Charlie's Angel

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  Charlie’s Angel

  By Aurora Rose Lynn

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  2665 S Atlantic Avenue, #349

  Daytona Beach, FL 32176

  Charlie’s Angel

  Copyright © 2009, Aurora Rose Lynn

  Edited by Michele Paulin

  Cover art by Les Byerley www.les3photo8.com

  Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-169-6

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Electronic release: July 2010

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  To my wonderful friends in L.A. This one is for you.

  Chapter One

  Biker chicks were major trouble, and Charlie Vernon never messed with them. Too many days spent in court prosecuting men and women who rode motorcycles that exceeded a tolerable decibel level had taught him to stay well clear of anyone who appeared to be the devil on wheels. He clamped his hands on the steering wheel of his luxury vehicle and ground his teeth in a desperate attempt to control himself. He’d just encountered one who owned the freeway. Cool air from the humming air conditioner wafted over him, but all he felt was the intense heat of the Southern Californian sun. And his simmering anger.

  The motorcycle that had cut him off in morning rush hour traffic minutes earlier was now jauntily angled in his numbered parking spot.

  Cool off, Charlie. Haven’t you stood up to these bikers for years? What difference is one more?

  Intending to get out of the car and move the bike elsewhere, he lowered his hand to the seatbelt. The sun felt much too warm on his knuckles, but suddenly he didn’t care. A biker dressed from head to toe in midnight black darted from an alley planted with small palm trees. Her head—for surely it could only be a she with her jacket zipper nestled between the enticing swell of her breasts—turned toward his sedan for a moment longer than was necessary. Charlie couldn’t see her face, which was shielded by a black visor. All he saw was his car reflected back at him through the shiny plastic. He watched in fascination as she kicked the bike stand free, and slowly threw her left leg up and over the seat.

  Oh man. She’s got a butt I’d hold onto anytime. It was the kind made for a guy’s wet dream. Deliciously firm and rounded in tight-fitting leather, erotically shaped for steamy nights filled with raw sex.

  Charlie’s breath stole from his lungs, and his cock sprang to life to press against the crotch of his silk trousers. The sight of the biker female made his mouth water, and his taut body sought more of her.

  This is California, Charlie, and you don’t want more unless you want walking trouble.

  Once her ass was planted on the Harley-Davidson, the biker turned the ignition. Deafeningly, the bike roared to life. He gritted his teeth against the intrusive sound. Seconds later, the biker chick and his sensual fantasy were gone, leaving him absolutely stunned and clearing his throat. How had he been maneuvered so neatly into not chastising her for stealing his parking spot? Why hadn’t he found his voice to berate her?

  Calm down, Charlie. This is California where anything can and does happen. You’re only here for a few days to help out a colleague then it’s back to Boston. It’s unlikely you’ll see her again. Besides, you wouldn’t want to. With a body like that, she’s trouble with a capital “T”.

  He heaved a deep sigh of frustration. When was the last time he’d lusted after a woman simply for the shape of her ass? A very nice, very squeezable ass. His now clammy palms would easily span those inviting cheeks.

  The sun must be baking my brains. I’ve never lost it over a woman, especially one whose face I couldn’t see. What’s the matter? When was the last time I had sex? Too long ago, if I can get bothered over a leather-clad ass.

  Dismayed at the direction of his usually business-like thoughts, he grabbed his laptop and his briefcase, locked the car and strode into his friend’s law firm. He had to put the biker chick out of his mind. If he didn’t, she’d torment him into doing something foolish like search for her. He couldn’t do that. He had work to do.

  * * * *

  Roxie Abernathy, or has her father had brought her up, Elizabeth Audrey Harrier, had only caught a glimpse of the man in the black Mercedes, but that had been enough to intrigue her. And repel her. She didn’t do men in expensive silk suits, and this one had the added mark against him that he was probably richer than sin. However, her body had tingled all over when he’d swept his designer sunglasses from his face and his mouth had fallen open. Had he been astonished? At what? A woman riding a motorbike?

  She zoomed into her parking space in the underground garage for her bachelor apartment then and ran upstairs. The view wasn’t much. In fact, the front window stared smack into the middle of a brick wall, but it was her own place, torn divider curtains and rusty sink included.

  Glancing at her strap-on watch, she huffed a breath of frustration but kept moving, stuffing her candy pink waitress uniform into a nondescript duffel bag along with comfortable walking shoes. In case of an emergency, she’d stored a can of pepper spray, too. The old wall clock ticked the seconds. Hur…ry. Hur…ry. How had she gotten herself into this mess? She swallowed hard, zipping the bag closed. All because she had a secret to keep.

  She threw the bag over her shoulder, remembered to lock the apartment door and raced for work. Gerry would give her some leeway, maybe three to five minutes, but not more than that. If she was late, she had a good excuse. Lana, her next-door neighbor, had no one to get her medication and once every three weeks, Roxie did that task. She hadn’t known the elderly lady long. Lana displayed a kind heart along with a bad ticker, so Roxie was glad to help out. However, that meant parking illegally in someone else’s spot, and this morning, she was pretty sure that certain someone had come along. Cool, good-looking, and rich. A bad, bad combination as far as Roxie was concerned.

  In her hurry to get to Woody’s Diner, an old relic of a bygone age with a thirty-foot high sign of a wooden burger with all the fixings that could be seen for at least half a mile, she brushed by several people, pardoned herself and raced on. No one troubled to notice her, which she was grateful for. She blended right into the massive milieu of the City of Angels. She passed an Italian bakery from which came the aroma of baking bread and the heady scent of garlic.

  The street was crowded for the early hour and Woody’s would open right as St. Vincent’s Cathedral’s bells pealed nine a.m. The ringing was a comforting sound, one she always took time to enjoy. Could she stop for a second or two? She had another block to go then had to get into the diner and change before her shift began.

  Usually, she would have stopped and listened to the birds singing in the few trees that lined the street or to admire the color of the rich blue sky, but not this morning. Roxie needed this job to earn enough cash so she could keep moving from city to city without leaving a paper trail.

  If she didn’t keep changing her location, she was afraid someone would recognize her and turn her in. No doubt there was a huge reward for her “safe” return by her father Clarence Harrier the Third. More than anything else, Roxie valued her freedom. Under her father’s watchful eye, she’d been a prisoner. She hadn’t been so much under lock and key as under the constant vigilance of servants and bodyguards who reported her every move to their employ
er.

  For the sheer pleasure, she paused momentarily in her tracks, felt the warming cement sidewalk under her feet and admired the cloudless sky and the huge cathedral bell tower in the distance. This was freedom. She could choose where she wanted to be, when she desired and without people obsequiously hovering around her with false smiles plastered on their face.

  Shaking her head that she had to leave the pretty scenery, she hurried on, picking up the pace and running the rest of the way to the diner. Her feet seemed to have wings, and her heart danced with joy. What more could a woman ask for?

  As she changed into her uniform, her thoughts returned to the man in the Mercedes. She’d caught only a peek at him, but his parted lips and his gaze piercing her with annoyance had intrigued her. She’d probably pissed him off for driving into his space, but she couldn’t help it. At that hour, cars had crammed the courthouse lot, and the only way she’d get to the drugstore for Lana was to edge into someone’s numbered spot at the courthouse. Roxie had sworn it would only be for a moment, and true to his word, the pharmacist hadn’t kept her waiting, so she’d been in and out quickly.

  Deep in thought, Roxie hefted her rolled up nylons in her palm. Should she wear the neutral colored pantyhose or should she go bare?

  The driver of the Mercedes had been sinfully sexy. What would he look like if he smiled? Would she melt all over the floor in a pool of pleasure? Did he even smile? She’d never have the chance to find out. Not unless she went back to the parking space the next morning and waited for him. The notion fascinated her, but she discarded it as foolish and rather like playing with fire. She’d probably piss him off again with her shiny motorbike. In the bout of hostility that was sure to follow, she wouldn’t have to chance to get to know Mr. Mercedes better.

  Men like Mr. Mercedes were off-limits, she warned herself with a heavy heart as she changed in the diner’s cramped restroom. She took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. She sure would like to find out if Mr. Mercedes was as hot in bed as he looked in the car, but she’d dated a few like him before it had dawned on her that she was nothing more than an appendage to bolster their already puffed up ego.

  She had to change the subject or she’d drive herself to distraction when she needed to concentrate on her job serving the diner’s patrons as quickly and efficiently as Gerry, the owner in his late sixties, demanded. He’d told her before he’d hired her that he had no use for teenagers and twenty-somethings since they spent so much of their time on their cell phones talking up a storm or playing those infernal video games.

  Yet, he’d taken one look at Roxie and given her the vacant position even though she was twenty-five and a half, and he knew her age since it had been filled in on the application form. Everything else, from her last name to her work record, was a sham, but she hadn’t lied about that. There were some things a woman couldn’t hide.

  Then too, it could have been her fresh face and her twenty-something curves that had to do with Gerry’s decision to hire her. She didn’t know for sure. All she cared about was her paycheck at the end of the week for a job well performed. And that decided her on the pantyhose. Although it would be extremely hot outside, she better wear them. For a more professional appearance.

  * * * *

  At half-past two that afternoon, Charlie asked Kyle Brant where he could get a decent meal. His stomach rumbled, and the case Kyle and he were working on wasn’t as easy as either had initially expected.

  Kyle gave him a warm half-smile, which was more than anyone else got out of him. “What kind of food do you want? There’s plenty of Mexican, if you want. Pick your heat level. Spicy or spicier. Then there’s Chinese, too.”

  Charlie stroked his tie, and even though the air conditioner was running full blast, he swiped at his forehead and the beads of sweat against his skin. “How about a good old-fashioned American burger? With fries?”

  Kyle scratched his chin, which already sported the shadow of a beard. “Not risking your stomach on hot or hotter?”

  Charlie shook his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t like burritos, tacos, enchiladas and jalapenos, but he wanted the kind of food he’d get back home in Boston.

  “Woody’s then. Been open since the 1940’s. You can’t miss it.” Again the half-smile. “It’s the joint with the painted wood burger on the roof.”

  “Thanks. Direction?” Charlie’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back.

  “You’ll see it soon as you get out the door.”

  Charlie grinned and headed outside. The heat was almost unbearable. Boston never gets like this, so humid you could drown in your own water. Stately palm tree fronds waved gently in the upper atmospheric breeze, yet down here, there wasn’t even a hint of cooler air. Charlie itched to loosen his tie against the stifling heat, but long years of self-discipline forced him to discard the idea.

  Sure enough, the burger place was highly visible from the law firm’s front door. The burger was in need of a paint job, but the sun’s glare probably took its toll on everything that wasn’t shaded. It could have been painted last year for all he knew.

  As he pulled open one of the diner’s double glass doors, he observed there were no iron bars to keep out thieves and troublemakers, a practice he found didn’t do much to deter the criminal element in either Boston or in L.A. Out of habit, he surveyed his surroundings, and he felt as if he’d stepped into a different era. The diner was like an old soda fountain he’d seen on TV but never in person. There were revolving seats at a front counter, booths for four near the wide windows that fronted the four-lane street, and a black and white tiled floor.

  Even for nearly three p.m., the diner was relatively busy. Only two booths were free and only one seat at the counter. Charlie opted for a booth and slid into the far side to face the door. Old habits died hard, even in a new city where few people would recognize him. Dealing with the criminal element on a day-to-day basis forced him to be cautious and observant to all that went on around him. Several booths down, a large man with a scraggly beard and small eyes appeared out of place in a faded, red plaid shirt. Charlie decided to keep an eye on him. If he wasn’t mistaken, the man was on the hunt for mischief.

  Surreptitiously, he used his video cell phone and took a picture of the male who’d made him so uneasy. Then he texted a message to a friend in law enforcement, asking for the man’s name and if he’d seen any criminal trouble.

  “Hi. What can I get for you?”

  The waitress’ soothing, musical voice caused him to look up quickly. He had the presence of mind to tuck away his cell phone, as time froze. His pulse sped up, and every pore in his body reacted to her. His muscles tensed. The chattering of the patrons and the din of forks and spoons against plates dimmed into the background.

  Her candy pink uniform accentuated every barely-there curve from the swell of her breasts to her tiny waist to her hips. Her bodice made of a light fabric did nothing to hide the tight peaks of her nipples. Was she wearing one of those thin scraps of lace?

  Charlie swallowed hard then cleared his throat as his hormones raced into overdrive. He was the most eloquent lawyer in all of Boston, never shy for words whether in court or out of it, but here, with this heart-stopping, exquisite woman mere inches away, he was utterly tongue-tied. And he had a hard-on, which no amount of clothing could hide. Thank God, he’d sat in a booth.

  “You must be new here,” her matter-of-fact words cut into his tumultuous thoughts.

  Dumbly, he nodded. All he could think was chicks in L.A. were hot. He made the mistake of fully glancing into her face. Such sweetness, along with a wealth of innocence, emanated from those vivid blue eyes. The observation tore at his insides. He wanted to protect her, much as a knight in shining armor in days of old would have.

  Annoyance with himself flared to life. He’d only just set eyes on her, and here he was ragged on the inside and turning somersaults. “Boston. On business. Where’s your menu?” he asked in a hoarse, abrasive tone.

  Her eyebro
ws didn’t even arch upward at his sudden change of voice. “Right over there above the soda fountain.” She canted her head in the direction he needed to look.

  Charlie felt guilt wash over him. He should have a talk with himself rather than being unkind to Roxie, as her nametag clearly stated in black and white.

  “It’s the heat,” she said, touching his arm ever so lightly. A small, knowing smile appeared on her delicately colored lips. “I’ll get you something cool to drink.”

  Yeah, the heat, not of the weather but in his groin. Gracefully, she spun around and left him behind in a curtain of fragrant perfume. Gardenias, he suspected, which were addling his brain and turning the gray matter into mush.

  If the view from in front had been tempting, then the backside was more powerful. Roxie’s waist was tiny and curved, and the uniform deliciously hugged her bottom as he longed to do.

  When she was out of sight behind the double swinging doors that led to the kitchen, he tried to take a deep breath to bring himself under control. His forehead was bathed in perspiration. He lifted his handkerchief from his hip pocket and, ineffectively, wiped at his head but to no avail. As soon as the linen passed over his skin, he immediately began to sweat again. He had to leave. Before he made a fool of himself.

  But he waited, and he had no idea for what. Carelessly, he stuffed his hanky back in its place, realizing belatedly that Roxie had been incongruously holding a carafe filled with steaming coffee along with her order pad.

  His heart thudded against his chest. He didn’t dare get up since his mega hard-on would be visible to everyone in the diner. Hadn’t he come for an all-American burger and fries? Why did he think he was about to get a whole lot more?

  * * * *

  Roxie swallowed down her panic as she pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one observing the ultra-sexy man in the tailored suit. Verna and Eileen, her co-workers, were each wide-eyed and their faces were flushed.