Charlie's Angel

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  She parted her legs enough to allow his hand to edge between her tremulous thighs.

  “Have you ever made out in the back seat of a car before? While someone is driving?” This time his tone was laced with wry humor.

  She shook her head, but her mind was preoccupied with sensual images of what he was doing. His strong fingers sliding between her warm skin and the cotton of her panties. His breaths rasped as he sought out her wet folds and his nerves tingled at the heady moment of wet discovery. She clutched at the fabric of his shirt, tugging, pulling, yearning for the orgasm that would blow her apart. But he didn’t touch her throbbing clit.

  Charlie leaned her back the slightest amount and slid one digit into her wet channel. She gasped in mixed shock and pleasure. She closed her eyes as emotion hurtled through her. Feminine power, mingled with anticipation, relief, and a trickle of joy she’d never known before.

  “We’re almost there,” Hector intervened with a strong Hispanic accent. It was the first time she’d heard him speak.

  I’m almost there too. Sexually that is.

  Charlie’s finger plunged in and out of her pussy with a ferocity that initially frightened her, before she realized he wanted her to climax quickly.

  Her bones fused, and she became a mass of tight muscles and quivering flesh.

  “Oh yes,” she exhaled on a moaning sigh. Mindlessly, she plucked at his shirt.

  “Keep going, baby,” Charlie urged, his voice so soft against her ear she barely heard him. “Come for me.”

  The combination of his words and the escalating tension in her body was all she needed to sheer off into a mind-blowing orgasm. She slammed her head against his chest, took a deep breath of his unique blend of lemon and masculine scents, and muffled her cry of delight in his shirt.

  Charlie stroked her nape with a slow, gentle caress. “I bet that felt good.” Once again, his voice was tender, his words intended for her ears only.

  Roxie couldn’t speak. She sucked in a deep breath and rested her cheek on the soft comfort of his shirt. Every nerve in her body was afire, shaking with the power of her climax. Her fingers lay still on his broad shoulders.

  Charlie chuckled. “We’re almost at the safe house. You might want to arrange your dress.”

  She’d forgotten about the need to get decent. He was still lodged in her passage. Her vaginal muscles clenched him.

  “You might want to arrange your finger,” she said, her voice muffled into his shirt.

  He said nothing; neither did he remove his digit.

  Disquieted by his silence, she asked, “What about you?”

  With gargantuan effort, she lifted her head and blinked her eyes open. The sun’s harsh glare immediately greeted her. She groaned.

  His jaw was unmoving, clenched in an uncompromising line. Gray eyes gazed back at her wistfully as he drew his finger from her wet pussy. “I’ve got a mega hard-on just for you, but once Hector parks, I want to take you inside and make sure everything is safe on the outside.” Keeping his eyes on her face, he licked the pad of his finger with a quiet slurping sound. He nodded. “Berries and cream.”

  She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, tasted her juices, before she lifted her bottom up and tugged her skirt down over her thighs. That sure had been one hell of a ride.

  Charlie yanked his shirt down at the waist, a small smile hovering on his lips. He couldn’t forget why they’d made the hour-long trip into Ventura County. He had to protect Roxie and himself until Rowter was found and thrown in jail. Deep in thought, he scratched his head. A man who carried wipes to use in case he’d been sprayed with pepper was loony enough to do anything.

  Planting a kiss on Roxie’s head, he left the car, turned then helped her out, all the time keeping a wary eye on the new surroundings. Oxnard was primarily flat rolling plains, agricultural land supporting strawberries and lima beans. The naval bases, Port Huineme and Port McGoo, were nearby on the ocean.

  If Rowter had accomplices, which Charlie doubted, they’d be hard pressed to find Roxie. Hector hadn’t driven straight to Oxnard but had jumped off the freeway and taken several surface streets in case they were being followed.

  Charlie inhaled a deep breath, took in the salty ocean air. Hector had parked on the curb facing a nondescript family home. Inside, it was fully furnished and a guard, whom Kyle had hired, was on patrol although Charlie couldn’t see him yet.

  Hector nodded in acknowledgement that they’d arrived safely. He was ex-marine, Charlie had learned from Kyle.

  “Will that man find us here?” Roxie asked, leaning against the car’s trunk. Her cheeks were still flushed. Charlie had enjoyed giving her an orgasm. He wanted to give her more, to keep his promise about the sixty-nine and making love under the stars. The outdoor lovemaking would have to wait, but the sixty-nine was on his agenda for tonight.

  Weren’t there more important issues to deal with? Like staying alive? “I don’t think so,” he answered, “but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

  “Oh.” Doubt furrowed her brows. “I don’t understand any of this.” She hung her head in dejection. “Maybe I’m not doing such a good job of taking care of myself after all.”

  He cupped her face between his hands. “It’s okay to be afraid. I’d be doing exactly what you are if I were in your shoes.”

  Her liquid blue gaze met his, questioning, assessing.

  “Running?” she finally said.

  He nodded, desperately trying to forget the one time he’d run when he should have stayed put and fought instead. “Let’s get you inside, in case anyone is watching.”

  Hector was already in the house, but Charlie decided to make sure himself that everything was all right once he took Roxie inside. A second pair of fresh eyes never hurt.

  Settling his hand on the small of her back, he walked her inside. He noted she was trembling under his touch, but he couldn’t decide whether it was from fear or from sexual excitement. He hoped it was the latter.

  He had to remind himself that he was here to safeguard her, not to make love to her repeatedly until she could take no more, but she was much too tempting to keep his hands off her.

  When he remembered his first impression on seeing her getting on the black motorcycle, he’d known she’d be trouble. Biker chicks always were.

  * * * *

  Roxie had been assigned her own room and instructed not to leave it unaccompanied or to look out the window. She peeked anyway. Her room was at the back of the house on the second floor. The sun was about to set in a blaze of glorious fire. A chain wire fence lined the property and the flat land behind was planted with what appeared to be strawberry plants for a far as the eye could see. She remembered the decadent desserts that had been served at the Harrier mansion—rich, luscious strawberries dipped in Belgian chocolate. Did the “berries and cream” Charlie had mentioned include strawberries?

  She wanted to make love to him, to undress him roughly as if he were a cowboy who demanded swiftness. She wanted to send him to heights he’d never known before—if that were possible for a man who’d probably dated and bedded more women than she cared to think about.

  A spark of jealousy reared its ugly head, but she quickly dismissed it. Charlie had been caught in the Rowter mess, and he owed her nothing. They had made love, and tomorrow, or earlier, he’d tell her Rowter had been caught. That would be the end of their steamy time together. The knowledge did nothing to cheer her. She walked aimlessly around the room, examining the queen-size bed and its well-washed sheets. Would Charlie and she make love to each other here or did he have a different room?

  She sank into an upholstered armchair, cradled her head in her hands and wondered how many other people had sat here, waiting. Why was Rowter determined to kill her? If he was hell bent now, why hadn’t he done her in on the bus? She remembered filling out one crossword puzzle after another and watching the scenery rolling by, from heavily forested areas to arid plains to snow-capped mountains.

  Except for on
e day early in her journey, she’d fallen asleep. When she awakened, the Greyhound bus was stopped in one of the interminable small towns en route. She remembered a rotund man with gold-rimmed glasses had been seated opposite her and up two seats across the aisle. He’d been reading a mystery novel with a dark-eyed bloody man on the cover. After the bus had left, she’d seen the book lying open and a bag of corn chips next to it, as if the passenger meant to return to reading and eating in a few minutes.

  Then she’d seen Rowter walking out from the bus station, brushing his hands together as if wiping them clean of something. His mouth had been set in grim lines, and his eyes had been so cold. As if he’d known she watched him, he looked up at her window. With the icy glare fixated on her, she’d looked quickly away. The bus had continued on its journey but without the rotund man who’d been reading and eating his chips. She’d only pondered for a moment where he’d gone, but once bus drivers took their seats, they didn’t stick around for latecomers. Roxie hadn’t thought about it any more.

  Until now.

  She had to find Charlie and tell him what she suspected, that she might have been a witness to a murder—after the fact.

  Chapter Six

  Roxie jerked open the door. Softly, she called out Charlie’s name. The house was utterly silent. The late afternoon sun shone on the wall supporting the staircase. Should she try to find him and risk his getting upset that she left her room? She knew he intended the instructions for her safety, but she’d never been good at following orders. She decided to find him and took a step toward the stairs.

  An elongated shadow flitted across the living room windows. Was there someone outside? Should she yell Charlie’s name to sound the alarm? Apparently, the person, whoever it was, was inside. Her hand flew to her throat. Then the shadow turned the corner.

  “Oh Charlie,” she breathed on a heavy sigh of relief. “It’s you.”

  “I thought I told you to stay in your room.” He glowered at her then quickly strode upstairs with a tray laden with sandwiches, drinks in plastic cups, pickles and bright red apples.

  His facial muscles were clenched in hard lines, and he moved with agile grace. Under his jeans, his sculpted thighs made her mouth water.

  “I had to tell you something important. I came to look for you,” she mumbled, once again struck by his masculine beauty.

  He grumbled to himself and kicked open her door. She followed restlessly. “This isn’t the first time you’re guarding a witness or whatever in a safe house, is it?”

  “No. That’s the kind of job that got me through law school.”

  “You protected people with a gun?” she asked in disbelief. She couldn’t imagine him shooting anyone.

  “I trained with a special unit of the police force in Boston. I never knew who was inside. I just looked out for the elements that didn’t belong.” His tone was all business and reserved. He set the tray on the bed and turned on her. “What did you want to tell me that made you forget my instructions?”

  Confrontationally, Roxie straightened her shoulders and stood tall. “This whole thing,” she said, sweeping a hand toward the house but meaning the frightening situation she was in, “messes with my head, with my freedom.”

  Charlie pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I get that. What did you want to tell me?”

  She sensed he was taking control. She backed down. He was protecting her, wasn’t he? “There was a man on the Greyhound bus. He was a couple of seats in front of me. He’d been reading a mystery novel and eating corn chips before one of the stops, and then he just disappeared.”

  Tempted by the sandwiches, she sat on the bed and took one of the diagonally cut pieces in her hand. The bread was fresh, and her fingers made a dent.

  She noticed Charlie did the same. His face became impassive and unreadable. “So?”

  “Rowter was on the same bus. I don’t know when the man got up. I was solving crossword puzzles, and I fell asleep,” she admitted sheepishly, thinking she should have noted the man’s disappearance and contacted the bus driver to tell him.

  Charlie bit into the sandwich, and his strong jaw moved up and down. Roxie’s stomach jolted in admiration. Her companion was so perfect.

  “So?” His gaze, still implacable, met hers.

  “I remember finishing a puzzle and looking out the bus window. Rowter was coming out of the station, wiping his hands.” She set down her sandwich and demonstrated with a hasty brush of her palms. “It was as if he’d finished a distasteful act, yet was pleased with himself.”

  “Did you ever see this man and Rowter talking or socializing on the bus?”

  “I don’t know. They sat a few seats above me, and usually the bus was pretty crowded.” She wished she’d been more observant. Could she have saved this man’s life? No, don’t beat yourself up about this, Roxie. You had no idea.

  “Had you seen Rowter or this man, together or separately, at any time before you saw them on the bus? Could they have worked for your father?”

  “No to both questions.” She paused, unable to taste what she assumed to be a delicious roast beef and turkey sandwich. “Rowter might have killed that man,” she finally said.

  Charlie nodded sagely, giving her the impression he’d guessed as much. “Do you remember at which station this happened?”

  She stopped to think. Which one exactly? After a while, the interminable stations in each small town had mixed with one another in her memory. “Early on to mid-way from Maine to L.A.,” she responded with some certainty.

  “If this passenger was murdered at a station, there would have to be some record of it.” Charlie retrieved his cell phone and, moments later, was talking succinctly and asking questions of the person on the other end. As she waited, Roxie continued to munch on her sandwich and wash it down with Coke.

  Charlie disconnected then took another bite of his sandwich. “What made you travel to L.A. by bus? With money, you can use any mode of transportation you’d like.”

  “I figured you’d ask that. Sooner or later.” She dabbed her lips with a paper napkin from the tray. “I could pay the fare in cash and roam at will. No plastic to leave behind to track my whereabouts.”

  He nodded, and before he could wipe his mouth, she leaned forward and brushed a few crumbs aside. She was gratified to see his eyes light up. He seized her palm and held her fingers close to his cheek. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Roxie.”

  Trembling at his nearness, she gave him a small smile. She wanted him again with a fierceness she couldn’t deny.

  “Me, too, but it is what it is.” She reached out and caressed his face, noting the roughness of the shadow beard.

  She watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep, deep breath. Was he trying to steady himself, or was he fighting his attraction to her?

  He blinked his lids open. To her consternation, there was determination written in the depths of his steely expression. He hadn’t been thinking of her in an erotic sense. The knowledge disheartened her. She jerked free of his light hold.

  “What about you? Why are you a lawyer?”

  He pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Fair enough. I know more than you probably want about you. My turn. I grew up in the hood. My mother was killed by a motorcycle gang when I was away from home.”

  Shocked, Roxie reached out and touched his arm comfortingly. She realized his memories were deep and painful. “I’m sorry. That’s why you looked at me rather strange when I was in your parking space.”

  “Partly.” He bent his head and spoke to the sandwich. “She was all I had. A couple of punks killed her for less than fifty dollars.” He gave a tight laugh, and his gaze caught hers. “Now, I’m a lawyer, fighting to put away those monsters.”

  She grimaced. “And here I come along, twice, and scare you into thinking I’m one of them.”

  “The first time, but not the second time. You’re different than those cold-hearted bastards.” He cleared his throat. “Do you r
ecall anything about the town or city where the man went missing from the bus? Any unusual road signs, names that you saw, anything at all?”

  Back to business. Averting her gaze from him, Roxie gnawed her lower lip. She had to get her mind off Charlie’s cock and help him find the missing man. Maybe then they could solve why Rowter had waited for so long before coming after her in the alley.

  “The whole trip is a blur,” she began, searching her memory again. “I think there was a faded old sign of a bronco bucking its rider off.” She paused, then blurted out, “And maybe a crown made of diamonds, but the letters on the sign were mostly gone.”

  Charlie nodded, dug his cell phone out and seconds later, relayed the information to the other person. “Eddie was my law firm’s paralegal before he became a private investigator,” he said, with a grin as he hit the END button. “He’s good at what he does so I put him on a private retainer, and he works exclusively for me.”

  “Oh. I was wondering about him.”

  “He’s the brother I never had. He can easily find a needle in a haystack.” He lifted the tray and set it on the armchair by the window.

  Fascinated, Roxie observed his graceful, powerful movements, and his biceps rippling. When he sat on the bed facing her, her heart began racing.

  “It’s hot in here, don’t you think so?” he asked, with a sensual, playful smile. He reached down and pulled the hem of his shirt up his wonderfully molded chest, revealing his very male nipples. Finally, he threw the piece of clothing on the floor at their feet.

  Roxie took one look into his eyes and lost herself in their erotic invitation. Her whole body was on fire, just gazing upon his perfection, the tanned skin and the rigid muscles.

  “It’s time for sixty-nine,” she whispered boldly, taking in the stunning view Charlie Vernon presented.

  She lifted her bottom slightly and slipped out of her panties, watching as his pupils narrowed and his chest began to heave up and down with rasping breaths. “What will you take off next?” she quizzed, hoping for a matching response.