Chapter Six
“Sit tight, sugar, and I’ll be right back. You’re Hanging Out with Honey, straddling the night and riding into morning. Back in three.”
Bastian turned the volume down as an advertisement for a local florist shop covered Charlie’s sultry tones. The faint buzz from the refrigerator echoed in the darkened kitchen interrupted only by the drone of muted static. A quick glance at the stovetop clock told him he had another half hour to kill until Justine left the station for the night. Then Charlie would be there, alone. Normally he hated that she was alone in the small station in the wee hours but tonight he was grateful. Groveling was hard enough without an audience.
Shuffled feet brought his eyes to the doorway.
“Since you aren’t bolting for the door, I assume the hospital didn’t call. That must mean you’re going to Charlie.” Caz’s smirk disappeared inside the fridge. “I swear you act married already. You two even fight like an old married couple.”
“You heard that?” Face warming, Bastian wished he could crawl inside his coffee cup.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Sorry. I tend to forget there are other people in the house at times. We shouldn’t have yelled.”
Caz shrugged and held out a foil-covered bowl of cold chicken wings. Bastian shook his head.
“No big deal. Fighting wasn’t all I heard.” He winked at Bastian. The blushing warmth increased to mortified heat as his brother chuckled. “Don’t sweat it. Charlie’s just vocal, means you must’ve been doing something right. You surprise me. Didn’t think you had it in you. There may be hope for your man-whore ways yet.”
The coffee lost all flavor and Bastian poured it down the sink. Rinsing the cup became a mission as his mind wandered. He didn’t want man-whore ways; he just wanted Charlie. Their arguments were infrequent but explosive. He’d always chalked it up to her being a passionate person and bringing out the fire in him.
But she could burn with words.
“Leave the porch light on. I’ll head out in a few minutes. Once I figure out how to drive with my tail tucked so far between my legs.”
“You scare her.” Mouthed around cold chicken, Caz’s words were garbled as he hoisted his behind onto the counter.
The mug smacked the sink. “That’s the second time today I’ve heard that but I don’t buy it. Charlie knows I’d never hurt her.”
“No, but she’s never given you that power. Think about it, man. Littlebit’s a headlining one-woman show. You’re asking her to share billing, bus space and a road crew.”
“Is it possible for you to speak in nonmusical terms?”
Caz tossed a cleaned wing bone onto the discarded foil and wiped his fingers down his jean-clad knees. “If something works, she did it. If something fails, she did that, too. Eddy’s a great lady but she was a lousy mom. Charlie doesn’t depend on anyone but Charlie. I don’t think she knows how.”
“She depends on me.” Bastian protested his brother’s words but a trickle of truth wouldn’t be denied.
Caz bit into another wing before agreeing. “Sure, as a friend. She’s comfortable with that, but she wasn’t always. How long did it take you all to, I don’t know, exchange house keys in case of emergencies and responsible shit like that?”
Bastian bit his cheek against the rationale. “Couple years.”
“See? Charlie doesn’t trust easy. She trusted you, though, and you shook her world up. Give her time, quit pushing. I heard the commercial for your show today, the bet you guys have going? If she’s worth waiting for in bed, wait on the ring. No rush, is there?”
Eyes narrowed, the older watched the younger with a new sense of respect. “I hate it when you make sense.”
“I know. Totally blows my image as the messed-up asshole, doesn’t it?” Beaming an infectious grin, Caz suddenly looked like the brother he used to know, the one who raided his Playboy stash and listened in on phone calls with girls. The bratty little kid who’d made his life hell until the neighborhood bully picked on him and Bastian would come out with flying fists. The same child who’d whip out a sonata while his older brother struggled with scales.
Flashes of fishing trips and campouts and late-night movies rushed him. They’d been close once. Bastian missed this brother. “How’ve you been?”
Used to the question and all its hidden meaning, Caz wobbled his head with a strained sigh. “It’s easier than it was.”
“Good to know but I meant in general. How are you? What’s going on in your life?”
Paler brown eyes looked away. Caz worked his way through three wings in silence.
Over four years filled with meaningless pleasantries and distanced silences ate at Bastian. His life was changing. Why shouldn’t he include his brother in that change, try to find whatever it was that they’d lost? “We don’t talk anymore. Why?”
“Life, Bastian. Shit happens and things change.” The bone-laden foil crunched loudly as Caz balled it up. It hit the trash with a thud. “Both our lives crashed the same year. We lived through it but we’re both different men because of it.”
Crashed. That was one way of looking at it, Bastian supposed. In a twelve-month span, his marriage had ended, his brother had OD’d and his mother had died. No, he was no longer the same man he had been. It was unfair to assume Caz was any different.
He looked with a new perspective at the man in front of him. How many meals and talks had this kitchen hosted? It seemed every important conversation growing up had centered in this room. What better place to try to reconnect with the man his brother had become? “You’re right. But you’re still my brother. No divorces, drugs or daily life can change that.”
“I don’t need a lecture, all right?”
Bastian shook his head. “I’m not lecturing. You used to call just to bullshit. Now you don’t.”
Caz studied the cabinet door. “Don’t know what to say to you most days. I never know if you’re working or sleeping or whatever. I hate to bug you.”
“Bug me,” Bastian ordered. “Why stop now? You’ve been bugging me since the day you were born. That’s what little brothers do.”
“Little brothers grow up,” Caz snapped. His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes. “Stop treating me like a kid. I’ll call more, okay? But the phone lines work both ways. I don’t know what’s going on with you, either.”
“True. Okay, rundown. A year ago, I looked at Charlie and realized she meant more to me than just a friend. But I didn’t say anything until we went camping. We made out, I proposed, she said no, and I refuse to sleep with her until she says yes. I’m tired of the ER and put out feelers. Got a nibble at the UC. So now I’m switching jobs and celibate. There, you’re all caught up with me.”
“You suck at replays.” Caz snickered.
“Your turn. Catch me up, what have I missed with you?” Something flickered on Caz’s face and Bastian waited, but it passed and he let it. Reconnection took time. Time he promised himself he’d find.
“Later. You’d better head out. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Any more man-whore insights on pissed-off women you want to share?”
Caz laughed. “Protect your balls. Heels hurt like a bitch.”
A womb. That was always how Charlie thought of the broadcast room late at night. She kept it dark, soothing, for the type of music she played through the night. The glow from the instruments and computer panel illuminated enough for her needs. Until the fire marshal stopped it, she’d kept a candle burning. Now she was reduced to using a Crock-Pot-type thing to melt scented waxes in. The small space cradled her but this was her domain, her refuge. From when Justine left at one until the day manager came in at five, it was her, the music and the airwaves. Four little hours that she controlled, the queen of all she surveyed.
“Welcome back, sugar. The night is upon us and filled with the sleepy sounds of the world at rest. If you’re joining me, it’s because you too are a being of the night. We live and work while others sleep, an echo to their daily grind. Night grinding is always more fun, don’t you think? So do your business and grind with me. Let me take you to my Eden, my nighttime paradise. Bask in the rhythms of the classics, let them soothe your worries away. Let’s work on some ‘Night Moves’ with Mr. Bob Seger.”
The music keyed up and filled the room, Charlie swaying in her chair. An unfamiliar creak tickled the hair on her neck and she spun to the door. After Justine had left, she’d engaged the alarm. No one could have gotten in without a card key. Only a few people had them but none were due in for hours. Her eyes flew to the wooden baseball bat Bastian insisted she keep behind the door. Too far. In her purse was a can of pepper spray, but her purse was in the break room. Shit. Well, the hot wax might come in handy after all.
A single daisy held in a masculine hand reached around the doorway. “I come bearing gifts.”
A smile fought the stiffness she forced into her mouth as Bastian stepped around the door frame. How adorable he looked when sheepish. Those toffee eyes darkened to caramel and his strong shoulders slumped. He held the daisy out to her but she ignored it, not ready to forgive just yet.
“Is there a diamond clause in accepting a flower?”
“No. Just a ‘forgive me for being a dick’ clause.”
The bright pink Gerber daisy had been plucked from the potted urn outside the station but the gesture was sweet. By allowing her smile and taking the stem from his fingers, she transformed his face. Gone was the hound dog frown, and the gentle grin she loved appeared.
“I’m sorry. Can we chalk it up to blue balls talking?”
“Wow, your balls sound just like you.” She twirled the flower under her nose once before laying it aside, a splash of color in the dim room. “You meant it or you wouldn’t have said it, even in anger.”
“Okay, I meant it.” He shrugged. “I think you’re hiding behind sex to not face your feelings. But I didn’t have to say it like that so, I’m sorry.”
Silk and chocolate were the two most decadent things she knew, but they couldn’t compete with his voice. If he could carry a tune in a two-handled bucket, he’d give Caz a run for his money. Instead, he simply thrilled her daily by saying her name.
“I’m pushing too hard, I guess. I never meant to make you feel cheap. Far from it, you’re worth waiting for. For a night or a month or a year, whatever it takes, I’m here forever. When you’re ready to say yes, the offer stands. Cold showers never killed anyone, I guess.”
Her throat ached and her eyes stung. No one knew her like Bastian. Somehow, he always knew exactly what she meant and what she wanted, even when she was confused herself. “So still no sex without a yes?”
His normal chair sat empty and he eased into it with a sigh. She felt his restraint like an invisible wall. Walls that shouldn’t be breached because they grew out of the thing she loved most about him, his steady, unwavering integrity. It also irritated her to no end.
Pushing the hair out of his face, he leaned forward. The familiar concentrated stance tugged at her heart. “Forget the show and the race or contest or whatever you want to call it. Go back to the lake, what I told you there. I want to show you love outside the bedroom before I show you inside. I’m not dangling a carrot and, despite the Honeypot, I know you’re not that free with your body. I want to show you forever is real.”
One finger held up, she swiveled and punched in another song selection. The move gave her time to digest his words and phrase her own. Talking with Bastian had always been easy but sometimes she simply didn’t have the words to give him. Somehow, even then, he seemed to know her heart.
She faced the console, unable to face him. “Love isn’t easy for me, you know that. My track record sucks. I just don’t know if I can be what you need me to be.”
“I need you to be yourself. Why would I want you to change?”
His sweetness made her teeth ache. People didn’t really talk like this, did they? Her eyes dropped to his hands and she curved hers around them. He echoed the move, lacing his fingers in hers. Drawing strength from his touch, one fear spilled out in a whisper.
“And what happens if, for whatever reason, I can’t say yes? If I can’t marry you, then what happens? Do I lose everything?”
There was no hesitation in his words, not the smallest flicker of doubt. “I’m not going anywhere. Part of believing in forever is believing in your partner. I’ve always believed in you. I know you believe in me. You just have to get used to the idea of believing in us.”
“Pretty tall order.”
“Nah, you already believe it inside. Come on, you’ve let me drive your Firebird, haven’t you? That takes a lot of believing.”
The tease worked like a magic spell, calling forth a smile where she thought none existed. Tugging on his hands, she pulled him closer and smacked his lips with hers. He pulled her back and pressed a firmer kiss to her mouth before releasing her. He winked.
“I brought you another present. Want it?”
A laugh shot through her, pure unfiltered joy. “Are you trying to bribe me into forgiving you?”
“I’m not above it.” He shrugged.
“Where is it?”
“Change the music, I’ll be right back.”
He was gone only a minute but it was enough time for her to intone a few steamy words over the air and cue up a commercial block. The next three songs waited a simple finger touch.
“Close your eyes.”
She clamped her eyes shut until a slight chill passed her face and then she popped them open without permission. Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia tempted her, opened, spoon at the ready, in all its rich pink ooey-gooeyness. She had the spoon in her mouth before she took the carton from his hand. Luscious chocolate and cherry exploded on her tongue, her eyes closing in bliss. Bastian knew her well. Nothing soothed a bitch like Ben and Jerry’s.
His soft laugh broke through her solitary delight as he sat back into his chair. “Watching you eat ice cream is like pornography. No one else I know enjoys it like you do.”
Licking one escaped smear off the spoon, Charlie grinned at him. “That’s why I ration myself. I like to prolong the anticipation between treats. You should understand the theory.”
Sensual tension flared as their eyes locked. With slow, measured movements, she dipped the spoon and brought it to her lips. The frozen cream was scooped by a teasing tongue. His indrawn breath stroked her inner diva. Three more sensual bites had him fisting his hands. When he licked his lips, she spooned out a bite and held it to him.
“Come and get it.”
She pulled the spoon back, drawing him near, before allowing him to taste the ice cream, millimeters from her mouth. He took the bite, smiling at her in lusty patience before whispering, “Dead air.”
Her touch sparked more music to life. While her head was turned, his chilled lips fell on the curve of her neck. Freezer-cold and fiery-hot, his mouth scored a line up her jaw to lick the cherry from her mouth.
“I hate Cherry Garcia.” His words were chocolate-flavored. “But I love you.”
Charlie ignored the last half of his sentence. “It just means more ice cream for me.”
He leaned back, removed the carton from her hands and fed her a small bite. “I learned something about you today.”
“Oh? What?” A full cherry found its way onto her tongue.
“You’re a noisy lover.”
She shrugged. “I don’t hold back. Sure you can handle that when the time’s right?”
“Absolutely.” He fed her another bite. “No way you faked that.”
“No way.”
He blew out a breath. “You’re going to keep tormenting me, aren’t you? Teasing me until I think about nothing else but making love to you?”
“Absolutely.”
Ice cream melted in the carton as she pressed her lips to his. She slid from her chair to his lap, legs straddling his hips. Cold fingers skimmed her hips before stroking her back, pulling her tight. Charlie loved the feel of him beneath her. In tune with her every move, he echoed her mouth with abandonment. Sex with him would be fantastic.
The selected songs played through and the ice cream softened while they kissed, never once parting. Just before the last chords of Led Zeppelin faded, Bastian released her mouth and allowed her to turn.
Nuzzling her hair as she cued up more songs, he cupped her breasts, circling hardened nipples through her blouse. Her hips rocking back into his forced an anguished groan past his lips.
“I have to go. My shift starts in a few hours. And I’m going to try to be here when Nathan comes in.”
A discontented purr escaped but she eased back to her own chair. Prolong the anticipation. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I wonder if there’s a world record for cold showers in one day.”
Her laugh made him smile, and his smile warmed her soul. Cherry Garcia couldn’t hold a roman candle to the sweetness in Bastian Talbot.
At the threshold, he stopped, hand on the frame. His eyes snagged hers and held them.
“Charlie, about what you said while I was in the shower…I’m well aware that you don’t need me for certain things. But I’d like to think you want me. Just in case, I got you another present.”
He drew a small white bag from his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it awkwardly in one hand, juggling the carton in the other. Then he was gone. She set the ice cream on the console ledge and opened the bag. The outer door latched as her laughter burst out.
Bastian had bought her batteries.
Pain throbbed at the back of her skull. Charlie rubbed the knot of exhausted tension out of the base of her neck and dared a glance at Bastian. A tic jumped in his jawline. The hard glower lasering from his eyes should have made Nathan wet his pants but the geeky little station manager ignored it, all puffed up with his self-importance.
“You think I’m joking? I’ll cancel that fucking show faster than you can slap a flea.”
“So do it,” Bastian snapped. Charlie jerked her head toward him and her jaw dropped. What was he doing? Bastian knew she needed this job.
Nathan pointed his skinny finger in Bastian’s face. “Don’t tempt me. Do you have any idea the cost of one FCC fine? That little smut show of yours costs this station a pret—”
“Bullshit!” Bastian spat. “The delay works fine and Justine does her job. That little smut show has doubled your listener numbers and tripled the advertising income of this spit-dot station. Charlie and her shows are your prime draw. So you got one fine. Big fucking deal. She’s brought in more than three times that in revenue and you know it. Lay off the big-man shit and pay her what she’s worth before she finds a better offer.”
Nathan pinned his greedy, beady eyes on her. “You leaving?”
A sickening churn in her stomach, Charlie dropped her eyes to her knees. “I told you I sent résumés out. Haven’t heard anything positive on them, though.”
“Then you need to listen up. I approve all show topics and contests, not you. Stop going off on this half-cocked bullshit.” A sneer twisted his thin lips as Nathan settled back in his chair. He speared Bastian with what Charlie assumed was supposed to be a fierce look but it came across as constipated. “And speaking of half-cocked, you keep your dick in your pants until the Summer Kickoff.”
“Pardon me?” Bastian gaped.
A squeak shrilled through the room as Nathan shifted forward on the rickety office chair. “Actually, I don’t care who you bang. Fuck her raw if it makes you happy, but on air, you play it all virginal and you—” he snapped his face toward Charlie, “—can run off to Atlantic City or Vegas with Elvis himself. But on air, Honeypot and Dr. Hot keep this shit flowing. The numbers are up and this little stunt is working, so milk it. One of you can cop to caving at the Kickoff, not until.”
“You are such a fucking hypocrite,” Bastian snarled.
Nathan grinned an oily grin. “Whatever. It’s my name on your paycheck so you do what I say.”
Bastian opened his mouth but Charlie clamped her hand on his knee and squeezed. “Right, we got it. Come on, Bastian. You have to get to the hospital or you’ll be late.”
Bastian fumed until they hit the parking lot. Bright sunshine blinded her and Charlie dug in her bag for her sunglasses. The throb in her skull intensified in the light, and she gritted her teeth against the stabbing pain.
“I hate that bastard.” Bastian leaned against her car door and blew out a harsh breath. “He uses you and pays you shit then makes you listen while he plays lord asshole. Someone needs to turn him in for harassment.” He scuffed his sneaker toe into the gravel. “You know, Charlie, I hated the idea you started looking elsewhere for a job but, damn it, I hope you get an offer soon just so you can tell him to kiss your ass. If it wasn’t for you, I’d tell him to pucker up and kiss mine right now.”
“Ignore him.” Even behind the darkened lenses of her sunglasses, bright lights popped and flashed. The mother of migraines was brewing and she did not need Sir Bastian the Belligerent shouting his annoyance in her ringing ears. “His father owns the station and he’s got this mistaken idea that gives him leeway to act all dickish. I just nod my head and do my own shit. It works and he knows it. Let him crow.”
Bastian tugged her close and rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t need this job, but you do. Sorry I lost my temper in there.”
“’Sokay.” She dropped a quick kiss across his mouth. “I like it when Dr. Hot gets all worked up. Turns me on.”
Bastian chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Nathan told me to behave, remember? I have to listen to the boss so certain parts of my anatomy are off-limits to you. Unless you want to answer a certain nuptial question…”
“Go to work. I need to go to bed and for once, I mean to sleep. See you tonight. You’re buying the pizza.”
“Time to wake up, sleepyhead.”
Charlie attempted to burrow back under the covers, but they were too heavy to move. She tugged but they wouldn’t budge.
“Come on, sunshine, rise and shine.”
Her bedding was speaking. The warm and comfortable voice soothed her, lulling her back into dreamland.
“Charlie, get up.”
One bleary eye cracked open. Her blankets weren’t talking but the large blond man lying on them was. She rolled to her stomach and buried her head. Too thick for conversation, her tongue barely moved. “Go ’way, I’m ’sleep.”
“I see that. It’s almost seven. You slept through the alarm again.”
He kept talking but she fought awareness until he sounded like a buzzing bee, circling the bloom of her consciousness. A few more circles and he would leave her alone. Sleep beckoned and she sank deeper.
A wet tongue licked her nape. Charlie’s eyes snapped wide as Bastian nuzzled the back of her neck. If this was his alarm system, she definitely approved. The pillow fell off the mattress as she tried to roll beneath him. She couldn’t move. He had her pinned to the bed, blankets trapped beneath his knees on either side of her hips.
“As much as I love what you’re doing with your mouth, I’d really prefer to be face-up for it.”
“Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes. It’s about time. You stood me up.”
“What? What time is it?” Struggling with the sheets and comforter, she pushed him aside. The clock read 6:52 p.m. and she collapsed back onto the pillow with a groan. “I’m sorry. I must have passed out.”
“I thought it might be something like that. You’re never late for Rudy’s pizza. Come on, haul ass.”
Fog lurked in her brain and she forced herself to focus on his face. Pizza. Yeah, food, that was what she needed. She also had a sudden desperate need to pee. Both combined were enough to make her shove the blankets back. Bastian collapsed on her pillow, head in his hand, laughing as she stumbled toward the bathroom. “You sleep like the dead.”
Unable to form a coherent comeback, she raised her middle finger. The floor wobbled and she reached out for the dresser edge.
“Charlie? Are you okay?”
“I just have to pee and wake up.”
Five minutes later, thanks to the restorative powers of painkillers combined with a solid block of sleep, she was bright-eyed and famished. Bastian’s position halted her return to the bedroom. He sat at the edge of her bed and held her medication bottle in one hand. Grim concern carved his brow.
“You had another migraine. That’s why you overslept.”
“I caught it before it got bad. I’m fine now.”
“We’ve talked about this.”
“And you never butt out. I have a doctor and you aren’t her.” Hunger shifted to peevishness as she yanked underwear and matching bra from the drawer. The exasperated sigh behind her made her grit her teeth. She really didn’t want to argue with him again about this. Two arguments in two days were two too many.
“You need to go off the Pill.”
“Once again, not butting out.”
“There are other methods, methods without hormones. Give your body a break.”
She could predict the familiar fight screenplay nearly to the word. “Key word, my body, my decision.”
“Use condoms.”
The drawer slid home with a sharp crack as she glared at him. “I’m not stupid, I do. Or rather, I make my partners. But the Pill is my control. I always use both, every time. No way in hell am I getting knocked up.”
“Then think about an IUD.”
“Bastian, get your mind out of my uterus.”
Dropping his head, Bastian squeezed the plastic bottle until she thought it might crack. He didn’t stay on script. That was supposed to be the end of it, the point where he threw up his hands and told her only idiots went against medical advice. Instead he worried his bottom lip with his tongue and pushed forward.
“I’m just worried about you, okay? Every time you take this shit, your blood pressure goes haywire, you’re killing your kidneys, and I don’t want to even think about the other side effects. This stuff isn’t candy. It’s a serious painkiller.”
Damn, he was sweet when he was being all pro-Charlie. Her shoulders lost some of their tenseness. “It’s not like I’m shooting heroin. Those are prescribed and I only use them when I need them.”
His jaw tightened and bunched as he scowled at her. The wide orange bottle smacked the nightstand. “Yeah, apparently you’ve needed them four times so far this month. Your doctor’s a quack.”
Hello, boundaries! Charlie dug in her heels and squared her body. “She’s got as many letters after her name as you do.”
“Even the idiot who graduates last gets to be called doctor.” He was too angry about this. Something rang off-kilter to the familiar argument. Unease skittered up her spine like mice in an attic and he sent them scurrying with his ire. “You shouldn’t be doing this to your system. You know the trigger, eliminate it. Go off the Pill.”
“For the last time, it’s none of your business.” She retreated to the bathroom.
He followed with muttered curse. “I think it is now.”
“Why, because you’ve got a nice little God-complex going?”
“No, because you don’t have to worry about it with me.”
Comprehension halted her steps and she leaned both hands on the vanity. So that’s what’s bothering him.
Framed in the doorway, he leaned on one shoulder. His quiet gaze caressed her face. “I want to be not only your next lover, but your last. Sleeping with me would mean no risk. You don’t need the Pill.”
She struggled for air. She knew he was medically right, that her body needed a break, but she’d never been willing to chance it before. The older she got, the worse her headaches became. Even her “quack” doctor was hinting it was time to consider other ideas. With Bastian, birth control would be a nonissue.
However, the question of commitment reared its fanged head and snapped at her. It would be a concrete step in choosing a future with him and him alone. Could she do that? She bit her lip.
The lines around his eyes deepened. His gaze shifted away. “Silver lining to every cloud, right? I can’t get you pregnant. There’s no need for hormones. No pills, no more headaches.”
“I never thought about it.” She forced her eyes not to fall. He had no shame in this and she wouldn’t make him feel any. “It’s not something I actively keep in my mind about you, you know?”
He nodded. “I do think we need to talk about it, though. Embarrassing, awkward or whatever, it’s the responsible thing to do, so talk to me.”
“Can we talk someplace other than my bathroom, please?”
“Sure.” The soft sigh as he held his hand out to her bounced in the austere room. Curling her fingers into his, she dropped the clean underwear in the dry sink and allowed him to pull her out of the bathroom, through the bedroom and into her kitchen.
The upper apartment had once been a loft overlooking the dusty garage floor. Yearning for independence at sixteen, Charlie had moved out of her mother’s house one weekend and never returned. Although the refurbishing was slow at first, the apartment now resembled nothing of a garage storage room.
The open living and kitchen area had high white ceilings and a lazily circling fan above a patterned rug in muted reds and golds. Behind the armchair ran a sturdy steel pole from floor to ceiling. A holdover from her dancing days, the beam now served as an exercise device, maintaining her upper body strength and burning off Ben and Jerry’s. Other than yoga, it was the only exercise she could tolerate.
The white appliances echoed the spartan chic-ness in the area. Not a mushroom or a ladybug in sight. Charlie preferred oversized movie prints from the 1930s and several adorned the walls. A center counter divided the kitchen from the rest of the room and served as her table. Bastian settled there now in one of the high-backed stools, silent as she flitted around, making coffee.
“I’ve been on birth control since I was sixteen. It’d be a big change for me. It’s like giving up control.”
“It’s a control that wouldn’t be necessary. It’d be better for you, even if you don’t add me to the equation.”
Bastian was the equation. Without him, she wouldn’t even be considering giving up that protection, that safeguard. She wanted a baby like most people wanted inflamed hemorrhoids. Bastian mourned children he’d never have. Charlie lived in terror of being late. It was just another of the huge differences in them that had never mattered before. Suddenly, they did.
“I was late once. Once. I panicked.”
“I remember.”
Her lips quirked. “Yeah, you should. You talked me down.”
“You weren’t that late. Two days is not bad.”
“Felt like years to me.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the cabinet. He’d never understand. For Bastian, children were a blessing he was denied. For her, they were a threat. The minute she’d understood that sex led to babies, she’d decided there was no way she was repeating Eddy’s life. No unplanned pregnancies for her, ever.
Babies needed stability. She’d never had that in her life. Men came and went, sometimes a stepfather, sometimes just a “friend” of her mother’s who stayed over, sometimes just a mysterious new face at the breakfast table once and then never again. Charlie had learned to get dressed before leaving her bedroom since she didn’t know who would be there.
Charlie watched the coffeepot. All the phone calls, the fights over child support, the lean months going without when a check was late came rushing back on a cold wind. She shivered. Her father was a stranger, a resentful man who tolerated her when he was forced to endure custody visits. At twelve, she’d stopped going and he hadn’t argued.
Bastian would be a different type of father, if he were able. No kid of his would ever feel like a mistake, a reminder of a onetime slip in safety. She glanced over her shoulder then pulled her face back. Aromatic steam wafted from the coffeemaker as thin splashes plopped into the carafe. Drop by drop, the pot filled, each drip insignificant but joining with others to form an addictive brew. She trained her eyes on the filling container.
“Pretend to be a doctor for me a minute. What happens if I go off them? To my body?”
He was toying with her saltshaker. She could hear the glass cylinder roll back and forth over the Formica with a soft tempo. His bedside manner, unlike her accusation, was soothing and gentle.
“You might have a heavier cycle the first month or you might not have one at all for a while, either is normal. When they do start, they could be erratic while your system adjusts to regulating itself. That can take a couple months. There may possibly be some breakthrough bleeding, maybe worse cramps. That’s about it. Anything has got to be better than four migraines in three weeks.”
“Two. It was only two headaches. I have to double the painkillers now.”
“Jesus. Please get off them, for your health if nothing else. Think about the pain, about how high you’re forcing your blood pressure, how hard you’re working your heart.”
“Sometimes I can head the headaches off with Tylen—”
“And those ruin your liver.” His lips flattened over his teeth. “I want you around for a long time, okay? I don’t want to find you dead one day.”
“You’re being melodramatic.”
“No, I’m being a doctor. I’ve seen it happen too many times. I don’t want it to happen to you.”
“I don’t trust condoms alone. I know too many horror stories.”
“You’d be safe with me. I don’t carry that risk.” Soft, nearly whispered, his voice raised her head.
The deep burgundy mug rolled back and forth in her palms while she chose her words. “But that’s only with you. It would be a pretty big step, wouldn’t it? For us, I mean, as a couple. Exclusively.”
“Yeah. It’s your step to take, though. I can’t do it for you.”
The mug heated as she poured the coffee. Two small sips burned her lips as she mulled the frightening idea in her head. A question grew and she brought her gaze to his. Bastian studied her, a mask of blank professionalism etched into his face. His eyes told her otherwise. He hoped.
“Slight change of subject. Remember in February when we did the show on safety?”
Curved lines sprang around his mouth with his smile. “You mean the VD checks for V-day? Yeah, how could I forget? Only you would combine Valentine’s Day and venereal disease and get away with it.”
“We both got tested.” Guarded shades fell but he nodded. “You said there hadn’t been any—”
“There hasn’t.”
Why did black coffee get cream-colored bubbles if there was no creamer in it? The distracting thought fascinated her, crowding her mind until she could fix her gaze on his again.
“You know about Adam. He was the only one and I made him use condoms. So, what about that? Do we have a need for them? I mean, if there’s no risk, why bother?”
His shirt rose with deep inhale. Forcing the hair out of his eyes, Bastian leaned on the counter with his elbows while holding her look. “Since we’re not going to be together until you can commit, I’d have to say no, we won’t need them then.” He reached for the salt again. “But I guess we could use them for a while, if it made you feel better, safer.”
Two small steps brought her across from him. She removed the crystal-filled glass from his fingers. Whatever future they might have would not be decided while toying with seasonings. “No chance for an accident, at all?”
Almost missed, his low snort accompanied a head shake. “No. Three tests, failed them all. The only tests I’ve ever failed in my life.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Look at us. You can’t have kids and it kills you. I’m scared to death I’ll get pregnant. How screwed up is that?”
“You’ve never thought about having children?”
There was no way she could miss the longing in his voice. Her father had never sounded anything but bored and bothered. “I’ve dated guys with kids and that was okay. But have I ever wanted a baby? No. I tried to talk my doctor into tying my tubes but—”
“Most won’t do that unless you’ve had a couple children or have a medical need. Frustration with birth control isn’t enough. Too many women change their mind later.”
Charlie glared. “How arrogant of the medical profession to dictate what I’m allowed to do with my body based on their opinions. A man can get snipped without fathering a child but a woman, oh no, can’t let her decide for herself.”
“Reversals are easier in men but I don’t make the rules. And I’m the flipside. I’d give anything to have a child of my own but it isn’t possible, so I guess I just don’t understand how anyone could have that power and not want it.”
He laced his fingers together, the grip turning his knuckles white, and studied his thumbs. He raised his chin and deliberately caught her eye. “But now the woman I love doesn’t want children. Maybe there’s a reason I’m sterile. Maybe I was meant to be with you. If I look at it like that, then I’m blessed, not cursed.”
Just above the last knuckle on his middle finger, he had a freckle. The tiny dot, barely noticeable, seemed to pull her eyes. She’d never known it was there. As well as she knew him, she’d never know everything, not if she studied him for fifty years. She padded to the cabinet, cracked open the door and grabbed the small round disc from beside the Cheerios.
His eyes dropped to her hand and what it held. “You keep your pills in the kitchen?”
“I don’t forget to take them if they’re above the coffeemaker.”
The monumental minute weighed in the room like a prizefighter shuffling around the mat, sizing up its opponent. Bastian held his breath. She was in control and he would abide by her choice. Tiny numbered circles were traced, caressed, their power reflected on.
Her destiny, her life, was in her hands and at her command.
Could she give that control away?
“I’m sorry, I just…I can’t.” She popped a tiny white pill from the foil.
His eyes slid closed but he nodded once and kept his face blank. “I understand.”
He didn’t. He really didn’t. The pill stuck in her throat and she gulped too-hot coffee to shove it down. The forced calmness in his tone made her hands shake. “When we go to bed, the condom issue I’ll—”
“I’m not fucking you, Charlie.” Tension bled into his stance and his words were curt, sharp as ice. “If I take you to bed, it’ll be for forever, not a night. No condoms then. I trust you.”
The slight emphasis he put on the last word stung and she blinked. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me.”
Disbelief warred with hurt his eyes. A false smile lifted his lip into more of a sneer than a smile. “Right. If you want pizza, you better hurry up and get dressed.”
Charlie jumped at the diversion and headed to the bathroom. She needed a closed door between them right now, to insulate her from his pain. She stood beneath the spray and let the soap drip down her body but she still felt dirty. Part of her wanted to leap out of the shower and beg him to forgive her, to pitch the pills in the trash and let go of the crutch. But another part refused to relinquish her control, and her feet stayed planted in the tub.
Low music blended with boisterous chatter and filled the casually darkened restaurant with a warm, welcoming atmosphere, but the air was considerably cooler at their table. Charlie fiddled with her fork. Bastian made flat, mindless conversation.
She thrust the fork away. “Look, it has nothing to do with you or trusting you or any—”
“Drop it.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I can’t. I hate it when we fight.”
He snorted, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “No, you don’t. You like arguing with me, you thrive on it.”
“No.” She shook her head and reached for his hand. “I like debating with you. I hate arguing with you.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Promise me you’ll really think about it. Even if we never sleep together—which will crush every erotic dream I’ve been having and leave me with a mammoth case of blue balls—this is your health we’re talking about.”
A bass drum grew in her chest. Stomach jittery, she grabbed on to laughter as a lifeline. “How can we do this?” She laughed on a forced breath. “How can we sit here and talk about birth control like discussing the weather?”
“Talk is foreplay, you say it every show. We talk about everything else. Why shouldn’t we talk about it? Just means if it does happen for us, there’re no surprises, just pleasure.”
“Oh, there’ll be surprises as well as pleasure. I promise you that.” She brought her cup to her lips and watched her flirt register. Sexual innuendo she could handle. It was forever she was having fierce doubts about.
In true Dr. Hot fashion, he volleyed back. “I think I can promise a few surprises of my own.”
On impulse, she leaned over the table and smacked a kiss on his mouth.
“Get a room, Talbot.” A deep masculine snicker approached from behind and Charlie craned her neck while sitting down. Straight from Hollywood casting for polished sex-on-a-stick, the dark-haired man grinned broadly. Everything from his thick purposely salon-disheveled hair to his Colgate-bright smile was designed to appeal. He twanged her slime-meter like a bell clapper.
Bastian shook his hand. “Charlie Pierce, Dr. Royce Nichols. He’s a partner at the UC.”
“Hello.” Charlie smiled but her skin crawled.
“Want to join us, Royce?”
Before she could kick Bastian under the table, Royce shook his head. “Thanks, but Keri took the baby for a diaper change before we head out. I’ll sit a while, though.”
He moved into the secluded booth beside her. The tendons in her neck strained as she bit back a caustic remark. This was Bastian’s new coworker. She had to be polite but Charlie knew a rat when she saw one.
“So this is your Honeypot.” The leer in his tone dripped with innuendo but, like all men, Bastian seemed oblivious to the scum of his gender. She scooted an inch to make more room but Royce followed until his thigh pressed against hers.
The men made shoptalk and Charlie fought a snarl. Royce relaxed, stretching his arm along the back of the booth and “accidentally” stroking Charlie’s nape. She leaned forward, elbows on the table. Just as she reached for Bastian’s hand, the Chipmunks sang from his pocket.
Bastian glared at the screen then a secretive smile broke along his mouth. He slid out of his seat. “Excuse me a minute. I’m going to step outside to take this. It’s about a certain birthday coming up.”
Charlie didn’t give a tinker’s damn about her birthday surprise right now and glared at his retreating backside. That adorable ass hadn’t even made it through the glass door before Royce’s palm landed on her thigh. She jerked his fingers back toward his wrist. “Hands off!”
“Easy, baby,” he cooed. He tugged his hand away and reached for her cheek.
Her lip curled. Grown men should not coo and her name was sure as hell not “baby.” “Isn’t your wife in the bathroom?”
“Yes, she is. And Bastian is outside. It’s just you and me.”
“I don’t care what you do, Royce, but I don’t cheat. I’m with Bastian.”
His soft chuckle fanned the hair along her temple. “The radio thing, I heard it. Nice gimmick.”
“It’s not a gimmick.”
“No man in his right mind would refuse to take you to bed, not if he’s straight and I assumed Bastian was. I could be wrong, though.”
Her jaw dropped and her mind blanked. “What?”
“A lot of doctors hide their orientation. It can make patients feel weird if their doctor, the guy who sees them naked, is a homosexual.”
A snort choked the laugh that erupted from her throat. “Bastian’s not gay.”
“Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. But he’s not sleeping with you and he’s not going to marry you, so it’s either a fabulous publicity stunt or he’s hiding behind your miniskirt.”
Sudden fear rose from her belly, washing into the back of her throat with a bitter taste. “What do you mean, he’s not going to marry me? He’s asked me half a dozen times. We’ve got three states placing bets.”
A lust-drunk gaze slid over her bustline then rose to her face. “Doctors marry women who help their careers, not ruin them.”
“What makes you think I’d ruin Bastian’s career?”
“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be on purpose. But partnerships slots are prized and offered only to the best and brightest, the ones who fit in.” His finger trailed down her bare arm. “Think about it. All the UC wives get together every Thursday for lunch at the club. They talk shoes and makeup and which charity to volunteer for at the hospital. The kinkiest thing they do is put out a little missionary on a Sunday afternoon. They don’t sit around and talk about blow jobs and G-spots.”
Indignant fury narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like your sex life is boring and you’re fishing for a quickie.”
“My sex life is fine and quickies are for losers. I prefer a more stable arrangement with a little variety on the side, no harm.” His voice dropped to a sensual caress. Angling his head closer, he let his whisper blow across her ear. “Keri’s classic, proper and the perfect doctor’s wife. You, on the other hand, would make one hell of a mistress.”
“You and me, huh?” A slow rage brewed, pushing aside her worries and tightening her jaw. “What about Keri and Bastian?”
“What Keri doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her. As for Bastian, I can give you something Dr. May-or-may-not-be-gay Talbot won’t. Satisfaction.” He traced the curve of her cheek. “Play doctor with me, Charlie. I can be very…generous.”
“All set.” A perky voice made his hand fall away from her face. A dark-haired woman in a pink twinset with a pearl brooch smiled at them, Little Miss Apple Pie all grown up. A babbling infant in a carrier wore a sailor suit straight from a magazine photo shoot. Royce introduced them, slick as silk while scratching his cell number on the back of a business card. He slid the card toward her, stroking her finger even though his wife stood directly behind him. Charlie jerked her hand away, leaving the card on the tabletop.
Keri’s eyes landed on the card then narrowed. “Is Charlie short for Charlotte?”
“No,” Charlie answered firmly.
Despite the society-polished façade, a hint of wizened barracuda lurked under that flawless makeup. Cold eyes flicked over Charlie then rose to her face. A tiny line curved around her lips, a smirk that said Charlie fit neatly into some preconceived mold. She’d bet her next paycheck Keri knew all about her husband’s extracurricular activities, and she’d pegged Charlie as his next in line.
Please, her standards were much higher than that.
“So Bastian proposed.” Saccharine dripped from Keri’s words but couldn’t completely hide the warning. Charlie doubted she meant it to. “You’d better move fast. Cute single doctors don’t last long around the UC. There’s always someone…waiting to pounce.”
The word better lurked in the pause. It rang through Charlie’s ears like a silent gong, vibrating her bones. It shook the Bitch clean out of her cage, and Charlie fixed her face into a predatory grin. “Good thing I have claws, huh?”
One perfectly sculpted brow arched in answer. “Most alley cats do. Well, if things work out, I’ll have to introduce you to all the wives.”
Charlie would rather drink toilet water. “Sure. But then again, I might just fuck him and call it done.”
The crudeness was automatic, lashing out at the disapproving shimmer barely hidden behind that Ms. Apple Pie face. Bastian’s return spared her from any affronted response. A polite round of goodbyes was cut mercifully short by the arrival of their food. Her appetite had fled.
Bastian served her a slice of deep-dish and then filled his own plate. He flicked the ignored business card with his finger. “Royce hit on you?”
Her chin jerked up. “You knew?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Royce is a jerk. You’re a big girl. I’ve seen you shoot down smoother men than him. You don’t need me to fight your battles.”
“He thinks you’re gay.”
That stopped him, pizza slice halfway to his mouth. “What?”
Charlie tore the card in half, folded it tight and tossed at him. “According to Dr. Dick, you won’t go to bed with me so you must be gay.”
Bastian shoved the mangled paper away. “Just for that, I’m pinching his ass next time I see him.” He took a huge bite and chewed. “Asshole.”
“And his wife is a bitch in classic Chanel.” She shook the Parmesan container hard enough to spill fine pale flakes across her plate and half the table. “How can you stand to work with him?”
“Work with him, Charlie, not be his friend. All I have to do is be polite and professional, not cozy up next to him. He’s a good doctor and the UC’s a good place. There are sixteen doctors, plus PAs and staff. It makes up for it. You deal with Nathan, I’ll deal with Royce.”
She attacked her pizza, shoveling in bites as if the spicy red sauce could erase the nasty taste in her mouth. It took one full slice before she was ready to admit what was really bothering her. It wasn’t Royce and his blunt proposition. Hell, she’d gotten those a dozen times. It was Keri.
That disapproving glint struck hard at the most vulnerable spot. Charlie knew what she was. She wasn’t good enough. Not for someone like Bastian.
“Gotta tell you, Doc.” She slipped into Honeypot mode for strength. “There is no way in hell I could do the lunch-with-the-wives thing. I’d throw a blood clot restraining myself.”
Bastian’s brows shot up. “Who asked you to?”
“Keri said all the wiv—”
Bastian sighed and wiped his fingers. “Stop worrying about what other people think or do. And no more joking about blood clots, okay? I know too many damned side effects of those fucking meds you’re on to have that in the back on my mind.”
She crumpled her napkin on her plate. Bastian had never corrected her, never told her to “act like a lady.” He wouldn’t. So sure and confident in himself, he couldn’t care less what anyone thought of him.
But Charlie cared. She cared enough to make sure he never suffered because of her. Being his friend was a stretch, being his wife was an impossible dream. Even if they could make it work, society had already damned them. She was used to the shunning, but Bastian didn’t deserve it. She’d be doing him a favor by not marrying him.