by Francis Ray
She remained in that position until Vincent’s car stopped in the circular driveway in front of her double doors. Charlotte didn’t wait for him to open her car door. By the time he caught up with her, she was halfway up the steps.
Opening the front door, she turned, her body rigid with indignation. “Good night, Vincent, and thank you for picking me up.”
“You’ve never met Ashley before tonight; why are you being so difficult?”
“Injustice is injustice. I don’t have to know the person,” she flared. “But I guess coming from the North, you wouldn’t understand.”
His mouth had that pinched look again, but all he said was, “I think you should go inside before one of us says something that can’t be taken back.”
Her chin lifted at his annoying way of ordering her around. Light brown eyes narrowed. “Sure thing, sugar.” Going inside, she flicked off the porch light and threw the dead bolts, angrier than she ever remembered being in her life. Stripping off her gloves, she headed for her bedroom. She reached the doorway and pulled up short, a sudden thought of Emma and Brian, and why she’d been trying to be nice to Vincent in the first place, coming to her.
Heck! She had done it again.
Whirling, she raced to unlock the front door, then rushed through it and straight into something hard and unmovable. A scream tore from her throat.
“Charlotte, it’s me.”
While her heart tried to beat out of her chest, she felt the alignment of his hard, muscular body against her, his large hands on her bare arms. Her heart then raced for an entirely different reason. Awareness shimmered though her. “I__I was afraid you’d already left.”
“I was waiting until the light came on at the other end of the house.”
“Oh,” was all Charlotte could manage as fear turned to other more dangerous emotions.
Vincent made no move to release her. Her luscious breasts were pillowed against his chest, one of her legs sandwiched between his. Her face, tipped up to his, was shadowed by the ornamental shrubs on either side of the small porch. Someone had watered the grass recently and the smell was earthy and elemental and oddly arousing.
“You make me angrier than any person I’ve ever met,” he finally said.
She had to moisten her lips before she could speak. “You seem to have the same effect on me.”
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“You’re from the North and I’m from the South?” she ventured, trying to hang on to the conversation and not keep wondering what his mouth would taste like against hers.
“Perhaps.” His hand lifted to her face. She trembled beneath his touch. Her eyelids drifted closed. Vincent stared at temptation and trouble. He could afford neither. Gently he eased her away. When her eyes opened, he released her and stepped off the porch, and took a deep breath, hoping it would clear the tantalizing scent of jasmine and the wrong woman from his nostrils, from his mind.
“Was there something you wanted to say?” he asked quietly, trying to forget how warm and soft Charlotte had felt in his arms.
“I__I wanted to apologize.” She couldn’t see his face clearly, but she imagined his eyebrow shot up. She sighed heavily. “For Emma and Brian’s sake, I hope this is the last time.”
“One can always hope.”
Charlotte tried not to sigh again. “One of the women tonight had some unflattering things to say about Ashley and it made me angry. I didn’t say anything to her, then I jumped all over you.”
He folded his arms. “Why me and not her?”
“Because I didn’t want to jeopardize your standings in the company, but when we began talking about women in the workplace I got upset all over again,” she explained. “You are wrong, you know.”
“Never bite your tongue for me,” Vincent told her. “I can take care of myself and furthermore, I’m not against women in the workplace, only those in positions that require them to be away from home more than they are there.”
“Please stop.” She held up both hands. “We’ll be arguing again, and I’ll have to apologize again.”
Smiling, he unfolded his arms. “I guess we agree that we disagree and let it go at that.”
“Deal.”
“How long do you think this time will last?”
“Depends on how long it takes you to annoy me,” she said with complete honesty.
Sudden laughter rippled from his mouth. “Charlotte, as Mary Lou said, you do liven things up.”
“I’m glad we got this settled,” she said.
“So am I.”
She stared at him; he stared at her. “Well, I guess I’ll say good night.”
“Good night, Charlotte.”
Charlotte hesitated for a moment longer, then went inside the house and locked the front door. Then, remembering what Vincent had said, she went to her bedroom and turned on the light. She didn’t hear the sound of his car starting and wondered if he had gone, just as she wondered why he hadn’t kissed her, and if the opportunity would present itself again.
Plopping on her bed, she stared up at the ceiling, a slow smile curving her lips. She certainly hoped so.
FOUR
She was all that he desired, all that he wanted. She responded eagerly to the lightest touch of his hands, the gentlest brush of his lips. He’d fantasized, planned, and now she was in his arms, draped only in moonlight. Her breathing was as ragged as his, her need as great. He’d give them the release they both craved, but not yet. He wanted to savor the taste, the textures, the scent that was uniquely hers.
“I need you,” she said, her voice low, hushed, urgent.
“I need you too,” he answered, his voice tight and guttural. He reveled in the demanding nails raking his back.
“Vincent, is that you?”
Vincent came awake instantly. He stared at the phone clutched in his fist as if he had never seen one. Groaning in part embarrassment, part disappointment, he sucked in a gulp of air and spoke into the receiver. “Yes.”
“I—I didn’t mean to disturb you. If you’re busy I can call back when you … er finish … I mean later.”
Vincent closed his eyes, then opened them and stared down at the papers scattered on the desk in his home office in his condo. He’d fallen asleep while working on them. A rarity. His body didn’t usually shut off until he allowed it to do so. Instinctively he’d answered the phone while still asleep. And dreaming, a very erotic dream.
“Vincent, should I call back later?”
His eyes opened at the continued hesitancy in Charlotte’s voice and realized what she must have thought when he answered the phone the way he had. His hand rubbed the back of his neck impatiently. She was the reason behind his loss of sleep for the past week. He kept dreaming that they were in bed together with nothing separating them but a thin sheen of perspiration after a marathon bout of hot sex just like tonight.
“Vincent?”
“I’m here.” He took three long breaths, hoping to focus his mind elsewhere and forget about the problem below his waist. It didn’t work. “What is it, Charlotte?”
They hadn’t spoken or seen each other since he had dropped her off at her home last Saturday night.
“Brian and Emma had a fight. Brian is overdosing on coffee at a restaurant around the corner from her house, and Emma is probably crying her eyes out. We have to do something.”
Vincent rubbed eyes burning and gritty from lack of sleep. “We?”
“You’re the best man and I’m the maid of honor,” she told him unnecessarily. “It’s our duty to see them through any problems that may stop them from getting to the church on time and getting married.”
“I’m not sure helping them over an argument qualifies.” He glanced at the Seth Thomas clock on his desk. 2:15 A.M. Just one night he’d like to get to bed before midnight.
“Anything qualifies. I should know.”
“Meaning?” He waited for an answer, but none came. “You’re still there?”
“I’m still
here.” Her voice had definitely taken on a weary note.
A frisson of unease went through Vincent. Had he been right about Brian being attracted to Charlotte? “Are you telling me everything? Why didn’t Brian call me?”
“He didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Apparently you didn’t feel the same way,” he told her, feeling lighter despite the situation.
“I thought he meant paperwork. I didn’t know he meant you’d have company.”
Vincent was caught in a delicate dilemma. He could explain he was alone, but then he’d also have to explain why he’d answered the phone the way he did. “Never mind that. Where’s Brian now?”
“At the Yellow Rose. It’s off Interstate 20 and Westmoreland.”
“I’ll find it.” Vincent came to his feet. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”
There was a slight pause. “Thank you, Vincent, and I’m sorry about disturbing you.” The line went dead.
Vincent rolled down his shirt sleeves, feeling inexplicably like a coward who had kicked a puppy.
Twenty-three minutes later, with the help of his car’s navigation system, Vincent pulled up in front of the all-night restaurant. The neon sign of a single stemmed rose winked on and off. Several cars and trucks dotted the parking lot. One of them was Brian’s Alfa Romeo. Vincent had been hoping that his cousin had already gone home.
Getting out of the car, he activated the lock. His usual brisk steps slowed as he walked to the glass double front doors. He had no idea what he would say to Brian or if he should say anything at all. Perhaps this was for the best. Yet, somehow the obvious concern in Charlotte’s voice had pulled him here as much as his love for his cousin.
Inside he scanned the Formica-topped tables looking for his cousin. A clean-shaven man in his mid-thirties with close-cropped black hair wearing a white shirt and black slacks came out from behind a glass casing filled with pies and rushed up to him. “Are you Vincent Maxwell?”
“Yes.”
Relief clearly shone on the man’s dark face. “Great. They’re over here.”
They. It appeared the lovers’ tiff was over and Charlotte had gotten him here for nothing while she—
Charlotte glanced up, saw Vincent glaring at her, and her spirits plummeted even lower. They had been spiraling downhill ever since she’d called and he had a woman with him. At two in the morning, it wasn’t hard to guess why.
She nudged Brian. “Vincent’s here.”
The young man’s head came up and he stared at his cousin with misery in his brown eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
Charlotte patted his lanky arm. “We’ll think of something, won’t we, Vincent?”
Vincent slid into the booth on the other side of Brian. “I thought you were home.”
She shrugged elegant shoulders beneath a black shirt that clung to all the places Vincent had dreamed of touching. “Fred called me and here I am. But that’s not important; we have to get Brian and Emma back together.”
“She gave me back my ring.” Brian’s hand was clutched in a fist on top of the table beside a half-empty mug of coffee.
“Charlotte, can I see you for a moment?” Vincent didn’t wait for an answer. He slid out of the booth and went to a corner table for two in the back of the nearly empty restaurant. Holding a chair for Charlotte, he waited while she sank onto the padded seat, then took his seat across from her, pushed his glasses up on his nose, and placed his folded hands on the table. “Explain to me why you’re here?”
She started to say that wasn’t of any consequence, but the stubborn set of Vincent’s jaw told her she’d just be wasting her time. “Fred Bowers, the manager, is a good friend to all three of us. We go to the same church and are in the same singles group. After Brian had been here for an hour, refusing to go home, Fred called me. I called Emma, but her phone is off the hook. I got here about thirty minutes before I called you because Brian still refuses to go home. The rest you know.”
“Any idea what caused the problem?”
Charlotte ran her hand through her hair. “None. Brian’s not talking.”
“Maybe her parents know.” Vincent shook his head to the waitress who appeared. Charlotte did the same.
With a weary sigh, Charlotte leaned back against her seat. “If so, they probably won’t help. Emma is an only child and adored by both parents. She’s always led a sheltered, protected life. She went to school at a local university and still lives at home. Her parents made it no secret that they thought she was too young to get married and that she and Brian should wait a couple of years. Neither would object if the wedding were canceled. Especially her father.”
“They are young,” Vincent said, drumming his fingers on the table.
“But neither of them are impulsive or stupid. They love each other and what’s more, they’re good for each other.” Arms braced on the table, she stared across at Vincent. “Except with her kindergarten class, Emma was painfully shy and had few friends. Brian introduced her to his many friends and she’s helped him find the direction he needed in life. He’s not just about having fun anymore, but doing something worthwhile with his life. He’s mentoring at her school and has definite career goals.”
“You’ve never had any of those doubts, worries, or hang-ups, have you?”
“No, I’ve been fortunate and very, very blessed,” she answered, wondering where the conversation was going.
He stood. “Wait here and let me have a go at it.”
“Thank you, Vincent.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry about disturbing you.”
He stared down at her. She was beautiful, sensitive, and caring. He was coming to understand why Brian’s opinion of her was so high. She’d never turn her back on a friend. Fred had known that, and Vincent finally knew it too. “I’m not.”
Going back to the booth, he slid in beside his despondent cousin. Brian had his head bowed, his hands in his lap. Vincent had negotiated deals in the past and figured he’d treat this the same way he did when they hit a snag. Go for broke.
“You still love her?”
Brian nodded without lifting his head.
“Then are you going to sit here and mope all night or are you going to go back to her house and try to straighten out whatever it is that caused this?”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“Then just tell her to listen,” Vincent said. “Negotiate. Find common ground. Your love for each other should be a good start. Apologize. Then kiss her until she gives in.”
His cousin lifted his head and stared hard at Vincent.
“What?” Vincent asked, warily.
“I just never figured you had to spend time soothing women,” Brian answered.
Vincent saw no reason to tell his cousin he was right. He simply didn’t have time for that sort of thing. “Come on. I’ll go back with you. At least, if her parents call the cops, I can post bail for you.”
Vincent hadn’t thought Charlotte would go home and let him and Brian go see Emma, but he had given it a good try. As he suspected, she’d adamantly refused. She could ride with him and Brian or follow in her car. His choice. Since Vincent worried about her being on the road by herself, he told her to get in the backseat and put Brian in the front.
In the end, Charlotte’s presence was what saved Emma’s father from calling the police and having Brian and Vincent arrested. Charlotte had one simple request of the irate man: Could he please see if Emma was asleep? If she was, they’d leave, but if she was still awake and as miserable as Brian, then please allow her to speak with him. Emma’s happiness was what they all wanted.
Emma’s father had closed the front door without commenting, but a short while later the door opened and Emma stood there in her stocking feet, her eyes red and lids swollen, her blue dress wrinkled, her shoulder-length light brown hair mussed.
Brian took one look at the miserable picture she presented and said, “I’ll die if you don’t love me.”
; Emma turned into her waiting father’s arms.
Brian’s hand unclenched. The engagement ring fell from his fingers onto the sidewalk. His body wavered as if he might fall, then he turned and slowly walked back toward Vincent’s car.
“Emma, if you let him get away instead of working out your problems, perhaps I was wrong about you,” Charlotte said fiercely. “Perhaps you are too immature to know how to love a man. Running away never solved anything. Make sure this is what you want because you may not get a second chance. Once word gets out he’s available, the single women in church will be all over him.”
With fire in her eyes Emma whirled around. “Teresa already was.”
“What?” The shocked word erupted from Vincent, Charlotte, and Emma’s parents.
Midway down the sidewalk, Brian spun back around. “She came on to me at the movie theater and I told her to get lost. She saw you, and you played right into her spiteful hands.”
“You were about to kiss her when I came out of the ladies’ room,” Emma accused, stepping away from her father in her righteous anger.
“No, I wasn’t. I was trying to get her arms from around my neck. Why would I want to touch another woman, let alone kiss her, when I have you?” Brian said, coming forward until he was almost nose to nose with Emma. “I love you. Can’t you get that through your stubborn head?”
Emma spluttered. “Don’t you dare call me nam—” He jerked her into his arms, silencing her words with his lips.
“Take your hands off her!” Emma’s father started toward them but Charlotte threw her arms around his neck. His wife grabbed him around the waist from behind. By the time he managed to untangle the arms of the determined women, Emma was clinging to Brian as desperately as he was clinging to her.
“He might make a go in labor relations after all,” Vincent murmured with a pleased smile.
“He was fooling around with another woman!” Mr. Hamilton shouted.
Mrs. Hamilton touched his arm and quietly asked him, “Douglas, were you fooling around with Charlotte a moment ago?”
Much as his daughter had done earlier, he spluttered his outrage. “Melissa, you know darn well I wasn’t. I was trying to get her arms from around …” Understanding dawned. With one look at the embracing couple, he shook his head in obvious defeat and curved his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Looks like there’s going to be a wedding after all.”
