“I’d like to make it really special for us—like when it’s not a school night and the kids can sleep over with friends. I’ll make you dinner. We won’t be rushed. We can—”
“I’ve waited thirteen years. I can wait a couple more days.”
“Mama!” Hank’s face was pressed up against Charlotte’s bedroom window and she peered down on them. “Matt won’t let me take a shower first and it’s always my turn to go first on Tuesdays!”
“Creepy little cow-butt tattletale!” Matt’s voice rang out from somewhere inside the house.
Charlotte looked up at Joe and sighed. “Good night.” She planted a kiss on his cheek, which felt clenched tight beneath her lips. “I guess this mixing fantasy with reality isn’t an easy thing to do.”
“We’ll find a way, Charlotte. Just you watch.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I want a turn, Matt.”
Justin applied the brakes and waited for his friend to stop his bike. “It’s not fair—you’ve been getting all the good pictures this week: the one of Lisa Bertucci’s mom’s slip hanging out of her skirt on Tuesday, and then on Thursday the mean guy outside the library who looked like a mental patient, and then yesterday that dude at the gas station kissing that fat lady. It’s my turn.”
“Whatever.” Matt lifted the spy camera strap off his neck and passed it over to Justin. “Just don’t waste any film.”
They rode for a while down Main Street, avoiding pedestrians and parking meters and the occasional suggestion that they ride their bikes somewhere other than the sidewalk.
The boys rounded the corner of Queen and Main and were debating whether they had enough money between them to split a blueberry freezee from the Creamy Whip and whether they had enough time to eat it before dinner when Justin skidded to a stop.
“Check out those guys,” he said, nodding casually toward two men sitting in a car parked at the curb. “Man-oh-man.”
“CIA, do you think?” Matt motioned for Justin to walk his bike into the side door of Garson’s Glass, where they could monitor the situation discreetly. Matt pulled out his binoculars to get a good look.
“Too creepy looking for the CIA. I think they’re hit men or spies.” Justin started snapping pictures.
“I don’t know. CIA agents can be pretty creepy looking.”
Justin took one last picture and laughed at Matt. “Like you’ve ever met a CIA agent in real life?”
Matt snatched the camera away. “Like you ever met a hit man or a spy?”
The two boys walked their bikes back up to Main Street, then hopped on and began pedaling.
“I think we should show these pictures to Ned,” Justin said.
“And how we gonna do that?” Matt asked. “I can’t have my mom develop these pictures—she’d have a spaz attack. You know I’m not supposed to be spying.”
“Then give ‘em to me. I’ll have my dad get ‘em developed.”
“No,” Matt sighed heavily. “This should stay on a need-to-know basis. I’ll figure something out.”
It was turning out to be one of those weeks that went by in a blur. Charlotte had as many clients as she could juggle, Hank’s ballet recital was that weekend and the kid had a rehearsal schedule more suited to the Kirov Ballet than The Minton Dance Factory, and both Matt’s and Hank’s teams had advanced to the play-offs.
Charlotte was exhausted. She’d hardly seen Joe at all. He’d stopped by for coffee the last two mornings before she took the kids to school, but she hadn’t had time to say two words to him. It dawned on her today that Joe actually liked the morning chaos. He was always so chipper at 7:00 a.m.
She lay in her bed with the covers thrown off because it was so warm. The only sounds that infringed upon the night silence were the faraway bark of a dog, the chirp of crickets, and the soft hum of the ceiling fan above her bed.
She stretched, letting her arms and legs fall loose, feeling the caress of the air on her skin. Summer was nearly here. It would be the second summer without Kurt, the second cycle of seasons without her husband. She was well into her second year as a widow.
Charlotte trained her eyes on the slow whir of the fan blades, trying, in the wash of moonlight, to isolate one blade as it spun around in an unbroken rhythm, like the earth around the sun, like the moon around the earth, like the days and weeks and months cycling through her life. The one life she’d ever get.
Was she about to screw it up?
She did a few deep-breathing exercises, then surrendered. She got the key. With more force than she planned, she yanked open the bedside table drawer. She clicked on the lamp.
Charlotte grabbed her notebook and removed the cap from her ink pen and stared at the blank page.
The fear welled up in her the second her hand began to move across the paper, leaving in its path loops and swirls that revealed every uncertainty she felt.
Dark Stranger
Who is this man I’ve let inside,
And how much will he take?
His feet walk on my kitchen floor
His words seduce my injured heart
His hands burn my weakened flesh
But I don’t know him
Though he laughs with my kids
And pets my dog
And sits on my porch
He is a dark stranger
With black eyes and a troubled soul
He says he wants babies
But it’s only part of rough play
Don’t play with me, Joe
Don’t hide from me
Dark stranger
Already inside
Don’t hurt me, Joe
Please
Don’t
Hurt me
The notebook went first—hurled across the bedroom—and she watched the pages flutter like bird wings as it sailed. It hit the wall with a thud, which was immediately followed by Hoover’s deep woof from across the hall.
That’s all she needed—to wake up the kids.
Then she threw the pen, and it, too, hit the wall.
“It’s okay, boy.” She’d cracked open her bedroom door and peeked into the hallway. “Everything’s all right. Go back to sleep.”
Hoover gave her a look that indicated he didn’t really believe her, then sauntered back into Matt’s room.
She couldn’t help it. She was weak. Joe was so close. Close enough to touch, taste… to love. And she wasn’t strong enough to resist him. She’d never been strong enough to resist him.
Charlotte felt herself walking across the hall to Matt’s bedroom, where she grabbed the binoculars off his desk, then, like a zombie, returned to her own room, shut the door, and allowed herself to be enticed by the moonlight at the window. She felt like a third-party observer as she watched her own hands raise the plastic spyglasses, felt them settle upon the rise of her cheekbones. With a quick blink, she set her focus on the window beyond the trees.
She gasped, stumbled backward, but kept her eyes open.
A pair of big black binoculars was aimed right back at her.
Well, hot damn!
Joe laughed so hard that the image of Charlotte began to jump up and down and side to side in his sights. He noted with pleasure that she took a shocked step back; then he saw that she had to be holding up the cheapest pair of plastic binoculars he’d ever seen in his life. They looked like something a kid would get in a box of Cracker Jacks. They had to be Matt’s.
He raised one hand and waved to her. He watched with pleasure as her mouth fell open in what he only hoped was indignation.
Like she had any kind of moral high ground here.
Joe didn’t hide the fact that he found the situation amusing, and smiled big in her direction. It crossed his mind that she might not even appreciate this little exchange because she might not be able to see a thing out of those Pacific Rim goody bag stuffers she held up to her eyes.
He mouthed these words to her: Hello, dumplin’.
Then it was his turn to drop his jaw.
She’d f
elt this jolt of awareness just one other time in her life. In that Miata. Alive. Sexual. Free. Absolutely herself.
Ready.
Charlotte set the binoculars on the bed, seeing this moment for what it was. It was the end of thirteen years of sexual anguish.
She took a deep breath, realizing that she wasn’t even mad at Joe for spying on her. In fact, she loved it. She loved it so much she was trembling.
Charlotte spun around to face the window and reached up to unclasp the barrette that held her hair in place. She shook her head and let the mess fall where it would and licked her lips. It was so strange performing for someone she couldn’t see—just an open window. But then she’d never stripped for a man in even the most private of settings.
Her shaking hands rose to touch her breasts, as if she knew instinctively what Joe would want to see. She let her fingers brush around the prod of her nipples under a thin layer of cotton, then let her caress sweep down, down, until she put her hands where she wanted Joe’s to be.
Charlotte let her fingers play inside the elastic of her underwear, barely brushing the silk of her damp flesh, and allowed her head to fall back from the pleasure of her own touch. She knew the effect she must be having on Joe, and a sense of power surged through her. She felt like such a bad girl. So lustful. So out of control. So wonderful.
Such a slut.
Charlotte leveled her gaze out the window and moved both hands to her hips, then her waist, grabbing the bottom of her tank top as she went, pulling, pulling, until her face was covered and the rest of her was not. Then she tugged the shirt with a bit of drama, held it out to her side with a straight arm, and let it fall to the floor.
Joe’s window must have been open, because at that instant she heard him shout.
Next she raised her hands and fluffed her hair real good, then puckered up in a kiss, running an index finger down the center of her lips, her chin, her throat, her sternum, her belly, her belly button…
Her phone rang. She picked it up.
“Not fair,” Joe said, breathing hard.
“I can’t wait anymore,” she said.
“We don’t have to.”
“You like this?”
“Oh, fuck yes.”
“Want me to keep going?”
“Are you serious?”
She hung up and went back to the window, wearing just her panties and hoping to God that the angle of the window prevented Mrs. Watson or anyone else on Hayden Circle from seeing her little show. But if she was honest with herself, she was beyond caring. She was beyond stopping.
Charlotte twirled to expose her back to the window, feeling the air on her spine, the sensitive flesh where her back flared out to create her hips. She raised her arms straight up over her head and clasped hands, then peeked around. She slowly swiveled her butt, smiled big, and lowered her hands to the waistband of her underpants.
Deliberately, teasingly, still looking over her shoulder, she eased them down. She felt like a snake shedding its skin. And knowing that Joe watched her every move made her body do a slow burn. She ignited as the curve of her ass cleared the fabric and she knew that everything she was now belonged to Joe. It always had.
The phone rang again, and Charlotte nearly tripped on the panties twisted around her ankles as she dived for it.
“I’m coming over there—now. Get ready.”
“The dog.”
“What?”
“Hoover will wake the kids. Bring an ice-cream cone.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Charlotte giggled and summoned her sexiest, throatiest voice. “Do you want me, Joe?”
“God yes.”
“Do you want me right now, right this instant, naked and hot and shaking for you?”
Silence. Then, “You want sprinkles on that?”
The line went dead.
Joe had been in a number of tight spots over the years, and many of them required him to think on his feet. But this was ridiculous.
He stood in the kitchen in a pair of boxers, harder than he’d ever been in his life, rooting through the cabinets for something—anything—that resembled an ice-cream cone.
It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday. The Creamy Whip stand was closed. And looking down at his full-mast state was all the reminder he needed that a trip to the convenience store was out of the question. He needed to focus. Focus.
A quick peek revealed no ice cream in the freezer, but he already knew that. The refrigerator featured beer, olives, yogurt, milk, and apples.
Yogurt. He pulled it out.
He ran to the pantry. Crackers. Coffee. A taco kit. Pretzels. Tomato soup.
Taco shells. He grabbed the box.
Then with shaking hands and a string of foul words, Joe got the cellophane off the package of tacos and spooned in several globs of vanilla yogurt. He held it up, gave it a quick examination, and figured a dog wouldn’t know the difference.
Then he bolted out the patio door, threw open the privacy fence latch, and ran barefoot across the grass, pine needles, and driveway until he arrived, breathless, at Charlotte’s back door.
She was waiting for him, wearing a little red silk robe and a huge smile, Hoover at her side.
Charlotte glanced down at the concoction in his hand and laughed. Her laugh sounded so damn good to him that he had to join her. But Hoover growled low and deep and bared his teeth and looked ready to bark his head off, so Joe shoved the yogurt taco next to his snout and they both waited.
After what seemed like an eternity, the dog began to lap at it with delicate little strokes of his tongue and they both sighed in relief. The yogurt was soon gone, and Hoover took one bite out of the taco shell and spit it out, looking at Joe like he’d offended his palate.
“Will he stay quiet?”
Charlotte reached out and touched Joe’s bare forearm. “I think so. You did good.”
Joe dropped the taco shell and hooked a finger inside the lapel of her robe—her skin was hot and smooth and he felt ready to bust. “Where exactly is this going to happen, Charlotte?”
A shadow crossed her face. “I’m not sure. I can’t leave and you really shouldn’t come in.”
Oh, this was just great. Joe looked around and noticed that the campout tent was still up. “Ever done it in a tent?”
“A long time ago.”
“Can you grab a sleeping bag and a couple pillows?”
Charlotte nodded, then allowed her gaze to travel down the front of Joe’s body. She bit her pretty pink bottom lip. Joe watched her breath come fast and hard.
“Can I help with anything, Charlotte?”
“No.” She continued staring at his boxer shorts, then shook her head. “Hold on a second.” Charlotte ran toward the mudroom and Joe watched her sweet little ass bounce around under the robe. She came back with two flashlights and handed him one through the door.
“Make sure there aren’t any spiders in there, and I’ll see you in a minute.”
“Hurry.”
She gave him a serious nod. “I’ve haven’t been in this big of a hurry in my whole life.”
This was not exactly how she’d pictured it. Charlotte wanted candlelight and wine and she wanted to hold his hand and talk to him… then take him into her bed, where he’d remind her how it felt to be fully alive.
Instead, she had a couple couch pillows in her left hand, a SpongeBob sleeping bag in her right, a utility flashlight stuck in the sash of her robe, and she was running across the yard, barefoot, in the dark, praying she wouldn’t step in dog poop.
She saw a flashlight beam bounce inside the tent and smiled. None of the details mattered, she supposed—because Joe was in there waiting for her. She was going to be his again.
Charlotte poked her head inside the tent flap and saw him sitting cross-legged on the tarp, peering into an open bag of marshmallows. He looked up and smiled at her.
“Care for a fresh hors d’oeuvre?”
“No thanks.”
He jumped to
his feet and removed everything from her arms, then took her hand and led her inside. She watched his body move in the flashlight beam as he stashed the marshmallows into the corner of the tent, spread out the sleeping bag, arranged the pillows, and eventually lay on his back with his arms tucked under his head, smiling at her like he planned to make her the happiest woman alive.
Some men are put on this earth simply to make women happy.
“Oh, my,” she breathed.
Where Kurt’s body had been big and brawny and male, Joe’s was like fine art, and seeing Joe stretched out nearly naked caused the floor of her abdomen to open like a trapdoor, and her heart fell through it. Seeing the long, defined muscles in his arms and legs made her knees go wobbly. Seeing how his black eyes flashed and his white teeth gleamed made her want to cry out.
Here he was—her dark stranger. In the flesh.
“Come lie with me, Charlotte.”
“I’m scared.”
“It’s just me.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You know me better than anyone.”
She dropped to her knees, the silk robe covering her thighs. His hand brushed her knee and his fingers insinuated under the hem, parting the silk.
“Why did you get divorced, Joe? What happened?”
Joe’s eyes shut, but his hand still explored her skin. “I want to tell you everything, Charlotte. But I’d like to do it later.”
Charlotte tilted her head and studied him. She had a feeling that getting to know Joe was going to be like peeling back layers of an onion the size of Ohio.
“I haven’t been with a man in over eighteen months, Joe.”
He smiled. “I’m damn happy to hear it.”
“I’m just not used to this.”
“I’m glad.”
Charlotte grinned at him. “So you want to be my first again?”
“Hell yes.” He slid his hand up the inside of her left thigh, and his touch made her shiver. “I plan to be your first and your last.”
She laughed at that. More of his intense sex play, it seemed.
Joe frowned. “I’m completely serious. For thirteen years I hated the thought of any man putting his hands on you. It made me insane. I want to be your man, Charlotte. Don’t you know yet that I was supposed to be your man?”
Susan Donovan Page 23