Charlie's Angel

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  Charlie sucked in a deep breath. Lord, have mercy, but she was more beautiful than he’d imagined. If only he could reach out and touch her flawless skin, and those globes that tempted him to lean forward and kiss them one by one, ending with his hungry lips on her extended areolas, greedily sucking on them to savor their sweet taste.

  “It’s all yours,” she said, running her tapered fingers down the inside of her breasts, to her navel and into the thatch of curly hair covering her mons. Clearly, she was all blonde, and she left Charlie panting heavily.

  “Whoa!” was all he could say at the naked feast laid out in front of him. His cock was so hard, he would have to release the pressure soon by rather mechanical means.

  Stop! His heart hammered in his chest, and he shifted against the cement wall in an attempt to find a modicum of relief. Cold, hard reality returned and a sudden emptiness filled him. If he was at the top, what was there left to achieve? He was going onto thirty-six and there was nowhere to go. He had fifty years left to do what? Unaccustomed panic set in. He’d never envied other men their wives and children, but now, for a fraction of second, he wanted the kind of love that went beyond words, a woman who he could share his—

  Share his what with? He’d set out and conquered his hopes and dreams. The vast future was dishearteningly bleak. There would be plenty of court cases to win, but what did he go home to at night? A big house with an indoor swimming pool and lots of space to feel he’d missed out on something. The whole world was abruptly a different place. Barren and futile.

  With a drawn out gasp, Charlie realized that no matter how many awards and accolades he’d received for being the best in his profession, he’d always feel like an outsider looking in on his own world. How did he go about fixing that? He didn’t have a clue.

  He rose, dusted off his trouser thighs and stomped off toward the building in which Kyle’s law firm was housed.

  * * * *

  Charlie settled down at his borrowed desk but couldn’t work. Roxie might well be in danger, and he was sitting on his ass and doing nothing about it. His stomach rumbled with hunger pangs. He didn’t see the legal pad and his laptop on the desk. All he saw was the candy pink uniform hugging Roxie’s curves with each move she made.

  Kyle rapped lightly and strolled in. “How was the burger?”

  Charlie frowned and stabbed the eraser end of his pencil at the desk. How had his life changed in only an hour? He couldn’t think of anyone but Roxie, and when Plaid Shirt came to mind, anger boiled in his chest. Why did the big hulk think he could push women like the waitress around?

  “Indigestion?” Kyle asked kindly, seating himself facing the desk.

  Charlie observed the other man who watched him drum the pencil repetitively.

  “No,” he answered sullenly. He’d never felt worse. Or better. Worse since he believed Roxie might need his help, even though she hadn’t asked for it, and better since he’d met such a beautiful and competent woman.

  “It’s not the burger then,” Kyle continued conversationally.

  Charlie had known Kyle long enough to realize he was fishing for information, which Charlie wasn’t about to give. Charlie grunted.

  “It’s hot here in L.A. You might want to run off and buy yourself some cool clothes. Or my secretary can do it, if you like.”

  Now, there was an idea. Less restrictive clothes might mean a cooler head with which to think. Charlie scrambled to his feet, the pencil lying on the desk forlornly.

  “You’ve got good ideas,” was all he said before he took off as if he’d been bitten. He suspected Kyle was looking after him with suspicion. Maybe, if the situation warranted it, he’d explain later. Women and trouble usually didn’t mix.

  * * * *

  The fantasy dream returned several hours later as Charlie sat back in the rented limo, which Kyle had urged on him, instead of driving around himself. The seats smelled of new leather. Sleep eluded him, so why not indulge in some harmless erotic play? Where had he left off when his gloomy thoughts had interrupted his dream next to the running fountain? Oh yes, with Roxie who had been standing naked in the middle of the ballroom floor. His every nerve sizzled, and his heart began pounding erratically again. It hadn’t taken long, he mused, to slip back into the mega sensuality she invoked in him.

  The phantom dancers on the floor kept twirling and swaying to the waltz, and he saw a few of the men eye Roxie and her luscious nude body surrounded by tulle netting that left little, yet much, to his mind’s eye. She was like Venus arising from the clamshell, a pearl of priceless value.

  He’d itched to pull the pins from her hair in the diner and now he leaned forward, and one by one, dragged them out. Her hair cascaded in wavy tendrils over her shoulder, and amazed at the silky softness, he twined his fingers in the lazy curls.

  Roxie smiled at him, her blue eyes twinkling with the zest for life.

  Once again, he ordered an elegant canopy bed with white tulle to be brought in, and the ghostly dancers who didn’t hesitate in their steps, continued on, almost as if they were oblivious to the naked woman. Did they envy her, he wondered. Her fresh-faced appeal, her rounded, firm breasts, her long and smooth thighs?

  The lights were dimmed low in the center of the floor where the footmen had placed the bed. Roxie enveloped herself in the tulle, winding the gauzy fabric around her naked body. One thigh was completely bare, and pressed against his trembling leg.

  She murmured, “Do me with your clothes on. I’ve always wanted to be fucked by a man in a suit.”

  The notion appealed to Charlie. Mutely, he nodded. He’d do anything to satisfy Roxie, to see her gaze, lazily shuttered by her eyelids, to watch the long lashes flutter against her cheek.

  She seized his tie and pulled him to her, creating their own dance of desire. His neck muscles clenched. He knew he was at her mercy, his wicked angel of lust.

  Tearing a piece of the tulle, Roxie delicately wrapped her breasts and her torso in it. “My skin is so sensitized, that the gauzy fabric enhances the sensation,” she explained at his inquiring glance. “All I need to complete the feeling is your cock thrusting into my pussy.” She tipped her chin upward. “Kiss me. Take me. Make me yours.”

  Charlie sighed and edged the back of her knees against the mattress then tumbled downward with her into luxurious warmth. Her nipples puckered tightly, and he ministered to them, laving, sucking, as she arched her back and gave him more. He caressed the slopes of her breasts, and his hand trailed toward her burning, hot core. She was, he reminded himself, completely his.

  She unfastened his belt, and the buckle clinked.

  “Oh God,” he murmured, pressing his lips harder around her areola. Then his shaft was suddenly and, thankfully, free of its constriction, and it burst from his trousers.

  “You naughty boy,” Roxie teased him. “You’re not wearing anything underneath.”

  He chuckled softly and helped liberate himself fully, pulling the zipper down quickly. He remembered she was innocent, and although she prompted him, he’d have to be careful and not too hasty when he entered her. His penis bobbed toward her.

  She swept a delicate finger across the tip of his glans, along several beads of cum, then she licked it from her skin with a look of wonder. She closed her eyes, and swallowed. “You taste—”

  “Masculine?” he supplied, wanting to savor her, yet knowing that like the ghost dancers near them, she might easily disappear. The gossamer tulle around her breasts and torso and his fear of losing her were each strong indicators. If he took one misstep, she’d vanish, and he’d have to satisfy himself. He’d done that too many times to relish the thought, let alone the action.

  She giggled. “That’s it.” Her gaze bored into his, as she edged her legs apart inviting him to take her and meld his body with hers.

  His chest heaved with male pride and protectiveness. He could easily fall in love with a quiet, smart and capable woman like Roxie.

  As dream fantasies went, he found his co
ck lodged in her pussy. It was where he belonged, as if he were home.

  The present, more urgent moment, set in. Roxie needed his help, not his lust bent mind. Mr. Plaid Shirt very likely posed a danger to her, and yet Charlie was dreaming about her naked, pliant and willing.

  * * * *

  Charlie settled onto the bench and pretended to wait for the transit bus across from the diner. Although he was much cooler in his new shirt and shorts, the shelter at the bus stop did little to block the glare and intense heat of the late afternoon’s sunlight.

  This is utter foolishness, waiting for trouble when it will never come. Why don’t I go back into the comfortable, air-conditioned condo and look at different ways to help Kyle out with this case? There has to be some way to convince the jurors that the defendant is guilty. The perp’s admitted to all the gruesome facts to Kyle and myself, and yet he’s left out the details that would put him away for life—and a half.

  He’d work on the case here while the sun cooked his brain and his shaded eyes feasted on the gorgeous woman he’d somehow sworn to protect from danger that might not exist. If he left, could he live with himself if something happened to Roxie? Was that her real name? Many people in southern California had run from intolerable lives and completely changed their persona when they arrived. Had Roxie done the same?

  Through the huge, unprotected diner windows, he observed her graceful walk as she served one table after another. He could totally imagine tugging her uniform down the length of her body while she moaned in delight as she threw her head back. Naked and beautiful, she’d part her silky thighs and he’d love her slowly, as she never had been before.

  His cell phone chirped. It was his friend from law enforcement.

  “What do you have, Manny?” Charlie asked, feeling as if he were about to melt into the bus bench. Casually, he waved on a bus headed his way. The driver, who must have been in a hurry, nodded back and continued on without braking.

  “The fella you asked me about, Otis Rowter, has a record a mile long, along with assault with a deadly weapon. You might want to stay clear of him.”

  His heart kicked into overdrive. His nose for trouble had proved right again. “Is he on the wanted list?”

  “Not currently, but he’s served time in the federal pen. I’ll send over the details if you like.”

  “Sure. Thanks, Manny. I owe you one.”

  His friend chuckled.

  “You owe me big time.” He disconnected, leaving Charlie with a bad feeling. Roxie shouldn’t have messed with Otis Rowter. L.A., like so many other metropolitan cities, was filled with crazies. Charlie puffed a frustrated breath. He shouldn’t have stood up to Rowter. Why hadn’t he called in the uniforms instead?

  But, he told himself firmly, he’d grown up in the inner city and could handle any bully who came his way. He’d blackened a few eyes and bloodied a few noses back then. He wasn’t above doing that now either, not if it meant protecting the gorgeous woman and her co-workers in the diner.

  * * * *

  Roxie’s thoughts were filled with steamy, hot erotic images of Charles Vernon. Why had he walked out without his burger, and what had he meant by “L.A. was more than I’d bargained for”?

  Even though her shoes were comfortable, her feet were killing her from the long hours being on them. She was glad when she slid into the back booth for her fifteen-minute break. Sipping from a tall, sweating glass of Coke, she closed her eyes and imagined Charles sinking to one knee reverently, slipping her shoe off and massaging her foot with strong, deft hands. His thumb and forefinger slid up and down her sole as she watched with rapt fascination.

  That was only the beginning. In a moment, he would reach up inside her uniform and delicately and slowly roll her pantyhose down her hips and her trembling thighs. When the nylons fell to her ankles, she would try to kick out of them impatiently, but he would stop her with one, pleading look, stopping her in mid-motion. She so wanted his hands against the inside of her thighs on the soft, tremulous flesh. He would go further to that yearning, hot spot—

  “Have you seen him?” Eileen interrupted Roxie’s daydream. Her eyes, a rich amber, were aglow with excitement.

  Roxie sighed, stowing away her fantasy for continuation at a later time when she could indulge herself more fully.

  “Seen who?” She sipped at her Coke again, grateful for the ice that soothed her parched throat.

  “Charles Vernon!” Unconsciously, Eileen smoothed her apron at her right hip. “He’s been there for ages!” She grinned and batted her eyelashes.

  Roxie took a deep breath. She’d never seen Eileen quite so animated before.

  “Charles Vernon has been here for ages?” she parroted, surveying the diner. If he had been in the vicinity, she would have known. Her body would have reacted to his powerful and masculine presence. She tried to quell the spark of hope flaring to life in her chest. He was near the diner. Did that mean something?

  “He’s outside, sitting across the street on a bus bench.” Eileen gave a sweet smile and exhaled. “At first, I thought he’s taking the next bus somewhere—like he’s so rich he could buy the whole transit system—but several have gone by and he’s not gotten on a one. So now I’m wondering what he’s doing. Why don’t you take a look?”

  Eileen wasn’t a woman to play jokes on others. Feeling foolish for distrusting her, Roxie turned her head to look out the window. Sure enough, Charles sat on a bus bench, his hands held idly between his parted legs. He’d changed since he’d been in Woody’s. A white golf shirt, unbuttoned at the column of his throat, showed off his muscled chest to perfection and khaki shorts deepened his tan. Chocolate brown loafers gave him a very Southern Californian look. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, and his hair was slightly mussed, quite probably from the sweltering heat. Roxie imagined rivulets of salty perspiration running down his abs, to pool in his navel. She took a deep breath, and in her mind, she bent to lap at that button and lower.

  “See? I told you so,” Eileen announced proudly, as if she’d sensed Roxie wouldn’t believe her.

  Roxie exhaled, and a blush seared her cheeks. The fact that Charles was across the street didn’t mean anything in itself.

  “He’s just so handsome,” Eileen continued, oblivious to Roxie’s thoughts. “I could eat him right up!”

  So could I, from head to toe and back up to his hard cock. If she could run over, and strip their clothes off, one item at a time—

  “Eileen!” Gerry called. Once again, his voice boomed across the diner.

  “Gotta go!” Eileen whisked herself away.

  Roxie’s attention returned to Charles seated on the bench with hardly any protection from the glaring sun. A slight wind had crept up as it often did in the late afternoons. Was he following her? The notion hit her out of the blue. Why would such a wealthy and respected lawyer want to do such a thing? Dismayed, she answered her own question with ease. Her father had somehow set him up to it. That’s why Charles had appeared while she had been on her bike and at the diner, and that was what “L.A. was more than I’d bargained for” meant.

  Yet, was there the possibility that she was wrong? That Charles Vernon had an agenda of his own that had nothing to do with her? When he’d arrived in the diner, he hadn’t shown any signs of recognition when she waited on him. And if he was carrying out her father’s orders, although that did sound farfetched, why hadn’t he said anything to her and dragged her onto the first plane back to Maine? None of this fit together. Maybe she had the wrong puzzle.

  Roxie finished her Coke and glanced at her wristwatch. She still had some time left before she had to return to work. And it was really hot outside. Her own body temperature skyrocketed as she thought about the hard-packed muscles under Charles’ shirt and shorts. Oh yummy!

  She could take him a cold drink to slake his thirst. His throat had to be parched with the summer sun beating down on him. It wouldn’t take long.

  Her mind made up, she rose, paid
for an ice cold Coke and rushed toward Charles. The can began to sweat, although it felt good in her hand. She wondered if she should ask what he was doing sitting in the direct sun. Was that how he got his work done? Not likely.

  She jaywalked across three of the four lanes, dodging several speeding vehicles. Why was everyone in such a hurry? Couldn’t they respect the fact there was no crosswalk for over two blocks?

  Had Charles spotted her? His head was turned away from her, and she couldn’t tell if he could see her with his sunglasses darkening his eyes. As she began to cross the lane nearest the bus stop, a sharp, insistent blaring drew her attention. She froze in mid-motion.

  A huge semi roared right toward her.

  * * * *

  Sweat trickled down Charlie’s spine, and he swore his shirt was wetter than if he’d showered in it. He turned his head to glance at a passing sedan with tinted windows and wondered if the occupants were cool inside. Private eyes did surveillance all the time in such inhospitable environments.

  He backhanded beads of perspiration from his forehead but to no avail. He had to admire the several PIs he knew and worked with who hung out in such awful conditions. He’d done the protection racket for a few years when he’d been putting himself through law school. But that had been a while back.

  His shaded gaze returned to the diner, and his heart leaped into his throat. Roxie, with a bright red Coke can, was making her way through the rush hour traffic in his direction. He remained seated, his thighs tense and his neck muscles tightening with dread. Where was she going and why across four lanes of filled crazy drivers?