As if he was a mind reader, he nibbled her lower lip, and his tongue traced the edge in a searingly erotic exploration.
Starla’s heart raced and her pulse roared in her ears. She accepted his deeper penetration, welcomed it, encouraged it with a soft groan and by tightening her hold on his neck. Raising her other hand to his shoulder, she grasped the hard, muscled flesh beneath his shirt and held fast.
Charlie released her head to place both hands on her waist and pull her closer, which was difficult from their positions on the sofa.
Starla gave up all pretense of keeping her cool, and with typical spontaneity, gratified her longing for closer contact. Without ending the kiss and while remaining bent over him, she raised up and over to straddle his lap and wrap her arms around his shoulders.
His response was a groan that started in his chest and played against her tongue. He slid his hands beneath her sweater and brushed his palms up her back. His welcome touch on her skin was like kindling tossed on a hungry snapping fire. A slow somersault of passion turned in her abdomen; her nipples tightened with the extreme pleasure of his touch. She wanted to grasp his wrists and bring his hands around to cover her breasts, but this was a first kiss, she reminded herself.
A completely, devastatingly, demandingly, incredible first kiss. Starla didn’t think she’d ever been kissed like this. She could wait until the next decade for him to move his hands and still be in sensory heaven.
When he did move them, it was to grasp her hips and pull her down harder against his erection. At the same time, he broke the contact of their mouths and met her eyes.
“What are we doing?” he rasped on a throaty breath. He glanced aside and Starla followed his quick gaze to the opposite end of the wraparound sofa where Meredith lay sleeping soundly.
Starla turned her attention back to Charlie. Her lips felt deliciously hot and swollen. She wanted to kiss him again more than she wanted to breathe. “Just a kiss,” she said softly, straightening her posture by placing one hand on his cotton-clad chest.
“If that was just a kiss, then what’s outside is a just a few flurries.”
She couldn’t resist a smile. The afternoon took on a momentous life-changing quality that she recognized as one of those moments she would remember forever as an event that had changed her life. The music had stopped, so there wasn’t even a song to cover the sound of their heightened breathing or the rapid beat of their hearts. Charlie smelled like wood and sunshine, and she tasted him on her lips. His taste was a seduction in itself. She wanted to touch her tongue to his skin; imagining doing it made her hot with desire for him. Beneath her fingers, his heart beat in tandem with hers.
Take it easy, Starla. Don’t go glamorizing a moment of lust into something it’s not. I won’t. I’m a big girl. But I want more.
“What am I thinking?” Charlie asked on a whisper.
She studied his eyes, his sensual mouth. “That your daughter could wake up any moment?”
“Didn’t cross my mind until a moment ago.”
“That I can’t really read your mind?”
He shook his head.
She dared to hope when she responded, “You’re thinking about later?”
“As much as I want that—” his body and his eyes proved that was true “—I really can’t handle a complication.”
“I’m not complicated,” she replied, assuring him that she understood he didn’t want more than a temporary distraction. She wasn’t one to take sex lightly, but there was something about Charlie and the way he made her feel that she didn’t want to let slip by. She was willing to accept a brief relationship on his terms.
Charlie raised his hands to her shoulders and pulled her close to cover her lips with his once more. He slid his fingers across her cheek in a delicate caress, and she imagined them on her breasts, her thighs, her belly, envisioned him touching her, arousing her. An expectant tingle went through her body.
Charlie ended the kiss and said with his mouth against her cheek, “Later, then.”
His words promised pleasure. And even though he released her and she moved away, the smoldering desire in his eyes backed up the vow. Somehow they finished the day going through the motions of normal activity. Starla finished the strands of popcorn while Charlie packed the ornament boxes and carried the cartons back to storage.
By then Meredith was awake and she helped Starla hang the homemade garland on the tree. Evening cast its winter darkness and, together with the snow, encased them in the privacy and peace of the warm comfortable log house.
Starla had never enjoyed preparing for Christmas as much as she was enjoying this time with the McGraws. And they weren’t even her family, she thought as she realized how remarkably at home she was feeling. She’d happened into the comfort and security of an intimate haven.
Charlie, Meredith, their loving relationship, the house, the snow and the overall mood all played a part in the feelings of cocooned serenity and salvation.
Dangerous maybe. Probably. Undoubtedly. None of this was real. None of it was secure. She was a stranger passing through their lives. She would be gone soon and they would go on as if she’d never been here. But as long as she knew that, as long as she kept it in perspective, why shouldn’t she enjoy her time here for what it was?
She intended to. And she intended to make the most of it in the short time she had. Why shouldn’t she?
While Starla read a book, Charlie took his daughter into his shop, and they spent a couple of hours working on the gift for his mother. It was a project Charlie had started some time back. The wood needed to be stained and varnished. Meredith loved that part, and he enjoyed their time together. He should have thought of letting her help a long time ago. He’d been preoccupied and he was only just now recognizing what he’d been doing to his relationship with his child.
Later, after they’d eaten, Charlie watched Starla and Meredith load the dishwasher and caught the look Starla cast him beneath her lashes. He didn’t know if it had been luck that brought her to the Elmwood diner only two nights ago, or fate that had dropped her off at his door in a blizzard, but he wasn’t stupid enough to pass up a good thing when it landed in his lap. Literally.
He handed her a plate and their fingers brushed. It amazed him still that a woman as incredibly beautiful and as charming and as much fun as Starla would even look at him twice, let alone be sincerely lusting for him as badly as he was for her.
Okay, he didn’t need a mask to keep from scaring small children away, but he was no Brad Pitt. He wasn’t particularly tall—Starla stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, which didn’t seem to matter to her. He had nice hair, he guessed and preparing healthy food for Meredith and himself had kept him in relatively good shape. Starla seemed to enjoy his company. Didn’t expect anything of him. Made him laugh. Made him hard. Made him crazy.
Charlie felt more at ease around her than he had around anyone he could think of and he barely knew her. Why was that? He found himself being uncharacteristically playful, saying things he wouldn’t normally say, being a person he’d never been with his wife or any other woman.
He felt confident in being whomever he wanted with Starla. She had no preconceived notions about him—he could project anything he wished. She didn’t expect anything from him or want anything from him—nothing except his body perhaps, for a brief time. No hardship there.
She was comfortable to talk to, fun to be around, safe to play with. Because she’s leaving.
He pointedly ignored that thought. “Time for bed, sweetie,” he said to Meredith. “Brush your teeth and I’ll be right in.”
“You’ll read me a story?”
“Maybe even two.”
Meredith squealed and dashed to her room.
While Starla added detergent and started the wash cycle, Charlie leaned against the counter and thought over their talks. Somewhere in the midst of all that banter about honesty and playful talk about kidding oneself, a lot of truth had been revealed. When Starla had a
sked who he was and he’d responded damned if he knew, he had been directly on the mark.
Charlie had never had the freedom to learn who he was. He was a responsible son, a dependable husband, doting father. He was everything that others expected of him, but nothing he had deliberately chosen for himself. He hadn’t really even picked his own wife.
A knot of remorse formed in his gut at the thought.
When he’d been orphaned at a young age, the Phillips family took him in as their own. Kendra had been gracious and kind, just like her parents, and the two had become friends and childhood sweethearts. When they reached high school age, everyone thought Charlie and Kendra were the perfect couple, and Charlie’s adopted parents were no exception.
The blush of young love had faded—for Charlie anyway—but by that time the town had linked their names and expected a wedding. Wed they had, but they’d grown apart and eventually, after Meredith was born, they’d slept in separate rooms. Charlie could never have disappointed the Phillipses by divorcing their daughter.
He was not resentful, never had been; the Phillipses were wonderful people, and he loved them. He’d loved Kendra in his own way. But he hadn’t been in love. And he bore his share of guilt for that. She’d deserved better than an obligatory husband.
Charlie watched Starla wipe the counters and rinse out the dishcloth. He had never been attracted to his wife in the way he was to this woman. She had loosely fastened her hair up in a clip, revealing her slender neck and delicate ears. Yesterday the thought of kissing that neck would have been a dream, tonight it was an anticipation. His blood ran thick and hot at the promise. She wanted him!
Starla turned out the kitchen light and faced him. “All finished.”
A quiver of anticipation zigzagged up his spine. There had never been anyone before Kendra. And afterward, well, Elmwood was a small town. He’d had a few casual relationships, but as soon as he was seen with someone, the local gossips had them walking down the aisle, so he simply avoided that particular noose and had even considered moving away. But he could never take Meredith from her grandparents. They were her only family. So he stayed. And had very few opportunities for carnal pleasure.
“I’ll be back after story time,” he said.
She picked up a cup of tea she’d made for herself. “I’ll look for a movie. Unless you want to play a game or something.”
Always offering him choices, this woman. He smiled. “Okay, a game.”
She moved gracefully toward the living room and he went to tuck in Meredith. Of course his daughter chose two long stories that night, and Charlie did his best to do them justice. Meredith had fallen asleep by the end of the second one, so he tucked her in with a lingering kiss on her forehead and turned out the light. He left the room, shutting her door.
Starla had lowered the lights and set up the checkerboard on the heavy coffee table and pulled it nearer the fireplace. “This okay?” she asked, looking up.
The firelight created shadows on her exquisite face. Just looking at her took his breath away. “This is great. I’ll get us a drink.”
He opened a bottle of wine and returned with it and two glasses to sit at an angle from her where he could lean back against a chair. He poured them each a glass and they tasted the wine.
Starla set her glass down. “Want to make the first move?”
His brain fuzzed over for a moment, but he collected his senses and looked at the game board. “After you.”
She turned the board so that she had the black checkers and moved one.
After several moves, she jumped one of his men. Two plays later and she had another. “Are you concentrating?”
He shook his head. “Do you really want to do this?”
Her gaze moved across his face. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. Have you changed your mind about…?”
“Lord, no. I’m asking if you want to play this game or if you’d rather just get right to what’s on our minds.”
She smiled then. “What is on our minds, Charlie? I mean, are you thinking about more of what happened this afternoon…you know, seeing how that works for us…or are we thinking about, well, sex?”
He was definitely thinking about sex, but he didn’t want to rush either of them into anything. “I don’t really have a plan,” he replied easily. “I’m pretty flexible.”
“Can we just see where things go naturally?” she asked. “Without too many expectations?”
“You don’t know how perfect that sounds to me,” he replied, appreciating her frankness and her reluctance to rush.
She picked up her glass and took a sip.
The next move would be his, and he should put her at ease as she had with him. He reached across the space separating them, took her free hand and urged her closer. She scooted across the floor until they were hip to hip and he could place his arm around her while she shared the chair as a backrest.
They sipped their wine and watched the fire. There was no rush, no expectation, and the silence was comfortable.
“Have you ever been married?” he asked her finally.
“Not even close. You know I was on the road with my dad a lot, and then I went to college, but I was intent on my studies. I hung around with a few guys, but nothing serious.”
“But you’ve been in relationships.”
“A couple.” She turned and looked up at him. “Are you asking me how many guys I’ve slept with?”
“No. I’m asking about your life. I’m curious.”
She turned her gaze away.
“And initially I guess I was asking to make sure you didn’t have a husband.”
She sat forward and frowned at him. “Charlie! Do you think if I was married I wouldn’t have told you right off?”
“I don’t know. You could be estranged.”
“And if I was, then what? You’d care?”
“Well, yeah, I’d care.”
She snuggled back against his side. “Good.”
He lowered his face and smiled against her hair. Inhaled. Closed his eyes to savor the sweet enjoyment of having this woman to hold.
Starla could afford to be selective, and the fact that she seemed even slightly attracted to him blew his mind.
She didn’t want him to expect anything of her. Ironic, because he had no idea what to expect. She was mysterious and unpredictable. She was perfect. And she was here for the time being. What more could he want?
A log shifted in the fire, and sparks flew up the chimney. She placed her glass on the table and leaned into him, her warmth and softness traveling like liquid flame up his side and through his blood.
What more could he want?
Chapter Nine
Charlie wanted her, Starla could tell, but he wasn’t demanding or hasty. Having lost his wife, he would probably enjoy her companionship as long as things stayed uncomplicated. That was up to her. He had a lot to offer, even without love or commitment, and in order to enjoy it herself, she simply had to let go and flow with the experience.
Charlie. She even liked his name. It was an unpretentious name. Like the man. “Is your name Charles?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your middle name? No, let me guess.” She looked up into his smiling eyes.
He placed his other hand on her shoulder.
“Perhaps your middle name is Shortribs, or Sheep-shanks, or Laceleg?”
Charlie laughed, a full-out chortle that came from his toes, and she loved that she could amuse him. “You heard us reading Rumplestiltskin, didn’t you?”
She shook her head. “Didn’t have to, read it to her myself yesterday.”
He finished his wine and set the glass aside. “Well, no, but you’re warm.”
She leaned toward him and placed a finger on his chin. “David.”
“No.”
“Richard.”
“No.”
“William.”
He raised his brows. “How’d you do that? You saw something with my name on it.”
“I’m psychic, did you forget?”
He reached behind her head and fumbled for the clasp that held her hair and within seconds the barrette was out and her hair draped her shoulders. “Come on, how’d you guess so easily?”
“Simple. Charles is a classic no-nonsense name, so it only figures that your middle name would match.”
He ran his hands through her hair, and her scalp tingled. She felt his touch all the way through her body. Her skin responded by warming.
“What’s your middle name?” he asked.
“What, you can’t guess?”
“Probably not in a million years. If it’s logical to assume that the first name matches the middle, which I don’t know is a sound theory, by the way, Starla is pretty unusual. But it definitely suits you.”
“So you don’t want to guess?”
“If I guess it, will you spin straw into gold for me?”
“That’s not how the story goes at all, and you know it. If you guess it I spare you some terrible fate.”
“The little man in the fairy tale intended to take the queen’s child if she couldn’t guess his name. You’ve already returned my daughter. So what will you not take from me?”
“What do you want to keep that I could take away?”
He brought his hand to her jaw and caressed her cheek. “My better judgment?”
As if she could influence him to that degree. He seemed pretty grounded in all areas as far as she could tell. Her heart fluttered all the same. “You’ll never guess it anyway, Charlie.”
“Then you can have my good sense.” He tucked her hair behind one ear and traced the ear with his finger. “Moonbeam.”
She grinned. “Nope.”
“Luna.”
She shook her head.
“Venus.”
She pulled a face. “No.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders and his expression grew serious. “Angel?”
She shook her head.
“Angelica.”
“You’re not going to guess it, Charlie.”
Charlie's Angels Page 9
