A Charmed Little Lie

by Sharla Lovelace

  “Oh come on, you can’t bail on me now,” Nick said.

  “I’ve never told anyone this,” I said. “Not even Carmen.”

  He made a crossing sign over his heart. “Doesn’t leave this spot.”

  I sighed. “Until he got to Ground Zero,” I continued, feeling really warm all of a sudden. “Now by the time he got there we were both breathing like we’d run a marathon. I’ve never been so teased up and ready in my life, so when he finally made it under my panties, I literally lasted about three seconds before I came apart. And then so did he.” I laughed. “Poor guy.”

  “Poor guy?” Nick asked. “I can promise you he still cherishes that memory. That’s hot.”

  “I’ve brought towels to put down in the seats in theaters ever since,” I said, making him laugh. “Seriously, think about how nasty those seats are!”

  He was still laughing as he leaned his head back against the stone, his hands still resting on my ankles.

  “It’s nice down here,” he said. “Peaceful.”

  “My favorite place in the whole world,” I said.

  “Okay next question,” he said.

  I groaned. “Is it as embarrassing as the last one?”

  “Why do you hate fireworks?”

  I blew out a breath. That was more complicated.

  “That one’s twofold,” I said. “My mom and dad had a volatile relationship, according to my aunt,” I said. “They were trying to get back together one July fourth, and we went to some picnic thing. Maybe it was the Honey Festival, I’m not sure. Anyway, they were fighting, and wanted to go home, and I wanted to see the fireworks because that’s what my dad had been talking about all day. I’d never seen a big show. So I guess I whined too much, and he got mad and he grabbed me and brought me right up to where they were setting them off and yelled at me to watch the fucking fireworks.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “The people doing it yelled for us to get away but they went off and sparks went everywhere. He got a big one in his eye and I got them too.” I pointed at little white scars on my arms. “He was screaming in pain and my mom was screaming at him, and I was crying about all of it.”

  “Did it blind him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He left that night and never came home.”

  “What?” Nick looked at me.

  “Yep. My mom waited by the window for him for—I don’t know. Months. She stopped being my mom. Stopped caring about anything.” I took a slow breath and let it out. It had been a long time since I’d gone down that particular memory lane and it had my heart pumping. “My Aunt Ruby brought me to her house and I just never went home.”

  Nick was looking at me so intensely I could feel it on my skin. Like he was trying to see the story as I told it.

  “And your mother?”

  I swallowed hard. “She went into a depression I guess. Drank a lot. Took sleeping pills. The house burned to the ground one night while she was sleeping.”

  “Christ, Lanie.”

  I swiped under my eyes as they welled up unexpectedly. “I’ll never know if that was accidental or not, but I do know that being psychotically obsessively in love with my father is what killed her. She never stopped waiting for that asshole to come home, even after what he did to me. She never had a life outside of him, and when he left, she died. Long before she actually did.”

  He squeezed my ankles. “I’m sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry I brought up a bad memory.” He looked around. “Especially down here.”

  I shook my head. “Best place to tell it,” I said, chuckling, trying to shake off the funk. “The good magic down here overwrites the evil.”

  He smiled.

  “I can see a little more about why this place is important to you,” he said.

  I just nodded. It was something I hadn’t thought about in years, but he was right.

  “Me too.”

  “Bee charmers aren’t right in the head, Lanie. Anyone willing to risk death for a taste of sweet on their tongue needs mental help.”

  Chapter Eight

  My phone dinged with an e-mail—a second one. From Cali Dynamics.

  The first was to inquire if I was still interested since my weenie call, when I asked for more time due to a family emergency (not a lie, it qualified). The second had a form attached. For me to fill out on my preferred date to Skype, with all my info.

  My insides quivered, and I tossed my phone onto the bed, where Ralph stared at it from his sprawl. He didn’t look concerned, and I couldn’t be, either. I couldn’t deal with that, yet. I had swimwear to don.

  “Why are we doing this again?” Nick called from down the hall.

  I had been asking myself the same question at least fifty times in the last hour, as I dug for a swimsuit. I couldn’t find my normal one, so I pulled out a second one from the bottom of a suitcase I hadn’t unpacked yet. The way too skimpy one I bought on a lark, that I’d only worn once, and for some silly reason threw into the suitcase.

  “Because the Clarks will be there. And we were invited,” I called back.

  “By your ex-boyfriend who still wants to do you,” he responded.

  “That again?” I said, more to myself, really. I tied my bikini top around my neck and held it to my chest as I rooted around for my long cover-up. “Seriously, his wife is there for one. And he’s all hot air for—”

  “Jesus.”

  I turned to realize I’d been bent over in just skimpy bikini bottoms, my back bare. I instantly jolted upright and pulled the strings around my back to tie them.

  “If you’re gonna be that naked, close your door,” Nick said, suddenly behind me and taking the strings from my hands.

  “Excuse me?” I said, trying to ignore the shiver that went down my back at the feel of his fingers sliding along my skin. “You walk around in only a towel. Every night.”

  Dripping with water and giving me all kinds of increasingly un-game-like thoughts.

  His hands moved upward. “Lift your hair.”

  “Why?”

  He was already pulling the top string loose, and I hurried to grab my hair and clutch my top to my chest.

  “Always have to retie,” he said.

  I felt the friction of fabric against fabric as he pulled it free, and heat rushed straight to my core. I suddenly felt entirely too naked to be this close to him. The swimsuit was too skimpy, and it wasn’t even on yet. Every instinct was to back up against him, to feel him against me, and I had to shake my head to come back to reality. To shut down the mini-movie that had already begun in my head.

  “Spoken like a man with experience,” I managed.

  A snort of disgust came entirely too close to my ear.

  “My ex-wife practically lived in these things,” he said then, even closer as he finished tying.

  Don’t back up. It’s on if you do.

  I turned around instead. And that wasn’t much better. I focused on a long slow inhale to cover up the sharp one my heart slamming caused.

  It was like the towel-troll but with swim shorts and all up close and I was definitely far too unclothed for this. When I made it to his face, I lost the feeling in my toes. His gaze was heavy-lidded and looked like he wanted to go swimming in my cleavage, which may or may not have been of my own fantasy, since I had a mad urge to lead him there.

  But something—something knocking on my brain said that we were alone and that was playing with fire and we needed to save the sparks for the public eye.

  “So the towel bothers you?” he said when our eyes met.

  The game was all up in his tone, but we were home. There was no one watching.

  “It’s a bit distracting, yes,” I said. “I am human.”

  “And you don’t think this is distracting?” he said, his eyes panning south. “Or the tank tops with no bra at night?”

  I felt the heat rush to my face at the knowledge that he’d noticed tha
t. Enough to make a point of it. “Sometimes I wear—”

  “T-shirts,” he finished for me. “Yeah, long ones with nothing underneath.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I wear shorts.”

  “Well, it looks like you don’t,” he said, backing up. “You don’t think that’s maddening to see every night?” He raked both hands through his short hair, the muscles in his arms rippling, and God help me, that move was maybe right on up there with the trolling.

  I licked my lips. I had to keep it together.

  “We should probably go.”

  He nodded. “Please tell me you’re wearing clothes over that,” he said.

  “Of course I am,” I said, scoffing. “I’m not sixteen.”

  “I’m glad one of us isn’t,” he muttered, walking out.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Did you do something with my black hat? The ball cap?”

  “Do something?” I asked. “No.”

  He sighed and kept walking. “It was on my chair and it’s gone. Along with the shirt I just put out to wear. Guess your aunt didn’t like it.”

  * * *

  The Clarks were already there when we came strolling up the road like natives. Our hands found each other as if on automatic pilot, our fingers interlacing so naturally you’d think we’d been together for years instead of three weeks.

  They saw us coming, evidently, as Alicia was already waving and Bryce and his wife stood next to Alan, stoically staring at us as we approached. Nick transferred his hands to my shoulders as he stationed himself behind me and pulled me back against him.

  Oh, dirty pool.

  All the air left me for a second as the solid wall of Nick pressed against my back and warm hands traveled down my bare arms. He was getting too good at this.

  Alan’s grin went decidedly car-salesman-slash-politician as he winked at me and held out a hand for Nick.

  “Glad y’all made it,” he said.

  I looked around at a yard full of people and a good dozen more in the pool. Which although it was off to one side, was technically in the front yard. Because that was logical.

  It was like a who’s who of Charmed. Anyone who had money, clout, or sway was there. Essentially, the whole upscale crowd from Bailey’s Pond, where all the moneyed houses sat on the water on the north end of town with their cute little floating docks. Carmen’s ex, Mayor Dean, was there. As was Bash, who owned Anderson’s Apiary (But I liked Bash. And to his credit, he wasn’t talking to Dean.). I recognized some city hall officials and business owners. So why the hell were we there? Why were the Clarks?

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Nick said, gripping Alan’s hand, his words vibrating against my back.

  “This is a few friends?” I asked.

  Alan chuckled as if that made him super popular. I suspected it was either more about who he schmoozed to be there or about his wife. And I was willing to bet that the redhead strolling around in a tiny white swimsuit with tits the size of my head, laughing and handing out Jello shots, was said wife.

  As she got closer, I saw more of her than I wanted to, as what little fabric she had was sheer and outlined pretty much all God gave her. I also remembered her. She was the gropey, short-shorted ginger from the Blue Banana that couldn’t keep her hands off Nick.

  Good times.

  “Heyyyy!” she said, her eyes going as large as the areolas I could see way too well. “Nicky!”

  Okay.

  I turned in my Nicky space to give him the appropriate WTF look, but I never made it that far. I was halfway around when warm boobs pressed against my back. Or boob to be more accurate. The other one was on Nick. As she squished me into him and made me the filling in a Nicky/skank sandwich, floating in the scent of coconut oil.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she cooed, hugging him-slash-us.

  I wrestled out a hand and raised it.

  “Excuse me,” I said, my face pressed into his collarbone. “Lanie Ba—McKane.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, backing up and chuckling.

  I turned to see those things moving like they were animated.

  “Try not to accost the guests, honey,” Alan said on a laugh, stepping forward to wrap an arm around her waist. “This is my wife, Katrina.” He pasted on a grin for Nick. “Evidently you’ve already met.”

  “Nick’s the talented new chef at the Blue Banana,” Katrina said, with a wink at me like that made us soul sisters. “You know I love that place. And what he can do with an alfredo sauce is just—”

  She closed her eyes and parted her lips, and I swear everyone in a five-foot radius stopped breathing while she looked to have a sexual experience. Bryce sweated more. Alicia snatched a Jello shot and walked away. Even Alan’s eyebrows went up as he watched Katrina.

  “Guess I need to try this magical sauce of his,” I said, gazing lovingly up at my husband. I laid a hand against his abs, letting it slide to settle just an inch or two lower. Just for the satisfaction of feeling his muscles twitch. “Nicky’s never made it for me.”

  “I’ll make it for you any time you want,” he said, running a finger from my cheek all the way down my neck. “A special private tasting.”

  I had no idea if the five-foot radius thing applied that time, but all the blood left my head for other journeys.

  Yeah. Game was definitely on.

  “Nice to meet you,” Katrina said with a head tilt. She did look genuinely sexy-ditzy, to the untrained eye, but I caught the spark of intelligence hiding back there. The one that said she totally knew what she was doing and just how to play it.

  “You too,” I said.

  “I hear you and Alan were an item back in the day?” she asked, winking at me again. I wanted to give her a pirate patch for that eye.

  “Oh,” I said, chuckling. “A very small item.” And then I heard what that sounded like. “I mean, we just hung out in high school,” I tried to amend as Alan’s scalp glowed a little brighter. “Us and Carmen and Dean. Is Carmen here?” I asked, trying to divert.

  I knew she wasn’t. She wouldn’t be caught dead at the same event with our esteemed Mayor Dean Crestwell, who—dammit—was walking toward me. Or even anything with Alan, for that matter, after that little word swap on the day we arrived.

  The day we got married.

  Good Lord, that felt like three months ago instead of three weeks.

  “No,” Alan said. “I never saw her again to invite her.”

  Yeah, tried real hard, too, I was sure.

  “Lanie!” Dean said, hugging me right out of Nick’s grip.

  “Dean,” I said, giving the polite pat. “How are you?”

  “Good,” he said. “Mayor. Have to behave and all that, can you believe it?”

  I laughed. “Like that would stop you.”

  “Well,” he said, giving the endearing smile that had initially won Carmen over many moons ago. Before Sully Hart smiled better. “I just have to work harder at not getting caught.”

  Everyone laughed. That Mayor Dean—what a charmer.

  Not.

  I knew too much.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about your aunt. Let’s grab a coffee or something and catch up later, okay?” he said, a hand on my shoulder as his eyes already panned to his next networking opportunity.

  I nodded with a placating smile as he already moved on. “Sure thing.”

  No way in hell.

  “Nicky, could you come help me with the hors d’oerves?” Katrina asked, looking totally innocent. “I think they need a little something. I know you’ll know just what they need.”

  Really? I bet I knew what they needed too. A little caress and rub down from the hunky chef?

  I felt Nick’s hesitation, but we needed to look comfortable with that sort of thing. Like we weren’t attached at the hip. Alan and Katrina were certainly way past comfortable. Bryce and his wife were—I don’t know what they were. They were
like mannequins with sweat glands.

  “It’s okay, babe,” I said, reaching up to touch his cheek. The soft stubble sent zings through my fingers.

  It wasn’t just zings, however, when he squeezed that hand and kissed my fingertips. Holy shit balls. That was a clear point, set, and match in his favor.

  “Okay,” he said. “Be back in a bit.”

  “Bring me something delish!” I called after him as Katrina curled her arm in his and dragged him off to God knows where, slapping Mayor Dean on the ass as she passed. “Should I send in the cavalry if he doesn’t make it back?” I asked Alan.

  He laughed and threw an arm around me. “Kat’s harmless. Let me show you around out here.” He walked straight away from the Clarks, who didn’t look the least bit put out by it, and little bells sounded in my head. The kind that come with stupid-sticks to poke at me.

  It was a setup. To separate us and either get the truth, or individually cop a feel to prove a point and start shit. Or both.

  “So have you ever had the Cajun infused honey that Mrs. Boudreaux sells at the feed store?” Alan said, his fingers lazily tracing my shoulder before they pointed ahead. “I buy it like crazy to glaze these stuffed jalapeno wraps.”

  My mouth watered on command, as he probably remembered it would. I was nothing if not shamelessly in love with food, and that hadn’t been any different then.

  “Oh wow,” I said as we approached a card table that was nicer than my rent house.

  Alan picked one up and fed it into my mouth before I could stop him. And the visceral reaction to it couldn’t be stopped either, as the sweet and salty and spicy combined to give me a euphoria I hadn’t known in a long time. I closed my eyes to savor it. I probably needed to get laid.

  My eyes sprang open on that thought, and I looked around in case I might have said that out loud. I might need sex, but not for another two months and some change. Not till I wasn’t married anymore, or at least till Nick and I were coming up on the end of it.

  God, did I just think that?

  Not that I planned to have sex with him. I actually had most definitely decided to not have sex with him in the beginning. But that was three weeks ago. Things were getting a little—warm—at times now.