by Amy Andrews
‘That’ll be for you,’ she said, and watched as he ambled over with his long-legged stride.
‘Hello, Valley Drop-In Centre, this is Charlie.’
‘Is there something wrong with using your full medical title? Really, Charles, the Wentworth name is something most doctors in Brisbane would kill to have.’
Charlie gripped the receiver tighter. ‘Father.’
Carrie looked up from the keyboard. Charlie’s dad? He looked and sounded about as pleased to hear from him as he had the day she’d walked in. She didn’t know anyone who used such a formal title in everyday conversation.
‘Have you looked at that application I emailed you? With my recommendation you’d get the position easily.’
‘I’m not having this conversation again. I have a job. I’m not interested in a surgical position.’
Charlie’s voice was terse and Carrie looked back at the screen, pretending she couldn’t hear every word he was saying.
‘Charles! Every Wentworth since—’
‘Since federation has risen to the level of consultant in his or her chosen specialty,’ Charlie ended, used to the spiel by now.
‘You think this is amusing, Charles?’
Good lord, no. His father was about as funny as a wet week. But, on the other hand, it was getting kind of ridiculous. ‘Mildly.’
‘I’m thinking of what’s best for you Charles.’
‘Nonsense. You’re thinking of the family reputation. Hell, Dad, the Wentworths aren’t the Mafia.’ Although it was beginning to feel like it. ‘Give it up.’
The Wentworths? The Wentworth family? Charlie was one of Brisbane’s first family? Medical royalty? What the hell was he doing here, in a lowly drop-in clinic?
‘We’ll speak more about this at lunch on Sunday.’
‘Oh, goody,’ he said derisively.
‘Your mother is expecting you, Charles. Goodbye.’
Charlie hung up on his father’s reproachful tone. He glanced at Carrie tapping away at her keyboard, looking for all the world like she wasn’t actually there. He chuckled. ‘It’s OK, Carrie, it was kind of hard not to hear.’
Carrie gave up the pretence. ‘You’re one of the Wentworths?’
‘Afraid so.’
Good. It was good that she’d found this out now. Charlie Wentworth was way out of her league. Had she been interested. Which she wasn’t. ‘So that makes you…’
Charlie nodded. ‘The black sheep.’
She gave him a quelling look. ‘Ignatius Wentworth’s son? Sir Nelson Wentworth’s grandson?’
‘Guilty.’
The smile he shot her was slow and lazy and her toes curled. Stop it! Charlie’s family had an entire national research facility named after them, for crying out loud. And she was most definitely a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. ‘How the hell did you wind up here? Did you kill someone?’
Charlie was momentarily shocked at her bluntness. And he laughed as she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her quick horrified gasp at her unprofessional comment.
‘I’m sorry…that didn’t quite come out the way I’d planned. Forgive me.’
Charlie sobered. ‘It’s OK, and, no, I didn’t kill someone. I’m here through choice.’
‘Choice? Wentworths don’t choose grungy drop-in centres.’
‘That would be why I’m the black sheep.’ He grinned.
Carrie shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. You could be doing anything.’
Charlie looked at the utter disbelief in her face. Veronica had looked at him like that. Often. Had said the same words. Somehow he’d thought Carrie was different and the thought that she wasn’t was strangely depressing. He pulled up a chair and sank into it, taking a swig of his coffee.
‘There was an incident when I was a med student. I was on a ride-along shift with the ambulance and we got called to the valley to an overdose. When we arrived there was this girl, she was about my age. And it was cold, you know the middle of winter, so cold. We were all rugged up and she was wearing this tiny T-shirt and miniskirt.’ He shook his head, still staring at his coffee.
‘No one knew her. I mean, there was this crowd of people around her, gawking at her like she was an exhibit in a museum, but no one knew her. She had tracks all up her arms. A junkie. We tried to revive her but it was too late. We declared her deceased and everyone just drifted away. No one cared. She was just a faceless street kid all alone at the very end with no one to grieve for her. No one to mourn the waste.’
Carrie shivered as she listened to Charlie recount the story. He was staring into the murky depths of his coffee, a far-away look in his cloudy grey gaze.
‘And it’s stuck with me ever since. I don’t know.’ He shrugged, looking up at her. ‘Maybe it was her age, maybe it was her dead-looking eyes, but all I could think was, there but for the grace of God…you know? And I just knew, right there at that moment, I knew I had to do something to help kids like that.’
There was silence for a few moments as they stared at each other. It was a moment when Carrie felt she could almost see into his soul. Everything was laid bare to her. There was compassion and righteousness and belief. How would she feel if Dana went off the rails and ran away from home, got into drugs? She could only hope there would be a Charlie with a blanket somewhere, looking out for her.
A few more moments ticked by. ‘So, your father’s not thrilled?’
Charlie chuckled and downed the remnants of his drink, ‘You could say that,’ he said, rising and heading for the sink.
Carrie’s mobile phone rang. ‘It’s my mother.’
Charlie nodded and headed out of the room to give her some privacy. ‘See you later.’
At nine o’clock Carrie was satisfied enough with her progress to call it a day. She packed up her laptop, grabbed her bag and threw her jacket over her arm.
‘I’m off,’ she said, leaning against Charlie’s doorjamb.
Charlie looked up. She’d applied some more lip gloss and her electric blue silk tempted him with its delectable contents. ‘I’ll walk you out,’ he said, feigning interest in a journal article as he rose.
She shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.’
He gave her a stern look. ‘This is the valley. The dodgy end. Daytime, fine. Nighttime, no way.’
Carrie laughed to hide her consternation. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. Charlie’s aura was too disturbing. She gestured with her arm. ‘Lead the way.’
They walked side by side the short distance to the back alley where they both parked their cars. His beat-up old Datsun obscured her car temporarily, which was just as well.
‘Oh, no,’ she gasped, dropping her briefcase in horror.
Her hire car had been stripped and vandalised.
‘God damn it!’ Charlie shook his head, inspecting the damage. Her wheels were missing, the windows had been smashed and the seats slashed. ‘This is why I don’t bring the Beamer.’
‘You have a BMW?’ Carrie asked, temporarily forgetting about her car.
‘A present from my parents,’ he dismissed.
Of course. ‘How tragic for you.’
Charlie ignored her. ‘Were there any valuables in it?’
She shook her head. ‘Because it was a rental there was nothing in there of ours. Oh, except…’ Carrie quickly checked the empty back seat ‘…Dana’s car seat.’
Charlie looked at her. ‘I’ll buy you another one.’
Carrie groaned and turned to lean against the remnants of her car, trying not to think about the insurance excess she’d be facing. She earned good money but her mortgage was hefty and she always ran fairly close to the wire.
‘Come on,’ Charlie said, putting his arm around her shoulder and urging her away from the car. ‘We’ll call the police, file a report and I’ll drive you home.’
Carrie resisted the urge to put her head against his shoulder. Just. ‘I can catch a taxi.’
‘No, wouldn’t hear of it,’ he insis
ted. ‘It’s the least I can do, considering your car was more than likely vandalised by some of my clients.’
Carrie was relieved that Charlie had taken over. She sat in the lounge chair and accepted the cup of tea he’d made for her. The police came promptly due, no doubt, to Charlie’s close working relationship with them, and she gave them her details.
‘Did you say Swenson Street, miss?’
Carrie nodded at the policeman, who looked like he’d just graduated from high school. She had to concentrate hard on his questions because Charlie was sitting casually on the fat, squishy arm of her chair and his leg swung lazily in her peripheral vision.
‘We’ve just been there. Your burglar’s struck again.’
‘“Your” burglar?’ Charlie asked, sitting up straighter.
Burglar? Good grief, it made it sound like there was a master jewel thief at large. ‘We have a gnome-napper terrorising the street. Old Mrs Dennis’s gnomes are mysteriously disappearing.’
‘Ah.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Poor Mrs Dennis.’
Carrie could see the twinkle of mirth lighting his grey eyes, like the sun shining through rainclouds. ‘Yes, Swenson Street, just like living in the Bronx,’ she agreed gravely.
The police left and Carrie and Charlie argued over his offer of a lift. The clinic was dark, Charlie having turned off all the lights in preparation to leave. The streetlights bathed the lounge in a soft glow.
‘Don’t you trust me?’
He was standing behind her and his voice was soft, a seductive caress reaching through the gloom to touch her across the short distance that separated them. That was the crazy thing. She did trust him. She felt perfectly safe. But there was a frisson of something else, too. A slight tremble to her hand and huskiness in her breath when she thought about sharing a car with him. Something stirred inside that hadn’t been stirred in a long time. Something that had been breathed into life five nights ago.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She gave a half-laugh. ‘Of course I do and because it’s Friday night in the city, and I can’t be bothered to wait an hour for a taxi, you’ve got yourself a deal.’
Carrie’s mobile rang as she did her seat belt up and she answered it. Charlie buckled up, too, started the car and pulled out as Carrie was hanging up.
Charlie’s male scent filled the confines of the car and Carrie had to resist the urge to put her face against his neck and inhale deeper. What the hell was happening to her? She was sitting in a car with a man she barely knew, getting high on pheromones. She just didn’t do stuff like this.
‘That was my sister,’ she said into the silence, grabbing hold of anything, anything to stop her actually sniffing his neck. ‘She was just ringing to remind me about my hair appointment tomorrow,’ she prattled. ‘She’s a hairdresser,’ she prattled some more.
Charlie pulled out of the alley. ‘Yeah? Maybe I’ll drop by one day and get that sensible haircut my father keeps nagging me about.’
‘Oh, no,’ Carrie admonished immediately, and raised a hand to touch his hair. It was soft and fine and the glide of it through her fingers was a surprisingly sensual experience.
Then she realised what she was doing and dropped her hand abruptly. ‘It suits you,’ she said, covering for the heat that she felt flushing her cheeks.
Charlie’s scalp tingled where she’d touched it and his thoughts were temporarily scrambled.
‘Warm in here, isn’t it?’ she muttered, winding the window down.
‘Yes,’ Charlie agreed, winding his window down also. There was a vibe between them that was hard to ignore. He could see the quickened rise and fall of her chest, the pull of the fabric across her breasts, her lips glistening in the passing glow of the streetlights.
And in his mind’s eye he could see her pulling the clasp out of her hair, discarding her glasses and him hauling her into his seat, onto his lap, ripping open that sexy, silky shirt, the buttons popping everywhere. He gripped the steering-wheel harder.
Thankfully the trip to her place was brief and she was content to stare out the window and not converse. He was excruciatingly conscious of her anyway, he didn’t need her voice in his ear. He should have let her take a taxi. He switched the engine off. Just walk her to the door, Charlie, see her inside and turn around.
Carrie unclipped her seat belt and heard a chorus of alarm bells ringing in her head as Charlie also unclipped his and opened his door. She placed a stilling hand on his arm. ‘You don’t have to see me in.’
Her hand felt hot through the fabric of his shirt and he wondered how hot it would feel on other areas of his body. ‘What about the burglar?’
She gave a half-laugh, hoping desperately to lighten the atmosphere. ‘The gnome-napper? You’re kidding, right?’
He looked at her building, at the lush tropical jungle that seemed to occupy every piece of land. Anyone could conceal themselves in the dense foliage. ‘I’ll see you in anyway.’ He climbed out of the car and away from her hot little hand.
Carrie took a deep breath and exited the car also. She was ultra-conscious of him behind her for the short trip from the street through the gardens to her front door.
‘Right, well, as you can see, no one lurking in the bushes. You can go now,’ she said briskly digging around in her bag for her keys.
Charlie looked at her. She sounded like a schoolteacher dismissing a child. He remembered how intimate it had felt the last time he’d been standing at her front door, holding Dana.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in for a nightcap?’
She stopped her search and looked at him. Was he mad? ‘No.’
He chuckled. ‘A coffee?’
Stark raving obviously. ‘Coffee keeps me awake,’ she said primly.
And she was seriously going to be able to sleep with this hum happening between them? He was going to lie awake, thinking of her straddled across him in his car, her blouse torn open. ‘Breakfast?’ He grinned.
Carrie felt her stomach lurch and heat flush her face, and was thankful for the night’s dark shadows. She opened her mouth to issue a stinging retort and noticed the teasing look on his face. ‘Are you trying to sexually harass me, Charlie?’
He laughed. ‘Is it working?’
Apparently. If the low-level buzz that was sensitising long-forgotten parts of her body was any indication. This was so not a conversation they should be having. She triumphantly pulled her keys out of her bag. ‘Thanks for the lift. My bed’s calling.’
Yes, it was. He could hear it loud and clear. He watched her shut her eyes briefly as she realised that she’d said something she shouldn’t have. Her bed was out there now. ‘Right.’ He swallowed. ‘I should go.’
Carrie looked into his eyes and nodded, trying to forget her gaffe. Hell. Why had she mentioned her bed? ‘Yes,’ she said.
Neither of them moved.
Put the key in the door and go inside. ‘Thanks again…for the…lift,’ she said. His intense stare made her trip and stumble over the words.
Turn around now and go back to the car. ‘My pleasure,’ he said, staring at her mouth beckoning him, bewitching him. How much pleasure could he find in those glistening, delectable lips?
Carrie didn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t—even her diaphragm was having trouble performing its usual function. She was conscious only of his eyes and the way he was looking at her mouth. Her breath was uneven and her heart fluttered madly.
He took a step closer to her. She felt suffocated by his nearness, by the intensity of his gaze, by the flare of hunger she could see in his grey eyes. Had anyone ever looked at her with such naked need? She took a step back. The door stopped her retreat.
An inner voice warned Charlie against the next step he took. But he was too far gone, too caught up in the pout of her mouth and the smell of her and the catch of her breath. ‘Tell me to leave,’ his husky voice requested.
‘Leave,’ she whispered, her whole body tingling in anticipation, her gaze fixed on his mouth. His eyes were hooded no
w as his tall, broad frame blocked out the ambient light.
He shook his head. ‘Mean it,’ he whispered back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE was a brief moment when meaning it was possible but it passed and Carrie knew she wasn’t strong enough to turn him away. The thought of his lips on hers, his hand on her body, his stubble grating erotically against her cheek was making a mockery of her self-control.
His head was moving closer to hers. All she needed to do was lean forward a little and their bodies would be in intimate contact. But only the slow passage of his mouth registered to her severely dysfunctional brain.
Her eyes fluttered closed at the first touch of his lips on hers and then everything imploded. It was no gentle, explorative press of flesh. It was hot and hard and frantic. Bordering on desperate. Carrie felt the heat instantly. Everywhere. All the way through to her centre and back out again.
He was everywhere. His breadth surrounded her, overwhelmed her, demanding and achieving entry into her most prized possession—her personal space. He pushed her harder and harder against the door, her back flattening against the wood as she pushed against him, inviting a deepening of the passion raging between them.
She couldn’t be passive—his lips demanded her to be an active participant. To thrust her tongue against his, to moan, to clutch the front of his shirt, to breathe hard like she’d run a marathon, to grind her hips into his. There was no time for thought or reflection, there was just feeling.
Like how good his mouth felt against hers, how her breasts ached to be touched, how hard he felt as he rocked his pelvis into her. And how long it had been since she’d done this. How ready she was. And how this kiss was never, ever going to be enough.
She wanted more. She wanted to see all of him. Touch all of him. Feel him deep inside her. There were no thoughts of tomorrow or Dana or her job. It had been four long years and his kisses were like sweet wine on parched lips. She couldn’t think straight. Just feel. Just experience. Just drink up every drop.
She dragged her mouth away. ‘Inside,’ she croaked.
