Charming the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 3) (The Meadowview Series Book 7)

by Rochelle French

“I didn’t know Dad had died at that point. I saw you two and made assumptions. I ran home. That’s when I found out about our father. I didn’t realize Carla already knew. I remember you coming to the door and me refusing to see you, but I don’t remember much else.”

  He worked a king in his neck, letting the frustration seep away and compassion come in. “I can sort of see how you’d misinterpret what I was doing with Carla. A comforting hug could possibly look like kissing from a distance. Possibly. But you should’ve talked to me about what you thought you saw. Then I could’ve cleared up the misunderstanding.”

  “It was all too much.”

  He reached out and slid his fingers between hers, pressed her hand to his heart. “I understand.”

  “I was still such a kid. I didn’t handle it like a grown up.”

  “I was, too, and neither did I.”

  “You know I’m sorry, Peter.”

  “Yeah. I know that, too.” The silence stretched out between them, but it was a comforting silence. “The past has taught both of us an important lesson,” he added. “When in question, just ask. A wise woman recently told me a lot of problems in this world could be solved if people only asked.”

  Neva let out a hollow laugh. “I’ve been hearing a lot of that lately. I’m such an idiot. I always figured that Carla was using you to get to me. And that you liked being used.”

  “You thought she’d kissed me and made out with me as a way to get back at you…for what?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows? I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “You were thinking with your jealousy.”

  “And with knowing who my sister was. She did use people—especially boys and men—to get what she wanted. And she cheated.”

  “In relationships?” That didn’t fit in with the Carla he knew.

  “No, she actually never had boyfriends. Too good for them, I suppose. But she cheated at life. Like, at the beauty pageants, and at school. My mom would tell me about how Carla put baby powder or glue in fellow contestant’s wigs. Stuff like that. And she’d make me cheat for her on tests. My mom would order me to take the tests for Carla. And I did. Every time.”

  “Hold on a minute. Did Carla want you to cheat for her, or was it your mom’s idea?”

  She thought for a moment. “I always figured Carla whined to my mom about her bad grades. But…” Her mouth twisted, then opened. Her jaw hung slack until she snapped it shut.

  Peter stroked her arm. “You know, that day when she was crying on the swing, your sister let loose with a lot of stuff. Some of it isn’t for me to share. But one thing she told me was your mom made her do things she hated. She didn’t say what.”

  “Oh, my god. Then it was my mom, wasn’t it? It had to be. Mom set up the cheating. Carla would get so quiet and angry on those days, the same way she would when Mom would tell her she was in another pageant. I just figured Carla was lazy. Spoiled. Wanted all of the glory without any of the work. Wait—did Carla even want to compete?”

  Neva had asked the question more to herself than to Peter, but he answered anyway. “No. At least, that’s what she told me. She hated competing.”

  “Mom made Carla be a beauty queen. She made the two of us cheat.” She turned to him. “But why?”

  “Your mom wanted Carla to be a perfect girly girl.”

  “The way my dad wanted me to be the perfect tomboy. Again, though, I don’t get why.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Your parents used the two of you as weapons against each other.”

  “That makes no sense. Why would they do that?”

  Time for Neva to face the truth of her past, he figured. “They hated one another but they didn’t believe in divorce. They had a public image they both wanted to maintain, and a happy family was part of that image.”

  Neva snorted. “The ‘image.’ Mom would go on and on about how we were to present ourselves to the world. Dad was from a bad background, she’d say, so that meant we girls had to show good breeding. We always had to keep up the ‘image’ of a perfect family.”

  “Yep. But inside your house, it was as if you and Carla were living in a war zone. The two of you were your parents’ weapon of choice.”

  “Weapons? I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

  “You don’t want to believe. I was there. At your house, after school, almost every day. I watched from the inside how your mom and dad pitted you two girls against one another.”

  “That’s sick.” Her voice was hollow.

  “You told me how my dad raised me was sick, too. Families obviously have problems. So how is it your situation was different?”

  “Your dad was a bully. He beat you up and cut you down all the time. Told you that you were weak and worthless and when you told him how you thought about going into firefighting to pay for college, he laughed at you and said you didn’t have what it took to be anybody’s hero. I seem to recall you saying you’d never become like your father.”

  “I remember.” The memory usually sent a thud into his chest, like the heavy vibration of a fallen tree in the forest, but not now. Not now that he understood his dad’s failings had nothing to do with him. Just like Neva’s parents’ issues had nothing to do with her. “And I remember how your dad would tell Carla she’d never be as smart or strong as you, and how your mom would tell you how you’d never get a man like your sister.”

  Neva twisted her lips. “Yep. Now that I think about it, that was sick.” She downed the rest of her drink and placed the tumbler on an end table with a soft thunk. “You’re right. Our parents screwed over their own kids. How can people even do something like that?”

  “People can be messed up. Doesn’t mean they can’t fix themselves, but not everyone knows they should try.”

  She scrutinized him and raised an eyebrow. “Back to this very bad plan you’d set into action with my sister. What was it?”

  “Stupid, is what it was.” He would have stopped there, but Neva kept her eyebrow raised. He sighed. “I’ll tell you, but later.”

  “Why not now?” she challenged lightly.

  “Neva.” He said her name slow and deep, letting the rich sound roll around in his mouth.

  “Yes?”

  He brushed his fingers against the hollow of her cheek. “I’m so very done talking.”

  “Um…okay…but about this plan—”

  He reached forward. Bracketed her face in his hands. And then he hovered his lips a fraction of an inch over hers and said, “No more talking.”

  She sighed and melted into him, accepting his kiss, his tongue, his hands on her breasts and between her thighs, panting furiously when he pulled back, mewling for more.

  Maybe they did need to talk. Set a few things straight—create some boundaries. Understand expectations. Because what if Neva had changed her mind and wanted more than a two-week roll in the hay?

  “Neva, I—”

  “Stop talking and take me to bed already,” she ordered.

  He grinned and swept her up in his arms. Because he knew better than to argue with a Tipton twin.

  Neva was surprised to find herself suddenly nervous. She glanced around Peter’s bedroom, absorbing the decor as Peter busied himself opening the windows to the night air. Peter had simplistic taste—perfect for the large upstairs room. The floor was covered in solid oak planks and the walls were whitewashed wood, the grain showing through. A large bed with a crisp white duvet and multiple pillows stood in the middle of the room, facing a set of French doors.

  Peter opened them, which led to a balcony overlooking his pond and the apple orchard. He returned to the bed and sat, looking expectantly at her, waiting.

  Butterflies fluttered inside her belly. This was what she wanted, but jumping into bed with Peter was a little like jumping off the platform when zip lining—she knew she would be in for a wild and fun ride, but that first step…

  That first step was always a doozy.

  She trailed her fingers across a bookshelf that spanne
d the length of the room. Classics were mixed with current bestsellers and literary fiction—and on the top of the bookshelf were numerous framed pictures. She looked closely. Each photo was of someone from Meadowview. She recognized Chessie and Theo, Sheriff Remy and his wife Coraleen, and more.

  For a man eager to leave Meadowview behind in the dust, Peter seemed mightily attached to the town and community.

  “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind,” Peter said.

  Her pulse quickened. She hurriedly crossed the room on shaky legs and sat next to him on the bed, which squeaked under the additional weight. “I’m nervous,” she said, honestly.

  Peter reached out and fingered a strand of hair. “I am, too.”

  “What if the sex ends up terrible? What if I’m not…”

  “You could never be bad in bed, Neva.”

  She frowned. “I’m not sure about that.”

  He wound her hair around his finger and laid it gently on her chest before lightly dragging his finger down her breast. “If you’ve ever had sex and it wasn’t good, that means the other guy was doing it wrong. Neva, you’re hellishly sexy and sensual and you kiss like a dream. And I can’t wait to slide inside you.”

  She gasped, arousal hitting her hard. Whatever apprehension she’d felt before disappeared on her exhale.

  “I’m on the pill,” she said, “and I get tested when I give blood. I’m safe. But still…”

  “I’m safe, too. As an EMT, I make sure of it. And I appreciate you telling me you’re on the pill. Better safe than sorry, though, so let’s use condoms.”

  She flashed him a nervous grin and ran a hand over her brow, pretending to wipe off sweat. “Whew. Glad that conversation’s out of the way. I always feel so clumsy discussing the particulars.” She gulped. “Not that I’ve had that conversation a lot in the past.”

  He chuckled. “I have, but I don’t care who you slept with, Neva. Don’t care how many partners you’ve had. All I care about is that you want me. Now.” His voice had taken on a throaty tone, and his eyes radiated heat—a feral expression that sent shivers, delicious shivers, up her spine.

  “Oh,” she breathed. “I want you. And I want you now.” She leaned into him, power surging through her limbs and core as Peter lowered himself to the bed, welcoming her.

  Letting her set the pace.

  Letting her be in power.

  Letting her be her. Purely Neva.

  She shifted until she was kneeling over him, her knees bracketing his hips. Her fingers weren’t working all that well, what with all the trembling, but she still managed to unbutton his shirt and tug it out of the waistband of his jeans. Then she eased her body down until his erection, held in by his jeans, was nestled against her core.

  Peter sucked in a breath but kept still, allowing her to explore.

  She stroked her fingers over his chest, tracing the soft hair peppered over his pecs and that trailed down past his bellybutton and beyond. Her fingers craved to dip lower, but she held back, smiling to herself. She’d get there. In all due time.

  “Do you like your nipples touched?” She reached forward and gently gave both his nipples a soft pinch.

  He responded by groaning.

  “What about with a tongue?” she whispered, shifting until she braced her weight on her hands. She flicked out the tip of her tongue and touched one of Peter’s hardened nipples, flicking it until he opened his mouth and panted.

  “I’m a little glad we are doing this now, rather than back in high school. I have so much more experience now,” he grated.

  “What you talking about?” she drawled seductively. “I’m doing all the work here, so you will the experience.”

  Peter growled. “Not to tell you how to do your job, but if you don’t undo my pants in the next ten seconds…”

  She reached between them. Unbuttoned his jeans. Then lay the flat of her hand on his erection, her skin and his skin separated only by a thin layer of black knit cotton of his boxer briefs.

  “Take them off.” Peter’s voice had taken on a throaty harshness that excited and thrilled her.

  No more games. No more drawing out the seconds between them. She pushed back and stood up, and then started stripping her clothes, almost in desperation, as Peter did the same. In seconds, they stood on a pile of discarded clothing, naked and vulnerable.

  She took him in, all of him. His chest had broadened, so unlike the boy she’d once known. His erection jutted out, thick and full and pointed slightly upward. His arms, his legs, even his feet and his hands she found fascinating.

  Peter let her feast her eyes. Let her visually absorb the man he’d become.

  “You’ve changed,” she whispered, almost in amazement.

  “People always do.”

  “No, I mean, you look different.”

  “One would hope. I’m a man now. Not a teenaged boy. And I’ve changed in other ways. Like you have.”

  “Only visually.”

  He swept his gaze over her, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Visually? Not really.”

  She wasn’t sure what to make of that. “But my hair isn’t short anymore. I must look somewhat different.”

  “I guess the superficial stuff wasn’t what I notice. You’re just as beautiful now as you were in high school. In that, I don’t think you’ve changed at all. You’ve always taken my breath away.”

  Neva’s heart melted. She believed him. She believed, through his eyes, that she was beautiful. Her knees suddenly buckled.

  Quickly, Peter stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. “It’s time.” He pulled the covers back to expose crisp white sheets, and she sank down into the bed, grateful for the the Egyptian cotton underneath her, a cool sensation that tempered the fire licking at her skin.

  Peter pulled out a box of condoms from the nightstand next to the bed, but didn’t open one. He caught her gaze in his and said, “Soon, but not yet. I want to worship you first.”

  “Oh, my…”

  He came onto the bed then, and covered her with his body. The fire that had flitted across her skin suddenly disappeared and she shivered. But wherever Peter touched, he left a trail of heat she could almost see. He trailed his fingers over her face and down her neck, tracing a path down to the bend of her arm. With a quick breath, he brought his hand back to her breasts…only to let it drift lower…and lower still, until she quivered, mentally begging for him to touch her core.

  She needed this.

  She needed Peter.

  She needed the satiation she knew only he could give. And she needed to experience that physical expression of his desire.

  Downstairs, the faint sound of a ringing phone echoed throughout the house, breaking into Neva’s mind. Bringing her awareness back to reality.

  Thoughts suddenly surged back into her mind, tangling together in a discordant screech. Her mother’s voice swirled around in her head, as did her father’s. The bickering and arguments that had been a constancy in her home echoed loudly in her mind. Which daughter was better. Which daughter would succeed. Which daughter would fail.

  And which daughter would never attract a man.

  Peter ached to be inside Neva, sheathed by her velvety heat. He’d been ready to reach for a condom and position himself between her legs when the phone rang. The sound had clearly broken through the veil of arousal because Neva suddenly pulled back, here eyes wide and darting about the room.

  His erection throbbed, his dick letting him know now was not the time to take a break, but Neva needed him more than he needed to dive inside her warmth.

  He twisted until he could frame her face in his hands. With her naked underneath him, her chest heaving from the deep breaths of air she sucked in, he waited. Held her gaze in his, steady and sturdy, letting her know that whatever thoughts had permeated her mind, she wasn’t alone. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

  Finally, when she calmed and her breathing returned to some semblance o
f normal, he stroked her face with the pads of his thumbs as he continued to hold her head steady, keeping her gaze fixed to his. “Tell me,” he said.

  She bit her lip. Tried to shake her head, but he held firm. Smiled. Sought to reassure her that she didn’t need to stay silent.

  Finally, she spoke, her voice quivering. “My parents certainly messed up me and Carla, didn’t they?”

  He didn’t need any more of an explanation. All during high school he’d come home to the Tipton house—a place that always had food and was warm and clean, although filled with nasty, nasty adults. At least there, he’d been able to escape his father’s negativity and constant threat of fists. But Neva hadn’t had an escape. Neither had her twin.

  “We’re all a product of how we’re raised,” he said, focusing on her needs.

  “Peter, do you really believe people can change? Truly?” Her voice had gone high. Thin and reedy.

  “I know so.”

  “Do you think if my parents had lived, they’d have become different?”

  “What do you think?”

  For a moment, she lay there in silence. Her gaze drifted off to the side, and Peter wasn’t sure if she’d respond. “No,” she said. “I believe they’d have stayed the same. Still married, still bickering, and still pitting their daughters against one another.”

  “Your parents did wrong by you and Carla. But you don’t need your past to define you. Not anymore.”

  “Agreed,” she whispered, letting out a shuddery laugh. “Sorry for putting the brakes on back then. Somehow my folks got into my head.”

  “Tell them to shoo.”

  She gave him a half-smile. “Like you do to your neighborhood porcupine?”

  “Exactly.”

  The tension that had entered her body at the ringing of the phone waned. Under his body, her muscles became soft, pliant. Her limbs loosened. He let go of her head to run a hand over her breast. Cupped the weight in his palm. Squeezed her nipple. When she jerked, he followed by licking her there. “You back in the game?” he whispered

  She responded by shifting on the bed until her legs were wide and he was between her thighs. “Take me, Peter.”