It’s funny, but that’s not the word I’d use to describe Charlie, even though he is lavishing me with gifts. I say, “He’s very thoughtful.”
Glasses rattle as she empties the dishwasher. “Good for you. Now what can I get you for breakfast? Or did you eat too much candy?” I give her a sheepish smile, and she laughs at me. “It’s nice to see you with a man, Diana.”
“How about another latte?” I ask, and I reach over to select a chocolate. I take a bite and think about kissing Charlie. My desire burned in me the way it did when I was younger, and now I think I can find my way to acting on it. I swallow the sweet confection, and Trina hands me my drink. I hold the mug and let the coffee warm my hands the way feelings for Charlie have managed to warm my heart.
Chapter 8
I’m ready for our date when Charlie arrives at seven, and once I step outside and see him in a leather jacket, my stomach flips, because it’s a sexy look for him. My stomach rolls again in a different way when I realize he came on a motorcycle, and I stop walking. I think I’ve only been on a bike once, and it was when I was much younger.
Charlie asks, “Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle?”
I nod. “A long time ago. I’m--”
“Nervous?” Charlie takes my hand as I notice another leather jacket sitting on his seat along with two helmets.
“Yes. I forbid my daughters to ride on one, and...” And what, Diana? They’re grown women who couldn’t care less.
“It’s okay. If you don’t want to ride on it, you don’t have to. I can go home and get my car.” Charlie’s face is full of concern, and I think he wouldn’t mind if I agreed.
I shake my head. I don’t have a good reason not to ride on his bike, and I say, “It’s fine. Just be gentle with me.”
He picks up the jacket and smiles down at me as he holds it open. “I’ll be as gentle as you need.”
My arm slides easily into a sleeve, and the familiar scent of him wafts toward my nose as I turn to face him and say, “I know. Thank you.”
The zipper of my borrowed jacket grinds softly as I tug it up, and Charlie places a helmet on my head. He snaps the strap under my chin for me before he helps me climb onto the bike. The seat is warm under my bottom as he sits in front of me and tells me to hang on to his waist. When he revs the engine, I take a deep breath and hug him a little tighter. Not that I mind, because the strong muscles of his body flex against my chest and thighs in a way that makes me never want to let go.
Wind blasts around us as we drive, and after a while, when my body realizes we’re safe, I begin to relax. I gaze at the beautiful landscape along the road as the aroma of honeysuckle makes me think of lazy summer days. I revel in the feeling of freedom as a machine hums underneath me.
We arrive at a place called the Rusty Anchor, and on the marquee, I notice a band is playing tonight. The aroma of fried food teases my stomach as I gaze at the light-blue building. There’s a huge anchor stuck in the ground by the entrance, and the white paint on it looks to be several layers deep. I remove my helmet and hand it to Charlie as he asks, “When is the last time you ate a burger and fries?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure.”
His face lights up. “Then you’re in for a treat. I know it doesn’t look like much, but I’ve staked it out. You’ll love it here.” He takes my hand as we walk toward the bar.
“I see there’s a band tonight too,” I say.
“If you’re lucky, I’ll get out on the dance floor.” He glances at me as the door squeaks open. “I bet it’s been a while since you’ve been in a place like this too.”
I nod as we walk inside. The wooden tables are painted in royal blue with probably as many layers as the anchor, and we seat ourselves at one in a back corner. The menus are slick in my hand when I tug them out from behind a napkin dispenser, and I hand one to Charlie. “Do you come here often?” I ask.
“Not really. Once in a while I’ll have dinner at the bar, but I’ve never stayed for the music.”
I glance at the menu to find my choices for burgers are with or without cheese, and I snap it shut when the waitress appears. We order beers along with our meal. Charlie asks, “So what do you think of riding on the back of my motorcycle?”
“It was exciting. Perfect for a summer evening.”
“I think so too,” says Charlie. Two green bottles thud on the table along with glasses, and beer gurgles as I pour it. He says, “I bought it a couple years ago in my first attempt at adding balance to my life.”
I smile. “That has midlife crisis written all over it.”
He grins back. “So does my boat. But the woman I’m dating gives me credibility.”
“Because I’m not a twenty-two-year-old bimbo?” My banter comes out before I realize what I’ve said, and I wince.
Charlie holds my gaze as he says, “Because you’re the one every man in my shoes should be so lucky to have.”
“Thank you.” I take a sip of my drink and let the cool liquid help me fight the heat that’s rising to my cheeks.
When our burgers arrive, I wonder how I’m going to fit mine in my mouth and decide to cut it in half. But when I take a bite, I realize there’s no way this isn’t going to be messy. The beef juice mixed with condiments drips down my chin before I manage to wipe it with a napkin.
“Just go with it,” says Charlie. “I’m making a mess too.” There’s a spot of mustard on his lip, and a tomato splats on his plate before he retrieves it.
So I dig in and let my manners fall by the wayside, and I even lick my fingers when I’m done. I sigh in satisfaction. “That really was a great burger.”
“I thought you’d like it.” Charlie tilts his head to the right. “The bathrooms are that way if you want to wash your hands.”
“Thank you.” The door to the ladies’ room squeaks open, and I step in front of the sink. My hair is messy from the helmet I wore, and there’s a bit of ketchup on my cheek I didn’t realize was there. Yet, instead of being upset about my appearance, I smile. Water rushes as I clean up, and I think about how easy it is to be with Charlie.
I return to the table, and our plates have been cleared. Charlie says, “My turn. I’ll be right back.”
While he’s gone, I take the time to watch people. A young couple is holding hands across their table, and they dip their heads together as they talk and laugh. I think about my daughters, Alex and Megan, and wonder if they ever come here. It occurs to me that even if they do, it’s bound to be rarely. Both are running Bellae now and are wrapped up in what used to be my life. My girls have taken my cosmetics company and given it a makeover. With a fresh line designed for the younger generation, it’s become the fashion world’s new darling, and my girls are photographed often. The way I used to be.
That lifestyle is a lot of fun, but it’s easy to get caught up in the trappings of a public life. Music equipment thuds on the stage as I wonder if I can help my daughters stay grounded in the way I wasn’t. I decide that I’ll force Alex and Megan to eat with me here next week and make sure we order burgers.
“What’s the big smile for?” asks Charlie as he sits down across from me.
“I was just thinking about how much I like this place and that I want to come back.”
“We will.” He reaches his hands across the table toward me as he says, “We can become regulars.”
I squeeze his fingers but pull back when the waitress reappears with a hot fudge sundae in her hands. It thuds on the table, and she says, “Two spoons.”
“I made the assumption you like ice cream,” says Charlie.
While I’m comfortably full from dinner, I know I won’t have any trouble fitting in a little more and say, “Love it.” My spoon is firm in my hand as I plunge it into gooey chocolate and ice cream. “But if I keep eating this much food with you, I’m going to need to buy bigger clothes.”
“We’ll just have to dance it off.”
Chairs and tables scrape across the floor as employees move them away
from a section that must be the dance floor. I swallow down creamy goodness before I say, “I’m not sure I know how to dance in anything but heels.” I let mischief fill my eyes as I add, “And I have a feeling the dancing I’m used to doing is going to be way too formal.”
“Thank god,” says Charlie. “I’m kind of a freeform dancer myself.”
“Yeah?”
He winks at me. “You’ll see.”
“Does Bitsy know? Because she’d drop you like a hot potato if she thought you’d embarrass her.”
“That’s all it takes? You have my permission to inform her.”
“I don’t know.” I lick chocolate off my spoon as I pause. “What’s it worth to you?”
Charlie grabs the cherry by the stem and holds it out to me. I open my mouth as he says, “So many ideas, babe.” He drops the fruit into my mouth. “So many.”
Sweet juice fills my mouth as I bite the cherry, and I’m grateful all I can do is smile as I chew, because the thoughts of what he’d like to do have me speechless.
Chapter 9
The band starts to play after we finish our meal, and when the lights dim, Charlie drags me out to the floor, even though nobody else is dancing yet. When he notices me glance around at the people watching us, he says, “Look at me, Diana.”
I give him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I feel as if I’m on display.”
He grabs me by my waist and pulls me against his body. “Want to give them something to talk about?”
I press my hand against his chest as I giggle. “Stop teasing me.”
“Don’t look now, but other people are joining us.”
He’s right, and by the end of the song, there are a few couples dancing. We stay on the floor for a few more numbers before taking a break. But Charlie only lets me catch my breath and take a few sips of beer before he makes us return.
A ballad begins to play, and he holds me close. Sweat is damp on my skin, and the heat of him radiates toward me as if I’m pulling it in. He whispers in my ear, “You feel so right in my arms.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Charlie places light kisses on my neck, and while it makes me draw in a quick breath from the pleasure, I’m uncomfortable with the public display. But when he threads his fingers through my hair and cradles the back of my head in his palm as I gaze up at him, I push my need for proper appearances away. Nobody is going to care that Diana Russo, ex-CEO of Bellae, is making out on a dance floor. A quiver of excitement courses through me at the idea of kissing Charlie in the middle of a group of strangers. I meld my body against his as if he can fill every space and tilt my mouth up to meet his.
Music throbs through me as we sway together to the beat. I imagine what his skin would feel like against mine as I begin to relax even more. Charlie breaks away to nibble on my neck, and I throw my head back to give him better access. He whispers in my ear, “That’s it. Let yourself go, babe.”
I close my eyes and focus on the pleasure of Charlie’s touch. My fears seem to have disappeared, because I want to be with him, and I whisper in his ear, “Take me to your place.”
He stops moving, and his eyes widen a bit. The pads of his thumbs are rough against my cheeks as he holds my face in his hands and gazes down at me. “Diana? Are you sure?”
I nod and take his hand. The music seems to fade along with the awareness of my surroundings as I lead him back to our table so we can pay the bill. I have one thing in mind, and that’s wrapping my legs around Charlie on his bike and in his bed.
The night air is cool on my skin when we get outside, and after he helps me into my jacket, I pull him down for another kiss. I’m not shy and act as if nobody could possibly see as I give in to my desire.
The heat of his body between my thighs as he drives the motorcycle ramps me up even more, and by the time we get to his house, I’m having trouble controlling myself. My hands shake as my helmet strap clicks open. Charlie frowns as he watches me, “Babe, you’re nervous. I can take you home if you want.”
I shake my head as he rubs my arms. “I’m not. I’m-- I really need you right now.”
Realization flashes across his face as he says, “Oh.” He grabs my hand, and our feet tap over a slate walkway toward his house. It’s modest for the area we live in, but it’s still a multimillion-dollar home based on the fact it’s got an ocean view. We enter, and I take in the warm tones of the hardwood floors and neutral-colored walls, which are the opposite of my stately mansion’s entryway with predominant shades of white and gray. It occurs to me that Charlie’s home is inviting, and it makes me wonder if mine is cold. He asks, “Would you like a drink?”
I shake my head slowly as I begin to remove my heavy jacket. “I’m a little impatient.”
He frowns as he helps me out of the coat. “Straight to the bedroom?”
“Yes.” I place my hands under his shirt to slide them over his firm muscles. “The rumors are true. You are dangerous.”
His strong hands grab mine, and he pulls my fingers away. “Is that what this is about? Hooking up with the bad boy?”
“What? No. That’s not what I meant.”
He steps back from me. “I wonder, Diana. Would you have danced with me the way you did tonight if we were at the club?”
His accusation hits home, and my cheeks flush with shame. “No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I wouldn’t have with anyone, but I think Charlie believes it’s because of who he is. “I have a reputation--”
His eyes harden as he cuts me off. “And apparently so do I.”
I reach toward him, but he stiffens, so I let my hand drop. “That’s not what I meant. What Bitsy and the women at the club say about you doesn’t matter to me.”
He shakes his head. “It always matters, and I was a fool to think differently.”
Did I misread his signals when we were on the dance floor? Or when I asked him to take me home? “I don’t understand, Charlie. What just happened?”
“Look. You’re a very attractive woman, and any man would be lucky to sleep with you, but I’m not your guy. Perhaps the golf pro’s available.”
Oh my god! He thinks I threw myself at him because I want an affair? Anger simmers in my veins, and I say, “I think you should take me home now.”
On the way to my house, I reluctantly hold his waist, and the heat of his body between my legs only fuels my anger. Dianna Russo does not sleep around, and I can’t believe he thought so. When we arrive at my house, I scramble off the bike and say, “No need to walk me to the door. Thank you for dinner.”
Charlie’s voice is just as cold as mine. “You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t leave until I’ve walked through my door, and gravel kicks up from the wheels of his motorcycle as he peels out in a mood that matches mine. My feet thud with my anger as I make my way to the kitchen, and I replay the night’s events. When we were dancing, I was sure he felt a physical attraction too. We’ve been out a couple times now, so it’s not crazy to think about having sex, but am I so out of touch that I read the signs wrong?
My coffee maker hisses when I turn it on, and I put a pod into it to make a single cup. I wish I had a girlfriend to call so I could hash this out. I think Charlie is overreacting, but it’s been so long since I was in a relationship with a man, I can’t be sure.
I grab my hot drink and make my way over to the couch. Steam rises from my mug, and when I take a cautious sip, I notice my laptop. I think about Chef P. and the countless conversations we’ve had about finding someone. Perhaps he’ll have some advice. The computer is cool in my hands as I lift it to my lap and wake it up, and I hope my friend is available for a late-night chat.
When I pull up the site and click on my messages, his online button is dark, but I decide to write out a long note to him anyway, because I need to vent my frustration. I tell him about how wonderful the evening was and recount the conversation that happened when I attempted to seduce Charlie. Only now that I’m writing it, I think “thr
ew myself at him” is a better description. I sigh and hit Send.
I’m not in the mood to learn something new about food or wine, so I leave the site open and check my emails instead. As I’m replying to a recently retired business associate about getting together for lunch, a notification from Chef Impostor pops up, and I discover Chef P. has replied to my message. I abandon my email to read it.
“I’m sorry to hear your date ended up being such a disaster. Mine did too, and I understand the disappointment. I can’t help but wonder if this guy was letting his past cloud his perception of what happened. Is he worth swallowing your pride to apologize for -- in your words -- throwing yourself at him? Or have you written him off?”
Was this a simple misunderstanding? I thought I explained I wasn’t judging him by his reputation at the club. I think about our first date sailing. He sparked my interest with his sense of adventure, and on our third date, I fell a little more when I discovered how passionate he is about food. He’s a man with strong feelings and a tenacious spirit. Like me, he didn’t come from old money, and I imagine he’s had to fight against the prejudice some people have for his past. And I suppose women like Bitsy clamoring after you because you’re the bad boy in the midst of stuffy suits can’t be a good feeling either.
I recall dancing with him tonight and the way I was able to let my uptight, public self go and enjoy myself. Charlie brings out a good side of me, and I do want to make things work. I type my reply to Chef P.
“He’s worth bruising my ego. But if he crushes it when I apologize, you’re going to need a strong shoulder for me to cry on.”
“Call the man. My bet is he feels just as bad about what happened tonight as you do.”
“What happened with your date tonight?”
“Don’t worry about me, Diana. We can talk about it another time. Now call the man. Okay?”
I chuckle and reply, “Yes, sir. Thanks.”
After we say our good-byes, I get up to find my phone. As I hold it in my hand and stare down at Charlie’s contact information, my stomach flutters as if I’m an insecure teenager. I hit Send and make the call.
Hot Silver Nights: Silver Fox Romance Collection Page 5
