by Francis Ray
“Yeah, right,” Kevin said, then smiled, took the offered hand and came to his feet. “Is it a woman or business that has you steamed?”
Vincent flicked a glance at the bearded man. “Why do you say that?”
“Last week you came out to have fun. This week you came out with blood in your eye.” Kevin grasped the door handle. “That could only come from one of two reasons.”
Vincent didn’t say anything, just waited for Kevin to open the door. When he did, the first person he saw standing there was Charlotte, a wide grin on her face, pumping both fists. He didn’t think, he just grabbed.
He felt her start of surprise, then the melting of her body against his. He kissed her like the starved man he was. She kissed him the same way.
Only the congratulatory thumps on the back brought Vincent back to reality. He realized what he was doing and where he was doing it. Surprise went through him. He’d never been the demonstrative type, especially in public.
Lifting his head, he slipped his arm around Charlotte’s waist and felt her tremble. What they both needed was a heavy bout of hot, mindless sex. Come tonight, that was exactly what he planned for them.
Thankful she still had the car service, Charlotte left Vincent a note saying she had errands to run, then slipped away when he went to the locker room to shower and change. Still shaken from his kiss and her own desire, she hadn’t been sure she would have made it home if she had to drive.
As promised, she’d called Vincent when the plane landed. On learning where he was, she’d gone to watch and cheer him on. She’d marveled at his athletic prowess and the muscular strength and coordination of his graceful body that made her want to run her hands and her lips over every inch of him.
Being conservative, he’d surprised her by wearing only white cotton shorts which, against his toasted brown skin, made him even more striking. The kiss had been another surprise. She’d hungered and thought of little else except being in his arms again while she was away.
Then what?
Vincent, as he had said, was a man. Men wanted intimacy. She had vowed to wait until marriage. With Vincent, she was seriously thinking of abandoning that vow … if he loved her. For she was no longer falling in love, she was in love. If he loved her, if there was a chance for them, she’d take the risk that what they felt for each other was forever.
Curling up on the four-poster, she tried to shut out the little voice that warned her that when you compromised one principle, others would surely follow. Unsuccessful, she threw back the quilt her grandmother had made for her, and dressed in her jogging shorts, sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. Time to stop feeling sorry for herself and do something that she’d been putting off for weeks: get back into her exercise regime. Clipping the front door key to the special loop on the waistband of her shorts, she left.
Although it was after six, the sun remained fierce, reminding her that she had forgotten her shades and sun visor. She never slackened her stride. Perhaps the run would clear her head. She needed to know what to do. The kiss had told her that the next time they were alone, Vincent wouldn’t want to stop until they’d made love. Could she give him what he wanted?
Passing neighbors cutting the lawn, walking dogs, or out jogging like herself, she waved. She’d made a place for herself in the quiet residential neighborhood since she moved there three years ago.
At that time, she’d already been maid of honor twice and, although there was no one special in her life, she had believed that surely her time would soon come. With the rising cost of housing and knowing single men seldom if ever purchased a house, she’d asked her father’s help in finding a house in hopes that she’d share it with a husband and family one day. Now, she had to face reality. That day might never come. If Vincent wasn’t the one, she wasn’t sure she’d ever want anyone again like she wanted him.
She’d never been a whimsical woman. She devoted her all to whatever held her interest. Her family, her friends, her church, her party. Now that included Vincent. She couldn’t imagine loving anyone else so completely, nor did she want to.
She barely noticed the sound of a honking horn. It was common for teenagers to blow at the women joggers. She didn’t realize it was Vincent until he pulled a half block in front of her and got out of his car.
Her stride shortened until she was walking. She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms. The thought scared her. Each time she saw him, the need for him grew. When he walked out of her life, and he would, she’d be torn to pieces.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Hands on his hips, he studied the weariness in her face. This wasn’t the woman who had burned so hotly in his arms a scant two hours ago. “Hello, Charlotte.”
“I’d stop, but I don’t want to cramp up,” she said as she passed him.
“No problem.” Vincent activated the lock on his car and fell into step beside her.
She threw him a quick look. “You aren’t dressed for this. You’ll have a heatstroke.”
He loosened the stone gray silk tie and kept walking. “You finish with your errands all right?”
Her strides lengthened. “Yes, thank you.”
In Vincent’s association with women, exaggerated politeness usually meant annoyance or anger. As Charlotte started up a sharp incline, he regretted again his reckless behavior at the Racquet Club.
“I’m sorry if the kiss embarrassed you.”
Her smooth stride faltered. “It was just a kiss.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. Now he knew he was in trouble. Thunder rumbled. “Perhaps we should go back to the car.”
“I don’t mind the rain.” She pulled ahead of him. “You go ahead. I’ll call later.”
“Hello, Charlotte.”
Never slowing, she waved at the gray-haired woman wearing a straw hat who was watering her bed of begonias. “Good evening, Mrs. Allister.”
“Good evening, young man.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Allister,” Vincent called and easily pulled alongside Charlotte.
Thunder grew closer and more ominous. “Vincent, if you get rained on, you’re going to ruin your clothes.”
“I have others.”
Her mouth firmed, but she didn’t say anything else, just kept jogging. When they turned the block onto Charlotte’s street, the rain started to fall. Drops turned to a torrent in seconds.
“I told you,” she stopped to yell at him.
She looked close to tears, standing there with her small fists balled, glaring at him. She was hurting. He stepped toward her. She backed up. He kept coming until he closed his arms around her. He thought she would fight, but her hands clutched the lapels of his suit jacket. He felt her body shaking and wished he knew the cause.
“Honey, don’t cry, please. Just tell me what it is and I’ll fix it. Please don’t cry,” he soothed, then realized it was ridiculous for them to stand in the rain. He picked her up and started for her house.
This time she reacted. “Put me down,” she demanded, pushing against his chest.
He kept walking. “Hush. I have you and I’m not letting go.”
Immediately she stilled. He looked down into her face. His heart clenched when tears streamed down her cheek. Gathering her closer, he continued to her house. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”
Charlotte had almost pulled herself together by the time Vincent reached her house and stood her on her feet. “You can dry off, and then I’ll drive you back to your car,” she told him.
Vincent silently followed her down the hall. There was nothing he could do about the trail of water he left. In the guest bath, she handed him a large bath towel and a robe. “Your pants and shirt are probably ruined anyway, so the dryer can’t do much worse to them. I’ll be in the kitchen making coffee.”
He caught her arm. “You need to get out of those wet clothes.”
Her fist clenched. “I’ll be fine.”
“Take them off or I’ll do it for you,” he warned.
Because she so
badly wanted to pick a fight with him and take the cowardly way out, she went to her room, changed, and blew her hair dry. She was reaching for her lipstick when she realized what she had been about to do. Make herself pretty for Vincent. Placing the tube on the vanity, she left her bedroom.
None of the women in her family would ever dream of letting a man other than their father see them without at least lipstick and mascara on. Another Southern tradition. She’d break that one, but no others. She had made her decision.
She heard the drone of the clothes dryer as she emerged from the hall. Vincent. Drawing a deep breath, she continued to the kitchen, steeling herself against seeing him again.
It did no good. He simply caused her heart to beat faster, the lower region of her body to pulse with need and desire. He wore the white terry-cloth robe she had given him. Underneath his skin would be warm and bare. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her slacks. “Since you’ve made the coffee, I’ll get the cups.”
He stepped in front of her as she was about to pass him. He watched her as she quickly staggered back. “What’s going on, Charlotte?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing.”
“What happened between this afternoon at the racket match and now? It had to be more than the kiss.”
This was it, the moment she had dreaded and couldn’t avoid. “I decided that we should just be friends and forget about anything else.”
Vincent’s eyes stabbed into her. “You mean forget how it feels to have my hands and mouth all over your body and that—”
With a strangled cry, she pressed her hand to his lips. “Please, don’t.”
Strong, unrelenting hands grasped her upper forearms. “Talk to me. Tell me what it is, so I can fix it.”
“The only way you can fix this is to destroy it.”
He shook his head. A drop of water rolled down from his forehead. He ignored it. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve never been with a man and I don’t plan to until my wedding night.”
Vincent’s mouth fell open and his hands dropped.
SIX
“You mean … .”
Her chin lifted. “Yes.”
“But …” He stared at Charlotte, lush and beautiful. Even now, with her face free of makeup, she was still the most gorgeous woman he had ever met. The first time he’d seen her he’d wanted her and the wanting had only grown more intense since then. “Men follow behind you like birds following a path of bread crumbs.”
“So?” The uncertainty in her eyes changed in a heartbeat to anger. “Where there’s smoke there’s fire?”
Vincent thought of all the fiery passion in Charlotte, but he didn’t think he should point it out at the moment. A virgin. And every time he saw her, he wanted to be inside her. “I think I need to sit down.” He did, eyeing her wearily. She didn’t look any steadier than he did. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction. Charlotte pulled out a tub chair across from Vincent in the breakfast nook and stared out the window at the rain and the jasmine climbing up the redwood trellis of her neighbor’s house.
“Is this what’s been bothering you since Brian and Emma’s shower?”
Surprise had her turning her head toward him. She hadn’t thought he or anyone else had noticed. “No.” The coffee began to drip into the carafe and she got up to get the cups.
“Charlotte, talk to me, help me to understand,” he said quietly.
Since she had been all over him every chance she got, giving him every indication that she wanted what he wanted, she felt he deserved an explanation. Taking a wooden tray from the cabinet, she placed cloth napkins, spoons, cream and sugar, and the cups on top, then brought everything back to the table and sat down.
“I was raised in a loving Christian home and taught that intimacy meant a commitment. At the same time, I was taught to be a Southern lady and that meant charm, grace, femininity, and a deep responsibility to family and the community.” Her hand trembled as she poured cream into her coffee and added sugar. “The men I’ve met in the past have never wanted what I wanted, a home and family.” Her hands clutched around the delicate china cup. She lifted her gaze to his.
“I was melancholy at the shower, because Emma and Brian’s wedding will be my ninth as a maid of honor. Men see the outside and are turned on, but none want me, the person that I am on the inside, enough to stay around once I say no.” She lifted the cup to her lips. The liquid scalded as much as the unshed tears stinging her eyes. In the past, she’d had no trouble telling shortsighted men good-bye. Easy to understand why. She hadn’t loved them.
She set the cup down, looked over Vincent’s shoulder at the copper teakettle on the stove, then rose. “I have some business calls to make. I’ll drive you back to your car when your clothes are dry.”
She started to turn toward her office in the back near the kitchen, then realized she’d be too close to Vincent. “I’ll be in my room. For Brian and Emma’s sake, I hope we can remain civil toward one another.”
She escaped; that was the only way to describe her hasty departure. In her bedroom, head bowed, she sat on the bed. First one, then a second teardrop splashed on the clasped hands in her lap. Her chest hurt. No wonder Brian and Emma had been so miserable that night. It felt as if someone had ripped her heart out. But they loved each other and had made up. That wouldn’t happen for her.
Vincent watched Charlotte go. He didn’t know what to say or do. He hadn’t expected this. His eyes closed, then opened. He was known as the “fixer” by his contemporaries. If there was a problem, call Maxwell, he’d fix it.
His hand rubbed over his face as he thought of what Charlotte had said. “The only way to fix it is to destroy it.”
Pushing to his feet, he pulled off the bathrobe and went to the dryer. He was getting out of there. He had learned to control his zipper early in life. He knew how to court a woman, but in the back of his mind there was always the knowledge that eventually they’d become intimate. For Charlotte intimacy meant marriage.
He jerked the door open and pulled on his still-damp briefs. No woman’s body was worth being tied down and all the resulting responsibilities. He liked his life the way it was, being able to go and come as he pleased, and take off at a moment’s notice for business or pleasure.
Charlotte wouldn’t be the first woman to use sex as a lever. She withheld hers, while Sybil had never said no. Whenever and wherever, she’d been willing. At the time, he hadn’t known it was to help her on her climb to a vice-presidency of the company he’d worked for in Boston.
He’d had the ear of the president and CEO of the company and she’d known it. She’d used the same method in the past, but he hadn’t found that out until later. Women used sex.
He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
Charlotte woke with a headache and dried tears on her cheeks. Accepting that there would be more before she was completely over Vincent, she rolled from the bed and glanced at the clock on her bedside. 7:13. Weak light poured though the arched half window in her bedroom. The rain had stopped. Apparently, Vincent had preferred walking to his car rather than seeing her again. She hadn’t looked forward to seeing him again either.
No, that was a lie. What she hadn’t wanted to see was the accusation in his face. She should have told him sooner she couldn’t be what he wanted. She couldn’t blame him for not sticking around. She just hoped, as she had told him earlier, that they could be civil. Not for anything would she cause Emma and Brian’s wedding to be less than perfect for them.
Pulling off her shirt and pants, she went to take a bath. The world didn’t stop because she was miserable. She had a charity auction to attend. Children were depending on her, no matter how much her head was hurting.
Some time later, she stepped out of the oversized tub. After toweling dry, she rubbed her favorite jasmine-scented lotion over her body. Each movement an effort, she pulled on lacy
purple lingerie trimmed in black, a garter belt, and sheer black stockings. Next came her makeup. By the time she’d applied her lipstick, the pounding in her head was excruciating. Rubbing her temple, she started to the kitchen for an aspirin.
Her head down, out of the corner of her eyes she saw a shadow move. She screamed.
“Charlotte, it’s me,” Vincent said, stepping away from the French doors to cut on the lamp on the end table.
Her heart pounding, she simply stared at him. As she had predicted, the combination of rain and the clothes dryer had shrunk his clothes a bit. He was almost comical with his high-water pants. “I—I thought you had gone.”
His open mouth snapped shut. For some odd reason he seemed to have difficulty swallowing. “I—I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Warmth she couldn’t suppress filled her. If only … “That was nice of you.”
“Charlotte, could you please put on a robe?”
Her hazel eyes widened. She gasped, glanced down, and tore back to her room.
Vincent closed his eyes, but he could still see her in the wicked lingerie, the string bikini with lace inserts that he could very well imagine investigating with his tongue. Shoving both hands over his head, he headed for the refrigerator. He grabbed the first thing he saw, bottled water, and chugged it down.
“Vincent.”
He spun around. Charlotte was dressed, but she was in a long purple gown trimmed in black lace … just as her lingerie had been. He chugged the water again. “I want you, Charlotte.”
“But do you love me?” she asked quietly.
In her expressive face he saw a mixture of misery and hope. “I don’t know. I think about you more than I should and I worry about you.”
Her eyes blinked rapidly as if she were battling tears. “I worry about my friends also. I’d like to have you as a friend.”
His hand clenched on the plastic bottle, causing it to make a popping sound. “What I want to do to you and with you has nothing to do with friendship.”