What the hell was wrong with her?
A knock startled her and she glanced over her shoulder at the door. Damn, she really needed to find a way to afford a building with a doorman. Rising from the couch, she walked to the hall closet, grabbed her baseball bat, and continued down the hall. On her tiptoes, she looked through the peephole and her heart performed a salsa dance at seeing the convex version of Charlie standing in the hallway. Even slightly bowed, the man managed to look good. Dressed in his usual faded jeans and leather jacket, he looked better than ever. Setting the bat down in the corner, she loosened the security chain and opened the door.
“You’re back.”
“Against my better judgment.” He glanced over at the elevator as if considering a last minute escape. “About last night…”
“About last night…”
Their eyes locked together as the words tumbled on top of one another. She looked away, her toes tapping out a rhythm against the hardwood floor. He rocked back on his heels and buried his hands deep into the pockets.
“You were right about the proving a point deal. Part of it anyway. Shit move on my part.”
“Apology accepted.”
A short smile revealed the crinkles at the edges of his eyes. Damn, she loved those crinkles. “Good.”
She glanced down at her toes and tried not to free-fall. “I thought you had a date.”
“I did. But it’s over, and….”
“Not a match?” she asked, hating the sound of relief in her voice.
“No, not a match,” he said, in a voice so quiet she felt her heart might break.
She looked up at him and he reached out to circle one of the buttons on her pajama top with his index finger.
“You look cute in your pajamas,” he said, “but get dressed. I’ve got a taxi waiting.”
“A taxi?”
Beneath the flannel, her heart beat wildly, banging against her chest, blocking out all sound, all reason, all thought except the thought that Charlie Goodman looked so good, so perfectly right, standing across from her, all six-feet sexy something of him, waiting outside her apartment.
“We’ve only got one date left, so I wanted to stop talking and show you what I want. I’m ready to move on.” He looked her square in the eye. “And find love.”
“Tonight wasn’t love?”
“Tonight was a disaster.” He leaned against the doorjamb and ran a hand across his clean-shaven jaw. “Did you know she is a Sagittarius? Normally, I love a Sagittarius, so offbeat.”
“Wait a second.” Jane shook her head to clear the image of Charlie and some offbeat blonde Sagittarius. When had he developed an interest in astrology? “You like offbeat?”
She waved him inside and as he walked past her into the living room, she was treated to a view of the way his worn denim hugged his backside. She pressed the door shut behind her, remembering how he’d looked half-naked, pressing her against the wall with his body. Needing air, she tugged the pajama top away from her skin.
“Love offbeat,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But tonight’s offbeat spent too much time calculating charts.”
Jane wrinkled her nose. Offbeat didn’t exactly jive with her image of an uptown girl. “Charts? As in spreadsheets?”
“As in voodoo.” He moved over to the bay window and gestured up at the night sky. “A few too many astrological requirements.”
“Oh.” Not at all what she’d imagined.
“Yeah, a couple of Red Bull and movie issues, too, but we can talk about that later.” He flashed a quick grin and jerked his head toward her bedroom. “Get dressed. Meter’s running.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, standing there in her home, comfortable and easy, and a series of small explosions rocketed around inside her. Sure, his rough-and-tumble, just-climbed-out-of-bed quality sent her pulse soaring, but tonight, there was something else building inside her. Something sweeter…and gentler…and so very dangerous—
“Expecting someone?”
Jane blinked her way back from her pre-bedtime fantasy. “Sorry?”
Charlie nodded toward the knock at the door. “Somebody straitlaced and reliable?”
With a shake of her head, she said, “No, I’m not expecting anyone.”
There was another knock, but she didn’t move.
“You gonna get that?” he asked. “Or am I?”
“No. Yes,” she said, flustered. “The door. I’m going to answer the door.”
She turned away with a half-smile, relieved not to have given into the dangerous and sweet feelings swirling inside her. Safeguarding her emotions was still an important priority.
“Jane, are you in there? It’s Marianne.”
“Oh my God, it’s Marianne.” Halfway to the door, she froze on the spot, before turning on her heel to look back at him. “Shit, it’s Marianne.”
“I heard you the first time,” Charlie said.
“She mentioned an adjustment to the app, but I didn’t think she’d come over tonight.” On autopilot, she walked over, grabbed his forearm and dragged him toward the hall closet. “You’ve got to hide.”
“Are you crazy?”
She threw open the closet door. “Go on, get in the closet.”
“You are crazy.” Charlie easily removed her hand from his elbow. “I’m not hiding and I am definitely not getting into your closet.”
“Fine, no closet, then. The bedroom.” Keeping her voice quiet, she strode toward her room gesturing for him to follow. “She cannot see you here. With me. In my pajamas.”
“Flannel pajamas, what’s the big deal?”
“Listen, I promised her—forget it.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jammies. “You and I are supposed to be in a strictly professional relationship, and pajamas, flannel or not, do not fall into the strictly professional relationship category.”
“I get what you’re saying, but I am not hiding in the closet.”
Panic formed at her edges, causing her to push the issue. “One time. Just this one time. I don’t want Marianne to imagine you’re here for some non-professional reason…”
“Like sex?”
“No, not like sex,” she said and lowered her voice to a near-whisper, “I just don’t want her to worry that I’m…you know, jeopardizing the bet and her career and the company.” Her hands waved him down the hall. “Just get in the damned closet.”
“What part of not hiding do you not understand?” A few long strides in the opposite direction, and Charlie was back in the living room.
“Jane, are you okay?” Marianne’s voice worked its way into the apartment.
“Do you want me to get that?” Charlie asked.
Jane stood her ground for a moment, but it was a little late to stand off against Charlie. Smarter to take the high road and answer the door. “Be right there.”
She walked down the hall. So what if Charlie was here now? They were about to have a business meeting, that’s all, a simple post-date analysis. Of course, the last post-date session had led straight to her kissing Charlie and enjoying the view of his half-naked body, a fact Marianne already knew, a situation Jane had promised to change. Shit. Her face burned. Where was her inner strength? Her integrity? Her willpower?
In the living room, Charlie tossed himself onto the couch and flipped through a magazine, a clear effort to hide his amusement. Too late. She’d already seen the grin slide across his face.
“If you aren’t going to hide, at least try to look innocent. If that’s possible.”
“I don’t remember you requesting innocence last night.”
Jane wanted to throw something at him, a pillow, her keys…anything, but she was standing in the middle of her center hall, nothing within throwing distance, so she balled her hands into fists and shot him a glare that said, “Bite me”.
And the man had the audacity to smile. “Bet you couldn’t sleep, bet you stayed up all night thinking about me…kissing you into a frenzy…up against
the wall…making you crazy.”
Heat rushed through her body. Yeah, she’d pretty much been up all night.
She plastered on what she hoped was a normal working-from-home expression and threw open the front door. “Hi, M.A.”
Marianne walked in, unfastening her toggle coat, anxiety clouding her eyes. “What took you so long? I was getting worried. I know you have a lot on your plate right now with the bet and Charlie’s last date and possible changes to the dating application, but—”
Charlie raised his hand in a sorry-to-interrupt-but-I’m-sitting-right-here greeting. Marianne stopped mid-sentence, standing in the middle of the entry, speechless, looking back and forth between them. “Hello.”
He grinned, clearly enjoying the situation, a little too at ease for a man in a late-night meeting with his matchmaker.
“Marianne, Charlie. Charlie, Marianne.” She offered a quick introduction before turning her attention to damage control. “He stopped by to offer feedback on his second date and was just leaving.”
Marianne pivoted toward the man in question and Charlie leaned back on the loveseat, hands linked behind his head. Definitely not leaving.
“Isn’t that right, Charlie?” she said, her gaze drawing an invisible path from her couch to the door.
“Isn’t what right, Jane?” he asked, propping his feet up on the coffee table.
She pressed her mouth into a thin line. “You were just—”
“Leaving. Right.” He looked over at her, not moving.
Jane drummed her fingers against the open door and waited, her emotions building to a whirlwind, until she refused to wait one more second, walked over, and shoved his feet off the coffee table. His enjoyment of the situation was written all over his ridiculously charming face, apparent in every flex of muscle as he got up and walked to the door, his movements smooth and unhurried. “Good to meet you, Marianne.”
“So good to meet you, Charlie.” As he walked by, her friend gave her the thumbs up. The traitor!
Finally at the door, Charlie leaned in and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Meet me downstairs in five minutes. The cab’s waiting.”
Jane bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from screaming. What must Marianne think? Besides, the fact that she was statistically incapable of staying away from Charlie. She watched him stroll toward the elevator, hands deep in the pockets of his do-me-now denims. So casual and cool. Even after she’d tossed him out the other night. But something wasn’t adding up. What did he really want in a woman—other than a heavy hit of dopamine and hot sex at the Fluff ’N Fold? And when had he turned so particular? Offbeat blondes who love dogs and hockey and wings didn’t sound like they’d fit in on Central Park West. Honestly, what kind of woman was he looking for? Hells bells, did she know him at all?
Behind her, Marianne cleared her throat. “Did I just hear Charlie Goodman say, ‘meet me downstairs, the cab is waiting?’” She rested her hands on her hips. “You need to spill, Cupid. Details, right now.”
…
Ten minutes later, as Charlie watched Jane walk toward the taxi, two words jumped to mind: Whoa, baby. Even dressed in jeans and a wool coat, her lust-inducing curves and sultry swaying hips whispered, “Take me into the back and let’s do this.”
Suddenly, he had a little less room in his 501s, but what could he do? Sex appeal like hers was addictive, potentially dangerous to a man not paying attention, either a gift—or a genuine curse.
In his case, he’d call it a little bit of both. Nick was right, and like it or not, he admired Jane’s independent streak and her direct, get-it-done attitude. Sure, falling into bed together had made everything complicated, but she was still the girl who let him hang out on her fire escape and helped him with his homework, who told him the best make-out spots in Brooklyn and taught him how to skip stones on the East River. Everyday stuff. She was still Janey. Suddenly, her crazy bet seemed less like trouble and more like an opportunity.
Hell, every time he laid his eyes or his lips or his hands on her lately, she felt less and less like his ex and more and more like his goddamned present, and his future, his…forever.
He’d misfired by proving his point about chemistry, the whole seduction plan. He should’ve known better, but no man wanted to be considered as safe as a Dodge Caravan. Especially not him. He loved how he made her feel, the way her body reacted to his, the way she needed the feel of him, needed his kiss. He loved that he made her laugh, that they shared history, opinions, friendship.
Damn.
He loved her.
Every maddening, crazy, imperfect part of her. He didn’t want some Chardonnay-sipping, classical-music-playing blonde without a list. He wanted Jane, cocktail napkin and all.
And maybe he wasn’t comfortable telling her how he felt, but he could show her.
Tonight, he planned to get her in touch with the girl she used to be and show her not everything she needed was written on her Ultimate Man List. Tonight was his last chance, and he planned to blow her list of criteria out of the water.
Tonight he was on Brooklyn Standard Time.
A smile lit up his face as she closed the last of the distance between them. He opened the door of the cab. “Buckle up, angel, because tonight, I intend to show you exactly what I want.”
…
Minutes later, they were across town, the cab zigzagging away from the Manhattan end of the Brooklyn Bridge. Charlie turned toward his date. Romance was on his agenda, but the object of his affection looked like she wanted to exorcise part of him—like his manhood.
“Brooklyn?” She stared back at him, clearly baffled. “You’re telling me Brooklyn is the key to your true love?”
“I’ve always loved Brooklyn.” Charlie shrugged off her question. He’d known taking her to the old neighborhood, forcing her to face the part of herself she tried to deny, might bend her out of shape, but he also knew she was a sucker for old memories. “You know what they say.”
“About Brooklyn or matchmaking?” She planted her boots in the snow, clearly unwilling to take even one emotionally precarious step toward the bridge.
Hands buried deep in the pockets on his jeans, he ambled not-so-innocently in her direction. “You can take the girl out of Brooklyn…”
She held up both palms as he approached. “Charlie, give me a break. Tonight is not about me. Tonight is supposed to be about your true love.”
“But you can’t take the Brooklyn out of the girl.” He finished the adage, pulled the ubiquitous black beret over her ears, and kissed her on the tip of her ice-cold nose.
She pushed the beret back in place. “It’s freezing.”
Charlie unzipped his leather jacket and held his arms wide. “Not to a real New Yorker.”
“It’s practically midnight. Do you know how cold it’s going to be on that bridge?”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Sounds like we’re walking over.”
“Like I have a choice.” With a sigh, she released a cloud of resignation into the night air. She pulled out her phone and typed, Brooklyn, into his criteria matrix. “I’m working my ass off to find you the right woman—”
“And it’s a great ass.”
She shot him a look and slipped the red knitted scarf from her neck. “And instead of taking me seriously, you’re dragging me across a suspension bridge in the dead of winter.”
“I know.”
“I could just let you freeze to death.” She slid the scarf over his shoulders and wrapped it around his neck, once, then twice, before she tucked the ends against his chest and re-zipped the black leather jacket. “But then I’d definitely lose the bet.”
“You would.” He raised the shearling collar of her coat to protect her against the chill. The black wool framed her face and she looked so cold and so pretty, he found himself grinning.
Grinning.
On the Brooklyn bridge in February.
She wrinkled her nose. “If you weren’t such a valuable asset to Smart Cupid…”
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“Hey, lady, watch your language.”
She rolled her eyes and tilted her head toward the bridge. “Okay, then, let’s go.”
Charlie slid his hands from her shoulders and gathered her close into the circle of his arms. “This is what I want—with my ideal woman. Quiet, romantic moments.”
“Quiet, romantic moments.” She typed the information into the phone.
Snow collected in the dark waves of her hair peeking out from under her hat. She looked ridiculously pretty, typing furiously, so much so that the sight of her, standing with him on the bridge, renewed his desire to remind her of the daring, take-no-prisoners Brooklyn girl she used to be, before she became obsessed with criteria lists and formulas, with categorizing love and controlling passion.
Maybe she’d fall a little.
Maybe he’d keep falling. Even if the words escaped him.
Even if he tried like hell to keep from losing his footing.
If he did, he’d deal with the consequences later. Much later. After he’d buried himself deep inside her and made her whimper with enough desperate, aching pleasure to change her criteria list to include only five words. Raging hot sex with Charlie. After that, who knew?
“Come on, it’s freezing,” she said, slipping from his arms to stride toward the bridge.
Watching as she walked away, a seductive silhouette against the starry sky, his mind drifted again, back to a long-ago summer night in Brooklyn. Years after he’d caught his first glimpse of her standing on the cracked sidewalk, staring, as he climbed out of a yellow cab.
Long after that.
The night she taught him about chemistry.
Nick had asked him to walk his sister home from work that night because he couldn’t get there—some trouble with their dad, which was constant at the time. Charlie could still see her, standing in the doorway of the shop, wearing a red V-necked T-shirt with Salvatore’s Pizza emblazoned across her chest, a pair of cutoffs showcasing the curves of her already-gorgeous thighs. On the way home, he’d kissed her for the first time. Up against an old brownstone, he’d savored the feel of her body melting against him, the sweetness of the Diet Coke on her lips, the balmy air of Indian summer. That night, she’d returned his kiss with promise. Three days later, her father had left and Jane had shuttered up her heart. He’d chalked it up to the situation, didn’t press because they’d both been young and he’d valued her friendship so much that he wouldn’t chance losing it.
Breaking the Bachelor (Entangled Lovestruck) (Smart Cupid) Page 10