You're Still the One

by Rachel Harris

  “Yep,” she said aloud, when she realized he couldn’t see her nod. And thank God for that, because then he’d be seeing a whole lot more than just a confirmation. “So, uh, you think you can wait for me in the living room?”

  When all else failed, go direct. That was another fine motto for life, and definitely safer than her current one of be daring. Look where that had gotten her.

  “Oh. Right.” Finally, the shadowy imprint under the door shifted, and Charlie muttered, “Sorry about that. I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

  What she could possibly need him for was anyone’s guess, but Arabella released a breath of pure, unadulterated relief as his footsteps clopped down the hallway. She waited until she was certain he’d entered the living room, ear pressed hard against the wood, and then, grabbing the fingertip towel for added assurance, she draped it over as much of her body as she could—which unfortunately amounted to very, very little—and threw open the door, padding quick as a mouse out into the hall. Her bedroom was only two doors down.

  “Oh, shit!”

  The sudden curse froze her mid-step, and every muscle in Arabella’s body from naked neck to bare-assed toe squeezed in shock. Please, no. No, no, no.

  Oh, how she didn’t want to look. She could live a lifetime without confirming her fear. But, at this point, it had to be done. After all, it was better to have all the facts before she hyperventilated. Save herself the trouble of going through this again. Soak in all at once what was fast becoming her worst nightmare come to life.

  Slowly, regretfully, painfully, she pivoted, still up on tiptoe, and discovered Charlie standing at the other end of the hall, palms lifted and eyes closed tight beneath the brim of his black baseball cap. He’d changed into a matching solid black tee and jeans. He looked incredible…and she was naked.

  So very, very naked.

  “Sorry,” he told her, although, honestly, his apology lost a little something with the lip twitch. “I heard you scampering across the floor and turned around on pure instinct.” That darn lip twitch turned into a tremble and fell into a full-fledged smirk as he added, “I didn’t see much, I promise.”

  Okay, she didn’t even know what to do with that. Did he mean she didn’t have much to see, or that he’d only caught a glimpse?

  And really, did it even matter?

  Arabella’s hands clenched around the pathetic excuse of a towel as a vision of her pale rear end jiggling like flesh-colored Jell-O danced before her eyes. How was one supposed to come back from that? Did one come back from that?

  Shoulders shaking in silent, humorless laughter, she decided no, no they didn’t. It was probably a good thing she’d already reconciled herself to the idea of friendship being the only option on the table, because it wasn’t as if she’d be beating away his advances now.

  She sighed, all four cheeks flaming with embarrassment, and said, “I’ll be just a minute.”

  She turned, head held high with as much dignity as she could muster, and made her way into her bedroom. The door closed behind her with a gentle click, and she fell back against it, sending a pitiful look to the heavens.

  Was she being punished? Did the big guy upstairs have a morbid sense of humor? Ella snorted. In the grand scheme of things, she supposed it was a little funny. Not so much ha-ha, but oh you poor baby. Either way, she decided one thing right there and then:

  No more naked mirror gazing.

  Chapter Eight

  The smoky bar was everything Arabella had imagined. Dark wood tables, scuffed by time, and classic rock playing on the old-style jukebox. Men with leather jackets, long beards, and even longer hair standing rather than sitting around the crowded bar, their whiskey laughs punctuating the air. Women in spandex, corsets, and stiletto-heeled boots swaying lasciviously to the music.

  This wasn’t a motorcycle club. The patches and cuts she’d read about in her books and saw on television shows were absent, and naked women weren’t dancing on the bar. But it was worlds different from the places Ella usually frequented. There was a grit clinging to the air, a sense that there was no bullshit in the conversations swirling around her. These people were real. They lived hard and played harder.

  There was so much freedom in that.

  Charlie strolled toward the table where he’d left her dead center in the room. His jeans were slung low on his hips, and his hazel eyes were hooded by the brim of his cap. She wondered what he was thinking. They hadn’t spoken about the incident yet. During the ride over, they’d seemed to meet a mutual unspoken agreement to pretend it hadn’t happened, letting the music fill the strained silence between them.

  Hopefully the beer in his hands would help with that, too.

  After setting their bottles on the table, Charlie spun a chair so he could straddle it and asked, “What’s the verdict?”

  Ella grinned wide, unable to hold onto discomfort with the thrum of energy pulsing through her. “This is amazing.” She leaned close so he could hear her over the loud music and said, “Almost exactly how I pictured it.”

  Charlie shook his head in that way that said he thought she was cute, and took a long sip of his beer. Arabella watched his throat work to pull down the liquid, noting how comfortable he seemed here. How at home. She realized Charlie appeared that way everywhere he went. Present in the moment, laid-back and confident.

  Idly, she wondered if attitude could be contagious.

  Reaching for the other bottle, she closed her eyes and savored the taste as she took a large gulp. She’d always enjoyed beer, which was odd because she never ordered it. She always chose wine or some other mixed concoction full of sugar that left her with a headache. Another compromise made at the altar of expectations.

  “Ahh.” Ella smacked her lips and nodded over the rim of the bottle. “That’s good stuff.”

  Charlie smiled indulgently, and his eyes studied her like she was some sort of puzzle. Arabella ducked her head, figuring he thought she was a weirdo, dragging him out here and making a big stink over the same thing he kept stocked in the refrigerator back home.

  “You’re different than I thought you’d be.”

  Ella raised her eyes from the carvings on the table, and Charlie set his forearms on the surface. “Not in a bad way. Just different. I haven’t figured you out yet.”

  She laughed and tipped the bottle back to her lips. “Yeah. Me neither.”

  Across the room, catcalls sprang up near the jukebox, and Ella turned in her seat to see the commotion. A heavily tattooed guy with a smile as big as his beer gut had infiltrated the circle of dancing women, and he was shaking his booty in a pseudo-hula move that had the entire group cracking up. His eyes, though, were trained on one woman in particular, a tall redhead with painted-on jeans and a rhinestone-studded tee that read Biker Chicks Do It Better.

  Arabella twisted fully, smiling as she leaned her chin on the curved back of the chair. The couple was clearly together. The teasing comments of their friends and the affectionate expressions on their faces confirmed this was a flirtatious, public game of cat and mouse.

  The redhead slowly backed away, eyes dancing with amusement as the man undulated his generous belly to the music. His bushy eyebrows waggled in time with the beat, and he took two steps forward for every one she took back. When he finally caught her, stopping just shy of colliding, she wrapped her arms around his beefy neck and kissed him for all she was worth.

  Ella felt her cheeks warm, and not only because the man grasped the woman’s thigh and hitched it high on his hip. She blushed because she was envious. These two people knew the secret. They were out celebrating life and having fun on a Saturday night, confident in their skin and with each other. What must that be like?

  “Looks like someone had one too many,” Charlie murmured quietly from across the table. “Brother’s got some moves, though, I’ll give him that.”

  Arabella released a small sigh as she left the lovebirds to their PDA, returning her attention back to her own table. “What abo
ut you? Can you bust a move when the time’s right?”

  He swung his gaze toward her. “Sugar, I’ve got moves like you’ve never seen before.”

  The thing about Charlie was that she couldn’t tell when he was joking. She assumed that he was, with the way the overhead light made his eyes gleam with mischief, but the man remained an enigma. “Really?”

  His firm mouth curved in a grin. “I can hold my own. You’re looking at the Tucker family practice dummy. For years I earned my allowance twirling my sisters around the living room before their dance recitals and formals.” He shrugged a shoulder. “A man’s gotta eat.”

  Arabella smiled, envisioning a young Charlie as Fred Astaire, and he added, “Swore them all to secrecy, too, so if this fun family fact shows up in the tabloids, I’ll know who squealed.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me, Twinkle Toes.”

  Every day, Ella learned something new about Charlie, something that shocked and delighted her. He revealed himself in bits and pieces, and her infatuated heart clamored for more. There were no suggestive comments or sexual innuendo, no lingering looks or accidentally-on-purpose touches. The heat of Country Roads was gone. But he made her feel special. He’d taken her under his wing at work, given her a place to live, and now was helping her accomplish her goals. Charlie Tucker was making room for her in his life, and it was more than she’d ever hoped for or imagined. Heck, it was better than romance.

  That’s what she told herself, anyway, and ordered another beer.

  Chapter Nine

  “You don’t understand—”

  “No, you don’t understand!”

  Arabella’s frantic pace came to a screeching halt, and her wide eyes grew round.

  “Abby, it’s not that simple,” Charlie’s voice boomed from somewhere near the studio. “My life’s a circus right now, and I can’t let you get dragged into that.”

  There was no mistaking the affection in his words. The emotion coated every syllable like he’d taken a bath in it that morning…or earlier that afternoon, while he’d sent Ella running silly errands around the Greater New Orleans area.

  Was this why he’d asked her to leave? She’d wondered about his hand-delivered fliers. A normal person would’ve emailed them to the club owners, but she’d bought Charlie’s line about wanting a “personal touch” hook, line, and sinker. She should’ve known he’d show his true womanizing colors eventually. He hadn’t needed her help today—no, he’d needed a diversion while he had some sort of quickie secret tryst in the recording studio! Ew.

  “Hey, Ella.”

  Hunter, Strange Wheel’s other summer intern, waved as he walked down the hall, away from the raised voices. He jutted a thumb behind him. “I wouldn’t go back there just now. Charlie needs a few minutes.”

  The smile on his face wasn’t scandalized, more like amused, but as he tugged out his phone and began to whistle, Ella had her suspicions anyway. She’d been in Louisiana for two weeks and had yet to see Charlie so much as meet a woman for lunch or leave for a date. And she would’ve seen it, too, since they spent every day together, as well as most of their evenings. But now—ha!—she’d caught him red-handed.

  “Staying silent does nothing,” the woman cried, and Ella’s attention snapped back to the studio. Was it her imagination, or did she sound young? “Why can’t you see that?”

  Arabella Stone was many things: a daughter, a friend, a hell of a baker. One thing she wasn’t was apathetic. The plight of the wronged lover moved her as much as the next person, and it was only decent to follow the voices and see if she could offer the woman a shoulder to cry on. A friendly smile, if you will.

  Plus, when it came to Charlie Tucker and her monster-sized crush, Ella needed a healthy dose of reality. Things had gotten way too comfortable lately, the glimpses of who he really was behind the image entirely too compelling. Seeing him with another woman, in the middle of a full-blown lovers’ spat no less, would certainly knock him down a peg or two.

  Up on tiptoe, heels elevated so as to not make a sound, Arabella crept toward the recording studio, feeling guilty and outrageously curious all in the same breath. What would his lover look like? Was she blond or a brunette? Would she be tall and slender, like her, or petite and curvy? Was that the type of woman he preferred?

  The door to the equipment room was slightly ajar, and from inside, she heard Charlie’s unmistakable sigh of frustration.

  “Honey, I only want to protect you,” he reassured, and Ella winced at the misery in his tone. She padded close and wrapped her hands around the metal frame so she could peek inside. Charlie’s broad back faced her. “I love you. Why can’t you see that?”

  Arabella’s breath caught, and her heart froze before taking off at a gallop. Holy moly. This wasn’t just some random hookup, or even an extended benefits situation. He loved this woman.

  Hurt sliced through Ella’s chest. Her heeled pumps fell to the floor with a loud clack, the sound an alarm in the otherwise tomb-quiet hall, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she dropped her head onto the doorframe, cursing her clumsiness, her stupid need for details, and her even stupider heart for caring that he’d know she was eavesdropping. For caring for him so much.

  The familiar tread of Charlie’s boots clomped toward her. “Arabella? Are you all right?”

  No, she thought with a small, pathetic laugh. She lifted her head to find him watching her with brotherly concern. I’m carrying a torch for a man who’ll never see me, the real me, as desirable.

  It was the truth, and it was about time she acknowledged it. She’d all but stripped for the man—accidentally, yes, but he’d gotten a good look at the goods all the same, or at least the back half, and still he wasn’t interested. What further proof of his non-interest did she need?

  “I’m fine,” she told him, working for a smile. She feared the result was closer to a grimace. “Just having one of those days, I suppose. Sorry to interrupt your”—she waved a hand toward the door and the woman he had waiting inside—“meeting.”

  There was no hiding the implication in her tone, nor her obvious jealousy, but just then, Ella didn’t much care. She was too busy feeling heartsick and ridiculous to worry about what the two of them would think.

  Once she left, they’d probably have a good laugh at her expense, too. Bonding over her antics and marking this moment as a turning point in their relationship. The day little Arabella Stone made a fool of herself over Charlie Tucker once again.

  “Who’s this?”

  A young girl, no older than their teenaged receptionist, appeared, and Arabella’s nose scrunched in confusion. She’d thought the woman sounded young, but not that young. Pushing back onto her toes, she craned her neck to see behind them, looking for the other woman, the one Charlie had said he loved.

  “This is who I was telling you about,” he said, and Ella straightened with a snap. Huh?

  The young girl smiled wide. “Oh! It’s awesome to finally meet you. I hear you make the most amazing blueberry scones.” She wiggled her fingers excitedly, and Arabella returned the gesture with a halfhearted wave.

  “Um, thanks.” She squinted her eyes and pursed her lips, feeling utterly confused. “It was my mama’s recipe.”

  She swung her gaze toward Charlie, who, for some reason, was watching their exchange with a smug, knowing look in his eyes. Actually, he appeared ready to laugh his butt off.

  “Little Bit, I’d like you to meet someone very important to me.” Charlie slid an arm around the young girl’s shoulders and flashed her a Cheshire-cat-like smile. “This is Abby…my niece.”

  …

  It was wrong to derive such enjoyment from a jealous woman, but damn if he could help it.

  Charlie had no right wanting Arabella to feel possessive. The line they straddled blurred more and more every day, particularly in the last week, and he shouldn’t encourage additional slipups. But he was envious of every smile she gave away that wasn’t to him, so seeing that feisty fire in her eyes
made his entire day.

  The fact that she was green-eyed over his baby niece, well, that just made it pure fun.

  They were back in his office now, Arabella sitting in his desk chair while he and Abby walked her through the plans for Life & Lyrics, leaving out, of course, their heated discussion about Abby’s personal experience being included in the future press release. His brave niece didn’t seem to understand how cruel people could be, and that there were those who wouldn’t think twice about attacking her to get to him. He’d already failed her once; he wouldn’t do it again.

  Abby leaned back after telling Arabella about her song and sent Charlie a look filled with curiosity and hope. He rasped his knuckles across his scruff, going for casual as he asked, “So, what do you think?”

  “Wow.” Arabella blinked, thick dark lashes that only served to draw him deeper into the animated pools of her eyes. She could never hide her emotions there, and right now, they seemed to sparkle with awe. “This is seriously amazing, Charlie. I love it. Tell me what I can do to help.”

  A boulder-like weight lifted off his chest, and he sighed with relief. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed her approval. “Well, right now, it’s in a holding pattern,” he said, dragging his fingers through his hair. “The foundation requires funding and manpower, and finding the right people who are qualified and passionate is where I’m sort of at a loss.”

  He hitched his hip onto the desk, right in front of her, wondering if she might have some ideas. His knee brushed the side of her thigh where her sexy little dress had ridden up, and his jeans grazed her smooth skin.

  Arabella’s breath caught, and their gazes locked.

  Charlie remembered that skin, and he’d seen more than just her kneecap. The spectacular view he’d accidentally gotten still kept him up at night, hands fisted in his sheets, wondering if she was naked on the other side of the Sheetrock. He’d only glimpsed half her body, but damn if it wasn’t enough to make being around her the sweetest torture.

  Sweet because Arabella Stone had a tight little body beneath those sassy dresses.