Chapter 52
That evening, Sarah sat on her balcony focused on the bird feeder. Two Carolina wrens hopped around the chiseled branches, pecking at the seed Sarah had sprinkled on it moments earlier. She smiled at their little dance. They’d come. Because of Charles.
Just as she thought his name, his face appeared from below the balcony. He waved, “Hi.”
She physically jumped from her seat and yelped.
Charles stretched his palms out, “I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”
She brought a palm to her chest and managed to blurt, “What are you doing here?”
“I had to come into Asheville on personal business for Mom and thought I’d drop by and see how the feeder was going.”
“Oh . . . it’s great. I have birds already.”
She pointed to the feeder. His gaze followed her finger. He chuckled when he saw the hopping birds. A shot of adrenaline rushed through her heart.
Using the bravery it afforded, Sarah said, “Why don’t you come up? Have a closer look.”
His signature one-corner smile was deeper than usual when he answered, “Okay.”
As Sarah buzzed him in, she remembered she was still wearing her nurses uniform and cringed. It was a steel-blue knee-length, cotton shift dress. Not her sexiest outfit. No matter what men’s magazines promoted.
Upon entering her apartment, Sarah thought she caught Charles looking her up and down. The possibility of his inspection sent butterflies skittering through her stomach.
She turned and heard his footsteps behind her as she walked across the dining room floor. At the balcony’s sliding glass door, she paused to open it then stepped through. Outside, she heard the door close.
Charles stopped at her side. “That’s a good spot for it.”
She nodded, “Mm-hmm.”
After a brief silence, he added, “You know it’s not your fault, right?”
She flicked her face around, “What’s not?”
“Linda has always taken advantage of every media opportunity. It’s the reason we had to cancel the mentorship with her. I should have warned you. There’s no need to feel guilty.”
She allowed a slow smile to lift her lips, “Thanks for understanding.”
Their eye contact held.
She started to feel the world around her dissolve, like she had the last time.
He looked away, “I might leave you to it then.”
No. She didn’t want him to “leave her to it” just yet. He turned and reached for the sliding glass door. He was going to leave if she didn’t stop him.
She had no control when she heard herself blurt, “Have you eaten?”
He peered over his shoulder, “Not yet.”
“Would you like to stay? I was about to start on dinner.”
He faced her, “Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”
“Not at all.”
“That would be wonderful then.”
She offered a relieved smile, “Do you want a beer while you wait?”
“Sure.” He slid open the glass door. “After you.”
She stepped inside and heard him follow behind her. “I’ll get you that beer. Make yourself at home.”
She handed the cold beer bottle toward him. Their fingers brushed when he took it. And there was that sizzle of electricity she’d become accustomed to.
He smiled at her. A faint one. “Thanks.”
She nodded, withdrew her gaze then whirled around and bolted back to the safety of the kitchen.
After she’d arranged chopping boards, knives, saucepans, and plucked out the ingredients for spaghetti bolognaise, she heard Charles ask, “Do you need any help?”
She felt every muscle in her freeze with anticipation. His voice had sounded so close to her. She did a half turn and saw Charles, standing at the entry to her kitchen. The opened beer was in his hand.
She managed to ask, “How are you at dicing tomatoes?”
One side of his mouth curled up, “A genius.”
She chuckled, “You can be in charge of that.”
“All right.” He strode toward her with confidence and nodded at the tomatoes. “You want me to do all of these?”
“Yes, please.”
Their conversation was light, comfortable, and easy as they cooked the meal side by side. The occasional, incidental, body touches were a different story. The heat that burst forth with each one reminded Sarah of how hard she’d fallen for him. How much she wanted him.
Charles interrupted her thoughts when he drew in a long, deep breath. “Mm. That smells delicious.”
She grinned. “It does . . . oh, can you set the table? It’ll be ready any minute.”
“All right.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched him as he retrieved crockery and cutlery from the kitchen cupboards. He caught her following his movements and flashed a grin her way. She was quick to pull her focus back to the stove top and the steaming pans. It wasn’t long before she felt a strange affinity with the meal: she was also steaming and ready to be eaten.
***
Charles exhaled. It was good he’d gotten out of the kitchen when he had. Each time their bodies had touched it had been like sweet torture: never wanting it to end even though it was excruciating.
Would he be able to wait until everything was in place before he told her how he felt?
He forced himself to focus on setting the table when the answer didn’t come. Just as he’d placed the final fork, and taken a seat, movement from the direction of the kitchen made him turn his face. Sarah was walking toward him with a steaming ceramic bowl. Reindeer oven mitts protected her hands.
He grinned, “They’re cute.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the mitts then back at him. “Yeah, Mom gave them to me for Christmas last year. I can be a little prone to burning myself.”
He laughed, “After your tumble on the carpet, I can believe it.”
Her expression faltered. He understooded why.
“That wasn’t veiled sarcasm or a passive-aggressive comment. I was just teasing.”
She flashed him a warm smile then set the bowl in the middle of the settings he’d made on opposite sides of the table. He watched her remove the mitts. For some reason, it was a highly seductive action. Even more so when she tossed them to the table without a care. He reached down, and used a subtle movement to adjust the growing tightness at the front of his jeans.
She looked at him, “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
Could she tell he meant that in another way too?
He shook the question away then rose. Before she could do it, he rushed around to her side of the table and pulled out her chair. “Ms. Woodward, allow me.”
She smiled, “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”
He waited at her side while she took her seat. Done, her gaze lifted. His stomach clenched when the impulse to take her into his arms came. As he continued to stare, he was sure he saw her pupils dilate and lips pout as if in anticipation of a kiss. Did she want him to kiss her as much as he wanted to?
He took a step closer, ready to admit his feelings. “Sarah, there’s something I’ve been––”
A jingling metallic sound distracted him. He looked in the direction it was coming from: the front door. Someone was about to enter the apartment.
The door swung open, “Hey sis, I’m starving. I hope . . .” The words petered out. Mark eyed the two of them. “Sorry, I’ll go.”
He was halfway out the door before Charles stopped him, “There’s plenty here if you want to stay?”
He couldn’t throw Sarah’s brother out just so he could make a confession that would have been badly timed anyway. There were final arrangements to sort out yet.
Mark turned to Sarah, as if for confirmation.
“It’s okay. Come in. Eat with us.”
Mark stepped in and closed the door behind him, “Actually, I wanted to use your internet to Skype Francisco too.”
“That’s fine.”
“Great.” Mark made his way to the table. “What are we having?”
“Spaghetti.” When her brother disappeared into the kitchen, Sarah lowered her voice and said, “Sorry about that.”
Charles gave her a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, it’ll give me a chance to get to know him better.”
Her eyebrows lifted, “Do you want to get to know him better?”
Was that a tinge of jealousy glistening in her eyes? Did she think he was romantically interested in Mark?
To check, he laughed and said, “Not in that way.”
A relieved sounding laugh rattled from her chest, “Oh.”
She had been jealous. Interesting. Maybe he wouldn’t make a complete fool of himself if he admitted he had feelings for her after all?
Mark approached with his own plate and cutlery, “What’s going on?”
Sarah shook her head, “Nothing.”
Mark seated himself at the head of the table. Sarah shifted her attention back to Charles. This time the glistening he saw in her eyes seemed to come from a source other than jealousy. He held her gaze, trying to decipher what.
In a sarcastic tone, Mark mocked, “Are we going to eat . . . or stare at each other all night?”
Sarah tore her gaze away.
Charles thought he saw her blush as she reached for the ceramic bowl and pushed it toward him, “Guests go first.”
***
Ugh. She wanted to kill Mark right now. Why did big brothers have to be so embarrassing? Are we going to eat . . . or stare at each other all night? Humiliating. Which reminded her: once Charles left, she would need to discuss the “coming over without calling” arrangement they had. When she wasn’t interested in anyone it wasn’t a problem, but now . . .
She was convinced Charles had been about to kiss her before Mark barged in. And she would have let him do it too. It would have felt so nice: warm and soft and sensual. Goose bumps shivered up her arms at the thought.
“Are you all right?”
She glanced up. Charles’s brow was furrowed in visible worry. He must have seen her shiver. How long had he been watching her? She’d been avoiding looking at him since Mark’s comment.
She nodded, “Yes, thank you.”
“Cold draft?”
“Oh. Yes.”
It was as good an explanation as any other.
***
He felt himself fall deeper into her stare, as if she’d hypnotized him. He couldn’t look away. Then, reality bumped at his awareness. Mark was still there. It would get awkward soon.
He peered down and mumbled, “You haven’t told me how you discovered you wanted to be a writer, Sarah.”
“Haven’t I?”
Mark interjected, “She was making up stories from the moment she could talk.”
Charles faced Mark, “Really?”
“Yep. It was so annoying. She’d dribble on about the secret worlds in the garden, and the imaginary family of teddy bears that lived in the attic. The thought of those bloody bears kept me awake for months.”
Charles laughed. He heard Sarah chuckle too.
When he peeked over, she had her chin resting in her upturned palm. “I remember that . . . they were nice teddy bears though.”
Mark groaned.
Charles clasped his hands and rested his chin on top of them, “When did you start writing the teddy bear stories?”
Sarah grinned, “Probably when I was about six or seven, I guess? What about you? How old were you when you started writing?”
“About the same age.”
“Was that Joan’s influence or did it come naturally?”
“Mm, I’d say a bit of both. I’ve watched Mom write for as long as I can remember, so it’d be ridiculous to say that it didn’t have an influence. But I also had ideas that forced me to write them down, if you know what I mean?”
Her grin widened, “I know exactly what you mean.”
The sound of a chair sliding out drew Charles’s attention back to Mark. He had an empty plate in his hand. Wow, he’d eaten fast. Or were he and Sarah eating slowly?
“I might hop on the computer if that’s okay with you, sis?”
“Go for it.”
Alone at the table, Charles focused back on Sarah.
She smiled, “How old were you when your first book was published?”
He let a sly grin spread across his mouth when he answered, “Eight.”
She straightened, letting her hands rest on the table, “Eight?”
“Mm. Mom self-published it for me as a birthday surprise.”
“Aw, that is so sweet.”
He nodded, but couldn’t help feeling sad. It seemed so long ago, and fleeting, especially with everything that was going on now.
He pushed the thought away. “That was the best present I’ve ever received.”
She smiled, “I’m sure it was.”
Banging from the other side of the room made Charles turn around.
Mark fixed his gaze on them, “Sorry, was I making too much noise?”
Sarah responded, “Yeah, a little.”
“Why don’t the two of you go outside on the balcony? It’ll be quieter.” Mark paused. A mischievous smirk appeared on his face as he shot a knowing look at Charles. “And more romantic too.”
“Mark!”
There was warning in Sarah’s tone, but her brother laughed it off.
Charles faced Sarah, “I guess we’re going outside?”
“I guess so.”
***
As he settled himself into the seat beside Sarah’s on the balcony a short time later, he heard her say, “I’m sorry about what my brother said, he can be a bit forward.”
Her voice pitched higher at the end. She was nervous. About being alone with him? He could test the theory.
“He was right though, this is quieter . . .” He trailed off then leaned forward so his face was nearer to hers. He added, “And more romantic.”
Her expression faltered then relaxed. Her lips seemed to be calling for him. Even in the moonlit darkness, he could tell her pupils would be dilated. He shifted his body closer. She didn’t move away. That was promising. He drew in a breath and reached for her upper arm, stroking it with the palm of his hand. She shivered, though instinct told him it wasn’t a cold draft that had caused it. He smiled at the thought.
She whispered, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
He chuckled then closed the distance between them.
***
As his lips touched hers, everything she’d been feeling since he’d shaken her hand at the awards dinner erupted in an unquenchable fire all over her. She closed her eyes and let the sensation consume her. He pressed harder against her mouth.
She became aware of his hands sliding around her back, pulling her closer until she was cocooned in his arms. She’d never felt safer, more supported, or more wanted. Her world stilled, time stopped, her breath couldn’t keep up with the pace of her heart. She never wanted this bliss to end.
The moment the thought came, his grip around her slackened, he parted his lips from hers and captured her gaze. But the fire remained, threatening to overpower her. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and taking his mouth with hers once more.
***
Whoa. He’d never seen this side of Sarah before: clawing, nipping, and pawing at him as though he were catnip to a purebred Persian. Was that the meaning of being ravished? He laughed.
She pulled away, “Everything okay?”
He grinned, “Perfectly. I was wondering if I’d just been ravaged by you.”
She laughed and stared into his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from tugging her into an embrace so he could hold her close. She was the first stable, true, reassuring thing he’d had in a long time and he wanted to have it a little bit longer.
***
It was like she belonged there. In Charles’s arms. She never wanted to be out of them.
He squeezed her and whispered, “I have to get going.”
An ache ripped across her heart. “Already?”
“Sorry, it’s getting late. I have a long drive ahead of me.”
She hung her head. He used his finger to lift her chin. When her stare met his, he leaned down and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. She was smiling when he pulled away.
He used the back of his hand to caress her cheek, “I like it when you pout.”
“I like it when you smile. You don’t do it enough.”
“I think I’ll be doing a lot more of it from now on.”
She smiled, “Me too.”
“Good.”
He placed his lips against hers again. The kiss was gentle and slow at first. It built up speed and pressure. When he parted from her, she saw passion pooling in his eyes. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. The realization made her heart race. If only Mark wasn’t there . . .
Charles interrupted her from the sensual image that started to form by asking, “What’s your work schedule like this week?”
“All day shifts. Why?”
“How would you feel about letting me take you out to dinner?”
“You mean like a date?”
He nodded, “Like a date.”
“I’d love that.”
“Is Friday at six all right?”
She thought for a moment, “Six-thirty would be better.”
More time to get ready.
“I’ll be here at six-thirty.”
“Okay.”
A nerve-tinged smile played at the edges of his lips, “I have one more question before I go.”
“What’s that?”
“Is it all right if I call you tomorrow?”
She smiled, “Of course.”
When he kissed her this time, she held onto it in her mind, knowing she would need to make the sensation last until Friday.