Chapter Four
“…Time for a break, so sit tight, lovers. Do a Kegel or ten. Doc and I’ll be right back.”
Charlie flicked off the console mike, keyed up the muted station identification music and swiveled to face him. Bastian had a wiseass grin on his face that never boded well. He sported the same look each birthday and Christmas. One of these years she was going to worm her gift out of him early.
“Going to share whatever has tickled your fancy?”
“Later.”
“Later when? Later tonight or later next year?”
Golden brows rose as he ignored her question, his fingers skimming over the laptop keys. Bastian normally kept the Medical Library page pulled up in case he needed a reference point, but tonight’s show hadn’t called for much research. With only twenty minutes left, she couldn’t imagine what he could be looking for until she recognized the station email logo. It was his job to pick the final email reading of the night, so she ignored the computer as the wireless printer surged to life.
“Did you check your station mail cubby?” Charlie asked. He never looked up from the inbox page. “I got the entertainment lineup today for the Summer Kickoff.”
The statement brought his head up with a fast snap. “No. I mean it.”
“I already accepted in both our names.”
He groaned. “Why? You know I don’t want to emcee the damn thing.”
“Because it’s our turn, it’s for charity, and it looks great on a résumé. Besides, anything that will get you in costume is worth it. It’s a few hours. You can tough it out for that long.”
“Fine, whatever. But enough with the crappy-assed costumes.”
“We always wear cute coordinating costumes. They get comments every year.”
“Yeah, and every year you put my ass in a skirt. I want pants this year.”
“When did I put you in a skirt?”
“Pick a year. Last year—”
“I was a harem girl and you were a sheikh.”
“Long skirt and sandals.”
“The year before I was Cleopatra and you were Marc Antony.”
“Short skirt with a sword.”
“Ha. The first year I was Maid Marian and you were an adorable Robin Hood. No skirt there.”
“Charlie, I’m never wearing tights again. Either you pick a costume with pants or so help me, I’m going in scrubs. Here’s a thought, how about we go as late-night sex jockeys? No costumes required.”
“But I thought we could go as Tarzan and Jane. A loincloth is not a skirt.”
Shock value was priceless. He stared at her with undiluted fear as she keyed up their theme music. The blinking red light stole any words he might have wanted to throw at her. Wiggling her eyebrows at him changed the fear into a promise of retribution.
“Welcome back, lovers. Did you miss us? Doc is sitting here with his mouth hanging open so let’s give him a second to recover. When I blow his mind, it takes things a while to come back online. Caller, you’re here with Doc and Honey, what can we help you with?”
“Yeah, I got a question for you, Honey.”
“You got me, baby. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Mike. My new girlfriend and I are just getting together, ya know. But she’s a little shy in the bedroom. I want to make things happen but she won’t tell me what she wants. She just says anything I want. How do I make her talk to me?”
His eyes snagged hers and they smiled over the dual microphones. Bastian nodded and Charlie took point.
“If she won’t talk, you have to listen harder, Mike. If you’re doing anything right, she’ll make some sound, a whimper or a moan. When you hear it, keep doing what you’re doing. Go slow, go easy and let her know there’s no rush. Put yourself on the back burner, make the night about her, her pleasure, her orgasm. Talk to her, Mike, keep asking her if she likes it. Most women can give you a simple yes or no. And no means no. Just remember there are more erogenous zones than her breasts and her vagina. Try her neck, the backs of her knees, her belly button, anyplace. Something will get you a reaction.”
Before she’d leaned back, Bastian had leaned forward, their movements coordinated from familiarity. He’d shunned a headset microphone early in their dual career so she rarely wore hers during the show to put their voices on an even platform. “Even” did not do justice to his voice. It spilled into the air like hot buttered rum.
“Pay attention, Mike. Use your eyes. There will be some physical sign, a skin flush or a change in breathing pattern. Her nipples might peak or the lubrication might increase. Her eyes will tell you a lot unless she keeps them closed. Even then, she may squint or raise her eyebrows, make a face of some sort. Sit and watch, my man. An aroused woman is a thing of beauty. Knowing you did it is a power high.”
Charlie stared at Bastian in awe. Sometimes he amazed her. She forced her mind back to the caller. “Mike, the best thing you can do is talk to her outside the bedroom, over dinner or when driving, anyplace she’s relaxed and doesn’t feel immediate pressure. Just tell her you want to make your sex life the best you can but she has to help you. Talk is foreplay. Use it. Good luck, lover.”
Closing the phone line, Charlie brushed a stray hair from her face and caught her partner’s grin. She flirted with the airwaves still open.
“A thing of beauty, huh? Mighty poetic tonight, aren’t you?”
“I’m with you, Honey. That’s enough to inspire poetry in the hardest of hearts. Besides, it’s true. An aroused woman is a beautiful thing.”
“Now, see, I’m not too sure about that. Orgasms cause some seriously painful-looking faces.”
His deep laugh filled the radio room. “That may be, but it’s just the intensity of release. Like jumping off a cliff. You’re not going to be smiling when you hit the ground but the flight down is fantastic.”
“Hit the ground? Dang, Doc, what kind of women are you hanging out with if you equate an orgasm with pulling a Wile E. Coyote off a cliff?”
“Honey, I’m on sexual sabbatical so I’m pulling from memory here. Cut me a break. Take a call.”
“Chicken. All right then, caller, you’re on the air with Doc and Honey. What can we help you with, sugar?” Static buzzed for a few seconds and both their eyes flew to the control room. From behind glass, Justine shrugged. The line was open. “You there, lover?”
“Yeah, I want to talk to Doc.”
She sounded so scared. Tension crept steadily into the room as Bastian pulled the mike closer to his face. Some callers had serious issues that couldn’t be addressed on the radio, and most inevitably asked for the doctor. Many, like this one, sounded young.
“I’m here, sweetie. What’s your name?”
“Lanie.”
“Lanie, what can I do for you?”
“I think I’m pregnant.”
His head bowed. Charlie watched Bastian stifle a sigh. Unfortunately, he’d gotten these calls before.
“How late are you?”
“Two days.”
“Have you taken a test?”
“No.”
“Sweetie, you have to find out. If you’re already late, then any test over the counter will do. Or you can go to a clinic. It’s free, they won’t tell your parents, and you’ll get some good advice there. Don’t wait on this, Lanie. Time is important. Can you talk to your mom?”
“She’ll kill me.”
“She’s not going kill you. She might yell and get mad, but it’s because she loves you. And if you are pregnant, you’re going to need someone in your corner. Don’t freak out yet, it’s early. Just get tested, find out one way or the other. If you are, talk to your mother or even the people at the clinic. They’re going to have a better chance to help you than I can. If you’re not, get some birth control. Hang in there, Lanie. Let us know what happens.”
A quick wave of his hand begged Charlie to disconnect the line. She filled a minute with idle chatter before going to a commercial break.
“I hate those calls,” Bastian spat.
“Basic information, you covered your ass.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t help Lanie. What time is it?”
Diversionary topics always came after these calls. Charlie slid a friendly hand up his thigh, more to soothe than to entice. Bastian took some calls to heart. He couldn’t solve the world’s problems even if he wanted to. He always wanted to.
“Almost one. Another call or two and some bullshit and you’re out of here. What time’s your shift tomorrow?”
“Seven. I’m going to go crash at your place. Boo has company. No more calls, Charlie. Let’s just end with emails, okay?”
“Sure. You have them pulled up?” At his nod, she keyed the mike and slid into Honeypot mode. She fixed him with a twinkling grin, determined to lighten his mood.
“Welcome back, lovers. Doc’s been playing with cyber porn again so I had to take the computer away.” His chuckle carried across the air, the vocal gauge bouncing. “So I tapped into the email account for some of your letters. Just a reminder, you can drop us a line on WTXT’s website under the message board or send us an email at DocandHoney, one word, at WTXT dot com. But don’t add us to your spam list. If we blackball your IP, you’re S.O.L. for Let’s Talk about Sex. So let’s see what the internet has brought us tonight.”
A quarter-inch thick, the stack of papers he handed her was strangely large. Bastian normally only picked out a couple for them to read. Her querying look was met with an eyebrow lift. “Doc, you looking for overtime? This email stack is thicker than some men I could name.”
“And as flat as some women I could name, present company excluded. Pick one.”
“Okay. First one is from Billie725. She—or he, I guess—writes, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, I listen to your show every chance I get. You guys are hysterical and I love your back-and-forth. But I’m curious. Are you two really friends? I mean, do you hang out off the air?’ You want to answer that, Doc or am I flying solo tonight?”
“Hands Solo, Honey. Go for it.” He loved throwing tidbits like that out when she couldn’t respond back. But she had stronger firepower.
“Watch it, Doc, or come WTXT’s Summer Kickoff, you’ll find yourself staring at a fig leaf instead of a loincloth.” His fiery blush was enough to make her smile. The smile carried into her voice. “Yes, Billie, we are friends. In fact, Doc is my best friend, he has been for years. And it’s time for him to pull his share of the work around here. Read the next one, Doc.”
“I just love listening to your voice. Pick one for me.”
Handing him a random paper, she checked the clock, gauging the show’s end. The theme song was cued and her closing prepared but she’d never gone over time before and wouldn’t start now.
“Frazzled writes in, ‘Dear Doc, you flirt with Honey every show and constantly tell her how beautiful she is’—you wrote this one, didn’t you?”
“I’ll never tell. Keep reading.”
“‘—how beautiful she is. Tell me the truth, is she a knockout or is it an act?’ Frazzled, check out the website. Honey just uploaded new pictures and you’ll see in no way am I lying. Honey is not only beautiful, she takes my breath away just by sitting beside me.”
“Doc, how sweet. But if you’re bucking for a raise, I can’t help you. I can help you with a rise in other areas but not in your paycheck.”
“You manage to get enough of a rise just by looking at me, Honey. Read another.”
“SuzieQ4u wants to know, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, when you are off air between callers, what do you do?’”
“Sit and stare at Honey and try to keep the drool off the control panel.”
Charlie laughed and flipped through the emails. “He’s not lying, folks. Mainly, we joke around, occasionally sneaking in a verbal quickie in between calls. Okay, I’m skipping out of turn here but too bad, this one’s too good to pass up. It’s all for you, Doc, so pay attention.
“Beastiegirl writes in saying, ‘Dear Doc, Your voice sends shivers down my spine and one guess where those shivers stop!’” Knowing exactly what the writer meant, Charlie let her lips curve into a teasing grin. “‘So give me a little fuel for my fantasies. Boxers or briefs?’ Now, I know this one but I’m going to make Doc answer. Give Beastiegirl a shiver, Doc, enlighten her as to your clothing preference.”
Lips twitching and cheeks shining, Bastian shook his head. “Hi, Beastiegirl. Mostly plain cotton boxers, hope that helps. What type of underwear do you wear, Honey?”
“Who says I wear any? Last email. Your turn.”
Rather than reach for the stack, Bastian pulled a single sheet of paper from beside his laptop. He didn’t look in her direction but she saw the determination in his eyes.
“We’ve gotten this question a time or two, but I think now’s the time to revisit it. Lady Lumps writes, ‘Dear Doc and Honey, my husband and I listen to every show. You two have such chemistry it’s actually caused a bit of an argument between us. I say you two are married, he swears you’re not. So who is right? We have an hour-long massage riding on the answer.’”
Trepidation slithered up Charlie’s spine as Bastian turned his face to hers. His words were directed to the mike but aimed at her soul.
“Sorry, lady, your husband’s right. We’re not married. But not because I don’t want to be. I love Honey. I asked her to marry me and she told me no. So I’m asking the listeners for help. How can an uptight sawbones convince a Honeypot to marry him? Tell me some way to win her heart, to show her sex might make the world go ’round but love is what keeps it centered. She’s the center of my world. Help me make her Mrs. Doc.”
In all the years she’d known him, he’d never played so dirty. Her temples throbbed in a sudden headache, and her vision tapered until he existed only in the narrowest slits of her eyes. “Tell me you didn’t just do that.”
“I did it and I meant it. I want to marry you. And I need all the help I can get.”
Dead air, the bane of disc jockeys everywhere, reigned for several deafening seconds as her brain fried. The phone lines lit, blinking small squares in hazy yellow. In the control room, Justine was frantic, answering calls and tapping computer keys. Bastian didn’t drop his gaze, nor did she. She snapped her body back to the control console.
“Nice little bombshell you dropped, Doc. But you left out half the story. You see, listeners, Doc’s suffering from a severe case of mistaken identity. He thinks he’s a broken ATM machine. He won’t put out.”
A tawny head crashed into his hands, just visible from the corner of her gaze. It didn’t slow her impassioned speech.
“Hard to imagine, but Dr. Hot is running cold in the bedroom. So you tell me, lovers, what’s the best way to get the good doctor to drop his pants and cough it up? Because this Honeypot doesn’t buy a car she hasn’t test-driven.”
“Touché.” Unbridled laughter flavored his tone as his face creased in humor. “So it’s an on-air battle. Who will say yes first?”
“You have a male appendage, Doc. All I have to do is get naked. You’ll be screaming yes before the next show.”
“Don’t count on it, Honey. I made it through Neuroanatomy and Organic Chemistry. I can handle anything you want to dish out.”
A flicker of enjoyment skittered through her stomach, and Charlie fought a smile. Fighting with Bastian was almost as much fun as kissing him. But he wasn’t getting off easy.
“Say hello to your palm then because I’m going be on your butt like those Fruit of the Loom. Okay, then. Everyone has their assignments. Send your emails to DocandHoney, all one word, at WTXT dot com. Pick a side and make sure you put one of our names in the subject line. Send the spicy ideas to me, the sweet ones to Doc. Just remember, you catch more flies with honey, and I’m after one fly in particular.”
“News update, Honey. I’m going to catch you in my web and put a ring on your finger.”
The switch keying up the theme song nearly broke in her hand as she whirled to face him. All she saw was his empty chair and the swinging door to the broadcast room. It took her a few seconds to cue up the next commercial segment but she was out the door before he made it down the hall.
“What in the hell was that? What gives you the right to broadcast your personal mission on the air without talking to me? That shit had no business in the show. Don’t walk away from me, Bastian! Get back here.”
The long line of his spine stopped just before the exit door. Broad shoulders straight, he faced her, jagged fortitude carved in his face. Three long strides brought him back to her. Her lips flew open to hurl more insults but were silenced by his kiss. Deep, passionate and full of resolve, he snatched the breath from her lungs. The power took her by surprise. Since last night, he’d kept their flirtation light and sweet.
This was not sweet. This was spicy. This was Doctor Hot.
Twenty-four hours of being free to kiss him had spoiled her hands and they crept along his arms to circle his neck without getting clearance from her brain. Her tongue danced with his, a tango of wet heat and unspoken promise. Tacks and papers slid from the bulletin board as her back met the cork.
Had he tasted this good last night around the campfire? She didn’t recall the savory taste of control he had now. His hands on her waist, her breasts pressed into his chest, their heartbeats mingled in time. When he pulled back, her whimper threatened to follow him.
“I’m going to marry you, Charlie. You love me as much as I love you. I know it like I know your favorite color is royal blue, you despise politics and you like Apple Jacks for a late-night snack. You’ve never lied to me so stop lying to yourself. I’m your best friend and I’m going to be your husband. I will love you until the day I die, but I will not make love to you until the time is right. Get used to it.”
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch.”
“Have to be to handle you.”
Across the hall, the control room door snapped open. Justine blinked, seeing their embrace, then beamed a wide smile at them, her graying brown hair scattered about her head. “Holy shit, you two were serious! About damned time, if you ask me. I have no idea when you two cooked up this little surprise but Nathan’s going to have a heart attack. You’ve got fifty-two emails already. The server is struggling to keep up with all the hits the web page is getting. Now’s the time to ask for a raise, kids. The race for Wed or Bed is gold.”
Bastian dropped a hard kiss on her mouth and stepped away. Determination sparkled in his eyes. “Love you. Now go back to work. And start picking out china patterns because I’m going to win.”
Charlie watched the door swing closed behind him before allowing a hedonistic grin to lift her lip. “Oh yeah? Just wait. I’m about to turn up the heat. Let’s see how much fire Dr. Hot can handle.”
“I’m bored.”
The tapping pen created a rapid staccato against the table but Bastian ignored the sighing man behind him. Every few minutes, the pen stilled before scribbling a note.
“Seriously, my brain is oozing into mush.”
“Rav, go do charts.”
“I did. I’m all caught up. God, don’t people wreck their cars on Tuesday mornings anymore? Is nobody falling down and breaking anything?”
Chuckle hidden, Bastian clicked another icon. “I’m sure they’re doing it just to irritate you. Why don’t you go down to the lab—?”
“Did it.”
“Go flirt with Suzanne then.”
“Did it.” The skinny Pakistani man wheeled his chair to the counter, trying to peer at the laptop over Bastian’s shoulder. “What’re you doing?”
“Trying to read. The show got a bunch of email hits last night, and I want to go through some before Charlie sees them. I, for one, am glad we’re slow. It’ll get busy enough soon.”
Rav’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re getting married again. Hell, Talbot, you and I were the last bachelors left in the ER. You’re leaving me hanging.”
Fingers gliding over the mouse pad, Bastian shook his head with a grin. “You’ll adapt. Besides, in two weeks, I’m out of here anyway.”
“And that, too. You’re abandoning me here. Mark my words, you’ll get bored in a month.”
Bastian’s scoff was loud. The urgent care facility, a combination of doctors’ offices and emergency care, was his idea of perfect. Not the steady doldrums of nine to five but without all the hassles of emergency medicine. Major trauma would always go to the ER. But the UC would be the stop for those who needed help after business hours, but not life-threatening aid. High fevers, stitches in busted lips, a housewife’s accidental run-in with a paring knife. Diverse enough to engage his mind, calm enough to breathe. The thought of having people look to him as their doctor for more than a few hours appealed. He wanted to get to know his patients more, identify them by more than their injury. The UC offered him a chance to be a regular doctor without wasting his training.
“No way. No more twelve-hour shifts that bleed into fifteen. No overnights. No schedules from hell. No more getting slammed on Friday nights when the bars close. No more fighting for lab reports or Radiology slots. Only on call one weekend a month, home every night by midnight, and I get to have regular practice hours twice a week. Real patients, Rav, the ones you see more than once.”
“Like I said, boring.”
His eyes slid to his eager friend. Rav Bushani had more energy than ten Energizer Bunnies. If he wasn’t chasing nurses, he was a damn fine doctor. If he wasn’t doctoring, he was a damn fine flirt. “Why don’t you move to a bigger city? Then you’ll never get bored.”
Rav held out his hands. “What? And leave all this? Never.” Sparkling white teeth shone against his dark skin before he pointed to the computer screen. “So what’s the general public have to offer in your quest for the luscious Ms. Honey’s hand in matrimonial bliss?”
“Some very strange ideas.” Bastian blew out a sigh. The plan seemed like a good one but despite the influx of advice, little was of any real use. “One woman suggested I just kidnap her, take her to the mountains and have my wicked way with her, destroying her reputation. She obviously doesn’t know Charlie at all.”
“Hey, wicked ways are always a winner with me.” Rav laughed, pointing to the screen. “What’s that one marked ‘super hot’?”
“That was directed at Charlie in her endeavors to seduce me. Let’s just say it involves handcuffs and hot wax. And I’m deleting that sucker before she sees it.”
“Why? Could be fun.”
Bastian spent a few minutes reading more suggestions, growing more frustrated by the minute. Although most were nice and romantic suggestions, they weren’t right. Nothing stood out as saying “you are my everything.” There were a few that made him grimace, a few to Charlie that made him blush and still others that made his stomach lurch in revulsion. Those he deleted, feeling dirty. People were twisted.
The base station sitting on the counter toned twice and a hurried voice hailed the ER. Both Bastian and Rav swiveled their heads, as if looking at the speaker could relay the ambulance information faster. Overshadowing the deep voice were the high-pitched screams of a child in the background.
Rav punched a button. “Medic forty-sixty-two, go ahead.”
“Inbound with ETA of eight, black male, approximately two years of age, victim of a fall from second-story window. No signs of obvious head trauma, no abdominal rigidity, pupils reactive. Kid’s lungs are fine, too, as you hear. Compound fracture left femur and…”
Something in Bastian’s gut went cold. A roaring in his ears blocked out the rest of the patient’s vitals. He had more pediatric training than Rav did but treating kids always came with an ache he couldn’t shrug off for hours. He couldn’t always avoid it but if he could pass off the pediatric cases, he did.
“You’re up. End your boredom.”
Rav’s dark head dipped once as he listened. He rattled off a few instructions, a drug cocktail and signed off before turning to Bastian with a grin. “Well, things are looking up.”
“You are one sick bastard, Rav.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. Now go get ready and let me read.”
Rav scurried into Trauma Two, and Bastian forced his mind back to his laptop. He buried himself, sifting through words of wisdom delivered via email.
One suggestion made his heart still. So simple, it reeked of purity and innocence, everything he wanted to lay at Charlie’s feet. A stunned whisper slipped out. “Bingo.”
Rav leaned over the counter and tried to read upside down. “What? Share, entertain me, I got a few minutes.”
“Uh-uh. This is too good to share.” Bastian moved the email to his private address, hit reply and zipped out a message before looking to his friend. Ideas fired in his brain like a machine gun. A broad grin curved his lip. “Handle your patient, then I have plans for you.”
Rav eyed him warily. “Why don’t I like that look?”
“Mad at me still?”
Charlie propped the phone between her shoulder and cheek while fumbling with her wallet. A vapid-looking salesclerk handed her the bagged purchase before turning her skinny back to the counter.
“If I say yes, will you give me makeup sex?”
“No.” Soft laughter filled her with sunshine before she exited the store. Bastian’s voice needed to be registered as a deadly weapon.
“You will pay, just be warned. In fact, I’m working on your downfall right now.”
“Oh really? Where are you?”
“The Pleasure Palace.”
Just the mention of the adult store made his breath catch, audible even through the scratchy cell coverage. “You are bad.”
“You should know this by now.” Growing heat smacked her face as she stepped into the blinding sun. “Did you get Nathan’s email?”
“Yeah, I read it. He’s a shit, ignore him.”
“He’s just angry he didn’t think of it. He wants to see us both in the morning when I get off. You can make it, right?”
“I’ll try, no promises though. I’m not going to listen to him chew us out, screw that.”
“Well, I have to take it. I need this job until I get a bite on one of the résumés I sent out.”
The line buzzed with empty static and then he sighed. “I know. I’ll be good. But Nathan irritates me. I don’t like how he uses you.”
Charlie deflected the often-heard complaint. “I have to admit, as angry as I was at you, your little stunt made waves. Tomorrow’s show is going to be wild.”
“I don’t care about the show, not like that. I’m not playing. I meant every word. And you’re not the only one working toward a goal. I’ve been a busy little doctor this morning. Don’t make plans for Saturday night, okay?”
“Why?” Something in his tone made her feet slow. He sounded too confident, and a slither of apprehension trickled down her spine. Traffic buzzed around her, the parking lot heavy with the stench of exhaust and fast food. Frozen in the heat, her body absorbed the sizzle of the blacktop. She hated surprises. It was why she snooped for birthday gifts and peeled the corners off Christmas wrapping. She didn’t want to think about Bastian being the only person who managed to hide surprises from her.
“Not telling.” Rich and seductive, his words tingled her nipples through airwaves but his next words shocked her cold. “Do you have a formal gown?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“A gown. You know, long fancy dress, normally worn with a partner choking on a too-tight bow tie.”
“How formal? What are you up to? Why would I need a gown in this town?”
“Black tie formal, who said we were staying in town and you’ll find out Saturday. Now, tell me what you bought.”
The release of the car door popped loudly and she tossed the small paper bag onto the passenger seat. “Ever had a full-body sensual massage, Bastian, and I mean full body? And what’s your opinion on edible body paint?”
A passing eighteen-wheeler almost drowned out his low groan, carving her mouth into an anticipatory smirk. The Pleasure Palace had given her a slew of ideas but most were just window dressing. She knew Bastian well. He was a visual learner. She was going to show him how naughty she could be and teach him a few new tricks.
Before she could say more, she heard his name being paged in the background and let him disconnect without fanfare. He took time to tell her he loved her before the line closed. Staring at the now-darkened cell screen, she felt a wrinkle forming in her brow. The interior of the car had a dry cracking heat that sucked the energy from her marrow. Snapping the air on, she let the car idle as she stowed the phone in her purse.
He was serious. Bastian loved her. Although she’d known it on a platonic level, the whole man-woman thing disconcerted her. Back when they first met, she’d been bummed to discover he was married. The closer they became, the more he sought her out, the more wary she grew.
Discontented unavailable men gravitated toward her like moths to a bug light. She wanted no strings, expected none, would accept none. She was the perfect “other woman.” They wrongly counted on her not minding the pale line from removed rings. Even if they didn’t respect their wedding vows, she did.
Bastian had seemed to be just another man in the pattern, testing the waters, waiting to approach her with a sob story and plea for comfort. He’d been at her kitchen table, elbows on his knees, bitching about nothing when she cracked. She liked him, damn it. Waiting on him to make a move and end this charade of a budding friendship grated on her like glass. She took the reins and gave him just enough rope to hang himself.
Naked beneath her satin robe, she stood and pressed her fingers to his mouth. His words halted and his eyes closed. Her fingers ran through his hair, down his jaw. When he didn’t reach for her, she point-blank asked him if he wanted sex.
He pulled her hand away but held it. “Charlie, please don’t. I like you. But not like that. I just want to be your friend.”
Her impromptu test had bitten her in the ass. He hadn’t been playing games or struggling with his fidelity decisions. He really hadn’t wanted more. He’d just wanted to get to know her for her. It was his greatest gift to her. From that minute on, she’d given him more trust, more of herself, than any person alive.
Charlie drove on automatic, not seeing the cars and shoppers, ignoring the flux of people out enjoying the warmth of awakening summer. Her mind was filled with self-examination.
At the age of thirteen, when she sprouted boobs and hips, she’d become the target of masculine attention. Her mother had been far too busy with her own love life to notice her daughter’s burgeoning sexuality, so Charlie had learned from those who showered her with attention. She’d given her heart, and her favors, far too early to understand the emotional consequences. When she finally understood what power she had, Charlie had become more discriminating and, apparently, more desirable. The more she valued herself, the more men wanted her. But none wanted more than her body…until Bastian. He had only wanted her friendship.
Dismayed to find her eyes wet, Charlie took a deep breath of stale blowing air. She prided herself on honesty. She called a spade a spade and didn’t do what she didn’t want to do. But if she was honest with herself, she had to admit the bad with the good. She was a living, breathing, sexual dynamo who luxuriated in the minute.
Bastian was Ward Cleaver in modern times. Charlie’s idea of a pearl necklace was nowhere near June Cleaver’s. He made no secret he wanted the picket fence, the dog and the quiet Sundays with roast turkey. Discovering his sterility had knocked his organized, preplanned, black-and-white world for a triple loop. There would be no two point five children playing on that mowed-every-Saturday-morning lawn.
Maybe she’d come into his life when he was wondering where his place was now. Maybe he’d come into hers when she was weak from yet another short-term cold breakup. Maybe they’d connected at just the right minute to matter to each other more than acquaintances. She’d been in love with him for years, a secret she could only now admit. He’d known her better than she’d known herself. Charlie had no idea when his feelings changed, had noticed nothing different in his actions. But what he wanted from her now terrified her.
Forever wasn’t in her vocabulary when it came to men. Sex was sex and love was fleeting. Bastian was constant.
How could she survive being even closer to him and then letting him go when forever faded?