His fingers went to the top button of her blouse. He flicked it free of the buttonhole and reached for the second one. Charli stayed his hands.
"It's all right," he murmured. His warm knuckles grazed the skin he'd exposed, and the edge of her white cotton bra. "I've got protection."
Charli swallowed hard, beset by conflicting impulses. She knew what he meant by protection—she wasn't that naive! Nor was she so naive that she failed to identify the rigid shape nudging her through his pants. This man wanted to make love to her, this man she loved, this man she'd lain awake fantasizing about for the past two weeks.
Never in Charli's life had her principles been so sorely tested. She knew she was hopelessly old-fashioned by current standards, but to her, sex and marriage went hand in hand. After all, it was the most intimate act two people could share. The bottom line was, if she loved a man enough to take that ultimate step, she loved him enough to marry him. She'd long ago reconciled herself to the fact that she wasn't likely to experience either in her lifetime.
Men, of course, rarely saved themselves for marriage. Grant was no doubt accustomed to casual intimacy; he'd probably been having sex since he was a teenager. Lord knew how many women had shared his bed. To him Charli might represent nothing more than another notch in his belt. A convenient body.
Her voice was a ragged whisper as she fumbled with her buttons. "I don't want to."
Her refusal came as no surprise to Grant, she could tell. Still, he said, with a little smile, "If you give me half a chance, I could make you want to."
You already have.
She didn't say it, though, and after a moment he patted her arm and said, "I won't press you, Charli. Perhaps it's just as well."
She puzzled over that as he set her off his lap. Was he agreeing with her that it was too soon, or did he feel it was just as well that they didn't make love because they had no future together?
Grant's mood seemed to swing 180 degrees in the time it took him to come to his feet. Mere seconds ago he'd been relaxed, amorous, even playful. Now he seemed suddenly subdued, preoccupied.
This is it, she thought. He's going to tell me it's over. He's trying to decide how to break the news.
"Would you wait here a second?" he asked, somewhat formally.
"Of course."
Grant left the living room. Charli sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, staring at the duster of antique game boards propped on a picture rail across the room. Listening to a distant ship's horn on the Sound. Preparing herself for the worst.
You knew it couldn't last forever. At least you'll have wonderful memories.
What was he doing? Perhaps she'd left something here and he wanted to give it to her before he showed her the door.
The sound of approaching footfalls shoved her heart into her throat. She'd break it off herself, Charli decided. Before he had the chance.
Then she remembered. The Wedding Ring pact. She couldn't call it quits for three months, as long as Grant was still interested. And if he wasn't well, then he had to be the one to do the breaking up. She wasn't allowed to salvage her pride by beating him to the punch.
To Charli, the Wedding Ring pact was a solemn promise; the rules she and her friends had agreed to were not to be taken lightly. So she had no choice but to sit there and take whatever humiliation was in store for her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Grant said, as he reentered the room. His expression now unreadable, he sat next to her and touched her eyelids. "Close your yes."
She did as he asked. He lifted her left hand. She felt something hard and cool slide over the tip of her third finger and settle snugly at the base.
She stopped breathing.
"Open your eyes, Charli."
She found herself staring at a large solitaire diamond set in a wide, satin-finished platinum band and surrounded by an irregular scattering of smaller, flush-mounted diamonds. It looked like the sun among a handful of fallen stars.
Grant said, "Will you marry me?"
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
"Open your eyes, Charli. Please."
The voice penetrated her consciousness first, followed by the feel of the suede upholstery beneath her, and warm, strong hands rubbing hers. It was Grant's voice, but she'd never heard him sound so rattled. Charli opened her eyes. She was lying on Grant's sofa. Her feet were elevated on a toast-colored, chenille pillow. His worried face stared down at her.
"Thank God," he said, and offered a shaky smile. "You go in for high drama, I see. Does passing out cold mean yes or no?"
"What?" Then she remembered.
The ring. Will you marry me?
Groggily she lifted her hand. The exquisite ring was still there. "I fainted?" She started to sit up.
Grant firmly pressed her back down. "Don't try to get up just yet. Give it a few minutes. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. I just … I guess it was a shock."
He gave her that tender little smile, the one she loved to see. "Well, I'd say you evened the score."
"You asked me to marry you," Charli murmured, incredulous.
"I know we've only known each other a very short time, but … I consider myself a better than average judge of people, Charli. I don't need more time to know that you and I are a good match."
"You don't think we should wait awhile, get better acquainted?"
"Everything that's important, we already know about each other. We have a lifetime to sort out the small stuff. All I know is I've found the right woman. And at thirty-nine, I don't feel like waiting around another year or two when we could get married now and get on with our lives."
Charli smiled as tears of joy clogged her throat. She was the right woman. He'd said so. And he was impatient to make her his.
He lifted her hand and stared at the engagement ring he'd placed on it. "You probably think I'm crazy for proposing so soon after Raven introduced us."
"Not really," she said. "In my family, arranged marriages are the norm—at least they were until my generation. Nonni didn't choose her husband, but they were devoted to each other for sixty years, even though they met only once or twice before the wedding. And my parents—you may not think they're such a happy couple, the way they carp at each other all the time, but they really love each other. And that was a short engagement, too, arranged by my grandparents." She smiled. "They didn't believe in waiting too long—no point giving the young people time to get up to mischief before the wedding."
She'd expected Grant to share her droll smile, but for some reason, her words had a sobering effect on him. "We need to get a couple of things clear from the start," he said. "Before you give me your answer."
Charli sat up, with his assistance. She tried to finger-comb her hair, but it was hopelessly snarled. The ring snagged a strand of hair, and she gazed at it once more, turning it this way and that, watching bursts of light detonate in the stones. She wasn't used to wearing rings, but she knew she'd have no trouble getting used to this one. Never in her life had she owned anything like this. She'd only seen this kind of jewelry in magazine ads.
"As I said," Grant continued, "I'm pushing forty. I've worked hard for many years to orchestrate the kind of life that suits me—from where I live to what I do for a living to who I spend my time with. I guess you could say I'm set in my ways. And I'm sure in certain respects, you are, too."
"Well, I guess so." Charli wanted to tell him she was thrilled at the prospect of drastic change in her life, but it didn't seem to be what he wanted to hear just then. She supposed all men faced marriage with some degree of trepidation, particularly men who'd been living on their own as long as Grant had.
"There are different kinds of marriages," Grant said. "Each with it own set of … expectations. You must know what I mean."
"Well, sure. Every couple is unique, after all."
"Precisely. The kind of marriage I'm proposing will be somewhat different from the norm. You and I won't, uh…" He made vague han
d gestures, obviously grappling for the right words. "What I mean is, this will be a … companionable union. A mutually advantageous, um, partnership based on respect for each other's autonomy."
Charli bit her lip, stifling a giggle. He sounded so lawyerly, so formal and ill at ease, so at odds with the easy familiarity she'd come to expect from him. He must be really nervous.
"My current lifestyle," Grant added, "will remain unchanged." He was looking over her shoulder rather than directly at her.
"I understand," she said, privately amused at his reference to maintaining his elegant lifestyle. As if there could be any question that he'd be a good provider!
He glanced at her, and away. "This is a little awkward, but … I'm accustomed to enjoying a, um, what could be called an active social life. That won't stop when I get married."
Charli wouldn't ask that of him. The last thing she wanted was to turn into the kind of harridan who begrudged her husband the occasional fishing trip or night out with the boys.
"I know how to be discreet, Charli. I'll do nothing to bring shame on you. Considering the sort of expedient, um, practical marriage we're talking about," he said, "there's no reason I shouldn't pursue my own, uh … that is, it's not as if you and I will even be."
Charli couldn't believe it—Grant was blushing!
She laid her hand over his, wanting nothing more than to put him out of his misery. "We're not a couple of twenty-year-old kids entering into a marriage that's all passion and no practicality. I want the same things you do, Grant." She squeezed his hand. "And don't worry—I respect your independence. I'm not going to turn into your warden."
"Does that mean your answer is yes?"
"Of course it's yes!" she said with a laugh. On impulse she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him—the first time she'd initiated a kiss.
Grant seemed surprised, but only for a second. He kissed her back and said, "This is going to work, Charli. I know it is."
"Of course it's going to work!" Because we're in love, she thought, but didn't say it. She could only speak for herself, and she couldn't bring herself to declare her love before he did.
Perhaps Grant didn't love her yet, not the way she loved him, and that was okay. Grandpa Rossi hadn't loved Nonni when he'd spoken his vows; their deep feelings had grown over time. And Mama had confided that it had been that way with her and Papa, too. Grant was right: everything that was important, they already knew about each other. During the past two weeks she'd learned that beneath the polite reserve, Grant Sterling was a man of passion and warmth. She sensed a profound, unshakable connection between the two of them. Yes, their love would blossom and grow in time.
Resolutely she ignored the nagging inner voice that warned this was much too sudden, that her bridegroom's vision of wedded bliss needed greater scrutiny. If she challenged him, she might scare him off, and then what did she have to look forward to? Living out her life as a lonely old maid in the house she'd grown up in, seeing to everyone's happiness but her own.
Grant said, "You should know there's a good chance I'll make partner this year."
From the way he said this, Charli could tell it meant a great deal to him. "Good luck," she said. "I wish there were some way I could help make it happen."
His smile faltered. He held her gaze for long moments, and she could tell something troubled him. She was about to ask him about it, but just then he touched her cheek—a fleeting brush of his fingers—and said, "Let's go give your folks the good news."
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
Charli had never worn anything like the frilly white negligee she'd just slipped into, a chiffon-and-lace concoction that Raven had helped her pick out. She'd declined Amanda's offer to help her shop for a last-minute trousseau. She loved Amanda dearly, but didn't dare come to her husband's bed in the kind of indecent nightie she knew Amanda favored.
Charli examined her reflection in the full-length standing cheval mirror that occupied a corner of the guest room in Grant's house, where he'd left her suitcase. He must have known she'd appreciate a private place to get ready for their first night together.
The gown's snug stretch-lace bodice and thin double spaghetti straps accentuated her full bosom and displayed more cleavage than anything she'd worn in her life. And she could even make out—Charli peered closely at the mirror. Yes! She could see her nipples! Just the barest shadow through the filmy cloth, but there they were! Reflexively she snatched up the matching robe, as sheer and feminine as the gown, and put it on. She pulled it closed, turning this way and that to check for see-through.
She stopped abruptly. This was ridiculous. In a short while her new husband would see all of her.
What difference did it make if her nightgown provided a sneak preview? Wasn't that kind of the point? She bit her lip, stifling a gust of nervous laughter, and threw off the robe. Taking a deep breath, she placed her palm over her thumping heart "This is it, Carlotta," she told her reflection. "Are you ready?"
Less than a week had passed since Grant's hasty proposal. It was now around midnight, and the last of their guests had just departed. Charli and Grant had spoken their vows that afternoon in Grant's living room—their living room now—before a justice of the peace. She'd worn a silk dress in pale apricot, with a matching jacket. Raven had helped her shop for that, too.
The wedding band Grant had placed on her finger matched the engagement ring. It was made of the same satin-finished platinum, set with more of the starlike, flush-mounted diamonds. It had been a single-ring ceremony. Grant didn't care for rings, he'd said. It shouldn't have irked Charli—after all, he was legally married, ring or no ring. Still, she would have been so happy and proud to slip a gleaming wedding band on her husband's finger.
The honeymoon was another disappointment. It would have to wait until the summer, when Grant had scheduled a vacation. Right now he was handling several cases and couldn't afford the time.
The ceremony had been followed by a buffet dinner, also at the house. Grant had insisted on the small, private, civil ceremony, much to the horror of Charli's parents, who felt that only a formal church wedding with a priest officiating had God's seal of approval.
In truth, Charli had always dreamed of a huge church wedding with an elaborate reception. Her fantasies had included a full-skirted white wedding gown and a bevy of bridesmaids. She'd lobbied for a delay of several weeks so she could plan a real wedding, but Grant's mind had been made up and so she'd backed off, wary of rocking the boat. Thus only a handful of his pals had witnessed their vows, plus her own closest friends and jumbo-size family. Her new husband, she'd learned, was estranged from his parents and had no siblings.
Charli, however, had siblings enough for the both of them. As soon as she'd accepted Grant's proposal, she'd called an emergency family meeting to devise a plan for taking care of their parents and grandmother. Charli's sisters and brothers had always claimed they were too busy to offer assistance, although she'd noticed they managed to make time for cooking classes and bowling leagues and craft clubs and trips to Atlantic City and shopping jaunts to Manhattan and PTA bake sales and Little League coaching, just for starters.
She'd put some long-overdue starch in her backbone and informed them all that they were going to start pulling their weight. Most of them whined and moaned, but in the end she'd managed to hammer out a weekly schedule acceptable to everyone. For once in her life, Charli Rossi had asserted herself; she'd refused to take no for an answer.
And it had felt darn good!
Charli removed her pearl-studded hair clip, recalling Grant's reaction when she'd let down her hair last week. He'd called her lovely. No man had ever said that to her, or anything like it. She leaned forward, shook out her hair and tossed it back.
And gaped at the results. Between the alluring gown and the windblown hair and the glitter of anticipation in her eyes, she almost didn't recognize herself.
Leaving her robe on the carpet where it had fa
llen, Charli crossed to the door and stood with her fingers on the knob, listening intently. Had Grant come upstairs yet? Was he waiting for her in his room? Their room, she reminded herself.
She let herself out and padded down the hall to the next door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked gently. No answer. Muted sounds came from downstairs—Grant walking around, no doubt locking up the house. She slipped into the room and closed the door, flicking on the wall switch to light the pair of antique, glass-shaded bedside lamps.
The bedroom was decorated in the same earthy hues as the rest of the house, but in darker, richer tones, with black accents. It was a man's room, and definitely a man's bed, wide and imposing, the towering headboard and squat footboard covered in padded tan leather. The bedspread was box-quilted black velour, the sheets and pillowcases fine black linen.
Slowly Charli approached the bed, feeling like an interloper in this unapologetically masculine space. Her things would be moved here from her parents' house tomorrow. Perhaps when she saw her dresses hanging in the closet next to Grant's suits, her hairbrush and jewelry box on the dresser top along with his cuff links and collar stays, she'd begin to feel as if she belonged here.
The contrasting textures of leather, velour and linen drew her fingers. Tentatively she stroked the pillowcase, as smooth and inviting as silk.
This was where it would happen. Tonight. The man she loved would bare her and touch her and bind his body with hers. He'd do what he'd wanted to do last week—what she'd wanted, too, if she was being honest. What she'd made herself half-mad thinking about in the intervening days and nights. Never in her life had she felt as womanly, as desired, as sexual, as she had these last few days, waiting for her wedding night.
Charli sat on the edge of the bed. She bounced a little, testing the firmness of the mattress. That brought to mind the serious bouncing this mattress would get tonight, and she damped her hand over the chortle that erupted. Sliding into the center of the bed, she sat cross-legged and arranged her diaphanous white gown around herself, marveling at how stark it looked against the black spread.
I DO, BUT HERE'S THE CATCH Page 5
