Chapter 60
Later that evening, Sarah sensed a change in the aura in the room. She stopped midsentence on her laptop and shuffled in her spot on the sofa until she could see Charles. He was leaning back in the chair in front of her computer desk with his chin cupped in one palm.
“What’s wrong?”
He tilted his face, “I’m stuck on the . . . um . . . love scene.”
She shrugged, “So? You’ve written sex scenes before, haven’t you?”
He nodded then swiveled in the chair so his body was facing her, “That’s the problem. I’ve written sex scenes, not love scenes. There’s a difference.”
Sarah chuckled, “Wow.”
“What?”
“That is not a sentence I’ve heard a man say before.”
He smirked, “I should know. I am the son of a romance writer.”
She laughed.
His expression blanked and he looked away.
He mumbled, “At least I used to be.”
“Hey, you still are.”
He glanced up, “She seems to be getting worse every day. I wonder how long it will be before she can’t even remember being a writer.”
“Oh, Charles.”
Sarah removed the laptop from her lap and placed it beside her on the sofa. She rose and made her way to him. What could she possibly say to make him feel better?
Kneeling in front of him, she cupped his hands with hers, said the first thing that entered her heart, “Your mother is not the disease. She will always be your mother and she has still written all those wonderful books. People decades from now will enjoy them . . . and you’ll be a part of that legacy now.”
He nodded. Then his gaze flicked to her face.
A half-corner smile touched his mouth as he released a hand from hers and lifted it to her cheek, “So will you.”
She shrugged, “It’s the least I can do.”
He shook his head, “No, the least you could do is nothing.”
She smiled, “That’s true. I’d never thought about that before. What a stupid saying.”
He chuckled then gave her forehead a peck. “Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” With her legs starting to feel numb from the kneeling position, she stood to let the blood flow. Once they felt normal again, she added, “Show me what you’ve written so far.”
He turned back to the computer and read aloud, “He tore off her top and pushed her to the bed . . .”
She drew her eyebrows. How to be diplomatic in her response? “Uh, it’s––”
“Generic and not at all what my mother would write?”
“Yes.”
“So how do I write it?”
He threw her an expectant look.
Great, no pressure. She bit her bottom lip as she thought. How would Joan write this? After a moment, it came to her.
She smiled, “How about: ‘His fingers trailed along soft, warm flesh as he slipped the unbuttoned blouse down her arms. She shivered when he placed a fervent kiss to her lips. She had to know how much he wanted her now. On a wave of passion, he slid his arms around her back and used his strength to keep her safe as they fell to the bed behind them.?’”
His face brightened, “That’s perfect. Can you repeat that while I type?”
She laughed, “I’ll try.”
She repeated the words as best as she could remember while he typed.
Finished, he returned his focus to her, “You’re a brilliant writer . . . that’s why I picked you.”
She raised an eyebrow, “You picked my manuscript?”
He nodded, “It was getting too much for Mom. She couldn’t keep all the stories straight. I was worried you might figure it out in the first session when I let slip that I’d read it.”
The information swirled. She remembered that. At the time she’d assumed from his reaction that he didn’t think she was a good writer. But it wasn’t true. Charles had picked her manuscript; he’d believed in her from the start. She felt tears form at the corners of her eyes. Charles’s face shadowed.
He moved closer. Enveloping her in a hug, he whispered, “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Through a choked voice, she stammered, “I’m not sad. I’m happy. My other . . .” She stopped herself from saying “boyfriends”.
Was Charles her boyfriend anymore? Not knowing, she changed her words, “The other men in my life haven’t believed in my writing.”
He pulled away and looked at her, “What about your brother and father?”
“They are obliged to believe in it. I meant my other boyfriends.”
There was a drawn-out pause––that was never a good sign.
Eventually, he muttered, “Oh.”
Her heart heaved. It was obvious she’d put more meaning on their reconciliation than he had. She withdrew her gaze.
“Sarah?”
She braved a peek at him.
“I like the way that word sounds.”
Relief washed over her like a refreshing spring shower. “I do too.”
He gave her a playful grin, “Would my girlfriend have any issue with me kissing her right now?”
She laughed. “No, she wouldn’t.”
He kissed her as if he’d never do it again. He didn’t seem to want to let her go. As the pressure against her lips lengthened, Sarah felt an electrical charge sizzle from her chest, down to her pelvis. His hands came to either side of her face. She stroked her palms up the contours of his back. Even over the shirt he wore, she could feel the definition.
The sizzle in her pelvis gave a sharp, pleasant jolt through her groin.
She gasped at the sensation, “Ah.”
He pulled away. Concern marked his expression when he asked, “Are you okay?”
She nodded, “Mm. This is . . . nice.”
He grinned and held her gaze. She knew the desire she could see in his dilated pupils matched hers.
“Can I remove this?”
He nodded at her shirt.
She smiled, “Yes.”
He eased it off, along with her bra, then let her remove his shirt.
Half exposed, a wave of insecurity hit her like a tidal wave. There was something she needed to clarify before they did this.
She placed her hands against his chest, Wait.”
He gave her a confused look, “If you’re not ready, we––”
“It’s not that, it’s . . .”
She bit her lip. How could she word her concerns?
He stroked her cheek. In a low, caring tone he asked, “What is it?”
She took a moment to gather the nerve to say it, then blurted, “I want to know what happened with Linda.”
He screwed his nose, “You know the story: she blabbed everything she could to the media, so we canceled her sessions.”
She looked away. “No, I mean about your sexual relationship.”
“There was no sexual relationship between us.”
Huh?
She peeked up, “She told me you dumped her the day after the two of you slept together.”
“Oh, Sarah.” He brought her into a hug. “It’s not true. Nothing intimate happened between us, not even a kiss. I mean, it was obvious Linda wanted something to happen, but it didn’t.”
“But I read things on the internet, and saw photos of you on a date.”
He shook his head and pulled apart enough for them to make eye contact. “She asked me to come to that restaurant to discuss her manuscript. I should have known it was a publicity stunt, but I was too focused on Mom at that time to think about it.”
A sliver of doubt remained.
He pumped her hand, “I’m not going to get rid of you the moment we make love. You believe me, don’t you?”
She searched his face for any sign of lies, but could find none.
“I believe you.”
“Good.”
He gave her a squeeze, holding her against his chest. The warmth of his arms and the slight musky “man” smell lingering over him made her smile.
“We can just do this if you don’t want to do anything else yet?”
She shook her head, “I want you to make love to me. Tonight.”
He smiled then bent to reach her lips. Familiar sizzles pooled in the lower parts of her tummy. When his hands smoothed along the lines of her body, she let her hands do the same to him. She wanted to know every part of him before this night was over. Without speaking, he lifted her into his arms and walked in the direction of the bedroom.