The Bachelor

by Carly Phillips

  “Because you think I need protection from a nonexistent threat or because you want to be with me?”

  “Both reasons work for me.”

  “I can take care of myself. Even Rick said I’m safe. As for the other … it’s too soon.” Charlotte wasn’t about to leap into bed with him no matter how hard her body protested against her decision.

  She wanted time to assimilate his intentions. To know this time he wouldn’t change his mind again. But most of all, she wanted to get to know him better. All of him. She needed time to get inside both his head and his heart. Because when he walked away, as she knew he would, she had no intention of being hard to forget. Heaven knew, she wouldn’t forget him, even if she would be moving on.

  Roman nodded, accepting her answer. He didn’t want to push, not when he’d made headway and broken past her wary barriers. She was laughing at his jokes, accepting his change of heart. It was enough for now.

  After all his mixed messages, he didn’t expect her to open up and trust him overnight. “How about I sleep on the floor and play bodyguard?” he asked in a last-ditch effort to spend more time with her.

  She shook her head and laughed. “Neither of us would get any sleep.”

  “Sleep’s overrated. We could stay up talking.” At least he’d be by her side.

  “We wouldn’t talk, and you know it.” Her cheeks flushed a healthy shade of pink. “But the neighbors would.”

  Personally Roman didn’t give a damn what the neighbors said, but Charlotte did, and in a small town, business was tied to reputation. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, then he forced himself to accept what she was saying.

  “You’ll call if you need me? If you even think you need me?”

  She met his gaze. “Oh, I need you, Roman. I just won’t be calling for that kind of need.”

  He exhaled hard. He needed her too. In a way that reached past sexual desire. Like she’d wrapped a hand around his heart. He just hoped like hell she planned to release him when it was time to move on.

  Roman rose to a blanket of sunshine covering his childhood room and bathing his body in heat. He’d left Charlotte’s apartment, but she’d remained with him all night long, in dreams that were hot and compelling, yet strangely unfulfilled.

  He shut his eyes and leaned back into his pillows, conjuring everything he’d learned last night. While she and his brothers had discussed the latest break-ins, Roman had used his talents for listening to one thing while taking in something else—and he’d discovered the glossy oversized books and magazines laid out on the table in front of him. The covers detailed distant places and glamorous locales. Some were domestic, others foreign, like castles in Scotland, or exotic, like the South Pacific. Nothing unusual for conversation pieces, Roman thought.

  Many people bought similar oversized books for decorative appeal. But few people read them until they were well worn and even fewer left those dog-eared copies out for show. Charlotte had.

  So as he’d glanced around, he’d been able to put a picture together in his mind, one of contradictions and enticements. Charlotte was feminine and sexy. Predictably, she liked flowers. Yet she was hesitant, uncertain of her appeal, and any bold moves didn’t come easily—which made her choice of business rather unpredictable, he thought. As were the undergarments she handmade. They exposed more than they hid—baring not just the skin beneath the crocheted panties, but Charlotte and her inner self.

  The books revealed much more. Although she liked hearth and home in Yorkshire Falls, there was a part of her that was intrigued by foreign locales and exotic places. The notion brought a rush of adrenaline through his veins. She was more perfect for him than she was ready to admit.

  Charlotte, he thought. She enthralled him in a way no story, no woman, ever had. He needed to win her over, to convince her that they were so intricately entwined, they had no choice but to make a life together work. Only then could he fulfill his obligation to his family and satisfy his mother’s desire for a grandchild. Only then could he return to life on the road, go where the stories took him, and continue to bring public awareness to important issues. And maybe one day, she’d want to travel with him.

  “Oh, my God. Roman, wake up.” His mother’s voice traveled toward him.

  There was something to be said for living alone, and when his mother barged into his room without knocking, he remembered what it was. Privacy.

  He sat up in bed and yanked the covers over himself. “Morning, Mom.”

  Her eyes glittered with knowledge and a touch of amusement that absolutely alarmed him. “Read this.” She shoved the Gazette into his personal space, waving it in front of his face.

  He grabbed the paper. “‘PILFERED PANTIES,’” he read aloud.

  “Nice alliteration,” she said. “Chase always did well in English.”

  He glanced up at his mother and saw laugh lines creasing her cheeks. “Aren’t you concerned about the thefts?” he asked her.

  “Rick’s got things under control. So does Chief Ellis. Besides, no one’s been hurt. Read the last line, Roman.”

  Before he could comply, she whisked the paper out of his hands and read to him. “As of yet the police have no suspects, but Jack Whitehall chased a male, Caucasian, into his backyard before he disappeared into the woods behind the house. Although the police have yet to name a suspect, Jack Whitehall fingered Roman Chandler’s return as coinciding with the first theft one week ago. According to Mr. Whitehall, Roman Chandler was behind a childhood prank involving stolen underwear. No charges were filed in the incident, which took place over a decade ago, and the police believe the incidents to be unrelated.”

  “Nice piece of reporting,” he muttered.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Mom, I was in high school.” What did she expect him to say?

  But as for his brother, Roman was pissed. Even if the quote was attributed to Whitehall and denied by the cops, Roman couldn’t believe Chase would report such bullshit. “You’d think Chase would have more sense than to—”

  “Chase reports the facts, young man. Don’t go blaming your brother for things coming back to haunt you.”

  Roman hadn’t heard his mother take that no-nonsense tone with one of her sons in years. Given the soft-spoken voice she’d developed since her illness, her tone surprised him now. But she’d never put up with one brother being angry at another, and that wouldn’t change just because she wasn’t feeling well. She believed her boys should be a unit. Stick together no matter what.

  Most times Roman agreed. Now wasn’t one of them. But he didn’t like her pacing or worrying because he was annoyed with Chase. “Sit down. Getting upset isn’t good for your heart.” He patted the bed.

  She looked startled, then lowered herself slowly to the foot of the bed. “You’re right. I just thought you ought to be prepared. You’ve been fingered as a panty pirate.”

  Roman could do nothing in return but scowl and fold his arms across his chest.

  “The one thing I can’t figure is what the women’s reaction will be.”

  He braced himself. “What do you mean?”

  His mother shrugged. “I’m not sure if they’re going to throw themselves at you or run the other way. For your sake, you’d better hope it’s a turn-on. I hope it’s a turn-on, or those grandchildren I want are an even longer ways off.”

  Roman muttered a curse. “How about you pick on Rick or Chase?”

  Raina tapped her foot against the hardwood floor, narrowly missing the braided rug she’d bought him years ago. “Unfortunately, your brothers aren’t here right now.” She picked up the article and seemed to skim it once more. “You know, the more I think about it, the women in this town will probably steer clear until the charges are dropped. No one wants to be involved with a convicted felon. Even a potentially convicted felon isn’t someone a nice girl would bring home to Mom and Dad.”

  “Jesus, Mom,” he said again.

&
nbsp; “Didn’t I tell you these things come back to haunt you? It’s just like SAT scores or your grades in ninth grade. They affect the college you got into. But would you listen? No. You knew best.” Without warning, she whacked him on the shoulder with the paper, “Didn’t I tell you this would resurface one day?”

  Sensing she was just getting started, Roman groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. He was too old to be living with his mother and too tired to deal with this now.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The line started forming outside Charlotte’s Attic at nine forty-five A.M. Charlotte glanced at Beth, who wasn’t discussing anything with her except business. Apparently she was talked out from the night before and Charlotte respected her privacy—for now. She fully intended to corner her friend by the end of the day and find out exactly what was going on.

  “Did you advertise a sale and forget to tell me?” Beth gestured to the throng of waiting women outside.

  “I wish.” Charlotte knitted her brows in confusion.

  She walked to the front and unlocked the door. The women poured in as if she were giving merchandise away, and surrounded her until Frieda Whitehall stepped forward, obviously the spokesperson. The older woman had graying hair, cut and set in the only style Lu Anne knew. Frieda typically dressed in polyester pants with matching, hand-washable silk blouses, and today was no different. But Charlotte knew Frieda wanted to put the sizzle back into her marriage, and so she had purchased Charlotte’s hand-knit bra and panty set.

  “What can I do for you ladies?”

  “We’re interested in the …” Frieda cleared her throat and blushed.

  “The pilfered panties,” Marge Sinclair called out from the back of the crowd. “My Donna could use a pair too.”

  “And I need to replace mine,” Frieda said. “I’d also like a pair for Terrie. Maybe they’ll loosen her up a bit.”

  “Pilfered panties?” Charlotte blinked in surprise. “You mean the crocheted ones.” Obviously the robbery had become common knowledge. News traveled fast in this town and only Rick and the police chief’s pleadings had kept the situation quiet after the initial break-ins.

  “We’d all like a pair.”

  “All of you?”

  The murmur of assent rose, while the storefront had become a revolving door of women. Some of them were older, some younger, all of them interested in Charlotte’s “pilfered panties.”

  “We don’t keep them in stock, you understand.” Beth had taken over. “These are individually made. I’ll take your names, color preference, and measure you for size. Line up and we’ll get started.”

  “What in the world is going on?” Charlotte asked. Just last night she’d been worried about losing business, and now there was this deluge of customers for the very style of panties that encouraged robbery. At this rate, she’d be busy crocheting through Christmas, nine months away.

  “Have you seen the morning paper?” Lisa Burton, an old classmate of Charlotte’s and now a respected schoolteacher, asked.

  Charlotte shook her head. She’d overslept, thanks to a restless night with fevered dreams starring herself and Roman. “No time for paper or coffee. Why?”

  Lisa’s eyes glittered with excitement as she handed over a copy of the Gazette. “If there was one man in this town you’d want to break into your home and steal your panties, who would it be?”

  “Well …”

  Before Charlotte could respond further, Lisa answered her own question. “A Chandler man, of course.”

  Charlotte blinked. “Of course.” Roman was the only Chandler who interested her, not that she’d share that truth aloud.

  And she didn’t need him stealing her panties, she’d willingly hand them over—so would half the women in this town, she realized. She recalled his brothers’ accounting of last night’s theft and the accusations surrounding Roman. Chase had said he was going to press.

  “What did the paper say exactly?” she asked her friend. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  Half an hour later, Charlotte had locked her doors, needing a break. In her possession, she had a new list of women who wanted to purchase her panties, many of whom desired luring Roman Chandler into their homes.

  “I’m going to be sick.” Charlotte lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. She left Beth out front, organizing and straightening the store after the morning’s madness, while Charlotte made a copy of the list of names to give to the police.

  Not only had they taken orders for the most expensive items in the store, but she’d sold things to the women while they waited—sachets for inside the drawers, lingerie hangers, and other items of clothing. It was the most successful day she’d had since opening, and it wasn’t yet noon. But instead of feeling satisfied, Charlotte was ill at ease.

  She disliked earning money because of Roman’s bachelor reputation. Jealousy seared her heart as she thought of all the women who’d mentioned his name in her shop today. She resented being slapped with the reminder of what and who he was: a wanderer who loved women. And she’d agreed to be one of those women—until he left town. Charlotte shivered, yet nothing that had happened this afternoon changed her mind about the course she and Roman had chosen.

  She glanced at the paper Lisa had left behind and shook her head. Roman was many things, a bachelor and a wanderer included, but he wasn’t a thief. And she didn’t believe for one minute he was behind the robberies. The idea was ridiculous and the fact that grown women had bought into the suggestion floored her. They were building a fantasy concept around the entire idea. Around him.

  Charlotte understood the desire to do so, but she also knew better than most: Fantasies didn’t come true and reality was a much harsher teacher.

  Roman made certain to overexert himself with push-ups and a hard run before showering, getting dressed, and heading on over to the Gazette offices. He was hoping to eliminate the driving urge to put a fist through his big brother’s even bigger mouth. As a reporter, Roman respected the truth, but in this case, he figured there had to be a better way to deal with town gossip than giving it more credence by putting the speculation in print. Damn people in this town had memories longer than an elephant’s.

  He drove down First Street, car windows open, the fresh air waking him up and calming him down. He slowed as he passed Charlotte’s Attic. A small crowd had gathered out front, which surprised him, considering she’d been worried about the thefts adversely affecting her business.

  He wanted to see her badly. Thanks to the morning’s paper and his new notoriety, Roman needed to steer clear of Charlotte’s Attic. The home of the pilfered panties was the last place Roman Chandler needed to be seen.

  He pulled his car to a stop at the traffic light at the edge of town. A gray sedan squeezed alongside. He glanced over as the driver lowered the passenger window. Alice Magregor, Roman realized. Her hair no longer exploded upward, but was now puffed out like a lion’s mane. Still, Roman summoned a friendly smile for Alice.

  She reached down to the seat beside her, then lifted her hand and waved something in the air before honking twice and driving away.

  He blinked. As the light turned green, it dawned on him—Alice had just waved a pair of panties at him. She’d issued the ultimate female challenge. Come and get me, big boy.

  Just as he came to the conclusion that he wanted only one woman, the single females of Yorkshire Falls decided to declare open season. Roman let out a heavy sigh as he realized what was in store for him from the town’s feminine population. In his younger days, he’d have appreciated the attention. Now he just wanted to be left alone.

  Hell of a way to embark on his crusade to get Charlotte into his life, Roman thought, and experienced a renewed desire to pummel his oldest brother. No doubt Alice’s actions had been inspired by the article in the Gazette. Though Roman knew Whitehall was a biased source, now everyone in town had been reminded of Roman’s prank over morning coffee.

  Five minutes later, Roman parked in front of t
he Gazette and walked up the long driveway. He paused at the mailboxes, each marked with a different editorial department name. The boxes weren’t overloaded yet, but the Local section had more than its share, thanks to the editor’s long days with his wife and new baby. Roman grabbed the local information from the box, figuring a couple hours’ worth of writing would give Ty more time with his family.

  Roman told himself he was getting involved with Gazette business as a favor to an old friend. Lord knew Roman’s actions sure as hell weren’t motivated by the desire to aid his older brother.

  He walked inside. “Hi ya, Lucy.” He nodded to the receptionist, who was as much a fixture in this place as the foundation. She’d worked first for his father and then for Chase. She had a way with people and the organizational skills no newspaperman could live without.

  “Hi, there, Roman.” She crooked a finger his way.

  He came up beside her. “What’s up?”

  She crooked her finger once more and he leaned closer. “What are you doing with the pairs you pilfer?” she asked in a whisper. “You can tell me. Are you into cross-dressing now?” She winked and let loose a laugh.

  He rolled his eyes, belatedly remembering she also had a wicked sense of humor. “That isn’t funny,” he muttered.

  “If it’s any consolation, Chase didn’t want to print it—he just had no choice. Whitehall basically called his journalistic integrity into question if he held back because you two were related.”

  Roman shook his head. “Where is he, anyway?”

  Lucy pointed thumbs upward. Roman stormed up the stairs and entered Chase’s office without knocking.

  “Mind telling me what the hell you were thinking?” Roman slammed the morning paper onto his brother’s desk.

  “’Bout what?”

  Roman leaned forward in a threatening stance that had no effect on his big brother. Chase merely relaxed further. He rocked backward, and the top of what was once their father’s leather chair touched the windowsill, blocking a view Roman knew by heart. The pond and aging willow trees standing guard below were as much a part of him as this old Victorian house that was and always had been the Gazette offices.