John took a cleansing breath, relieved she wasn’t ending things before they could go anywhere. He liked Charlee, despite the questions he had about her. As much as he was trying to convince himself that he was spending time with her to see if she was hiding anything—like an association with the RRA—he really just wanted to get to know her better. She was sexy and smart with a wicked sense of humor. And didn’t rattle easily, which in his line of work was an asset in a woman he became involved with.
“Looks like we both have a lot to learn about dating. Or remember, at any rate.”
“I think things have changed a lot since you and I were last dating,” she agreed. “So, I would love to have dinner with you, but I just got to the school and I really do need to get this research done. If I can get it done tonight, then I would be free tomorrow night…if that works with your schedule.”
“Yeah, that might actually work out better than my impulsiveness. I could go to the store and plan it out a little better.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
John laughed. “Charlee, how can you be imposing when I invited you over?”
“You invited me over tonight—not tomorrow night.”
He continued to laugh and after a moment, she joined in. “I really suck at this dating thing…I promise to get better.”
“You’re fine,” he said. “Or at least as good as me, which makes me feel less inept at it.”
“Well, we compliment each other. Or is it a case of misery loves company?”
“Sounds about right.” He glanced at his watch. He had been talking to her for a good ten minutes when she had other things to do. Although, the thought of getting off the phone with her was unsettling. “Okay, so tomorrow night. Is nineteen hundred good for you?”
“Nineteen hundred what?”
“Sorry, is seven o’clock good for you?”
“Yes, it’s perfect. Text me your address. Do you need for me to bring anything?”
“Nope, I got this covered.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” She paused. “Thanks for asking. I enjoy spending time with you.”
He grinned, and warmth spread through his chest. “I do, too. See ou tomorrow.”
She disconnected and he quickly texted her the address. Glancing around the room, his gaze fell on a framed picture of Grace on the mantel. In the past, whenever he had considered getting out in the world of dating and trying to meet someone, guilt nearly drowned him. But as he looked at his wife, he could almost hear her telling him to go for it with Charlee.
And he planned on doing just that. He only hoped he didn’t find out she was just using him.
Charlee grabbed the stack of essays from her desk and headed out the door. She was disappointed that she wasn’t going to have dinner with John, but figured if she graded a good portion of the essays now, she would feel better about taking the night off to go to John’s the next day.
As she made her way back to the parking lot, she passed a bench where someone had left a newspaper. It caught her eye because, even in academia, print newspapers were a rarity. On a campus filled with young students who were incredibly tech savvy, it was even more unusual.
The front page had a story about Andropov’s body being found in the parking lot. She skimmed the article to see if she or John had been mentioned, but found only a reference to restaurant patrons coming across the body and calling 911.
Not much information was known. The police would not comment on whether Andropov was murdered, and gave no details regarding his injuries, except to state that the investigation was ongoing. She flipped to the next page. Police were asking for information regarding a man seen leaving the scene. A local jeweler recalled seeing a young man in a black hoodie coming from the restaurant right before police arrived.
Charlee re-read the description. Tall and lanky. Appeared to be male. Wearing a black sweatshirt. The jeweler claimed there was a graphic on the front—a white circle with random red lines that looked like a game of pick-up sticks.
The description sounded familiar. Aside from there being a thousands of young men that would fit the physical description, the sweatshirt caught her attention. Connor had one similar to it—some band he listened to loud enough that Charlee could hear the music from his noise-cancelling headphones. Not that she could ever make out any of the words. In fact, it sounded more like a bunch of yelling at screeching being passed off as music.
The entire description—down to the beanie and the hoodie—could be her son. She never in a million years would’ve thought she’d consider him being involved in something so heinous as murder. But his sudden shift in attitude and demeanor, along with the videos she had found on his computer…worry and fear engulfed her in an icy cloak.
“Professor Finch?”
Charlee looked up to find her student, Luka, standing in front of her. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You look like you’ve just received bad news.”
If any of her thoughts were true…
“Uh, no—I’m fine. Thanks.” She folded the newspaper and tucked it into her bag. “How are you?”
“Fine.” He grinned and glanced over his shoulder. “Just getting some studying in before I meet up with some friends.”
Charlee nodded, but was not the least bit interested in standing around talking to Luka. He was a nice kid. Smart as a whip and loved Russian history, but Charlee wanted to get in her car, and go home. Everything she had learned was starting to make her skin crawl and her heart hurt.
All she could think of was getting home and pouring herself a nice big glass of wine and forgetting everything that had happened that weekend. Everything but John.
“Are you getting ready to go home for Thanksgiving?” she asked.
“No.” His eyes darkened a bit. “I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”
“Really? Why not?”
The darkness slipped away, replaced by a smile. “It just seems like a waste of money to fly home for a couple of days when I can just wait a month and go at Christmas break.”
“That makes sense.” She glanced at her car in the parking lot, eager to get started back across the bridge to Newport. “Well, enjoy your night. I’ll see you in class next week.”
“Yep,” he said, but didn’t make a move to let her pass.
She stepped around him. “Bye, Luka.”
“Bye, Professor.” When she reached her vehicle, she glanced back at Luka. He stood in the same spot, staring at her.
Odd.
He waved at her and walked away. Charlee laughed without humor. “Stop seeing conspiracies everywhere,” she chastised herself as she started the car and made her way home.
Chapter Eleven
Charlee pulled into the driveway next to John’s truck, per his text instructions. Grabbing the bottle of red wine from the passenger seat, she climbed the steps of the front porch and knocked on the door. Footsteps came from somewhere inside the house, and the door opened. John stood in front of her, a wide smile on his handsome face, and Charlee nearly melted into a puddle at his feet.
Holy hell, he can fill out a white t-shirt jeans.
“Come in,” he said, stepping out of the way so she could enter. When he closed the door behind her, she handed him the wine. “I told you that you didn’t need to bring anything.”
“My mother would consider it a parental failing if I came empty-handed.”
His smile widened, and his straight white teeth gleamed. “How would she ever know?”
“The guilt would eat at me until I confessed,” Charlee said. “Eight years of Catholic school and etiquette training. Some habits are impossible to break.”
John glanced at the label. “Well, lucky for you, it will be a perfect compliment to the steaks I’m grilling.” He stopped and glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn together over the bridge of his nose. “You’re not vegetarian are you?”
She shook her head. “God, no. Certified meat and potatoes eater.”
“Good to know,” he set the wine on the kitchen counter as she took off her coat and draped it over one of the bar stools along the high counter.
“You’re house is lovely. Off the beaten track a bit. I never even knew about this road until now.”
He picked up a platter of raw steaks and walked toward french doors that led out to a deck. “That’s the way I like it. I was never big on having neighbors so close they could see in your windows.” He opened the door. “Through that doorway—” he pointed to an opening behind her—“is the dining room. On the sideboard is an electric wine bottle opener and some glasses. Why don’t you open the wine and pour a couple of glasses while I get these going.”
“I can do that.” She grabbed the bottle. “Anything else I can help with?”
“Nope,” he said, his eyes dancing, “tonight you don’t have to do anything but enjoy yourself—it’s your night off, remember?”
When was the last time she had relaxed and let go off responsibilities? The night John had taken her out to dinner. Even though the night had ended in tragedy, she had enjoyed herself at dinner. John was as intelligent as he was good-looking, and the conversation flowed easily between them. The thought of having another night like that—minus her ex-husband and a dead man mucking up the evening—made her almost giddy.
The meal was excellent, and Charlee didn’t even try to look demure while eating. John grilled steak like no one she had ever met, and she wasn’t ashamed to have eaten ever last morsel on her plate.
Refilling their wine glasses, John escorted her into a family room at the back of the house. A fire roared in the massive stone fireplace, crackling and filling the room with the scent of pine and smoke.
“So, where is your son--Connor, right? Where is he tonight?”
“Sleeping over at his dad’s house.” Charlee had managed to put aside all thoughts of her son for a couple of hours, but the fears around what he was involved in—and what he may have done—burned a path from her stomach to her chest. Her lungs constricted, and she felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. She forced herself to take slow, steady breaths, praying John couldn’t see the shift in her demeanor.
“Is something going on with him?”
She stared at him. “Why do you ask?”
“I watched nearly all the blood drain from your face at the mention of Connor.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “What’s up?”
Nothing much…I think my kid is trying to join a terrorist group and may have had something to do with the murder of Dr. Andropov. But nothing I can’t handle…
There was no way Charlee could tell him what she suspected after reading the reports on the murder of Dr. Andropov. She had no real proof that Connor was even involved. She had a gut feel—mother’s intuition—along with some videos on his computer. That didn’t really mean much in the whole scheme of things. In fact, she was sure if she brought it up, John would laugh at her and think she had a few screws loose in the old noggin.
But the way he held her gaze, not allowing her to look away, told her he would not let her get away with brushing the subject aside.
“I’m battling with trying to understand the difference between normal teenage rebellion and a teen in trouble.” She placed her wine glass on the coffee table and leaned back against the cushions. “I mean, Connor was always such a sweet kid. Then, almost overnight, he started talking back to me. Became secretive. Started lying about stupid shit he didn’t need to lie about…I’m just worried about him. He’s so different these days. And when I tried to talk to his father about my concerns, he just chastised me for smothering Connor.”
John scrutinized her, and she wondered if he was trying to determine if she was only giving him part of the story—which, of course, she was. Finally, he ran his hand over the top of his head and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help in that area. I was deployed for much of the boys’ teen years, but I do recall Grace dealing with the same issues.”
“I’m sure it’s normal,” Charlee said, trying to sound convinced so they could end the discussion. She didn’t want to talk about Connor for fear she would end up saying too much. As much as she believed John was someone she could trust—she wasn’t ready to put her son’s life in his hands.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I think you’re probably right, but I also think it being a great mom means that you worry about your kid even when they are quote-unquote normal.” He used air quotes to emphasize his statement. “I’m not doing a very good job of giving you the night off by asking you about Connor.” HIs voice dropped to a new, low, sexy level that lit a flame in Charlee’s core. “Sorry.”
“You’re doing an excellent job,” she whispered.
“I think I can do better.” He leaned in and pressed his soft lips to hers. She melted into him, allowing his tongue to coax her lips apart and explore her mouth. She could taste the red wine on his tongue. His citrusy, woodsy scent was heady when paired with his strong hands sliding up her thigh, along her hip, and resting against the side of her breast.
She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and drew him, desperate for the kiss to deepen. She hadn’t been kissed like this since before she met Peter, and she missed the intimacy of it. John was both gentle and demanding, soft yet firm, and she wanted more of him.
She wanted all of him. And that scared her. It was too soon—wasn’t it? She had just met this man and already she wanted to have sex with him. And she did want to have sex with him. Her body hummed with every stroke of his tongue against hers. With ever swipe of his thumb against the sensitive skin of her breast. Her thighs quivered, and her core screamed for his attention.
She leaned in, wanting to erase any distance between him. Her hands ran over his back and squeezed his thighs. He pulled back and drew in a deep breath. Her head was spinning, but slowly, she came out of the lusty fog that enveloped her.
Staring at him, she smiled and whispered. “I should probably go.” It was the last thing she wanted to do, but figured it was the smartest.
John stared at her for a moment and she could see him struggling with what to say. Did he want her to stay? Had she pushed him away?
Did he figure she was a tease? God, she hoped not. She just wasn’t a crazy teenager who had one night stands. She was an adult with a Phd and a kid. Sex with men she barely knew was irresponsible. What kind of example did it set for Connor?
Of course, how Connor would find out was a good question.
“If that’s what you want to do,” John said.
Want? No, she wanted something completely contrary to going home and sleeping in her cold bed alone. But it was probably the right thing to do.
Except that it didn’t feel right. It felt completely wrong.
Standing, she reached out her hand to him. He took it and stood and kissed the back of her hand.
“Another time.” He smiled, and walked her to the door.
Disappointment flared in John’s chest like molten lava that slugged through his veins. He had pushed it too far, too fast, and had scared Charlee. The overwhelming need to be closer to her—to be in here—had taken him by complete surprise.
But she wasn’t ready. Hell, maybe she wasn’t interested in having a sexual relationship with him. Except that he would swear he felt the same desire in her as he had felt.
He forced a smile on his face that he sure as hell didn’t feel, and opened the front door. Her eyes narrowed a bit, as if she was confused about what she was doing. John hoped she hadn’t expected him to beg her to stay. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. When a woman said she wanted to take it slow—he backed off until she made the next move. He had seen too many of his troops get hammered for pushing past the comfort level of the woman they were with. It always ended badly.
And John had too much respect for Charlee. If she needed to some space, that’s what he was going to give her. No matter how much his heart seized at the thought of going to bed alone.
She stepped around him and stopped, looking back over her shoulder.
“Everything okay?” He asked.
“Yeah.” She stepped onto the front porch and turned around. “No, actually. I don’t want to go home.” Her hazel eyes were pleading with him, and he couldn’t breath. “I want to stay here—with you.”
In a instant he hand hold of her hand and was pulling her back inside. With one swift movement, he closed the door and backed her up against the wall. His lips were on hers before she had a chance to object, or change her mind. Not that he needed to sorry about what she was feeling. She fisted her hands in his shirt, and pressed her chest into his. Her hardened nipples rubbed against him.
Thrusting his fingers through her hair, he held her tight. Not wanting to break the kiss. Desperate for this moment to last as long as possible. HIs tongue found hers and they tangled together in an erotic dance. Sliding his hand down to her hip, he coaxed her leg up and wrapped it around his backside.
A low moan came from Charlee as he pressed his erection into her. God, he wanted her. Every single inch. Her skin on his. Inside her hot center. She was everything to him at that moment. The center of all thought. And his sole purpose was to make her feel wanted and appreciated. Worshipped.
She pulled her mouth away from his and sucked in large gulps of air.
He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry. We can slow down. Or just kiss. Hell, we can sit and watch TV—I don’t care. I’m just happy you want to stay. I’ll do whatever makes you comfortable.”
She placed her hand along his face, her breathing still heavy. She slid out from where she was gently pinned against the wall. Taking his hand, she turned and led him down the hallway toward his bedroom. Once inside, she faced him.
“I haven’t done this in a really long time. I’m not even sure I know what to do anymore.” She giggled, and the sound was so unexpected coming from her, yet spoke to her vulnerability in that moment. John feared he might blow a gasket before he ever got out of his jeans.
John (The 13 Book 5) Page 6
