The Bachelor

by Carly Phillips

  Beth laughed. “Rick and I are friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S.”

  Charlotte exhaled a sharp breath of relief.

  “Rick listens and he makes me laugh. I need both right now. Talking to a guy is actually giving me the confidence to face David—and my fears.” Her smile faded. “Then I need to face life on my own—and figure out who I am and what I need.”

  “What if we’ve miscalculated David?” Charlotte felt compelled to ask. “What if he loves you and—”

  Beth shook her head. “I’ll never know if he fell for me or the woman he thinks he made me into—did I tell you he wants to fix my nose?”

  Charlotte shot out of her seat. “Don’t you dare—”

  “I’m too smart for that—thanks to you and Rick.” She hugged Charlotte tight. “You’re a good friend.”

  “Ditto.” She squeezed Beth back.

  A knock sounded at the door and Charlotte ran to get it.

  Samson stood outside, his graying hair damp and a stack of letters in his hands. “Don’t you get your mail?” he muttered. “Leave things outside and they’ll blow away or get wet in the rain. Here.” He shoved his hand out and waved a stack of letters in her face.

  “Thanks, Sam.” She took the letters out of his hand and dug into her pocket for the money she remembered shoving in there this morning. “You know I never would have remembered to get those on my own.” She held out her hand, crumpled bills in her fist. “Can you drop a bottle of soda off here if you get a chance, and keep the change, okay?”

  He grumbled but took the money, a flash of gratitude in his dark eyes. “Anything else you can’t remember to do yourself?” he asked.

  She swallowed a laugh. “Stop by Monday morning. I’ll have a package or two you can drop off at the post office for me.” She’d be finished packaging some panties among other things for her customers by then.

  As a special part of her service, Charlotte liked to surprise customers with their special orders when she finished them early, instead of calling and having them come to the shop to pick up their order. “How does that sound?” she asked Sam.

  “Like you’re lazy. I’ll see you then.”

  Charlotte grinned and locked the door again behind him. The poor, misunderstood man. She shook her head, then began sorting through the mail when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” she called out to Beth.

  She grabbed the receiver. “Charlotte’s Attic, Charlotte speaking.”

  “It’s Roman.”

  His deep voice wrapped her in warmth and her insides twisted with longing. “Hi, there.”

  “Hi, yourself. How’s it going?” he asked.

  “I had an incredibly busy day. You should have seen the lines outside the shop.”

  “I did. Couldn’t miss them. But I did miss you.” His voice dropped a husky octave.

  Tremors of awareness rippled through her. “I’m easily found.”

  “Can you imagine the headlines if I actually walked through the front door of your shop?”

  She bit down on her lower lip. If her shop had been the beneficiary of today’s headlines, Roman had probably suffered in reverse. “That bad?”

  “Let me put it to you this way. I’ve been accused of cross-dressing by Chase’s secretary, called a potentially convicted felon by my own mother, and more than one woman waved a pair of those panties you’re so fond of my way.”

  “Oh, no.” Charlotte lowered herself into a chair, her stomach in knots over the thought of other women propositioning Roman.

  “What’s wrong?” Beth came up from behind her.

  Charlotte waved a hand to halt further conversation. “It’s Roman,” she mouthed and placed a fingertip over her lips.

  Beth grinned and settled in to wait.

  “Was it that bad?” Charlotte asked him.

  “Bad enough that I was thinking of getting out of town for the rest of the weekend.”

  Disappointment filled her and she realized how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him. Spending time with him. Consummating their relationship. She trembled at the prospect, her body reacting to the mere thought.

  “The weekend’s over tomorrow night,” she reminded him.

  “But can you imagine how much we can do together in twenty-four hours?”

  “We?” She gripped the phone harder in her hand.

  “Well, we don’t live in a thriving metropolis, but I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

  A warmth rushed through her, a heat that had nothing to do with sexual awareness. Oh, that was there too, but the caring in his voice struck her by surprise—in the heart. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I was considering the Falls.” The town’s one restaurant with a dress code, Charlotte thought.

  “But can you imagine eating while women are slipping panties into my jacket pocket?”

  She laughed. “Don’t tell me they tried that too.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Your ego astounds me.” She caught Beth’s eager glance and swiveled her chair around so she didn’t have to see her. “You’re asking me—”

  “To go away with me. One night, one day. You and me. What do you say?” he asked.

  “A date?”

  “More than that and you know it.”

  Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. They’d been leaning toward this for a while now. She’d already rationalized why she’d allow herself to get involved in an affair. Because being with Roman seemed the only way to get over him. If she were lucky, she’d discover he had too many bad habits to count. If not, at least she’d store memories for the future. She’d never again look back and regret the road not taken.

  “He’s asking you out. What are you waiting for? Say yes,” Beth said from behind her.

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. “Shut up.”

  “Not the answer I expected.”

  “Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.” She waved Beth away with one hand. “Yes. I say yes,” she said before she could change her mind.

  Beth let out a whoop of glee,

  “I’ll make sure it’s a time you never forget,” he said in that sexy, compelling voice.

  And Charlotte believed him. She knew for certain that when this weekend was over, she’d never again wonder what she’d missed since her teenage rejection of him.

  She would, however, keep in mind this was a short-term affair. And Roman was her interim guy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Roman picked Charlotte up on time. He drove her to the outskirts of town before pulling over to the side of the road and reaching into the glove compartment for a silk scarf. He dangled it in front of her.

  “What’s that for?” Charlotte eyed the scarf, intrigued.

  “I don’t want you to see my surprise before I’m ready.”

  Anticipation kicked in to high gear. “I love surprises.”

  Roman’s deep laugh wrapped around her in the confines of his small rental car. “Is that a note of appreciation I hear in your voice?”

  He leaned over and tied the sheath of silk around her head. A shiver of awareness rippled along her nerve endings.

  She lifted her hands to feel the blindfold covering her eyes and her stomach jolted with awareness. As quickly as she’d lost her sight, her other senses had heightened, taking over. The rasp of Roman’s deep breathing and his heady, masculine cologne touched off tremors inside her. “So where are we going?”

  “You should have tried a more subtle approach. If I wanted you to know, then you wouldn’t need the blindfold, now, would you?” He started the car once more and she jolted backward as they pulled onto the highway.

  She wasn’t sure how much time passed as they made companionable small talk. They got along well, which wasn’t surprising. Neither were the things they had in common—love of history and a keen interest in foreign locales, many of which he described to her in detail as only a firsthand observer could. She envied his travels much more than she’d admit aloud.

  “When I was in y
our apartment, I couldn’t help but notice the books on the table.” Not a surprising turn in conversation after the stories and descriptions he’d shared.

  “Many people have those books,” she said, not ready to give too much insight into her soul.

  “That’s what I thought. Then I looked closer. Yours were worn and well read.”

  Damn the man. He was still observant and dissected the littlest thing until he came up with the correct conclusion. “So call me shallow. I like picture books.”

  “I’d call you a lot of things.” His hand came to rest on her knee, his hot palm searing her flesh through the light cotton spandex pants she wore. “Shallow isn’t one of them. I think you harbor a secret desire to travel.”

  “Such a big conclusion from a few books.”

  He shook his head. “I’d already assumed as much, but your twenty questions about my travels and the longing in your voice pretty much told me you’d like to visit those places yourself one day.”

  She contemplated lying, then decided against it. She’d promised herself to release all inhibitions and enjoy to the fullest, so she’d have no regrets. That meant no lies or omissions. “I suppose a part of me wants to travel,” she admitted.

  “The adventurous part you hide?” Humor tinged his voice.

  “The shallow part,” she said, no touch of humor in return. Charlotte glanced away from Roman, where she knew the car window would be, but the same blackness awaited her any direction she looked.

  “Shallow. There’s that word again.”

  She felt the slowing of the engine, the jarring feel of the car being put into park, and the slide of denim against vinyl as Roman turned in his seat.

  “I travel. Is that what you think of me?” he asked at last.

  In her mind, she could see him, one arm propped over the headrest, as he looked at her. Only she couldn’t. See him, that is. She could only guess what he was doing, what his expression revealed. His voice held the slightest hint of hurt at the possibility that she’d found him lacking. He sounded as if he cared what she thought of him and the notion set her heart beating out a rapid pulse.

  Roman was intelligent and caring. He understood both of those traits enough to report the news in a way that drew a reader in. She’d read his work. Shallow wasn’t what she thought of Roman, far from it.

  “It’s what I fear I am.” No regrets, she reminded herself, and under the cover and protection of darkness, she admitted her greatest fear. Of all people, she wanted him to know.

  “Curiosity about the unknown makes you intelligent, not shallow.”

  She often wondered. “What if the need to see those places or do those other things takes you far from home and keeps you there?” she asked. “Far from the people who love you.”

  Roman listened to her words and looked for deeper meaning. She could be talking about him, but he had a hunch she was admitting to more personal fears. “You’re talking about your father, aren’t you?”

  “That’s a rhetorical question.” She still faced the window, away from him.

  He reached over and touched her chin, turning her toward him. “It’s not his desire to live in Los Angeles or even to act that’s caused the problem. It was his unwillingness to live up to his responsibilities and the fact that he seems emotionally disconnected from his family. Those are choices he made. Yours would be different because you’re different.”

  She shrugged. “My father, my genes. You never know.”

  “You also have your mother’s genes, and she’s a home-body.” More of a recluse, though he didn’t say it. “You’re most likely a combination of both.” The best of both, he thought. “So what’s the other reason you’re so afraid of those hidden desires?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He had a hunch genetics wasn’t what was really bothering Charlotte. It was a convenient cover. He knew her better than to think she’d turn selfish, or into any kind of replica of her father. She had to know better too. Though to fear doing so was a normal, fleeting notion for anyone who resented a parent, Roman thought. Charlotte was intelligent enough to look inside herself and see the truth. “You’re no more shallow than those books on your table.”

  “You’re biased.” Her lips turned upward in a half smile.

  “And that’s not an answer. Come on, Charlotte. You lived in New York, you cherish the books about foreign places. You crave travel, but you refuse to acknowledge it might make you happy. Why?”

  “What if the reality is a disappointment?”

  And she’d had too many of those in her life, he thought. But he was about to change that. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would it be?”

  “Other than here with you?”

  He grinned. “Good answer.” On impulse, he leaned over and grazed his mouth against her warm lips. An unmistakable tremor shook her and his body tensed in response. “I guess it’s time I show you where here is. I’m coming around to get you.” He climbed out of the front seat, walked to her side, and helped her out of the car.

  A light drizzle fell around them, mist and clouds heavy in the darkness, the weather adding to the almost moody atmosphere of this spot he’d chosen. Only when he had her facing their ultimate destination did he pull the blindfold off. “Take a look.”

  As she refocused on her surroundings, Roman watched her. Her jet-black hair, mussed from the scarf and the weather, swirled over her shoulders and around her neck. She brushed the long strands back with one hand, leaving her neck bare and exposed. The urge to nibble the white skin was strong and overwhelming, but he managed to watch and wait instead.

  She blinked and squinted, crinkling her nose as she took in her new location. “It looks like a farmhouse.”

  “Actually, it’s a renovated dairy barn. It’s pretty secluded, with an incredible view of the Adirondack Mountains. We missed the sunset, but there’s no reason we can’t catch the sunrise.”

  She took a step forward, obviously eager to see more.

  “Hang on.” He grabbed their bags from the trunk. She’d packed light, something that not only surprised him, but in a ridiculous way made him feel like he could relate to her better. Or she could relate to him and his lifestyle in a way he wouldn’t have expected.

  Unsure what to make of those feelings, he caught up with her instead. “It’s not a Scottish castle, but it’ll make you feel like you’ve left the real world behind. And I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  She turned to face him. “You’re perceptive and intuitive. As a reporter I’m sure it comes naturally. What I can’t figure out is whether this is for your benefit or mine.”

  He knew better than to be insulted. Because she was ruminating on her father, she felt compelled to look for Roman’s ulterior motives. He understood and didn’t mind answering. “Getting out of town is for our benefit, taking you with me is for mine, and choosing this particular place was all for you, sweetheart.”

  “You think you’ve got me figured out.” She bit down on her lower lip.

  “I don’t?” He swept an arm out, gesturing to the mountain getaway. “This sudden escape doesn’t please you? Doesn’t this inn remind you of places you’d like to visit but haven’t had the chance?”

  “You know it does. That’s obvious from you studying my apartment, or dissecting me with those reporter’s instincts. But that doesn’t mean you know everything. There’s plenty that’s still hidden.”

  “And I can’t wait to uncover the rest of your secrets.”

  A slow smile tilted her lips until it turned into a wicked grin. “So what are you waiting for?” She tossed the parting shot. Then she pivoted and started for the inn, the effect of her regal departure diminished by her teetering, high-heeled walk on the unpaved parking lot.

  * * *

  Charlotte’s time with Roman was, by agreement and necessity, a short-term affair. Affair being the operative word. As much as she liked confiding in him and listening to his comforting voice and understanding words, she di
dn’t want to waste what little time they had—time of undetermined duration—on talk.

  Not when they had many more exciting, erotic things they could do. Things to give her memories to cherish and a way to prove she was her own person—stronger than her mother. She could take what she desired and walk away, instead of waiting for him to come back and make her life whole. She’d be whole on her own. No matter how much she’d miss him.

  By the time she made it inside the converted farmhouse, unpretentiously named The Inn, excitement had become her sole companion.

  They were greeted upon entering by an older couple. “Welcome, Mr. Chandler.”

  “Roman, please.”

  The woman with streaked gray hair and bright eyes nodded. “Roman it is. Do you know you look just like your father?”

  He grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

  “She knows your parents?” Charlotte asked, surprised.

  “Mom and Dad came here on their honeymoon.”

  He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but Charlotte didn’t find the information so cut-and-dried. He’d brought her to the place his parents had shared their post-wedding night. Wow.

  “They most certainly did. I’m Marian Innsbrook and this is my husband, Harry.”

  Charlotte grinned. “So that explains the name of this place.”

  “Easy to remember in case folks want to come back,” Harry said.

  Charlotte nodded.

  Roman stepped beside her and placed his hand on her lower back. He branded her with his touch and the excitement she’d felt upon entering The Inn turned to pure unadulterated arousal. Warmth flooded her, a heaviness in her breasts and a distinctive throbbing between her legs. All inappropriate for the time and place—but soon they’d be alone, and she intended to shed not just her clothing but her inhibitions.

  As if oblivious to the havoc he wreaked on her body, Roman smiled at the Innsbrooks. “This is Charlotte Bronson.”

  She managed an easy smile while she and Roman took turns shaking hands with the older couple. She even forced herself to look around and appreciate the Old World charm and atmosphere The Inn offered. Wood-beamed ceilings and paneled walls. Comfort and homey were the words that came to mind.