Thrown for a Curve

by Sugar Jamison

  * * *

  Sometimes when she thought of Colin she imagined what kind of place he lived in. For some reason she had pictured black leather couches and sleek modern furniture. A bachelor pad. But she should have known better just by seeing his work. What she stepped into was beautiful. Big. Old. Victorian, with hardwood floors so shiny she was afraid to walk on them. This was more than a house for him. It was a home.

  His fingers brushed hers, and she was alerted to the fact that she was gawking.

  “Let me take that from you, love.”

  Her cheeks burned. Crap. She was nervous. She’d argued with herself all day before she decided to walk over. Maybe they shouldn’t have come—well, barged in—but she hadn’t asked him beforehand because she didn’t want to give him the chance to say no. The thought of him spending the holidays alone made her feel … hollow. Not sorry for him, but understanding. She only had Baba, and she hoped that she was never faced with spending Christmas alone.

  “It’s board games, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and good vodka,” she said as he lifted the heavy box with ease.

  “Good vodka?” He gave her a lazy smile that did more to her than she would like to admit, then headed in the same direction Baba had taken off in.

  “Yes, it’s Russian vodka. My grandfather’s favorite. You can tell it’s good because the label isn’t in English.”

  “Tell me something, love.” He glanced back at her. “What the hell are you anyway?”

  She grinned, having been asked that question a lot. “I’m Ukrainian.”

  He looked confused. “But you speak Russian?”

  “It’s okay, honey. Most people can’t find Ukraine on a map but we border Russia so our cultures overlap. And yes, I speak three languages fluently. My papa refused to speak to me in English till I picked up Russian.”

  “That’s a bit fucked up.” He led her into his dining room, which was enormous for a single man. Again Cherri’s eyes drank in everything about the room. Nothing was new, or cookie-cutter, or had seen the inside of a store in the last thirty years. It was him.

  “I was a pretty quick study,” she said absently unable to stop herself from studying everything.

  He set the box down on his table.

  “This is amazing,” she breathed. It was a French door turned into a dining room table. But that alone didn’t make it special. In between panes of glass were black-and-white photos, serving as a time line into his past. There were a few of Colin and Mike back in their college days, with drinks in their hands and naughty-boy grins on their faces; one captured him as a boy sitting on his father’s lap. There were places he had been, people he had met, and friends who had made an impact on him over the years. But the photo that caused her breath to catch was of her. She was barefoot, on the beach in a little sundress, a sprig of baby’s breath tangled in her hair, smiling at something the camera didn’t capture.

  Shiitake mushrooms.

  Her heart slowed as she looked up at him. He had a picture of her? She warranted a spot on the table? “This was taken at Mike and Ellis’s wedding.”

  He nodded once. “Your real name isn’t Cherri. Is it? It’s a bit odd for a girl.”

  “Charlotte.” He was changing the subject! “You made this? You put all these pictures in here?”

  “No. It came like that. Got it off eBay. How did you get that name?”

  “Soap opera.” She faced him, hands on her hips, unwilling to let the subject go. “My mother liked it. Why am I on here?”

  He stepped closer. Damn, he was tall, and apparently not easily cowed. “I like the name Charlotte and you’re on there because it’s a good picture and I needed something to fill that space.”

  “Oh.” That shut her up. It was a logical explanation. There was no need to read anymore into it. Right? “It’s a beautiful table. When I get rich I want you to make me one.”

  “You don’t need to be rich, Charlotte. You can use this as your down payment.” He turned away for a moment, pulling an envelope off the hutch in the corner and handing it to her.

  Holy rotten metal, Batman!

  His grin grew wider, and she had the urge to pinch him. “It’s for the stool.”

  “The stool?” She frowned. “You’re not supposed to pay me. You fixed Baba’s music box.”

  “Lass, when I asked you to paint that stool I expected a ladybug or a monkey.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “You painted an Impressionist-style ballerina. It was brilliant. You deserve this.”

  “But it was a total rip-off of Renoir’s The Dancer. I just made it prettier and pinker.”

  “What you did was make it valuable. That decorator I told you about stopped by this morning. She bought it on the spot for her own house, and she wants you to paint an ottoman for her next.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. The check is a bribe to get you to work with me.”

  “Work with you?”

  “Yeah. Apparently rich people want to piss away their money on shit they don’t need. We could be the supplier of that shit, love.”

  Before she’d even thought about what he was proposing she wanted to say yes.

  Paint for money? Sign me up.

  But her mind caught up with her heart and she thought for a moment. “You want me to leave Ellis and work for you?” Ellis was her friend and a great boss, but painting was her passion.

  “I’m not saying that. We could work around your schedule or you could cut back on your hours there, but seriously, Cherri. That dress shop is Ellis’s dream. It’s not yours and you’re too talented to spend your life working in somebody else’s store.”

  When she opened her mouth to speak, he continued. “You need to paint. It’s what you were born to do and if I haven’t convinced you yet, you could make more working with me than for her.”

  His argument sounded really good, almost too good to be true. It had been a long time since she had been able to paint, and when she’d dipped the brush in that creamy pink color, calm had fallen over her. Painting was the only thing that made her truly happy. “You said I would be working with you. Don’t you mean for you?”

  “No. With me. We’d be partners in this. I can’t do this without you. Plus I’ve got a bum hand. I could use some help around the shop.”

  She took his bandaged hand between hers and studied it. “What happened?”

  “I burned it on the blowtorch. It was stupid. I’ve been distracted lately.”

  That made the two of them. “Your bandage is dirty.”

  “Is it?” he said absently. She could feel his gaze on her face, and for some reason she couldn’t force her eyes to connect with his. “I was working in the shop earlier.”

  “You have to keep it clean, Colin,” she scolded. “This is not a little-kid boo-boo. There is no kissing it to make it better.”

  “It depends on where you kiss me, love.” At his flirtatious words, her eyes flew up and locked with his. “Sorry, lass. I shouldn’t have said that.” He pulled his hand away from hers.

  Mortification swept over her. She turned away, sure that her face was molten-lava red. “I should find Baba.” She unloaded the box she had brought with her, arranging each item meticulously so that she wouldn’t have to look at his handsome face.

  “You should answer my question. Are you going to work with me?”

  She nodded, even though the thought of spending more time alone with him frightened her. It was a good opportunity. If she passed on this chance she might never get another one. “When do you want me to start?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  “Hey, Irish.” Baba shuffled into the dining room. “How are you hanging?”

  “What?” He looked startled by her question.

  “How’s it hanging, she means.” Cherri couldn’t contain her laughter.

  “Oh, I’m fine. How are you feeling?” He wrapped a long arm around her shoulder. “I hope you’re not giving Cherri a hard time?”

  “Ha! I take g
ood care of her. She would waste away without me.” She turned and sniffed Colin. “What are you wearing, Irish? Old Spice? I like it. You smell like a man.” She gave his stomach a couple of hard pats. “I like this, too. I could grate cheese on this.”

  “Baba,” Cherri warned before the old woman got too frisky.

  “Hush.” Baba leveled her with a gaze. “I am old. I’ll do what I want.” She patted his abs again. “Like a rock! You stay away from this man, pixie. He’s not for you.”

  “Am I for you, love?” Colin kissed Baba’s soft, chubby cheek. “You know, I was thinking about starting things up with an older woman. You want to give it a go?”

  “Gag!” Cherri shook her head. “Can you two stop this freaky flirting thing? It’s turning my stomach.”

  “Fine,” Baba sighed. “It’s time to eat. My pixie was worried about you, Irish. She was right. You are too skinny. I made pork roast and three types of potatoes for you. Irish people like potatoes, no?”

  “We love ’em. Come ladies, let’s eat.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Sweet dreams are made of this …

  Colin glanced at the clock over the mantel of his fireplace as he stretched out on his couch. It was getting late—nearly ten PM—and he was having a hard time keeping himself from yawning. The Rudy ladies were very entertaining. Ten years ago if somebody would have told him that he was going to have more fun with a senior citizen than he’d ever had at a bar, he would have called them a liar. But Baba was entertaining and so was Cherri. He watched the two playfully go at it all night, his head bouncing like a tennis ball as they went back and forth. They played board games, sipped vodka, and laughed. He was glad that he didn’t have to spend the night alone.

  “She’s out cold,” Cherri announced as she reemerged from the back of the house. “I probably shouldn’t have let her drink all those shots.” They were still in his house. Normally Colin wasn’t one to entertain but this time the invasion didn’t bother him. He’d purchased the big house because he loved the possibility of it, but he’d never anticipated how empty it would feel.

  “She’s seventy-five and it’s Christmas. Let her have her fun.”

  “I think she had too much fun.” She plopped on the couch beside him, kicking off her shoes in the process. “She’s passed out in your guest room wearing only her slip.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was going to wake her up so we could go, but I’m going to let her be for a little while. She hasn’t been sleeping well.”

  “And neither have you.” He reached over and brushed the hair out her face. It was late and she was tired, but he’d known when she’d walked in that she wasn’t herself.

  She yawned widely. “I’m fine.” He didn’t want to accuse her of lying but she clearly was. Some of the sparkle had gone out of her big green eyes, and he was surprised to find that he missed it. “Are you sure it’s okay that we came over? I just planned to feed you, not take up your whole night.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll kick you out before my date comes.”

  A tiny smile crossed her lips. “Don’t let Baba see her. I think you may have a catfight on your hands. Trust me, that old woman is scrappy. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.” She relaxed against the back of the couch, her eyes drifting shut. “Talk to me. So I don’t fall asleep. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, but for once he was lost for words. Her curvy body was pressed against him, and just like every other time when he’d felt her against him his brain wasn’t functioning correctly. She’s your friend, he kept reminding himself, just like all the others. Except he was having a hard time thinking of another woman he called friend. It was probably because he’d never had one before, and there was a reason for that. Men and women could never really be friends.

  Sex always got in the way. He was going to have to try extra-hard to distance himself from Cherri. Insanity had prompted him to offer her a job, but logically it made sense for both of them. He needed help around the shop and a simple way to expand his business. She needed to use her God-given talents to earn a living.

  “Dinner was good,” he finally said as her head landed gently on his shoulder. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. Thanks for thinking of me, love.”

  “I think about you a lot, Colin,” she yawned, and before he could respond to her jarring statement she was out cold.

  She slept soundly on his shoulder and Colin was content to let her rest her head there all night, but he was getting a crick in his neck from the position. He should wake her up, bundle her and her grandmother into his car, and take them home, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want his house to go back to feeling empty so soon. So instead of listening to his brain he responded to his body and pulled her down on the couch so that her soft body lay on top of him.

  “What are you doing?” She couldn’t even open her eyes to ask the question. “Maybe it’s time for us to go home. I left Rufus with the neighbors. They said they would keep him, but I don’t want to impose.”

  “It’s after midnight. I don’t think they’ll take kindly to you knocking at their door now. Go back to sleep. He’s a tough lad. He’ll survive the night without you.” He yanked the blanket that he kept on the couch over them. “You’re staying here tonight.”

  * * *

  Usually by this time of the night Cherri woke up in a near-Popsicle state, but tonight she found herself deliciously warm. She snuggled closer to her hard bed, trying to absorb more heat into her aching body. Tomorrow was Christmas and for once she had no place to be. Maybe she could steal a few extra hours of sleep and rest up before she had to be back at the store the day after.

  Something brushed her lower back and she startled but she refused to open her eyes, afraid of what she might see. If it was a mouse she was going to scream. They’d had this problem two years ago but this time she refused to set sticky traps all over the house. She was getting a cat no matter what Baba said. Whatever it was brushed her back again, but this time it touched her skin beneath her sweater. Warm, firm, and heavy. The mysterious object felt more like a hand than a creepy little mouse.

  She opened her eyes and finally recalled where she was. Colin gave her a sleepy smile, those little lines around his eyes crinkling, seeming to smile at her, too. “Hi,” she said sheepishly. “You don’t have to be polite. You can tell me that I’m squishing you.” She tried to get off him but his long arms closed around her like a clamp and she was stuck.

  There’s no better place to be stuck than to a hard-bodied, spicy-smelling man.

  “You aren’t.” He loosened his grip slightly. “I’m comfortable. Now go back to sleep.”

  If only she could. She felt him everywhere; the tingles she tried so hard to ignore were affecting every part of her body, especially her brain. “There’s something hard poking my thigh,” she said in a feeble attempt to put some space between them. “Can’t you feel that? I think it’s the remote.”

  “Cherri, don’t—”

  She reached between them and instead of touching hard plastic she felt a different kind of hardness. She trailed the length of it, unable to process what it was, or what she was doing for a moment.

  Colin’s breath hissed out of him. “For fuck’s sake, stop it.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes connected with his. “Oh!” But for some reason she couldn’t pull her hand away. She touched him again through his pants, causing him to grow even harder beneath her touch. “It’s … big.”

  His expression was somewhere in between horrified and turned on, and it made her smile. She didn’t want to stop touching him. This could all be a dream, and she didn’t want to wake up to find she had chickened out. “Tell me, Colin. How did this happen?”

  “Knock it off, lass. This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s a little funny.” She laughed as she stroked his impressive length once more.

  “Enough,” he growled, and before she knew it she was on her back, her arms pinned above her head. “You want to k
now how this happened? You’re a soft warm woman who smells good and I’d have to be dead ten fucking years not to be affected.”

  He was pressed between her legs and she felt him there and suddenly every tingly feeling in her body had traveled lower and she wanted to feel more of him. All of him, without clothing, but she knew his conscience would never let him get that far. She would just have to settle for a kiss.

  * * *

  He knew what she was planning even before her lips touched his. “Don’t do this, lass,” he begged her. He was a man after all. He only had so much self-control, and Cherri was beautiful. She did things to his brain and stirred his blood and he wanted her more than he had wanted anybody in as long as he could remember.

  He held his body rigid as her soft lips brushed his. If he didn’t respond, if he didn’t kiss her back, he might have a chance in hell. A very small chance. She tasted like chocolate and vodka. Sweet and intoxicating. Her kiss was gentle, her mouth wet, her tongue exploring. A team of wild horses couldn’t force him to drag his mouth away from hers, and so he surrendered. He closed his eyes and let her do what she wanted.

  This kiss was different from any other. He had always been the aggressor; the kisser. The one who went after what he wanted but being kissed by her was different. It rocked his world, made him think there was more to sex and love and intimacy than he thought he knew.

  “Colin?” She broke the kiss, but he had a hard time opening his eyes. Maybe if he kept them closed he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he was kissing the last woman on the planet that he should. “Look at me.”

  He obeyed her order, wishing he hadn’t. Her skin was dewy, her lips pink and kiss-swollen. Her eyes were wide and filled with a need that he wanted so bad to fulfill. “I’m only so strong, lass. Please don’t do this to me.”

  “Kiss me back.”

  He groaned. “Don’t ask me to do that, love.”

  “Please,” she whispered. “Just this once.”

  You have no future with this girl.

  She’s not a girl. She’s more of a woman than you deserve.