Kissing Charlie

by Elsa Winckler

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Kissing Charlie | Elsa Winckler

  dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  Acknowledgements

  sNEAK pEEK AT Love, In Writing | Chapter One

  About the Author

  Kissing Charlie

  Elsa Winckler

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kissing Charlie

  Copyright © 2021 Elsa Winckler

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-953335-67-8

  (print) 978-1-953335-68-5

  Inkspell Publishing

  207 Moonglow Circle #101

  Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

  Edited By Rie Langdon

  Cover Art By Fantasia Frog

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  dedication

  To everyone struggling to adapt to our ‘new normal’.

  Chapter 1

  Charlie finally focused on the gray, knotted tie. Nobody in the small town of Alisson, Montana, population seven thousand, wore a tie and even if, on the very odd occasion, they did, it didn’t look like this one. Precisely and perfectly done, like the rest of the man in front of her.

  She should probably try breathing again. Now she understood Lilly’s giggle when she’d announced Charlie’s new client.

  The minute he’d entered her consulting room, something sucked all the oxygen from the room in a matter of seconds, leaving her breathless.

  Valiantly, she’d tried to inhale, but around them, the air was vibrating with strange undercurrents.

  “There must be a mistake,” the man said, “I’m looking for...” He glanced at his phone. “Charlie Wilson?”

  She finally managed to get some air in her lungs. “I am Charlene Wilson, Charlie to my friends. How can I help you?” Nearly cringing, she held out her hand. Where did the sudden husky voice come from? She didn’t usually sound like this.

  For a moment, he stared at her outstretched hand before he took his out of his pocket and extended it forward. Fascinated, she stared as his hand folded around hers. Fingers touched, and...wow. An electric shock literally sent shivers down her spine. Shivers? Trying her best to swallow the hysterical giggle threatening to escape, she quickly dropped her hand. She was twenty-eight, for crying out loud; behaving like a schoolgirl was so not the thing to do right now.

  Granted, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous. Broad shoulders, light brown hair slicked back, not one strand out of place—probably didn’t dare—square jaw, brilliant blue eyes; his entire presence emanated an air of purpose and authority. Clearly a man who liked to have everything under control.

  Impatiently, he glanced around him. “I’m Logan Johnson. My mother, Eleanor, made an appointment for me.”

  Of course, her lunch appointment was with Eleanor’s son. She’d known that, but she’d completely forgotten about that little detail for a moment. Eleanor often spoke about her “beautiful son in Seattle,” but beautiful didn’t begin to describe the man in front of her.

  Before Charlie could answer, he rubbed his face, clearly exasperated. “But I thought it was with a medical professional and a...well, not...” He pointed toward the words on her door. “A ‘Bowen therapist,’ whatever the hell that means. I don’t know what she was thinking. Sorry to have wasted your time.” He turned around to leave and in that instant, she noticed the way he stiffly held the upper part of his body.

  Damn it, it was her job to look for signs like this when her clients entered her room, but she’d been so occupied perving about the gorgeous specimen of a man, she hadn’t noticed the usual telltale clues of someone in pain.

  She relaxed. He was clearly upset because one, he’d thought she was a man, and two, he wasn’t comfortable with what she did. But it was also obvious he needed help, and that, she could provide.

  “Chicken?” she asked his retreating back.

  He stopped and slowly turned around. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re in pain. I can help you. The only reason why you won’t let me try is either because I’m a woman or because you’re afraid.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I am certainly not afraid. But I am not prepared to let some”—he motioned in the air with his hands—“pseudo-whatever, put his or her hands on me. I’m in enough pain as it is. What the hell does ‘Bowen therapist’ mean, anyway?” Before she could answer, he sniffed in the air. “And I smell lavender and something woody—what is it?”

  Charlie lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “My sister, Lindsay, and I are both trained nurses. Medical professionals. She has the shop adjacent to my rooms, selling essential oils—that’s what you’re smelling—and I’m trained as a Bowen technique therapist. The Bowen technique is well known in the medical profession and if you give me a chance, I promise you I can help.”

  He moved as if to turn, and winced. Grabbing on to the back of the chair with one hand, he cursed under his breath.

  Interesting. Not so in control all the time, apparently.

  “I can help you,” she repeated, holding her breath. It would be better it if he’d simply leave. The mere thought of having to put her hands on him had her all flustered. But however unpleasant and uptight he was, she’d have to try and help him; otherwise, she’d worry about him all day.

  Fortunately, Bowen Therapy did not require intense massaging; surely she could do this without having palpitations, for goodness’ sake.

  He finally spoke. “Okay, damn it, I’m here. Let’s do this. But if you do any hocus-pocus stuff, I’m out of here.”

  Her hands were itching to pick up something to throw at him, but pressing her lips together to make sure she wouldn’t say anything she’d regret later, she pointed toward the table.

  “Please lie down on your back.” She pulled the curtain around the padded table. “There is no need for you to take off your clothes...” Images of his naked body nearly had her tripping over her own feet. “But you may be more comfortable without your jacket and...and tie.”

  She waited until he’d disappeared behind the curtain before she exhaled. What was wrong with her, for goodness’ sake? Here she was, nearly hyperventilating, and all because of a man. Yes, he was seriously attractive, but he was, nevertheless, just a man.

  One with a perfectly knotted tie.

  He was lying down, as she’d instructed, when she opened the curtain.

  “How did you hurt your back?” Her voice was cool, and she wasn’t meeting
his eyes.

  “While hiking,” he said curtly. He was in pain; it didn’t matter what the hell happened. “Tell me about this Wowen, Bowen, whatever the hell you call this cr—therapy.”

  She gave him a cool look. “It’s called Bowen Therapy.”

  “Bowen Therapy,” he said, his gaze on her mouth.

  “The guiding principles of the technique were established by Tom Bowen during the 1950s. It focuses on the whole person, not just the condition. In other words, it treats the cause, not only the symptoms. It helps the body to heal and restores the balance by shifting the body from your innate ‘fight or flight’ system to a more natural state of calm.”

  He watched her as she studied his body. She was holding something in her hand. Damn, she had yet to touch him, but he was struggling not to react to her nearness. The fact that he was lying on his back wasn’t helping, either.

  “Natural state of calm? With you doing strange things to my body?” he grumbled, only realizing the ambiguity of his words when they hung in the air around them.

  Her lips twitched.

  “Oh, you think this is funny?” he snarled.

  “I think you’re in pain. I think you like being in control and at the moment, you’re not. That’s why you feel the need to lash out. But it’s fine. I often have children throwing tantrums.”

  “I’m not throwing a tantrum, damn it...” He tried to sit up straight, but a pain shot up his back, and groaning, he had to slowly lie down again.

  “The movements in Bowen Therapy,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her, “are very distinctive and are used on precise points on the body. It involves moving the soft tissue in a particular way. I will use a rolling-type movement, using my fingers, hands, or sometimes my elbow. It will create a focus for the brain by stimulating the nerve pathways and tissue. I work on only a small area, depending how far your skin can move. What you may find strange—”

  “This whole damn day is strange. I don’t know what the hell my mother was thinking,” he muttered.

  But the lady was not to be fazed. “—is that in between working on you, I’ll leave the room. This is when the body starts repairing itself. Close your eyes, please?”

  Close his eyes? Not while he had no idea what she was going to do. And how the hell could anything be repaired when she’d be leaving the damn room? This would teach him not to ever listen to his mother again.

  “Please?” she asked, and smiled.

  He closed his eyes quickly. If he had to look at her for one more minute, he’d be in trouble. It was getting more and more difficult to keep his body under control as it was.

  “Okay, keep your eyes closed and breathe,” she crooned, after a few seconds. Bangles jingled, soft hands touched his sides, moved slowly toward his back. To the exact spot where the pain was. His eyes flew open.

  “How do know...?”

  “I used a crystal,” she muttered. She was bending over him, her earrings—miniature chandeliers, really—were caressing her cheek and her long hair fell forward like a curtain, touching his shirt. Roses. That was what he was smelling. His body reacted and he swallowed a groan. The woman was killing him.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a physical reaction to someone he’d just met.

  She lifted her arms and moved away. “I’m going out of the room now. Close your eyes and try to...relax.” The last word was muffled as she quickly left the room.

  Damn it to hell and back. He should’ve paid more attention when she’d phoned to sing the praises of the “wonderful therapist” Charlie, who, she’d claimed, had “fixed” her neck, leaving her free of pain for the first time in years. She hadn’t mentioned that “Charlie” was a gorgeous-looking woman.

  He should’ve remembered his mother never did anything normal people did.

  But she’d phoned when he’d been on his way to a meeting he was already late for. He’d eventually caved, partly because the meeting had been about to begin and partly because he’d felt so guilty he hadn’t been back home since his sister Brooke’s husband’s funeral two years before.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen his family, though. His mom, Brooke, and her son, Connor, had visited him in Seattle a few times over the last two years, and they’d all been to his cabin in Mount Rainier National Park near the city a couple of times.

  There wasn’t really time in his busy schedule to fly to Bozeman, get a car, and then still drive the extra forty minutes to Alisson. He was the CEO of a fund-managing company and worked twenty-four-seven. It had been his goal in life to make enough money so that he could have the life he wanted.

  But, he’d calculated, this way he’d manage to see his mom and sister and maybe get some relief from the constant backache that had been plaguing him for the last few weeks. Time in his busy day to find out where a good physio or chiropractor was, he didn’t have. Anna, his PA, would gladly help, but this was the kind of thing he’d rather do himself. Nobody else needed to know how much pain he was in.

  What he hadn’t expected, though, was that the “therapist” would be so beautiful. He saw pretty women every day, but something about this therapist had caught him off guard. With clear blue eyes, long, blond curls cascading down her back, and a slim body, she was simply exquisite.

  But what the hell was she wearing? In a glittering pink top that left her arms bare while delicate lace gathered gently around her long neck, and a soft, layered skirt that fell to the ground, she didn’t look like any medical professional he knew.

  The women he was used to, and whom he met on a daily basis in business, wore appropriate suits that didn’t distract from the work at hand. And he’d been on his way out of the door of Charlie’s office—he still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up on this table, on his back. Yet here he was, trusting someone he didn’t know from Adam to relieve his pain.

  Why on earth would his mother think he would let a...a...gypsy like this treat his back?

  Charlie braced herself before she opened the door to her office again. Fortunately, Lindsay and Lilly were still out to lunch because otherwise they both would’ve noticed Charlie’s flushed face when she’d literally fled her own rooms a few minutes ago. She had no idea how to explain what was happening.

  He’d reacted to her—she couldn’t help but notice it. What she hadn’t expected, though, was what the sight of his “reaction” did to her. In her tight top, her hardened nipples were easily noticeable; she’d had to get out of there quickly. Hopefully, the ridiculous moment had passed and she’d return to her cool self.

  Still muttering, she opened the door. Logan was sitting on the table.

  “You’re not supposed to move,” she scolded. “But since you’re up...” Her gaze flew to his crotch before she could help it and her ability to speak disappeared.

  “So, you’ve noticed.” His jaw was stiff, his eyes mere slits. I’m...sorry, and—”

  She cut him off with a wave of jingling bangles and cleared her throat. “Please lie on your stomach.” He was undoubtedly embarrassed because his body was refusing to toe the line.

  Oh, my word, what’s up with the husky voice today?

  Scowling, he lay down with a grunt and she put her hands on his back.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Just relax.” While applying subtle, relaxing rolling moves across the muscles and tendons of his lower back, she tried her best not to look at his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, his perfectly rounded butt.

  This was going to be the longest forty-five minutes of her life.

  It was only after he’d put on his jacket that it hit him: his mother was trying to set him up with the lovely therapist.

  He’d been wracking his brain, trying to understand why his mother would send him to someone like Charlie Wilson. He’d been here for what felt like an eternity, but he was still in pain. What the hell the “technique” was, he still had no idea, but she’d barely touched his body. A few feather-like movements would be followed
by her leaving the room, and each damn time he was left aching for more of her touch. This was no real therapy.

  He cursed under his breath. Whatever she was doing, it was obviously utter nonsense and if his body hadn’t been so out of control, he would’ve caught on much earlier.

  But now his brain cells had finally started working again, and it was clear as daylight what was going on here. His mother had figured he would fall for the lovely therapist, or whatever the hell she was, the minute he saw her.

  He should have suspected something like this—his mother had been way too insistent. She wanted to see him married and settled. She wanted grandbabies, he was told regularly. But he never imagined she’d try and do something like this.

  Just then the door opened and Charlie was back. And just as quickly, his body reacted to her again. With her nearby, there was no possibility of his body reaching a state of calm, as she’d so quaintly put it.

  Fed up with the way his mother had conned him again, he tried counting silently to ten before he spoke, but he was still furious. “I’ve finally realized what’s going on here. You’re obviously in on the deal. So let me be perfectly clear—I’m not in the market for a wife. So this whole”—angrily, he motioned with his hand—“charade, was all in vain.”

  Her eyes widened and she caught her breath before she burst out laughing. Stunned, he could only stare. She laughed with utter abandon. Her whole body took part—blue eyes twinkled, the bangles on her arms jingled, even her hair was bouncing merrily to the sound.

  He gnashed his teeth. “It’s not funny.”

  She let out another giggle before she finally managed to gulp in her laugh. But her eyes were still filled with mirth. “I assure you, sir, getting married is so not something I’m interested in. I’m very happy with my life. You don’t have to worry that I have designs...” Another giggle erupted before she quickly composed her face. “Drink lots of water when you get home and don’t do any other strenuous exercises. And do give my best to your mother. She is a such lovely person.”

  He didn’t miss the slight emphasis on “she.” As Charlie spoke, she walked toward the door and opened it widely.