by Petrova, Em
Charlie’s gaze fired as his jaw tightened. “I’ve never considered you a whore nor would I ever. And I didn’t fuck you.”
I won’t cry. Damn it, I won’t. “Oh, excuse me. Since I got on top, guess I fucked you and used you as my boy toy.”
“Christine.”
“Did you take the money?” Her heart broke as she asked. “Did you set me up and like some brainless idiot, I fell for you?”
His jaw dropped as he stared at her. “How can you even ask me that?”
“You believe I did. Why shouldn’t I think the same of you?” Christine swept her hand around the room. “Especially when you only came here for a good fuck.”
“Stop saying we fucked!” His shout rattled the windows as he climbed from the bed. “We didn’t fuck; we made love. You mean something to me.”
“Stop lying. I won’t listen to anymore.” Christine ran through the hallway, the living room where the Celtic Woman still played, and into the kitchen. Charlie caught her arm by the oak dining table. She swung her fist, barely missing him as he jerked her body to his. Drums and fiddles pounded in the air, louder than her heart. She’d break soon. She had to get away before she shattered at his feet.
“Christine.” Charlie lowered his head so his lips were near her ear. “I believe in you. I trust you as I do no other person. Just you. I’ll tell you every minute of the day until you hear me and know it’s true. You’re innocent. I know and I believe.”
Her body sagged. “Don’t play games with me. If you ever felt anything for me, don’t pretend now. If you’re here because of the investigation, if you’re part of it, just tell me outright. Because I can’t take this, Charlie. I can’t.”
“I can’t talk about the investigation with you.” His lips caressed her ear, hands trembling on her arms. “I swear on my soul I’m not part of the corporation’s investigative team. I could never deceive you, never be a part of anyone or anything to hurt you.”
“I want to believe you, I do.” Christine fought to keep desperation from her voice, hearing it leak through regardless. “Something’s not right, something you aren’t telling me. I feel it. It’s the true wall; the one you said isn’t there but is. I can’t do this. I can’t pretend.” She almost felt the struggle inside him as her tears fell. “I can’t.”
He kissed her with tenderness, his heart pounding steadily against hers. “It’s a choice. I’m making it by being here.”
It slammed her, the truth and the reasons, and his choice. “You’re putting your promotion on the line?”
“Trust me. Please trust me, trust us.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a lot to ask. It could be everything. Just let me protect you.”
“Protect me?” She shook her head. “You have more to lose with the major promotion, a dream you’ve talked about almost every day, on the line. Why would you risk it?”
“I made a choice, Ku’uipo. Can you?” Charlie laid his forehead on hers. “Can you trust in us and take the chance?”
“You risked your dream for me?” Christine stared into his gaze and saw nothing but open honesty.
“You’re my dream.”
Dear God. Christine swallowed. He told the truth; no actor, regardless how great, could say what he just did and not mean it. Plus the directive had been silence; he broke it to reassure and comfort her. She’d never known anyone like him, so giving by putting her first, believing so completely in her he’d risk his own happiness.
Somewhere over the Rainbow began to play. He dared to hope, could she do any less? The choice loomed before her. She tumbled into it, rising up on tip toes to brush her lips against his ear. “Right or wrong, I trust you. Let’s take the chance.”
They kissed and it was somehow different than before. Christine felt his lips on hers, the desire between them, but there was more, so much more. Not just physical, she thought as something huge crashed through her, something emotional and strong and overwhelming and wonderful and terrifying. She heard the fiddle again before Charlie eased her back so she lay on the table, her robe open as he stroked her, making her cry out from the pleasure and shock of the need coursing through her. His fingers moved deep, knowing her as well, if not better, than she knew herself. She gripped the edge of the table and moaned. “Charlie!”
“Yes.” Charlie pulled her off the table, spun her around, and bent her over in one swift motion, leaving her breathless and dizzy. He shoved a knee between hers, spread her legs, and opened her as she arched. The first thrust, hard and deep, a promise and a renewal, sent her sprawling over the table. He pulled back and surged into her, filling her inch by inch as she strained to be closer to him. Christine twisted her head to see him watching. His hands gripped hers, holding their entwined fingers above her head as he thrust to the hilt. “Ah, God, Ku’uipo.”
Christine moaned, squeezed around him, and tried to repeat the foreign word, her voice shaky as they moved together in perfect harmony. His skin slickened with perspiration as he rocked with her. Their breaths and hearts beat as one. “This is the drowsy dream, in my hotel room, our night, only I didn’t dream it.”
“You didn’t dream.” He smiled. Even as her legs began to shake and body gripped his heat and fullness, she smiled back. Then she exploded. He thrust hard and fast, screaming, or close to it, as he released and burned inside her. He buried his face in her neck. Complete as one.
Chapter Eleven
“Do you want pepper?”
Her voice interrupted Charlie’s thoughts as he placed silverware on the table. He still saw Christine lying there, flushed and aroused as they made love, her hands clutched in his and legs shaking as she came around him. Remembering how she whispered his name and those tiny moans when he caressed her skin. God, he remained as horny for her as when he’d first arrived. He’d never been this way, not even with—Charlie dropped a fork. Sweet Jesus, he loved Christine, had even called her, ‘my beloved’. He’d never loved any woman this way.
“Charlie?
He turned. A sweet half smile curved her lips as she stood at the stove flipping omelets, the scent incredible. Her kitchen, painted a soft blue, enhanced the sunlight glowing through the white blinds on the windows, a perfect backdrop for her elegance and grace. Dressed in a robe, her face free of makeup, making a simple meal, she stood out more than the most glamorous model, the most celebrated movie star. Even her temper, once it cooled or channeled into something productive, delighted him. I love you. Yet I commit the ultimate betrayal not telling you what I suspect. Her brows drew together. “Is something wrong?”
Everything. “No. And yes, pepper, please.”
She stared a minute then reached for the little ceramic shaker in the shape of a kangaroo. It made him smile, the silly kangaroo and koala bear salt and pepper set. It was so Christine. She sprinkled a bit of pepper in the pan, flipped the omelet again, and then slid the perfectly browned eggs on a plate. She picked up a matching plate and brought both to the table, rising on tip toes to kiss his cheek. He loved when she kissed him. “How does a nice long bubble bath and a soft bed after we eat sound?”
He set the plates on the table and hugged her close. “It sounds like Heaven if you’re with me.”
“Well that’s a given.” She frowned again, searching his face with her dark gaze, her head tilted. “Charlie?”
“Christine.” He kissed her, lingering just enough to taste her flavor. “Let’s eat and then you can show me the rest of all these renovations.”
He could see the questions in her face. “Sure. You helped more than the restoration manuals.”
“I doubt it.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You could go into the construction business.”
“I don’t think so. What do you think of what you’ve seen so far?” They released each other.
He pulled out a chair for her. “Not bad.”
“That’s all you can say?” She sat and grinned. “I ruined a good manicure for these walls.”
He sat ac
ross from her and began to eat. The omelet tasted excellent. He took a minute to savor the blend of egg, cheese, and pepper before he answered. “I like this color. It suits the room and takes advantage of the natural light.”
Christine sipped coffee. “You sound like one of those paid announcers for the Home Improvement channel in the before and after shots.”
“The bright white you painted the ceilings match the window trims and blinds, blending subtly into the deep apple wood border and trim, which showcases the hard wood flooring I believe you’ve restored and sealed with, um, three coats of wax, is it?”
“Two, but the second coat had a natural buffer which covers the numerous character scratches and dings of a house which has seen more than its share of rowdy children and too many pets to count.” She winked as she ate.
“It appears professional. Excellent job, sweetheart.” He watched fascinated as always when the slight blush glowed in her cheeks. Christine was the only adult woman he knew who could blush so innocently while passion glowed in her eyes. “As for the crown molding in the living room,” A sound from the room off the kitchen interrupted him.
“My daughter just sent me a message.” Christine grinned. “I have the computer turned up louder than usual so I’d hear it.”
“The Tardis from Doctor Who?” Charlie almost expected the time machine to materialize near the refrigerator.
“She loves the show, although I’m more a fan of the classic days, Tom Baker and company. Adam’s tone is Fred Flintstone’s quitting time ‘Yabba Dabba Do.’“
“What’s my tone?” He raised a brow at her.
Christine’s blush grew deeper. “Oh, just a song.”
Now she had him intrigued. “Which one?” She murmured something and stood. He caught her hand and tugged when she tried to move away. “What’s my tone?”
Head bent, she focused on the gleaming floor. “Your tone is the song, You Sexy Thing.”
He laughed and pulled her on his lap. “You believe in miracles?”
“Since you came along, I do.” She blushed more if possible. “Hush.”
He kissed her, delighted and amazed. She had the power to make him see the simple beauty of things. Something he’d lost a long time ago. “My sexy Christine, I’ll need to set mine for yours to do the same thing, won’t I?”
Christine shrugged, the movement slipping the robe off one shoulder. He nibbled her soft skin. “It’s your messenger. You can set it to whatever you want. Oh!”
He’d pushed the robe aside and suckled right above her breast. “Oh, indeed, you sexy thing fits very well. Now let’s see what happens when I do this.”
Her fingers dug into his shoulders as Charlie took her breast into his mouth and used his tongue to trace her nipple into a hard pebble. “Mmmm, I love how you touch me.”
“I love how you touch me too,” he murmured between bites.
She took the invitation, her hands sliding down his chest to the knot of the robe he’d unpacked and thrown on before they ate. Her hands caressed his thighs, stopping at the raised scar; her gaze locked on his. Concern replaced passion. “From the car accident with your wife?”
He placed a hand over hers. “It’s not something I speak about.” He’d told her the bare minimum, but some parts—some he’d never told anyone.
“Both our marriages ended with car accidents, and though we weren’t one hundred percent at fault, we still feel survivor’s guilt.” She turned her hand over to entwine their fingers.
He snorted. “I was at fault.”
“Tell me?”
Charlie sighed. She needed to hear it, especially if somehow, they got a chance at a future together. “We had a fight over something stupid. She stormed out with the car keys and I jumped into the car with her, thinking I could calm her down.”
“The car crashed.”
He nodded. He’d told her some of this. “She lost control and struck a pole. I didn’t wear a seat belt and slammed through the front window, my leg cut all to hell by the broken glass.” Christine’s fingers tightened on his, a comfort, an anchor to the present. “I remember sirens screaming, the smell of burning metal and rain, and blood, so much blood. I tried to get up, to help her, but I couldn’t move.”
“She blamed you?”
Charlie nodded. “The finale of our marriage. I’ve told you how we grew apart and were headed toward divorce before the accident.” He swallowed. “We only stayed together because of her pregnancy. Monica pulled through. Our baby didn’t.”
Christine embraced him, soothing him in the way she had of speaking without words. “What’s your child’s name?”
“His name is Anela. It means Angel. The modernized version is Michael.” No one else had ever asked. He should have known she would. Charlie felt the tears and buried his face in her neck, letting them roll. He didn’t hear what she murmured as she held him in the quiet comfort of her voice and arms. When he finished venting the pent up emotion and would have pulled away, she simply cradled him closer. Embarrassment washed over him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you dare say sorry.” She leaned back, her expression fierce even as he saw her own drenched cheeks. “Your son. I can’t imagine your pain, Charlie. Never be sorry for expressing pain over losing something so precious. Not ever.”
Could there ever be a woman as wonderful, as perfect for him as her? Charlie swallowed, nodded, and held her tight. “Thank you.” She kissed his swollen eyes and pressed him into her warmth. “Just to continue, Monica never forgave me for the accident.”
“She blamed you for Anela’s death.” Christine leaned her forehead to his.
Charlie gripped her hands. She’d used his son’s Hawaiian name as he always did. She fit him so well. “She had her reasons. If I hadn’t gotten in the car, she may have been fine, driven around, and not hit the pole. Our son would still be alive.”
“Or she may have done worse.”
He scoffed, bitterness creeping through. “Worse than killing our child who hadn’t even had a chance to live?”
Her hand stroked his cheek. “She may have hit another car, killing herself and the occupants of the other car. Maybe more children would have died.”
“It wouldn’t have...” His words halted by her hand covering his mouth and the sternness in her expression.
“You can’t foresee what might have happened.” Her voice reflected anger and, while not pity, something close. “An innocent, beautiful child died in an accident”—she stressed the word ‘accident’—”no one’s fault, no one’s to blame.” She cupped his cheeks and gazed directly in his face. “Do you blame Monica for driving so reckless while pregnant? Do you think she meant to kill Anela, you, or even herself?”
Charlie shook his head. “She wanted Anela, wanted to be a mother. Her hate and bitterness turned our lives into hell and led to the nastiest divorce in the history of our little town, maybe in our state.”
“Harper-Morris is the biggest,” She stopped speaking and bit her lip.
He raised a brow at her. “You couldn’t have heard about the Harper-Morris divorce here. It was big news, sure, but not a national event.”
Christine shrugged but a tell-tell flush stained her cheeks. “I, um, researched your island, the history and such when I received your account. I didn’t research you or anything. The divorce case and some geography about volcanoes was all I really learned. Oh and how to say ‘Merry Christmas’ thanks to Bing Crosby and his infamous song.”
She never failed to surprise him. Even at this dark time she brought light. “Let’s hear.”
“You can’t laugh.” She waited until he nodded. “Mele Kalikimaka.”
Charlie grinned, feeling his grief begin to slide back into its space in his heart. “Not bad. We’ll have you talking like a native in no time.”
She shook her head. “I’m awful with different languages. I’d rather hear you.”
He linked his arms around her waist. “You said one back to me a bit ago. Want to try a
gain? Ku’uipo, Ku’u ‘I’ini.”
Christine stumbled over the words trying to repeat them and made his heart simply tumble. “What’s your name in Hawaiian?”
“Kale. So you can see why I prefer the modernized version.” Anticipating her next question, he stroked her hair. “And your name is Kilikina.”
“Yours sounds better than mine.” Her full lips pouted.
He kissed her, holding her tight, and murmured, “Aloha au iā ‘oe.” He wouldn’t tell her the translation, ‘I love you’, just yet.
Christine trembled. “Yum. I love it when you talk all sexy and foreign. You should speak Hawaiian all the time.”
“Foreign? We’re the same country, my Gem.” Charlie pulled her closer until he felt the steady beat of her heart. “There’s not much call for the Hawaiian language any longer. I’m rusty in my accent. Monica despised it.”
“Why?” She tilted her head. “It’s beautiful.”
“She wanted the more modern mainland life. A bit like my sister, though Alika never tried to deny her heritage, except to go by the modern version of her name, Alyssa.” He shrugged and played with a strand of her hair. “One of the many differences between us. We both knew our marriage ended weeks after it began, or we wouldn’t have fought like we did. All we had in common seemed to be work. She worked for our corporation, and after the accident, recovery, and finalization of the divorce, she requested and received a transfer to Chicago.”
Surprise lit Christine’s face. “Does she still work for our corporation?”
Charlie shook his head. “She met someone, a businessman from Italy, married him and moved there. We haven’t spoken or kept in contact, but I heard the stories. The loss of our baby and the long recovery changed her.”
“You were hurt too. How long were you in the hospital and in therapy?”
“Months, though Monica and I had separate rooms. Neither of us knew how to bridge the gap growing bigger every day, how to get past the loss of Anela.” He shuddered out a breath. “After a while we were complete strangers.”