We dined early at the Bourbon Steak, and when I was satisfied with the change in her mood, I intertwined my fingers with hers and escorted her back to the car for our ride to the hotel.
Charlotte watched me, puzzled and visibly hurt, despite her efforts to hide it, when I brushed my fingers across her cheeks and left for my room. The shy smile that greeted me half an hour later as she opened the door of her own room caused a warm throbbing in my chest. I kissed her deeply even as I absently rubbed at the heaviness in my chest.
“Care to join me for an evening stroll?”
“I thought...”
“No assumptions, Charlotte,” I interrupted her, pushing my way into the room with her tightly in my arms. “When you need to know something, ask me. I’ll try my best to answer.” She nodded pensively, knowing I meant more than just tonight.
I held up the little package I had brought and assessed her surprised reaction with a barely suppressed grin. Her attention traveled between me and the box as she deftly ripped the gift paper to reveal the sports outfit I had picked that morning. Her momentary interest turned immediately into a disconcerted scowl.
“Is this your subtle way of telling me that I should lose weight?”
When I understood her question was not a joke, I growled. Loudly.
“No. Get dressed and meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, giving me a mock salute.
“Oh, Charlotte,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Tempt me like this, and I will not be accountable for my actions.” I slipped out of her room to the sound of youthful laughter.
BY THE TIME WE WALKED hand in hand past the gates of Rock Creek Park, Charlotte hadn’t figured out my plan. However, when I rented a bicycle, she paled like a marble statue.
“Are you planning on killing me?” she demanded, horrified, stepping away from the bike as if it was a venomous creature ready to strike.
“I’m planning on teaching you how to ride a bike.”
“I’m content when you ride your bike, and I’m behind you. That is when you drive within the speed limit and don’t race—”
“Charlotte, calm down.” I cupped her face and kissed her, uninterested in who might see us. “What are you afraid of?”
“Falling, evidently.” But that was not all. Her agitation was too wild.
“And?” Hesitating, she looked at the bike doubtfully.
“I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
Her voice was so soft and vulnerable that all amusement left me in an instant. I enveloped her in my arms and kissed her hair.
“You are not going to fall. I’m not going to let you.”
I lowered the seat, watching her reluctantly sling a leg over the bike and clasp the handlebars more firmly than was required. Her jaw was set and her brown gaze intensely focused. Although I couldn’t hear her heart beating, I could guarantee it was pounding frantically.
“Here are the brakes,” I told her, pointing to the handlebar. “And here are the pedals.” I touched them with the tip of my shoes. Charlotte rolled her eyes, exasperated, but her mouth curved at the corner as she slowly loosened up.
“The point is to never stop pedaling. I know the theory.”
“First, practice your balance. Straddle the seat, and let’s walk a little. You should get the feel of how the bike moves and how you should steer it.”
I placed a hand at the small of her back and walked beside her, giving her the confidence she needed while making sure she was completely safe at all times.
Charlotte moved with the caution of a little girl and wore the most innocent look on her face, but the body flexing and tensing under my touch was pure, tantalizing woman.
“Am I doing it right, coach?”
I hummed my approval and bent to suck at the soft skin behind her ear. Charlotte moaned, leaned into me, and briefly lost control of her bike.
“Yes.”
My hand shot out to grab the handlebar. Straightening, I chuckled as I brushed her heated cheeks. I had never imagined she would look so irresistible on a skinny little bicycle.
“Let’s move a little faster.”
“But—”
“On a bike, moving slow and hesitating is what gets you face down on the ground.”
She obeyed and pushed herself against the flat concrete faster, but her former, difficultly-acquired relaxation vanished. She squared her shoulders, stiffened her spine, and scowled, concentrating on the road ahead.
Charlotte and I were alike in many respects. Neither of us enjoyed when we were put in situations that we couldn’t control, yet we enjoyed challenges and didn’t back down.
Always in contact with her body in one way or another, I helped her steer the bike with her hands, take turns, and move with the help of her body until I was utterly satisfied that she could take her feet off the ground.
“Let’s raise the seat a little bit.”
“It’s okay like this.”
I gave her a wicked wink and pinched her chin. “You’re going to ride now, Charlotte.”
Her lips parted on a gasp, and that enticing tongue of hers darted out to curl around her lower lip as her pearly teeth sank in the flesh. She read my thoughts as clearly as if I had spoken them out loud. At that moment, as her pupils dilated to dark points, the only thing I wanted her to ride was me.
“Um, okay.”
I held the bike with both hands, steadying it for her. Between me flustering her and suddenly not having the ground underneath her feet, Charlotte momentarily lost her balance. Impulsively, her right arm wrapped around my shoulders and clung tightly.
“Hands on the handlebars, Charlotte,” I instructed, my voice coming a little rougher than I had intended. “Start pedaling.”
I did not remove my hands from the bike, and when she started pedaling, the bike didn’t budge an inch. Uncomprehending, Charlotte cast me a puzzled look, but I urged her to continue. When she became sufficiently confident in her skill, I removed my hands from the handlebars and allowed her to pedal down the trail. My left hand, however, never stopped gripping the leather seat of her bike.
“Faster. And don’t stop pedaling.”
Soon, I had to jog to keep up with her, but her ecstatic grin and the way she enjoyed herself like a child made it worth the effort.
When we met, I had been afraid of what Charlotte made me feel. Now the feelings were too powerful to deny. Charlotte Burton had gotten under my skin, and she was going nowhere.
“Excellent, sugar. Now, I’m going to take my hand off.”
“I’m not sure I can...”
“You can, Charlotte. Keep pedaling.”
I released the bicycle and allowed her to pedal freely. I was never too far behind, but I didn’t go too close either. If she relied on my presence to feel safe while riding the bike, she would never trust doing it on her on.
For another couple of minutes, while I jogged behind her, Charlotte continued pedaling, then her sudden shriek startled even the birds in the trees.
“Marcus!” As soon as she cried out, my arms wrapped tightly around her waist and caught her before she even began falling.
“I’ve got you.”
The blistering look she gave me was enough to make me groan and hug her tighter. Families with children and smitten couples walked past us, but the center of my existence and the only one holding my interest was Charlotte. I cupped her cheek and met her halfway for a sweltering kiss.
“You have a riding fixation. Motorcycles, horses, and now bicycles? What’s next?” Charlotte demanded while we made our way back to the rented car.
Darkness had fallen, and Charlotte sagged happily against my side. I hated that tomorrow she would resume the stressful work that brought her no satisfaction.
“Unicycle, perhaps?”
“Very funny.”
“And you look delicious on every one of them. I’d take Kai’s suggestion into consideration if I were able to paint you myself. The image of you spread n
aked on my motorcycle, watching me as my eyes caress every inch of your body, makes me wild and desperately in need of you.”
“Then drive faster,” she teased.
I could only oblige.
THE FOLLOWING TWO DAYS I hardly saw anything of Charlotte. She left the hotel early and returned long after dinner time, which allowed me to complete a few tasks that Weston Caldwell had emailed me, yet her absence and especially the way she had to exhaust herself over a case she did not believe in didn’t warm me up to her father or to her client’s cause.
Friday evening, we dined in my room, only to mess the place enough that the cleaning staff wouldn’t wonder whether the room was occupied or not.
I took Charlotte to bed well before midnight and was pleasantly assaulted by an exhausted but thoroughly aroused handful of woman, who practiced her riding skills and nearly made me lose my mind.
Saturday, she holed up in a conference room at Drake Kendrix Zane with the whole legal team and Mitch Stewart himself. When she returned to her hotel room, where I was already waiting for her, she rushed into my open arms and started crying—not a quiet cry, with tears trickling down her cheeks, but a cry with uncontrolled sobs that made her body shake.
I gritted my teeth until my jaw hurt, but I held her in silence and stroked the tears away.
By Sunday noon, I managed to boost her mood enough that the notion of a walk to Constitution Gardens piqued her interest. If the only way I could help ease her mind was to keep it occupied with something other than that damned case, then I would sure as hell do it.
“Do you own a professional camera?” I asked her out of the blue.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, dressed casually and wearing no makeup, Charlotte finally looked her age. When stress and worry didn’t mar her expression, she radiated a different kind of beauty, an irresistible charm. She threw me a puzzled glance and drew her lower lip between her teeth.
“Mm, yes,” she replied uncertainly. “Are you going to tell my father?”
My enthusiasm momentarily faltered, and the surprise I had prepared for her didn’t seem as inspired as it had when I came up with the idea.
“Do you, by any chance, still use it?” I pressed on.
“What’s with the inquisition?” An adorable frown knit her brows together, and to her immediate dismay, I chuckled.
“Yes or no?”
“Sometimes, yes,” she let out exasperated. “But it’s old and a pain in the behind.”
I grunted and winked satisfied then took her hand and led her to the adjacent sitting area of her room. On the coffee table, there were three gift boxes wrapped in glossy red and white paper with a huge bow on top of the middle box.
“You didn’t.”
Charlotte grinned and squealed and darted for her gifts, ripping the paper and digging through the boxes like a child on Christmas morning.
I knew nothing about photography or DSLR cameras, but the saleswoman had sworn that the brand, as well as the model, was top-notch.
Additionally, I had bought a tripod and an empty picture frame the size of a drawing block, hoping that Charlotte would use it for one of her masterpieces.
“Is it any good?” I asked and leaned my hip against a loveseat, crossing my arms over my chest and enjoying Charlotte’s cheerfulness.
“Yeah, Marcus, it’s—” she trailed off and put the camera back on the table. “I’m not used to receiving expensive gifts.”
“That’s nothing,” I said and walked over to her to smooth the worry lines between her brows. “From now on, you’d better get used to it.”
I brushed my lips against hers and swallowed the little moan she gave. If I kept touching her, she would never finish unpacking her gifts, so I went back to the loveseat and let her explore.
Next, she revealed the tripod and commented on its sturdiness then opened the box with the picture frame and looked it over carefully.
“What’s this for?”
“Kai offered to paint you, but what about framing your own work?” She glowed, a thousand dreams waltzing in her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she considered the possibility. “I hope you’ll use this to frame one of your dearest pictures.”
A couple of hours later, in Constitution Gardens, Charlotte was practically bouncing while I lay quietly on the ground, admiring her. With the Canon held adroitly in her hands, she knelt and rotated, capturing the lake and the trees from all angles.
“You should be doing this more frequently,” I told her, nodding to the camera she was holding reverently between her hands.
I didn’t need her to tell me that she hadn’t indulged in her passion for a very long time. The joy in her eyes and the enthusiasm that she couldn’t curb were proof enough.
“Indeed,” she agreed and snapped several photos of me in quick succession, grinning broadly when she eventually came to settle in my arms, the camera resting on the grass next to us. “I missed this. Thank you.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I want you to be happy. I’m especially happy myself when I am the cause for your happiness or at least part of it.”
She craned her neck and caught my lower lip between sharp, demanding teeth. I was used to leading in a relationship. Hell, I was always used to leading in my life. Yet, Charlotte taught me it was equally rewarding to be led, to surrender, and simply be the recipient of someone’s attention.
“What happened the night of the movie?” I asked all of a sudden.
Charlotte stared at me, then her mouth curved, and her expression turned sultry at the memory. Against all rational thought, she had enjoyed my attention even then.
“Your sister and her husband were worried,” I supplied.
“You remember...”
“I remember a lot of things. Like how delighted you were when I showed up.”
“Oh please, don’t get cocky,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes.
I picked the camera off the ground and snapped a quick picture of her, lying there in my arms, looking cheerful, albeit cheeky. Charlotte giggled then sighed contentedly, and I couldn’t help but notice how different she looked in that moment from the commanding lawyer.
“My niece had a fever. You met her last Sunday.”
I remembered the wide-eyed baby girl, sitting in her fuchsia stroller. And I also remembered the near heart attack she had given me. The little girl was basically mini-Charlotte. For a tiny, dreadful moment, I had wondered if she was her daughter.
“I’d like to meet her again, get fully and properly introduced.”
“Christina might not like you much.” Shyly, almost repentantly, Charlotte looked up at me from beneath thick lashes. “But she does want to meet you too. Get fully and properly introduced.”
“I deserve that. I do hope her sister still likes me, even a little.”
“That’s an understatement of how I feel.”
Charlotte’s eyes were loaded with too much emotion. My chest hurt, and my lungs burned from lack of air. It should have been simple, two people falling for each other, but nothing worth having was simple.
Stroking Charlotte’s face, I sighed and let my head drop in the grass. I always failed when I needed the most to succeed.
“Don’t let me fail you, Charlotte,” I pleaded.
Chapter 26
Charlotte
Despite Marcus’s desire to spend all his time in Washington with me, playing the role of an unpaid bodyguard and excessively skilled lover, he had his own job to return to.
I awakened to an empty bed and a displeased call from the almighty James Burton, then I went through my morning routine swiftly but with a restlessness that made me jittery and quite gloomy. I didn’t realize I had been feeling safer knowing Marcus was around until I knew he wasn’t there anymore.
At nine o’clock sharp, Vincent Cole knocked on my door. With a resigned sigh, I opened to find him leaning against the doorframe, holding two tall paper cups, emanating the delicious scent of dark coffee. When he saw me
dressed in a dark blue sheath dress, he greeted me with a crooked smile that mitigated the severity of his features.
During the past weeks, I had fluctuated from disliking him as much as I hated Drake to actually appreciating his opinions and work ethic. Once you got to know him, he seemed an honest man, with a staggering drive for work, who pursued his goals with sharp ruthlessness.
Still, I suspected him of being stealthily ambitious, but for the moment, I chose to ignore that trait of his personality. Lately, it seemed he had as many reservations about Jack as I did.
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the cup of coffee and falling into step beside him.
“Have you had breakfast? I’d like to discuss something with you.”
“Sure. I was just heading out.”
“Perfect.”
We didn’t bother chatting on our way to the French bistro downstairs and remained in companionable silence for the first part of our breakfast. Cole was the kind of man who didn’t tolerate small talk, and strangely, his attitude did not offend me. After all, talking anything but business would have made us both feel awkward.
“I’ll be forthright,” he said out of the blue, placing the napkin beside his plate and straightening in his seat. The look in his eyes was as stern as his voice. “Has Mayor Stewart threatened you?”
“No? Why would you think that?”
His grave stare turned graver still, if that was possible. He looked around nervously as if somebody might be keeping an eye on us, and maybe his prudence was not entirely misplaced. The thought chilled me and made me miss Marcus all the more.
“Maybe I should not have mentioned it—”
He cast another glance around us, making me feel as suspicious as he seemed to be. Tension seized me more fiercely with each passing moment, and the ache in my bones amplified. It was clear that Vincent Cole was a man fearing for his safety, a man who had been threatened.
“If Mitch Stewart threatened you, that is very serious.”
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