Last Resort: Marriage

by Pamela Stone

  She stormed in the door and pitched her purse on the coffee table. “And what were you doing at the hotel tonight if you weren’t checking up on me?”

  “You let that slime kiss you.”

  “I didn’t let him do anything. And Rosa had her hands all over you when you were trying on those clothes!”

  Aaron scratched his head and a grin teased the corner of his mouth. He took a step forward. “Come here, Charlie.”

  Instinctively, she stepped back.

  Reaching out, he caressed his palm down her cheek. “Who’s the jealous one?”

  Unable to think straight, she couldn’t come up with a plausible defense for this softer Aaron. “I guess I was, a little.”

  One hand slid to the small of her back, gentle as it urged her toward him. His sexy sea-green eyes stared into the depth of her soul as his mouth descended over hers. Protest faded. Never in her life had she experienced such a powerful, seductive kiss. His fingers skimmed over her face, exploring every feature as his lips and tongue did the same to her mouth. He tasted faintly of whiskey.

  “Dinner tomorrow night. Don’t stand me up.” He gave her one last temperate kiss. “Good night, Charlie.”

  She stood mesmerized as he disappeared into the bedroom. She heard the mattress squeak beneath his weight, while she stood in the living room like a schoolgirl who’d just received her first kiss.

  The last thing she’d expected was to be courted by her husband.

  DINNER GOT OFF TO A PLEASANT start. Aaron ordered margaritas and Charlotte listened to his plans for the boat. For once he seemed to be in a congenial mood.

  “What’s a depth finder?” she asked.

  “It shows the depth of the water and the shape of the terrain.” He grinned and used both hands to simulate the boat and the ocean floor.

  Tonight she saw a glimpse of the charmer the women of Marathon Key knew and loved, even though she understood only about half of what he said.

  “You can see schools of fish or shipwrecks.”

  In the middle of his explanation, Charlotte’s cell phone chimed. She dug it out of her purse, irritated with the interruption.

  Perry wanted to know if she’d checked the morning schedule and was sure they had enough help to cover the desk.

  “Perry, it’s fine. I’m at dinner. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  As their frozen margaritas arrived, Charlotte looked up and saw Edward strolling toward their table. Her stomach sank. She’d hoped to enjoy a quiet dinner with Aaron and get to know him. She wasn’t up to putting on a show for her grandfather.

  “Perry said you’d rushed out of the office. He heard you had reservations here. Always good to keep an eye on the competition. Mind if I join you?”

  Perry had overheard they had reservations here? Right. He’d been snooping through her calendar. “Of course not. Have a seat.”

  “Aaron?” he asked, as if he cared what Aaron thought.

  Aaron gestured toward the vacant chair. “Be our guest.”

  Edward’s gaze raked Aaron’s shirt. “Nice to see you cleaned up tonight, Brody.”

  To his credit, Aaron didn’t respond. She loved the way he looked tonight, dressed in a pair of khaki Dockers and a black shirt.

  She studied her menu. “They’re a little pricey. I wonder who their chef is. I heard a rumor they stole Antonio from the Pirate’s Den for some outrageous fee.”

  “Is he worth it?” Edward asked, studying the menu. “Any of the same entrées?”

  “I’m having the fresh Florida lobster. If Antonio’s the chef, I’ll know.” She closed her menu.

  “What can a chef do to a lobster that you’d recognize?” Aaron asked. “You just drop them in boiling water.”

  She grinned. “Yes, but it’s the seasonings you put in the water that bring out the flavor.”

  “I’m having a steak.” He snapped his menu shut with hardly a glance.

  Edward continued to scrutinize every entrée. “They’re about ten percent higher than we are. I’ll bet the food doesn’t warrant the prices.”

  “Antonio’s creations do. I’ve tried to lure him away before, but he refuses to be associated with a hotel. Says it has a negative connotation.”

  “What are conch fritters?” Edward asked.

  Aaron looked bored with their shoptalk, but she preferred to keep Edward’s mind occupied with something other than her marriage. The ploy didn’t last.

  “So, Charlotte, you’ve kept yourself buried in work. Planning on taking time off for a honeymoon?”

  Aaron winked and placed his hand over hers on the table. “We’re having our honeymoon, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

  She tried to divert the direction of the conversation. “Edward, I told you, it’s different here in the Keys. Spring Break’s starting.”

  “I didn’t let your grandmother out of the house for a month after I finally slid that ring on her finger. Chuck was born before our first anniversary.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  Charlotte cringed.

  Aaron downed half his margarita and smirked. “Well, I suggested we take a few days off, but you know your granddaughter—work, work, work.”

  She frowned at Aaron and tried to pull her hand free. He gave it a quick squeeze and then released it, only to slip his arm around her bare shoulders.

  The corners of Edward’s mouth turned down. “I’d just like to hold my great-grandson before I die.”

  “Edward, please. All in good time. You’re not going to die anytime soon.”

  He hesitated a few seconds before pushing on. “Time could be shorter than you think. You turn thirty next year.”

  “We’ll have a child when we’re damn good and ready,” Aaron said.

  Edward’s eyes widened.

  Aaron took a drink and thumped his glass back on the table. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that a man your age takes such a keen interest in his granddaughter’s sex life?”

  So much for congeniality. She couldn’t decide how to glare at both Aaron and Edward at the same time. She kicked Aaron under the table. Baiting her grandfather wasn’t in their best interest.

  Edward stared Aaron down. “I would like some assurances that I’ll hold my great-grandchild sometime in the near future.”

  “What do you want, play-by-play? Want to watch?” Aaron finished off his drink. “Maybe we should forget dinner and go at it right here on the table.”

  “Stop it! Both of you.” Charlotte flashed first her grandfather then her husband a warning glare. “Enough!”

  Aaron smirked. His expression clearly said, “He started it.”

  She narrowed her eyes at her dinner companions then turned and smiled at the waiter. Edward had always been outspoken, but this tactless conversation was beyond even his norm.

  She steered the conversation back toward food. The meal was tense, but Edward didn’t push the subject. Aaron remained quiet.

  Charlotte kept the conversation going, while inside she seethed. She wanted to strangle them both.

  NOT A WORD PASSED BETWEEN Charlotte and Aaron during the drive home from the restaurant. She slammed the door on her Volvo and stomped toward the bungalow. “Don’t ever talk about me like that again. How dare you carry on such a conversation?”

  Aaron pushed ahead of her. “I wasn’t any more out of line than that dirty old man. Yell at him.”

  “You could exercise restraint, a little judgment.”

  “Me? Don’t you get it? Harrington’s no fool. He’s playing us. He can tell we aren’t lovers. You barely tolerate my company. Who do you think you’re fooling, Charlie? Not that old codger. Not that asshole who’s trying to get in your pants.” He paused. “Your name may be Brody, but you’re still acting like Charlotte Harrington.”

  She searched his face. His jaw was set, but there was a measure of hurt in his eyes. “You’ve got it wrong. This isn’t about you.”

  “You’re right. So why didn’t you just marry Thurman?”

  “I don’t
love Perry.”

  He didn’t flinch. “What difference would it make? You don’t love me, either. You sure as hell don’t want me in your bed.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with someone who’s bedded every female under forty this side of Miami.”

  “Is that what’s chafing your ass?” Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he let out a deep sigh. “What are you holding out for, Charlie? A dream lover who’s saved his virginity waiting for the right woman? He’ll take one look at you and grovel at your feet in awesome wonder?”

  She winced at the image and crossed her arms. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

  He grabbed her wrists and raised her arms above her head, then pressed her against the wall, molding himself to her. His calloused hands sparked fire along the inside of her arms. His mouth was hot and wet on hers. Her traitorous body heated and responded to his nearness.

  There had to be some sin involved with lusting after someone you didn’t really know, even if that someone happened to be your husband. She couldn’t afford to be attracted. He was simply fulfilling their deal and looking for a little sexual release on the side. She hooked one foot around his ankle and spun him.

  The air swooshed out of Aaron’s lungs as his back slammed against the wall. One minute he’d been kissing Charlie and the next instant he couldn’t breathe.

  “Don’t shove me around,” she spat through clenched teeth. “Let’s see how you like it.”

  “Actually, it’s sort of a turn-on.” God, she was a firebrand when she was steamed.

  She pursed her lips. “You’re impossible.”

  If she wanted to play physical, he could handle that. He’d discovered enough over the past few days about what turned her on to know it wasn’t being wooed by a soft touch. She was too tough for that. Charlie needed a man who could hold his own.

  He took his time, seducing her mouth until it became supple and submissive. Her tongue had already proven that it enjoyed tangling with his. He shoved her skirt high and plunged his hands beneath the fabric and up her thighs to cup her round bottom through the thin satin panties. He imagined them being some soft pastel color, but they could have been army-green for all he cared. They felt sexy as hell.

  Her hand squeezed his ass. He waited until she started panting and made that little moan she always made when she got turned on. Then, easing back just far enough to speak, he challenged, “Know what, Charlie? If you ever find your rich, virgin Adonis, you’re going to be disappointed. You’re too hot for a white-collar wimp. You’ll be paying me or somebody else for stud service.”

  He didn’t move, just stood and waited for her to respond.

  Confusion wrinkled her brow and she nibbled her bottom lip. “So we have sex. Is that the solution? You think that would solve our problems?”

  “You excluded sex from the original agreement, remember? If you want stud service, that’ll cost extra.” He jerked his shirt over his head, tossed it on the chair, and strolled into the bedroom, unzipping his slacks.

  “Aaron?”

  He heard his name, but couldn’t fight anymore. Charlotte Harrington might want a wimp, but Charlie Brody needed a man.

  Sex with her would be…wow. The fact that she was either too naive to realize it or too stubborn to admit it didn’t lessen the chemical combustion.

  He shucked the dress slacks and yanked a pair of shorts and a T-shirt out of the drawer. He tugged on his clothes, shoved his feet into his flip-flops, and headed for the back door.

  “Where are you going?”

  She sounded like a pissed off wife. “To pull the engine in my boat.”

  “Tonight?” She looked at him as if he was a couple beers short of a six-pack.

  “Why not?” He sure as hell wasn’t getting anything else tonight.

  Aaron slammed the door, lit a cigarette, and started toward his boat. Dammit! He needed a woman. And he wanted Charlie Brody.

  She didn’t have a clue. There was a look a woman had when she was sleeping with a guy. He couldn’t explain it, but he could spot it from fifty yards. Charlie didn’t have that look and her grandfather knew it.

  Didn’t matter how hot and bothered she got, Charlie pushed him away. But mention that her control-freak grandfather might guess they weren’t lovers, and then she decides that they should have sex? What did she think he was, a gigolo?

  And then there was Thurman. Charlie had paid Aaron rather than marry the guy. She claimed to detest him, yet she seemed more at ease with Perry than she obviously was with him.

  Screw it! He didn’t need this.

  He climbed the ladder onto the boat, relieved to be away from that immaculate bungalow. The boat might be an old rusty tub, but it was preferable to battling with Charlie. He didn’t have to wear uncomfortable clothes and go to pretentious restaurants. He didn’t have to clean his fingernails or not smoke. They were his lungs and his money that paid for the damn cigarettes. If he wanted to smoke, he’d damn well smoke!

  He was sitting on the edge of the engine compartment, up to his elbows in greasy engine parts, when he heard someone climb aboard. He looked up and frowned at his wife. “What do you want?”

  Not a sound. She didn’t even answer his question. Husband. Stud. Now she expected him to add mind reader to the list? What did the woman expect for a measly hundred grand?

  He jerked on the ratchet and the bolt broke free. Anger was good. He’d been tugging on that bolt for five minutes.

  Charlie turned off the radio in the middle of the Eagles singing about heartache tonight and her hand gripped his shoulder. He remained focused on the engine.

  “Aaron, look at me.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes were liquid, missing that professional self-control. Her hair was still knotted on top of her head, but tendrils had come loose and curled around her neck. The sundress she’d worn to dinner left her neck and shoulders exposed. But that wasn’t the difference. It was her soft, confused expression.

  “You’re going to get greasy.” He didn’t really care, but he figured she did. He finished unscrewing the bolt he’d just popped loose and tossed it into an empty coffee can.

  “Can you stop a minute and talk to me?”

  He didn’t want to talk. She’d made her feelings clear from the start and discussing their situation wouldn’t change a thing. He was nothing to her except an insurance policy to keep her resort.

  She didn’t belong down here on the dock.

  She didn’t belong on this bucket with him.

  Yet, she didn’t look like she planned to leave until she had her say. He hoisted himself to his feet and grabbed a grease rag off the toolbox. “What do you want, Charlie?”

  Shifting from one sandal-clad foot to the other, she nibbled her bottom lip. Should he be flattered by how nervous he made his wife? He kept quiet and let her wrestle with whatever was bothering her.

  She stared him straight in the eye and spoke in that infuriating professional tone. “I think you’re right. We’re fighting this attraction too hard. I can’t sleep for thinking about you. I don’t understand what’s happening between us.”

  Was she actually as dense as she acted? It appeared the whole man-woman concept was beyond her realm of comprehension. “I’m a man. You’re a woman. Pretty simple stuff.”

  “So, we should just do it? Then we’d both feel more comfortable,” she stated, nodding.

  He glanced down at his greasy arms and hands. Even if he’d been tempted by her emotionless invitation, her timing stunk. “Right now? Just like that?”

  She twisted her wedding ring and stared at her sandals. She was incredibly sweet when she wasn’t so sure of herself. He liked this vulnerable Charlie. He admired the nerve it took for her to come here.

  “Yes, let’s just do it. Come back to the bungalow and shower.”

  “No way, sweetheart. We play this one on my turf.”

  Chapter Seven

  What had she done? She’d just asked Aaron for sex! Straight-o
ut, asked for it. Her heart pounded. Charlotte opened the tiny refrigerator and found a bottle of water among the assortment of beers. She needed to keep her wits.

  The boat rested high on blocks, like a stage, except there was no audience. The wharf was quiet, almost eerie.

  She rolled the icy plastic bottle across her heated forehead. If she rationalized her resolution according to logic rather than caving to lust, it would work. 1) Aaron was an attractive man with healthy male needs. 2) They both wanted sex. 3) Sex was a natural, biological act. 4) As he said, it would add certain legitimacy to the relationship and convince Edward.

  Her decision was based on pure logic. That look of hurt vulnerability she’d glimpsed in her tough, macho husband had nothing to do with it.

  She twisted the top off the water and took a drink as Aaron stepped back on deck. She gulped. His damp skin glistened in the moonlight. His hair was slicked back, still wet from his shower, and he wore only a pair of khaki shorts. That’s all. No shirt, no shoes, no jewelry. Like that first day he’d caught her attention, he was sizzling, irresistible sex appeal personified.

  He walked over, set her water on the counter, and took her hand in his. “We’d have more privacy below deck.”

  Her nerve floundered. She wanted him, but sex would change the relationship. Was she prepared for that? Would she disappoint him? Would he expect sex every night? If he did, would that be such a terrible hardship?

  Preceding him down the narrow steps, she fought to remain steadfast in her plan. She was in control. This was a conscious decision she’d made to take the relationship into the next phase and relieve some of the tension.

  A streetlamp cast the only light through the small door and window. She couldn’t believe Aaron had lived in this cramped little cabin. The whole place would fit inside her bedroom. Narrow galley, bathroom the size of a closet, and a bed that didn’t look big enough for one adult, much less two. She turned and found him watching her appraise his home.

  Silently, he stepped behind her and leaned around to nuzzle her neck. Tilting her head, she allowed him better access. His hands were firm as they closed around her waist, holding her steady. The combined fabric of her sundress and his shorts weren’t enough to disguise the condition of his body as he pressed tight against her buttocks.