaching for it, especially when it’s always around.”
“I know,” he murmured, watching from the window.
The salsa music had changed to some smooth sultry rhythm he couldn’t place, and a few people danced in the yard. Charlie and Caz sat at a small table, laughing with two other women. His brother’s hair was the longest of the four, he realized. With body piercings, he probably ran neck and neck in the jewelry department too.
Early-afternoon sun sparkled, bouncing off Charlie’s face like a spotlight. She never failed to soothe his moods just by being around. As if she felt his gaze, her face lifted toward the house and she smiled.
Charlie could nearly see calm seep into Caz’s tense muscles as he soaked in the restfulness of his boyhood home. He looked tired, as he always did when he came off the road, but those lines around his mouth eased the longer he was home.
She stretched out her fingers to glide along the double glass door. The wood was freshly painted a shiny white, but those same doors had stood for nearly a century. The wraparound veranda had featured in dozens of childhood pictures she’d been shown, hosting birthday parties, holding impromptu cookouts and, like now, music sessions with Caz’s friends. The wrought-iron railing had been replaced but the style harkened back to when the house had been built.
“I love this house. It’s so beautiful. You can almost feel the history here.”
He nodded with his eyes closed. “It was a nice place to grow up. I used to love sliding down the banister until I hit puberty. Newel posts and nuts do not mix.”
The two women who hung on Caz’s every word giggled. Charlie smacked him on the shoulder. “I’m talking about things like the molding in the dining room, the one that has all those notches in it where your parents kept track of your height. That is like picture-book sweet.”
“Mom didn’t think replacing the old-fashioned window glass was sweet when Bastian knocked a baseball through it three times in one summer.” Caz smiled. “This place took a beating at times. When I was about six, I went through this fireman phase and decided I needed a pole in my bedroom. Dad nearly shit a brick when he saw the hole I put in the ceiling.”
“You didn’t!” Girl Groupie Number One gasped.
Charlie laughed. “What about Bastian? I see him as this geeky bookworm growing up.”
A loud masculine snort burst out. “No way. Check out the foyer steps, under the carpet runner. Bastian used to ride his skateboard down them. I think there’s still an imprint of his head on the baseboard, too.”
Charlie propped her chin on her hand and stared out at the yard. It teemed with dancers swaying to the music. This place needed people, welcomed them, made everyone feel at home. She was so glad Bastian and Caz hadn’t sold it after their mother died. Her gaze landed on a splash of pale pink, and a bittersweet sigh bled out. Bastian wasn’t a gardener but his mother’s rosebushes still bloomed along the fence line, and a grapevine archway stood proudly in the center of the hedges, guarding any who entered.
“Bastian told me he got his first kiss under that archway.”
“Tammy Kincaid.” Caz grinned in memory, a devilish gleam in his eye. “I could see into her bedroom from the east hallway window. Bastian might have kissed her but I saw her naked.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. She could just see a younger Caz scoping the neighborhood beaver shot and Bastian learning about love under the archway. This old Victorian held memories like a blanket, a warm cover to keep out the cold unknown. Although both Talbot men had moved out, this place remained, waiting for their return.
And returned they had, to her welcoming inherited arms. After their divorce, Lisa had kept the house she and Bastian had lived in, while he moved back to his childhood home to take care of his ailing mother. Caz had an apartment somewhere in California. But this was their forever place. She doubted Bastian could even see it. To him, this was simply home. To Charlie, it was something she’d never had.
Through the window, she caught Bastian’s stare. Her best friend wanted more, wanted to marry her. She didn’t know about the marriage bit but she could definitely handle more of the “more.” Her hips rolled in time to the music as she walked back into the kitchen and his gaze shifted down her body.
Fight all you want, Bastian. You will be mine…for a little while anyway.
She brought heat and wind and the scents of early summer inside but the look sizzling from her eyes was what scorched him. From the sway of her hips to the wicked look painted on her face, she silently announced she was hunting and he was her prey.
“I’ve got dibs on the first shower…unless you want to share?”
I want to share more than water with you.
“Come here.” He hooked one finger in the vee of her shirt and pulled her a step closer. Last night they’d crossed a line, moved from friends to more. But so far, the “more” had not materialized other than flirts and kisses. He was fine with that. Slow was better for what he wanted, better but physically agonizing.
Charlie had looked at him as if he’d sprouted a third eye but gradually agreed to see what would happen between them. The timidity in her acceptance was so different from her vibrant personality that he knew she was still trying to sort out her jumbled emotions. But Bastian already knew. His first taste of her lips was like coming home. He’d wait.
It had been hard to crawl inside the tent beside her and not remember the feel of her beneath him. Actually, it’d been impossible. He’d spent the entire night watching her sleep, reliving the brush of her lips.
Now lips he’d craved for years and feasted on last night widened with her grin as she hooked her arms around his neck. “Come wash my back.”
Dear Lord, help me or I’m a goner. Four small kisses and he pushed her toward the staircase. “Go wash behind your ears, Charlie.”
A frustrated noise gurgled from her throat before she grabbed her overnight bag. “Fine. Then I’m using all the hot water.”
“I have no use for hot water when you’re around, so enjoy. But hurry up or I’m eating your enchilada.” His chuckle lasted as long as her scurrying feet were visible through the scrolled balusters. Never mess with Charlie’s food.
“Well, that’s new.” Luci snickered behind him.
“Very new.”
“Ustedes dos son muy bonitos.” She patted his cheek. “You’re a good match.”
He didn’t know about he and Charlie being cute but they were a good match. He just had to convince her that the match could last and he had only a vague idea how to do that. Thoughts muddled in his head as he listened with half an ear to Luci talk about their shows for the past six months while she dished up mountains of food. Charlie reappeared, damp midnight hair slicked straight back from her face, wearing a flowing skirt and matching halter that clung to too many places. Judging by the saucy wink she gave him, she knew it, too.
She hadn’t used all the hot water but he took a cold shower anyway. By the time he made it to the backyard, the crowd had thinned by half. Charlie and Caz were plastered together doing some sort of bumping, grinding club dance he had no desire to understand. Every so often, each would switch partners.
Bastian was simply captivated by the way Charlie held her skirt, the roll of her shoulders, the undulation of her belly. The anticipated meal grew cold on his plate as he watched her. There were no solid lines in her body as she swayed and dipped to the rhythm. With man or woman or alone, she moved as if making love to the melody. Music loved her like he did, completely.
A loud scrape of wood and metal brought his attention back as Caz sat beside him. “Sorry, man, I tried to call and see when you guys were headed home. I thought I could get everyone cleared out before then. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”
“No problem. It’s your house, too.”
A harsh snort sounded. “My name might be on the deed but that’s just inheritance. You keep it up, pay the bills and shit. Damn, Charlie can move, can’t she? Look at that.”
“She was a dancer.” Bastian dropped his eyes to the plate and forked a lukewarm bite.
“Really? I didn’t know that. When?”
“It’s how she paid for her communications degree.”
Both brothers watched her until the song ended. The dark-haired man named Tony slid his hands around her waist as another chord vibrated the night. Blistering jealousy rammed into his gut and for the first time, Bastian allowed it to brew. He didn’t like anyone touching her like that. But it was just a dance, so he sat and watched with a fisted grip on the fork.
“Uh, Bastian, those moves are kind of…sexual. What kind of dancer was she?”
He had to force the word out. “Exotic.”
“Littlebit was a stripper?” Caz gaped at the couple down on the grass. “Damn. Ever see her strip, I mean, dance?”
“No. She stopped a few years before we met. Said she made good money but it was time to get out. It was just a way to pay for college. Don’t make too much of it, okay?”
“Doesn’t bother me none.” Caz shrugged. “I’d think it’d gall you, though. You’re not exactly the hanging-out-with-strippers type.”
“No, I’m the hanging-out-with-Charlie type. Drop it.”
Tony’s hands were sliding far too close to her ass for Bastian. Before he could rise from the table, Charlie turned, grabbed the wandering hands and laced her fingers in them, pulling both above her head in a sensual but distracting move. She knew how to take care of herself. He wasn’t about to drop his guard, though, and he locked his gaze on her partner. He didn’t like this Tony.
Ghostlike, the music pouring through the speakers called to him. Bastian couldn’t place it. Slower, sadder, nearly weeping with pain, it had a small thread of hope woven through it. He couldn’t even place a genre to the piece. It was blues and jazz with a splash of wordless soul. Stirring in his chest, the cadence was at once soothing and invigorating. The mournful wail of a sax in the background made his breath catch. Bright golden sun couldn’t fight against the poignant tones. It was more suited to smoky, darkened rooms with a Creole aura than backyard daylight.
“What song is this?”
“It’s called ‘Wishing for Grace.’” Caz’s tone was hushed, unwilling to cover the music.
“It’s beautiful…almost haunting.”
“Thank you.”
Bastian’s face snapped to his younger brother’s. “That’s you playing?”
“No, I wrote it. A group called Blues and Bones recorded it. This is just the instrumental. The words came later. I wrote those, too.”
Stunned once more by Caz’s gift when sober, Bastian nearly missed Tony bowing his head to Charlie’s shoulder. She danced away from him before his lips touched her skin. Red seeped into Bastian’s vision, blinding him as his temple throbbed.
“You’re going to pop a vein.” Caz snickered and leaned back on two chair legs. The song faded on a melodic sob before rising to a more lively beat. He followed Bastian’s line of sight. “Something change between you and Charlie?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
“What?” Caz’s chair legs crashed to the wood floor with a thump. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know, man. Shit. Shit. Shit. When Tony asked, I told him you two were just friends. What’d she say? Littlebit joining the family?”
“She said no.” Stabbing the enchilada, Bastian shrugged. “But I don’t listen well.”
A laugh rumbled beside him. “Hell, I know that. Charlie’s holding her own, but if you want, I’ll go tell Tony to back off.”
He didn’t have to. Charlie sauntered up the stone steps toward him, escaping both roaming hands and baking heat. Two other women joined her and soon the shaded table was surrounded. Hiding behind the excuse to make room at the table for four, Bastian pulled her toward his lap. He deliberately let his palm slide across her stomach under her halter hem. Possession gripped him with sharp claws and he glared at Tony.
The swarthy man stopped on the steps, noticed the hold and sighed. “Didn’t know.”
“Now you do.” Bastian glowered until a chastised Tony joined a few people leaving the yard, hands raised in farewell. At last, it was just the five left on the veranda.
“Oh, jealousy. I kind of like that.” Low and purring, Charlie snuggled into his lap. “Next you’ll want your name tattooed on my ass.”
“No more tattoos,” Bastian grumped.
The hand from her stomach slid to the small of her back, touching more than supporting her. He glided his free palm along her thigh, cradling her closer. He had a sudden flash of comprehension into Caz’s addiction. Touching Charlie was addictive.
“You get new ink?” Caz asked, yanking the elastic out of his hair.
Before he could reloop it, the pale redhead was behind him, running her fingers through the shaggy locks, doing it for him. She was taking an exorbitant amount of time, her fingers trailing down his neck and around his ears. Under the table, the busty blonde woman kept bumping Bastian’s feet as she used her toes to stroke Caz’s leg.
Dear Lord, he’s got girl groupies.
“Just one. Plus, I had color added to my cherries.” Charlie jerked up her flowy skirt and extended her leg to show off the now bright-ruby-red cherry cluster on her ankle. The tiny design accented her delicate bone structure. Bastian cupped her thigh to prevent her falling off his lap. The feminine satisfied smirk showed him he’d fallen right into her trap. She’s good.
“Oh, I like that design,” cooed Girl Groupie Number Two.
A comparison of body art flowed while Bastian ran his thumb slowly back and forth high over her inner thigh. Two can play this game. Sapphire eyes caught his in a challenge seconds before her behind shimmied deeper into his groin. Bastian stiffened. Or I could be out of my league.
“What’s your new tat, Littlebit?”
“Betty Boop. Bastian thinks I look like her with this haircut. Want to see it?”
Bastian tightened his grip on her leg. “No, he doesn’t want to see it.”
The steel in his voice made his brother laugh. “I take it you got it someplace covered?”
“My butt.”
Caz laughed. Bastian found nothing amusing in his brother’s fascination with body art.
“I haven’t got up the nerve to drop my pants for a needle yet. Does that make me a pussy? I should be able to handle a little ass-ink.”
“Anyone with full sleeves can handle it, no problem,” Charlie encouraged. “The pose is a bit embarrassing, though.”
“Stop giving him ideas,” Bastian interjected. “He’s got more color now than Crayola.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Butt out, Bastian. Just because you went single color doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”
Caz jerked forward, ripping his head from the groupie’s fingers and jabbing a finger at Bastian. “You got a tattoo? You gave me a three-hour lecture on Hepatitis C, HIV, malignant skin tumors and dirty needles, and then you got a tattoo? No fucking way, you hypocrite.”
The angry words brought an unwelcome chill to the sunny afternoon. Charlie stiffened in his arms.
“Bastian didn’t want me to get another one, either. But he relented when I let him check out the parlors and artists until he found one that met his minimum approval.” She twirled her fingers through his hair, her voice teasing and tender. “Of course, since my pants were down, he insisted he be there to make sure nothing ‘unsavory’ happened, as he put it. After he helped me off the bench, I told him it was his turn. You should have seen his face.”
Charlie’s lighthearted story was meant to ease sudden tensions, but Caz still fumed. A silent breath filled Bastian’s chest before he looked at his brother. Despite their differences, they could read each other well enough for this. He selected each word with care.
“Charlie asked me to and I did.”
All it took was the slight emphasis on her name. Stunned understanding dawned in similar eyes and Bastian nodded. Yes, I did it because I love her that much.
“Did you get her name in a heart?” Girl Groupie Number Two sighed as if that would be a grand romantic gesture.
“No, a caduceus,” Charlie supplied, oblivious to his silent declaration.
“A what?”
“The physician’s winged staff, the one with the snakes around it. Most ambulances have them on the side,” she explained gently to the pretty but dimwitted girl.
“Let’s see it. Unless you got your ass tattooed,” Caz goaded.
“It’s on my back, all right?” A protest formed but Charlie was already unbuttoning his shirt. Growling, he finished the job, yanked the shirt down and leaned over her lap. “There. Knock yourself out, Boo.”
He’d chosen only blue ink, the traditional color of healing. Tall as his hand, the slender staff with dual serpents rested on his shoulder blade. Charlie had chosen the design and the placement. What she’d seen as a friendly bonding rite had meant much more to him. It was the day he’d realized he loved her, was in love with her. If she’d asked for her name, he would have gotten it. He’d have even dropped his pants and gotten his ass inked for her.
Caz whistled. “Nice art. Very clean, kind of minimalistic. I like it.”
“Glad it meets with your approval,” Bastian snarled, pulling his shirt over his shoulders. Charlie’s hands smoothed the fabric, slipping each button back into place while holding his eyes. Seduction in reversal, the act was tantalizingly erotic.
“I need to go to bed,” she whispered. The hand sliding down his chest denied her need for sleep.
In a twisted joke of fate, her apartment was closer to the hospital and his house closer to the radio station. They often ended up staying over at one or the other to arrange schedules. With them both sleeping at odd hours, it wasn’t uncommon to go to bed in the afternoon or wake up in the middle of the night. Today, she’d nap here before their show.
“Go ahead. You know where the guest room is.” She’d slept in the same guest room for years. Bastian needed her to continue. He couldn’t take another day lying beside her and not give in to the urge to possess her.
Pink lips pouted. “Guest room? That doesn’t sound like any fun.”
“Guest room, Charlie.” Stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, his tone was gentle but firm.
Wrinkling her nose at him, she climbed from his lap. “Is the Tylenol still in the medicine cabinet?”
“No, but there’s some Excedrin in my desk if you need it.” He grabbed her wrist, silently timing her pulse. It was normal. He waited until her eyes rose to his. “Another headache?”
Her jaw firmed and the smile on her lips froze. “Let it go, Doctor No.”
“Let me take your blood pressure.” He scanned her face, looking for signs of distress. “How’s your vision? Seeing any spots or flashes of light?”
“Stop. You can only play doctor if you do it naked.” A sly look rounded her cheeks. She bent and nuzzled his cheek, her breath washing warm across his ear. “You know, medical studies prove an orgasm is one of the best natural cures for a headache. Didn’t you take an oath to help those in…need?”
Bastian smoothed the stray wisps of hair from her forehead. “I also pledged to do no harm. Take two tablets and pull the blinds. Get some rest, Charlie.”
She stuck her tongue out at him but retreated into the house.
“Interesting,” Caz murmured. “So you two aren’t—”
“No.”
“Masochist.”
Ignoring the jibe, Bastian took his half-full plate to the kitchen. Luci was a dream and had cleaned up most of the mess, but he spent a few minutes adding odds and ends to the dishwasher. A nap sounded pretty good but he was fairly sure Charlie was upstairs in his bed. It would be just like her to disregard his instruction. One part of him leaped with anticipation, the other balked.
Charlie used sex like a weapon, a shield. He’d long ago figured out she was afraid of being hurt so she put it out there, denying to the world she was anything but in control. She implied many more lovers than she’d actually taken, insulation from heartache. Flaunting her beauty prevented anyone from looking deeper, to seeing the woman who just wanted to be loved.
As her friend, he’d filled that spot gladly. Friendships didn’t form overnight, especially not one as strong as theirs. A single moment in time would forever be frozen in his mind as the minute Charlie decided he was worth her trust.
Their relationship had still been new, maybe three months old. He and Lisa had yet another argument before his shift, and his mood was beyond surly by the time he got off duty the next morning. Stopping by Charlie’s apartment for coffee allowed him to avoid going home. In her bathrobe, long legs peeking out, she listened to his pointless story about some patient or another with a knowing look. Halfway through, she’d stood, walked to him and ran her fingers through his hair.
She’d given him the most open invitation for an affair he’d ever imagined.
“Do you want to talk or go to bed with me?”
He’d chosen talk. His wedding band would allow nothing else. But the expression on her face was burned into his mind. She’d been stunned and then touched. The comfort he’d sought was not in her bed but in her heart. He’d valued her more than for what was between her legs. He still did. Somehow he had to convince her that wouldn’t stop if they became lovers.
He wanted sex to be different with them, knew it could if she’d let it.
Fighting a yawn, Bastian climbed the stairs wondering how to approach her, but his bed was empty. Charlie had surprised him. A note perched on his pillow teased him that he didn’t know what he was missing and, just in case he wondered, gave a descriptive blow by blow of what awaited him next door. He knew—in full, aching lust, he knew—but he deliberately lay on his empty bed. Several sets of footsteps reminded him they were not alone in the house and he rose to close the door. He nearly collided with his brother.
By silent agreement after his divorce, Bastian had moved across the landing from his childhood bedroom into the master and remodeled the second story. Caz maintained the other half of the upstairs when at home. Although both sides held a guest room, Caz used his for instrument storage. They rarely ventured to the other’s side so the surprise was natural.
Caz’s eyes flitted across the bedroom to the open door of the master bath. His question was soft. “Charlie?”
“Guest room,” Bastian said, earning a laugh.
“You’re a glutton for punishment. I need your keys. You’re blocking Heidi in.”
“Which one’s Heidi?” Bastian tossed his keys from the dresser.
“Redhead. The blonde’s Amy. And FYI, I’m having company over tonight, so I doubt I’ll be around when you get up later.”
“Which one’s staying?”
Caz raised his eyebrows thoughtfully before giving a shrug. “Don’t know yet. Maybe both.”
“I don’t need to know this,” Bastian groaned, returning to the bed and burying his head under his pillow. “We’ll be out of here by ten. Use latex and be quiet.”
“Uh, yeah, about that…” Caz’s tone turned sheepish. “I came straight from the airport. Got any extra?”
Biting back a lecture, Bastian fished a condom box from the nightstand and threw it to his brother. “Close the door.”
“Sure you don’t want to keep a few in case—”
“Close the door, Boo.”