Chapter Five
“Hi, Eddy. Know where Charlie disappeared to?”
Charlie’s mother unfolded her still-youthful frame from her squat around the flower bed and shaded her eyes, looking toward the fence line. Bastian followed her gaze to Charlie’s renovated apartment over the huge garage.
“I gave up keeping track of that girl years ago. I figured she was at your place.”
“Maybe. She didn’t answer the phone but she could be asleep. Thanks.” He started to climb back into the driver’s side.
“Heard the show last night. So you want to marry her, uh?”
His body halted before his heart so the slam into his chest momentarily stunned him. Eddy wasn’t the most traditional of mothers but Bastian supposed a marriage proposal made one feel maternal. If she’d been any other parent, he might have felt strange about her hearing her daughter’s blatant declaration to seduce him. But this was Eddy.
He closed the vehicle door and ventured closer to the petunias. “Yep.”
“Why?”
“I love her, Eddy.”
The look the older woman fixed on him was so Charlie-like his throat clenched, like she was reading his soul whether he liked it or not. Edna Pierce-plus-a-half-dozen-other-last names showed him a harder vision of what Charlie might look like sixteen years in the future. Fast living with lean times had carved experience into her face, but she was still a stunning woman. Her longish black ponytail only bore the dusting of silver, and her eyes sparkled bright blue. Skin abused by sun and alcohol for too long bore faint age spots and a few deeper wrinkles, but Bastian thought they gave her character. Eddy was nothing if not a character.
Dirt-caked gloves hit the ground and she waved him inside the small Cape Cod house. Wondering why he felt like a teenager, Bastian followed her through the laundry room into the kitschy kitchen. Mushrooms and ladybugs overpowered the small room, the scent of bleach still clinging in the air. He’d tried to imagine Charlie living here several times and never managed. She was too smooth, too basic for clutter.
He settled at the table, accepted a soda bottle and waited on the grilling he assumed would proceed. Like her daughter, Eddy surprised him.
“What did you ask for on your tenth birthday?”
“I have no idea.”
“Think.” The older woman crossed her arms, a smudge of dirt along her elbow.
“I remember wanting a chemistry set so I could try to blow things up.”
A huskier laugh than he was used to made him grin. “Sounds like a boy. Know what Charlie wanted?” He shook his head. “A red mailbox with white-painted daisies.”
Eddy must have granted the present because the red mailbox stood on a post outside the fence now. He’d always thought it made the house look welcoming and cheerful. The opposite of how Eddy was looking at him now.
“Seems an odd thing for a kid to want,” he offered.
“I thought so, too, at the time.” Wizened eyes locked with his. “I never claimed to be mother of the year. I was nothing more than a baby myself when she was born. I did my best, but I was too wild to settle down. I dragged her diapered ass from this man to that, this town to the next, always looking for better. Things slowed down some when she started school, but it was to the point where I kept all her records in the car so registering her wasn’t a hassle. Charlie learned never to really unpack. Cardboard was normal to her.”
A glimpse of the young woman she used to be flashed on her face before sliding into seasoned determination. The same slanted brow he knew was followed by a recognizable jaw thrust. “I started renting this place when she was fourteen. By then, she didn’t talk much to me, so I read her diary.”
Maybe his brows rose, maybe he looked stunned. Either way, she nodded. “Yes, and I don’t care what Oprah says, I’d do it again. She’d wanted a mailbox because, to her, it meant home. Not a new place or a stay-over or a for-right-now but a steady place where she could pick out paint for her room and bury a dog if we had one. A forever place, she called it, a place where the mailman knew our name. When she didn’t get it, she gave up the idea of ever having a forever place.”
Eddy sighed and dropped her gaze. “I did that to her. So I sucked up a job I hated and bought this place. That’s what a mother does, not a kid with a kid. I grew up for her. Too little, too late. She still never picked a paint color for her room or got rid of the boxes. Charlie was afraid to believe me, that this was our place forever. She moved out at sixteen.”
Her head jerked up and the fierceness on her face jabbed at Bastian. “She’s afraid to believe you, too. Forever seems like too much to wish for, too big a fall when it doesn’t happen. I taught her to be independent, maybe too much so. You really think you’re the right man to teach her about forever?”
Bastian found the lump in his throat hard to swallow. Eddy had shown him something he almost knew, the thought skimming his brain but not with the insight she had. The soda bottle left a ring on the table and he traced the circle, never-ending, round and round. He tried to put every bit of resolve in his words. “Yes, I do.”
“You’re divorced, right?” She tossed it out casually but the tone didn’t hide her grit.
“Yes. For several years now.”
“Promise your wife forever?”
Ouch. Like a mother lion, she pounced on the weakness and latched on with sharp teeth. The urge to cringe struck but Bastian was not a boy. He’d made his decisions, right or wrong, and faced the consequences. Never dropping his gaze, he nodded.
“Yes, I did. I meant it, too, but things changed for both of us.”
“So what’s to keep things from changing with my girl? Why should she trust you if you’ve already showed you can’t stay the course?”
“How many times have you been married, Eddy?”
“I’m not the one who proposed to my daughter.”
Unblinking, those been-there-survived-that eyes locked onto him. Hard questions didn’t seem to bother the Pierce women. His answer seemed woefully inadequate but it was all he had.
“I’m not twenty-four anymore. The rose-colored glasses have been off a long time. Can I promise Charlie forever? Not really, no one can. All I can promise is that I don’t want to face any type of forever without her. I’ll die trying to make her happy. That’s the best I can do, but I’ll do it the best I can.”
Head cocked, she studied him like a bug under a microscope. A slow nod led to a begrudging smile. “You might do all right, Bastian.” The smile grew to a knowing grin. “If you can keep your pants on long enough to get her to say yes.”
Jealousy licked at Bastian as the sound spilled from the back veranda. Caz was playing, not for money but for pleasure, an exercise that had always fascinated him. Snatches of melodies, bits of songs, pieces of harmonies, each invoking a different emotion, flowed across the yard like river.
Caz sat shirtless in the setting sun, the bar piercings in his nipples catching the light. A dragon unfurled wings on his back and spat fire over his shoulder. Various vines, roses, skulls and a mismatch of other designs coated both bare arms. A single name curved over his heart in a swirling script. Whoever Grace was, she must have been one hell of a lay for Caz to have memorialized her that way.
His long hair was loose around dark sunglasses. Smoke curled from a nearly finished cigarette tucked in his lip as he paused, wrote a note on a lined sheet and began again. He was the picture of creative patience. One note, one perfect note, took time.
Another note of perfection rose from the chair beside him. With her silky black hair pulled back by two tiny clips, Charlie’s eyes dominated her face. They landed on him crossing the grass and sparkled in welcome.
“You’re late.” Laughter rang out as she leaned on the hand railing. “We ate without you.”
“Sorry. Don’t blame me, blame the pickup that plowed into a parking lot twenty minutes before my shift ended.” His footsteps bounced up the steps. “Plus I stopped by your place and talked to Eddy. She said you got a ‘not interested’ from Fort Lauderdale. Sorry.”
Charlie shook her head. “No big, too hot anyway.”
“How is your mom?” Caz asked setting the guitar aside.
“Same as always,” Charlie shrugged. “Divorced again.”
“I like your mother, she’s a blast.” Long blond hair tossed aside, he stubbed the cigarette out and removed the sunglasses before winking. “I’d do her.”
Bastian groaned. “I do not need that mental picture, thanks just the same, Boo. Besides, my ass is still sore from her chewing on it.”
“What?” Charlie started to touch him but he stepped away, heading inside. She blocked his path. “You can’t drop a statement like that and walk away. Nobody chews your ass until I get a bite.”
Charlie wasn’t moving. Her arms crossed and her lip tilted in determination. Short of rudely walking around to the side door, he was stuck. “Your mother just had some questions about my divorce.”
Fury splayed across her face, twisting her brows. “What? She had no right to—”
“It’s okay. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Eddy can be a bit of a lioness where her cub is concerned.”
“Cub, my ass. It’s a bit late for motherly intervention. I’m sorry, I’ll tell her to back off.”
“It was no big deal. I’m the one who proposed on the air.” He sidestepped her hands. “Let me shower and get something to eat and then I’ll be back. My skin’s crawling.”
Her eyes dropped, searching, before rising once again. Understanding softened her gaze. She’d seen his pants cuffs and shoes. “That’s not tomato juice, is it?”
“No. So let me shower and change.”
She watched him walk through the kitchen, fighting a sigh that craved release. He never said it in words, but Bastian wouldn’t touch her if the smallest amount of ER grime clung to him. Logically she knew what he did, had even seen him work a few times, but still he tried to protect her. It was just his way.
“You need to marry him, Littlebit.”
She twirled and shot Caz a grin. “I need to get him naked.”
Caz fixed a curious stare on her and cradled the guitar like an infant. “You’re stalling. He could drop his pants tonight and you’d still hem-haw. What’s up?”
The sigh escaped as she settled back into her chair, knees pulled to her chest despite the heat. Fireflies appeared, tiny blips of illumination in the fading daylight. A slight wind stirred to life, its breath muggy and weighted. A few plucked notes filled the humid air.
“Have you ever been in love, Boo?”
The notes slid from random to a chorus but his eyes never strayed from his fingers. “Once.”
“What was her name?”
He took a long time in answering, the memory changing his song from sweet to sad. A low voice complemented the chord. “Maggie.”
“What happened?”
“She left me. Too many drugs, not enough maturity.”
The music continued though his eyes closed and she knew before she asked, “Still love her?”
“Yep. Always will.”
“Why?”
The music died as his eyes opened, a shuttered expression masking the normal twinkle. “You’re stalling again. You and Bastian are great together. Why the holdout?”
“Do I really look like a doctor’s wife to you? People have a hard enough time believing we’re friends. I was stripping when he was in med school. If we did get married, can you imagine what people would say? How they would look at him?”
“Screw them. Who cares what everyone thinks? The only thing that matters is what you and he think. You’re looking for excuses. He loves you.”
“I know.” Her stomach roiled and jumped. Words floundered in her head. She propped her chin on her knees and watched a bead of condensation race down his water bottle. His lighter flicked with a rasp of metal and the smell of smoke drifted over the porch as he took a deep drag, waiting in silence.
“I’m not the marrying kind. I’m the other woman, not the little woman. I’d give him everything I have but I can’t lie to him. Bastian wants forever. I don’t think I can promise that.”
Somewhere a woman called for a child named Katie to come inside. Her voice echoed over the hedges and Charlie wondered what kept Katie from her home. Was she wrapped up in a game of kick ball or hopscotch, things more interesting than homework? Or did she dread going back to an unhappy home? Did her mother cry herself to sleep because her one-time best friend was now a stranger? Had the bond faded from passionate love to uncomfortable domesticity? Was her father regretting his choice? Had love been enough?
“Were your parents happy, Boo? Did they stay in love?”
Long bangs pushed back, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so. Dad died when I was fourteen so I only have a kid’s view. But it seemed like they were happy. Why?”
Because that’s what he wants. And what I’ve never had. Can I give him what I’ve never had?
Disgusted with her rambling emotions, she sprang from the chair and leaned over the handrail. “Do you think forever really lasts?”
“If your love’s strong enough, yeah.”
“Did it last for you and Maggie?”
Acrid smoke drifted over her shoulder but it carried no words. She had her answer. There was no Maggie in his life. Instead a sweet song rose into the night, a gentle tune from a simpler time, medicine for an aching soul. She let the music sluice over her. He doctored her with melody.
“Littlebit, are you in love with him?”
An easy question with a hard answer. Charlie didn’t lie. Was she in love with Bastian? Salt coated her tongue and stung her eyes. “He knows I love him. I’ve told him that before.”
The falling night pressed too heavily. Love was risky but sex was safe. She was good at sex, not love. She could talk orgasms and foreplay all day, but commitment made her bones itch and her throat close. Spinning around, she pressed her butt against the iron and tried to divert the conversation with a flirty look. “He knows I want him, too.”
Caz fingered up the guitar neck, eyes trained on the strings, and shook his head. “Don’t marry him, Charlie. If you’re just in heat and not in love, it’ll never last. But don’t regret it when he moves on.”
The twanging note pierced her heart like a knife.
“Strip.” Charlie cocked her eyebrow and held up the oil.
Arms crossed, Bastian fumed from the center of his bedroom. “No.”
“You’re not being fair. If I go along with whatever surprises you have lined up, you have to give me the same chance to win the deal. You want my heart, I want your body, even-Steven.”
“I’m not taking my clothes off.”
“A massage through your clothes is going to get awfully messy.”
“Then forget about it.”
From the stubborn set to his jaw, Charlie knew he wouldn’t budge. So she changed tactics. “Fine, then I’m not going anywhere with you Saturday. In fact, I’ll see you at the station and only at the station. The whole thing is off. No thinking about marriage, no trying for sex. Nothing.”
Bastian snorted. “Going out with me is a little different from getting naked and letting you rub oil all over me.”
“I don’t think so.” Charlie tossed the oil back in her tapestry bag and crossed her arms to mimic him.
“I’ll get naked when you wear white.”
Unable to stop it, she let a sultry grin curl her lip. “Afraid you can’t resist me?”
“Frankly, yes, I am afraid. I can’t control how my body responds to you.”
“You’ve turned me upside down and sideways here. Two days ago, I had a best friend. Now I have a boyfriend who won’t sleep with me.”
“The common denominator in those phrases is friend. I’m still your friend. That doesn’t go away, in bed or out.”
“If I stop touching you, the physical feelings go away. I carry my emotions everywhere, all the time, in every look and every word. There’s no such thing as a cold shower for the heart. You tell me who’s taking a bigger risk.”
Released in a whisper, the words hit him. His lips parted and his chest stilled. He focused on her face, searching for answers she struggled to find.
“What does that mean exactly?”
One step brought her to him. Arms looped around his neck, she looked into his face. The hope there stole her breath. He really did love her. He dared her to believe. Slowly, his arms uncrossed and circled her waist, large firm hands splaying on her back. Maybe he didn’t understand what his touch did to her, also.
It means that forever is too big but I can’t lose you. I’m scared.
“It means…I’m not saying yes. I’m just saying…if there was any person who could make me believe forever might last, it would be you.”
A swallow flexed his throat. “It will. We’ve been working for this for six years without knowing it. You trust me the way I trust you, completely and without question. That is real love. It’s what’ll make it work between us.”
“Then trust me now.”
“Resisting you is hard. I’m fighting myself, too.”
On tiptoes, she grazed his mouth with a kiss. “Please.”
White lines formed around his lips and she knew he was struggling. “Nothing is going to stand at attention while you resist me.”
She deliberately pouted and his eyes fell to her mouth. She rarely used such overt feminine wiles on Bastian but this time they worked. His opposition crumbled. His arms went slack before falling. His eyes closed with a sigh. “Fine, but the pants stay on.”
“Boxers, no pants.” A protest rose and she pressed one finger to his mouth. “I promise not to touch anywhere covered by cotton. Deal?”
He took a step back, guarded warning on his face. “When I say stop, you stop. No games. This will not lead to sex, got it?”
“Nothing will happen we’re not both totally in agreement with, okay? Now strip, you big chicken.”
Grumbling under his breath, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it on the chair. He whipped around and faced the bed. The muscles in his back rippled as a muted snap and the scrape of a zipper sounded. He shucked the jeans to the same chair before climbing facedown on the bed. The deep maroon print of his boxers highlighted the intense flush of his neck as he propped his chin on his crossed hands.
“Let’s get this over with.”
Charlie fished the oil back out of her bag with a chuckle. “You make it sound like you’re facing a firing squad. Hang on, I want to warm the oil a bit.”
“Forget about warming it. I don’t need it hot. Just do it. The sooner you start, the sooner it’s over.”
“Whiner.” She set the sealed bottle on his nightstand. The overhead light blinked off, leaving only the soft glow from the side lamp. “You’re going to like this, I promise. I even made sure to not get a girly scent so you won’t smell like a rose garden.”
Her shirt hit his jeans. His damp blond hair smacked the air when his head spun to stare at the growing pile. “Leave your clothes on, damn it!”
A teasing laugh trickled out. “Not part of the deal. You need negotiation lessons. Now hush.” Her shorts fell on top of her shirt and he groaned, face buried in his arms. Each muscle tensed as the edge of the bed dipped with her weight. “Relax.”
“Easy for you to say. The woman you love isn’t naked and planning on touching every inch of you.”
“I’m not naked. I left my panties on.”
“Oh, big help.”
Climbing up, she straddled his butt, one bare thigh on either side. It was like sitting on a fence pole, he was so rigid. She leaned across him for the oil bottle and saw his eyes were clenched and his cheeks rosy. Tenderness made her pause. Most men would have greedily grabbed at the offer of personalized nearly nude attention. How unique he was and he was hers for the asking.
Her fingers stroked through his hair before grabbing the bottle. The click of the cap made him jump before a deep breath expanded his chest. He held it and she smiled. Three single drops of oil hit his spine followed by her fingers spreading them out in a circle. He still hadn’t released his breath.
Slowly and methodically, drop by drop, Charlie coated both her hands and his back with the fragrant orange oil. Warmth infused her motions from his skin and her hands. Tense muscles bunched and then gradually loosened as she leisurely massaged his shoulders down to his spine. She wasn’t gentle, using knuckles and the heels of her hands with punishing force. Not sex, comfort. Resistance bled away as her hands stroked and squeezed in rhythmic movement.
One hard muscle under his tattoo resisted and she forced her thumbs deeper into it, bringing a low moan.
“Like that?”
“Yeah. This is kind of nice, actually.”
“Told you so.” Her taunt made him chuckle and he relaxed more under her nonsexual ministrations. She pushed and prodded each inch until tension eased from his body. She kneaded the lines of his shoulders, sliding up onto his neck before gliding down his deltoids to the small of his back.
“You’re good at this.” His murmur was muffled by his arms and the alleviation of his anxiety.
“I took a class, thought about becoming a masseuse. But my hands are too small to do this all day.”
“They feel the right size to me. Right there. Oh, yeah.” Grinding the mound of her thumb into the line just above his boxer band, she smiled at his groan.
She’d bet anything Bastian didn’t talk while making love. Maybe whispered sweet nothings, but he wasn’t the type for dirty talk. Even the hidden dirty talkers slipped a word here or there. Not Bastian. He was too proper for that, but he would moan when pleased, gasp when delighted. The remembered resonance of his voice around the campfire shot through her, want festering in her belly. How would he sound in climax?
So far, she’d kept her massage clinical and relaxing. Part of her, the sweet part, wanted to continue, to just ease him into blissful contentment. The other part, the vixen, wanted to bring him to the very edge of desire until he pleaded for release. His skin beneath hers did illicit things to her libido, things she’d never before allowed herself to recognize with him.
A hug or a kiss, a pat on the back or a held hand were just part of her friendship with Bastian. Knowing she could have more, was allowed to feel more, had heightened her senses, elevating her response to simple touches. His back beneath her hand sent shivers up her spine. His thighs between hers made her knees quiver. Tempting him was becoming an exercise in controlling herself.
“I’m going to do your legs, now. Just giving you a warning.”
Sliding between his spread knees, the oil dripped to his thighs and he flinched as her fingers skirted his boxer legs. Using the same professional motions, she rubbed and kneaded, pulling the stiffness from his body one inch at a time. Slow breaths showed he had let go of his trepidation and was drifting toward sleep.
Darkness fell completely, the pale lamplight glistening on his skin. She’d chosen a light oil scented with clove and orange. The pure masculine scent was rich but not cloying, with just enough of a sensual odor to tease. It also wasn’t greasy, soaking into his skin but allowing the easy glide of flesh on flesh. She considered slipping her fingers deeper between his thighs, into the heated vee beneath maroon cotton. But she’d promised not to and wouldn’t violate his trust.
She smirked. That didn’t mean she couldn’t play.
Climbing astride his behind once more, Charlie capped the oil and dropped it by her knee. She splayed her hands at his waist then ran them up his back in one long continuous stroke. At his shoulders, she leaned down, pressing her breasts against him. Her hands trailed down his biceps. When her lips fell on his nape, his back stiffened once more beneath her. The oil flavored his skin slightly as her tongue skimmed his shoulder.
“Charlie.”
“Shh, I’m not finished yet.” Whispered into his spine, her words carried her kisses. She tasted each part of his back from the curve of his neck to the plane of his shoulders and lower. Her nipples touched and teased along his skin. The taste of his skin fanned her desire, and her panties grew warm and damp. Sliding down his body, she lay on top of him, the back of his thighs clenching against her stomach. The smooth flesh of his lower back quivered under her hot breath and she blew just to watch him shiver.
She kept her fingers broad-spread as her lips caressed the valley of his spine. In plain shamelessness, she climbed back and circled her hips, riding the hard muscles of his ass. Reaching behind, she let her fingers trail up his inner thighs, tensing muscles she’d worked to loosen.
“Charlie.” His voice carried a strained warning.
“Roll over.”
He stilled under her palms. “No.”
“Come on, a full body massage means full body, back and front.”
“Let’s just skip that part, okay?”
Seductive delight filled her. Sliding her hands down his arms once more, she firmly darted her tongue along his ear. Her slick hands caressed his forearms, noting the bunched muscles. “Turn over.”
“I have the hard-on from hell right now. I’m not rolling over.”
Tongue swirling along his shoulder blade, she kept her voice soft. “A very sexy doctor once told me it was a normal human reaction in a man to prolonged intimate touches. No touching below cotton and nothing happens unless we both want it. Trust me.”
“I will get you back for this.” Under her mouth, his ribs shuddered with his deep exhale before she felt him move. She shifted her weight to one knee to give him room before settling back across his hips. The hard ridge of his erection nestled into the junction of her thighs. He shocked her with exactly how hard he was. The shocks jolted from her moist center to her spine.
His eyes squeezed shut, his face darkened with a deep flush and his hands fisted at his sides. Lust shook through her, and she ached to rock along his length. His jaw clenched with his growl. “Do it. While I still have some control.”
Almost belligerent, his words begrudged her wish. Charlie chose to stay silent, to allow him to suffer in awkwardness as she gripped the oil bottle with trembling fingers. She was too concerned with tamping down her own urges. Rather than drizzle his skin, she pooled a small amount in her palm and rubbed her hands together, the slick sucking sound taunting in the dim light. The heady fragrance of cloves and orange mingled with barely concealed desire.
It was obvious he wanted her, knew her body was his with a single kiss, but still he held back. Once again, Bastian proved he wanted her in totality.
Careful to move only her arms, she gripped his shoulders and worked the slickness down his chest in slow, soothing circles. His stomach tightened as her thumbs traced light concentric loops. This massage was not relaxing although the motions were the same as before. Yearning blocked the tranquility, brewing, growing, waiting for a break in the wall to pounce. She needed him to break, to take her, show her how to love him, how he wanted her to love him.
He just fisted his hands tighter.
A twitch formed along his jaw as she shifted back to dip into his navel. The move tugged his boxers down. He didn’t seem to have noticed. He hadn’t opened his eyes once, and she used surprise to her advantage by drawing her finger along the skin just above the maroon edge. A muscle she hadn’t massaged jumped between her thighs.
Enough play. Charlie braced her hands on either side of his head and brought her mouth to his. His tongue greeted hers in hunger. Rocking her hips forward brought his hands from the coverlet to her thighs with a frantic clutch. Before her hips could find a rhythm, his firm grip stopped her, holding her still as his mouth stroked hers.
The kiss deepened, each feasting on the other as his hands kept her motionless. A buried ache pounded as she pressed firmer into him, seeking relief. His eyes flew open as he pulled his mouth from hers. A dazed citrine fire colored his gaze. The awe in his voice electrified her.
“You’re wet.”
“A normal human reaction in a woman who is intimately touching a man for a prolonged period of time.” Her intentioned sauciness was lost. She was more than wet, she was panting for his touch.
A mischievous gleam sparked to life as he loosened one hand from her hip. “I just realized I didn’t make any promises about staying away from cotton.”
His fingers slicked over her damp panties where they pressed against him. His other hand cupped her neck, bringing her mouth back to his. Freed from his grip, her hips moved over his, sliding along the hardness she craved. His moan danced with hers.
The coverlet was warm from his body as her back sank into the softness beneath him. Whether he’d rolled her or she’d pulled him she wasn’t sure. She only knew his mouth blazed a scorching tattoo on hers and his body enflamed her senses. Bastian arched away, just enough to ease his body alongside hers, never taking his lips from her mouth. The sweet weight between her thighs was gone and only emptiness remained. She whimpered around his tongue. Control was his. Need was hers.
“Payback time.” He chuckled.
His name was a sigh as his lips sank to her throat. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, bowing up into his body. Orange and clove essence filled her nose and she burned, a fiery flame starving for fuel only he could provide. The want licked along her bones as his mouth warmed the curve of her breast. Her seduction had been turned and now she was being seduced.
Hands that healed made her hurt as they cradled her breasts, his tongue darting from one tip to the other. He captured one nipple, drawing it deeply between his lips, and a cry ripped through her.
Thick damp hair trickled between shaky fingers. How did he instinctually know what she liked? Did he comprehend the delight he gave as he tongued her peaks? She thrust into his mouth, and the curl of her spine allowed for his arm to slide beneath her, bring her closer. Before a shudder could eke out, he left her tingling nipples, dipping to the deep valley between them. Against her leg, his cock teased her, pressing firmly, but gave no relief to the firestorm that built inside her. Her hands dropped lower but he caught them, tugging them above her head as his mouth dropped to the curve of her neck.
How had he hid such a wicked streak of playfulness from her for so many years? Bastian was a sexual tease, drawing out each sensation until her body vibrated with need. Easing her hands from his grasp, Charlie traced the line of his shoulder, fingers delving into the hollows of his collarbone before skimming down his chest. Their breaths mated as his tongue sought the deepest recesses of her mouth. Wet and pulsing, her clit ached in frustration.
“Touch me.”
Two simple words, they halted his mouth. He took hers again, one hot palm stroking down her stomach. Skimming over tiny panties, his fingers traced over the slick fabric. A gasp burst out and she thrust into his hand.
“I love you.”
The barest whisper on her skin, his words jabbed at her heart. His lips nibbled at hers, tenderness more erotic than oil. If love had a flavor, Charlie grew drunk with it, relishing each drop from his kiss. She wanted to crawl inside his embrace, to bathe in his touch.
The sweetness melded with fire, and the inferno erupted to searing passion as his fingers slipped under her panties and into satin-drenched layers. She breathed his name on a harsh exhale as he grazed her throbbing clit. Her thighs parted more, hips bucking to his hand, eager to ease the building emptiness he increased with each stroke. Her body quivered against his fingers. His tongue traced her jaw before stealing inside her panting mouth.
She wanted to beg him but couldn’t find the breath. Her plea never touched air but he heard it and circled the tight bud, tweaking sensations like tiny tinder sparks. It grew, centering in a rapid staccato that engulfed her mind. Her muscles clenched in building release. Her arms trembled, pulling him closer. Firmer caresses propelled her higher, just to the precipice, and held her there, luxuriating in her agonized wait.
“Marry me?”
His pleading words stopped her heart. Now? He was asking her now? Poised at the tip of climax and he wanted her to think? Her lips parted but no sound came. She had no answer. Her silence closed his lids, sorrow tingeing his face even as he took her mouth in promise.
One firm touch of his thumb and she exploded, a bittersweet burst of what might have been. Ripples of pleasure fought waves of grief, wrenching a keening wail from her throat as her body vaulted. She flew too fast and hard without an anchor. Blindly, she clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders. He held her. Bastian would always hold her when she was weakest.
Her cry faded to a whimper in his arms and she snuggled against his chest, trembling with release. His hold tightened. The emptiness lingered, just moving higher, where she imagined her heart would beat if she hadn’t given it to him. He asked too much, too soon, too swiftly for her timid heart.
Not sex, but making love was what he demanded of her. Did he know that she loved him with every breath? She’d loved him for years but could only now permit the feeling to be acknowledged. New love this strong scared her. Or was it old love realized? Could he understand she needed the physical before the emotional would release? How could she prove to him he wasn’t some faceless man in the dark? Charlie wanted to make love with him, she just didn’t know how. She never had.
Charlie shifted, reaching for him. Bastian moved away. The few inches he put between them spoke volumes as he caught her searching hands.
“No.”
“I want to.”
“I don’t.” His voice, colder than ice, coated her with numbness. “If all I wanted was an orgasm, I’d take care of it myself. I don’t need you for that.”
Angry shock blanketed her as he rolled to the side of the bed and sat blowing out long lines of air. He pushed the hair out of his eyes before shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not looking for a quick tumble with you.”
“Oh, I get it.” She jackknifed up behind him. His sanctimonious virginal crap was getting old. “You’re pissed because you want what you want right now. You turned everything upside down and I’m supposed to go, ‘Oh gee, how nice,’ and meekly fall into a bridal procession. I can’t,” she spat. “You’ve had God knows how long to get used to the idea of us. I’ve had what, a few days?”
He spun. “Enough time to try to get into bed with me every five minutes, to block your feelings with sex, to hide behind them.”
“Wait, which one of us just had their hands in my panties? That would be you, Einstein. So don’t tell me about using sex to get what I want. And what the hell was that ‘marry me’ shit in at the end? Did you think I was so far gone I’d say yes just to get an orgasm?”
Bastian shifted his jaw. “I don’t know. It just felt right. We feel right.”
“So let’s do it.”
“I don’t want sex!”
“I do! It feels good. But right now, I don’t feel good with you.” The mattress bounced as she leaped from it, snatching her shorts and yanking them over wet thighs. This was what frightened her. Love made people nasty, made them hurt each other and lash out. She could talk to Bastian her friend about anything. She couldn’t tell this man what she felt, how he confused her with things she’d dared not dream about.
“You felt more than good a few minutes ago with me. But that’s what you wanted, safe and shallow.”
His sarcasm bit at her and she bit back. She fisted her hands on her hips, letting the shirt hang at her side. “Get off your high horse. This is me. I know all about the tech in radiology and the bartender with the big boobs. You’ve got no room to talk about shallow sexual encounters, Saint Sebastian. It’s not like you’ve been married to every woman you’ve screwed.”
He growled, a totally foreign sound from his lips to her ears. “Damn it, you know what I mean. I need to be more than a notch in your bedpost.”
“You’re moving too fast.”
“Too fast?” Eyes wide, he faced her, his erection lost to anger. “Who wants who naked?”
“Who wants who in white? Me in white is a joke.” Floundering emotions rushed her mouth, pouring out with no thread of thought. “If I don’t know it, I can’t give it. I never had it to know what to do. I’m not the wearing-pearls type and I don’t know how to roast a turkey.”
He stared at her for a long tense moment but her rant had run its course, and she had nothing else to throw at him. Confusion blended with irritation on his face, angling his brows and dropping his jaw. “Jesus, you’re not making any sense. There’s no talking to you when you’re like this. I’m taking a shower.”
Furious waves licked at her as he passed. “You just took a shower.”
“I need another!”
The door slam shook the walls. Charlie pulled her shirt over her head and grabbed her bag, intent on stalking out of the room. The rush of water in the other room insulated him from her rage but did nothing for her mood. When she and Bastian argued, it got loud, that was nothing new. It rarely happened but when it did, she fumed for hours and he brooded. Her feet stopped on the threshold.
This was their first argument as more than friends. How did that change things? Was there some protocol she needed to follow? Her brain told her to talk to him as she always had, tell him why he scared her now when he never had before. Her heart wanted to flee, to escape more angry words. Charlie decided to listen to both but she wasn’t ready to sweet-talk him.
Her bare feet thudded on the wood floor. Thrusting the bathroom door open, she marched to the dark green shower curtain and yanked it back, two metal rings tearing the fabric with a sharp rip.
Bastian’s back was a smooth plane of gooseflesh as he braced on his palms against the wall. The cold water rained down on his head, sluicing over shoulders she’d just kissed. A fine chill mist peppered her face. He didn’t turn or acknowledge her intrusion other than the muscles of his bare ass tightening.
Grit struck the tile as he snarled, “Out, Charlie.”
“In a minute,” she snapped. “You need to learn something. Your bedside manner sucks. I don’t handle ultimatums well. If I decide to marry you, it’ll be because I want to, not because you made me by dangling a carrot-shaped orgasm in front of me. There’s a hell of a lot I’ve done in my life, but I’ve never whored myself out to any man and I certainly won’t do it for a gold band. What just happened meant something to me but you’re making me feel cheap. I will not allow you or any man to do that. Stay out of my bed if it makes you happy, but do not assume that’ll make a hell of a difference in my choice. Batteries are cheap. I don’t need you for an orgasm.”
The framed picture of a schooner falling from the force of her door slam made her feel marginally better.