A Demonic Bundle (5 page)
Authors: Lexi George Kathy Love,Angie Fox
Chapter Six
“W
ell, this is it.”
ell, this is it.”
Charlie watched as Ava wandered around his small living room. A tiny room that was practically eaten up by a worn sofa and an even shabbier recliner. He winced as her fingers traced a crack in the ancient vinyl along the arm of it.
“My father had a chair just like this.” Her voice sounded wistful, distant. “He loved that chair.”
Charlie felt slightly better that she wasn’t disgusted by his motley assortment of furnishings.
The vinyl creaked under her weight as she sat down on the recliner. She had that distant look he’d seen at the bar. She was sad again, struggling with something, and Charlie didn’t know how to chase her sorrow away. Not for good anyway.
All he could do was be a good host and listen if she decided to talk.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She looked up, her dark eyes refocusing on him.
“Um, sure.” Her voice sounded a little sheepish, not the same as the confident woman in the bar who had asked to come over here.
“I think I have some beer, a bottle of wine, although I don’t know how good it is. Soda and milk.”
“A little wine would be good.”
He nodded and rushed away to his tiny galley-style kitchen. He hated to admit it, but he was rattled. Ava Wells in his apartment. Yeah, he needed a drink too.
He rummaged around in one of the drawers until he found the corkscrew. Reaching for the wine, he made a face. It was white and should have been served cold. Oh well. It was probably going to taste so awful she wouldn’t even notice it was room temperature.
He pulled down two wine glasses, plastic ones he’d nicked from a New Year’s Eve party last year. Pulling another face, he filled one glass and downed it.
Yep, terrible.
He refilled the glass as well as the second one.
Glasses in hand, he headed the few feet back into the living room. When he entered the room, Ava was no longer in the recliner. Instead she stood in front of one of his photos that he had framed on his wall. A moody black and white of a bride in her gown, no veil, lost in her thoughts. Thoughts that were clear on her face—hesitation, doubt, fear. Second thoughts.
Needless to say, that shot didn’t make it into the wedding portfolio.
“This picture is amazing.”
Charlie opened his mouth to tell her he’d taken it, but something stopped him. Maybe a concern that if he told her he was a photographer, she would think he wanted to use her. He wasn’t quite sure what stopped him, but he simply held out the wine.
“Here you go.”
Ava glanced away from the photo and took the glass. She sipped the golden liquid, not seeming to notice the unpleasant taste. Her attention returned to the picture.
“She looks so uncertain, yet I bet she went through with the wedding anyway. Because she thought it was what she should want.”
Charlie took a swallow of his wine rather than tell her that the bride had, in fact, gone through with it. He was far more interested in why Ava Wells seemed to understand all too well that sort of resignation to fate.
She took another long sip of her drink, then turned back to Charlie.
“Are you going to show me the rest of your place?”
His eyes widened as he realized exactly what she meant, then nodded. “Sure.”
Man, she sure had a way of shocking the hell out of him.
He turned, glancing back to see if she was following.
“This is the bathroom,” he said, flipping on the light to show her the tiny room that managed to hold a pedestal sink, a toilet and a stall shower—just barely.
“Very cute.”
Charlie smiled at her, appreciating her generous way of saying “too small.”
“And . . .” He snapped on the light, which illuminated his bedroom, another crowded space that contained his dresser and queen-sized bed. He was pleased to see he’d actually made his bed this morning. Sheer luck, that.
Ava slipped past him, reaching out to test the firmness of his mattress. “This is nice.”
Charlie laughed.
“Hardly, but it’s affordable and clean,” he said, choosing to misunderstand her meaning and act as if she was referring to the apartment rather than the bed. “And I don’t plan to stay here forever.”
“Planning for bigger and better?”
He smiled. “Of course.”
She nodded. “Sometimes we should just enjoy what we have. Bigger and better isn’t always best.”
Again Charlie wondered what had her so unhappy, so dissatisfied, but he remained quiet.
She wandered farther into the room, setting her plastic glass on the nightstand, a nicked, dark wood affair that he’d picked up at Goodwill.
Then she turned and walked back to him. Just inches away, she stopped.
“What’s your name?”
Charlie froze, his eyes wide. Had he really not told her his name? Since he knew hers he supposed he’d just felt she must know his. Silly of him.
“It’s Charlie. Charlie Bowen.”
She smiled. “Charlie. I like that.” She reached out and touched his jawline. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Ava hadn’t dated as much as most people would think a supermodel had. But she wasn’t exactly an innocent either, and still she wasn’t prepared for how her body reacted to Charlie’s kiss.
She realized she’d managed to startle him again when she first touched her lips to his. He froze against her gentle touch, but only for a fraction of a second, then his hands came up to either side of her head, those long fingers of his tangling in her long, wavy hair. After that, control was all his as his lips moved over hers with strong sureness.
He angled his head, and hers, and the kiss deepened. His tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, silently, teasingly asking her to open for him.
She did, without hesitation. She wanted to taste him, to feel him. And it was better, more powerful than she could have imagined: hot little flicks of his tongue like small licks of fire sizzling throughout her body; a low burn that was quickly escalating to an inferno.
She whimpered, surprised and excited by her instant, violent need for him. But Charlie seemed to mistake the sound for distress, because he immediately pulled back, stepping away until he backed into the dresser. His gaze roamed her face, concern clear in his golden green eyes.
“Ava—” He ran a hand through his hair, making the dark auburn locks more adorably disheveled. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.
He laughed, but this time the rich timbre fell flat. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t think we should do this. You are clearly upset about something tonight. And I don’t want you regretting anything.”
She stared at him, feeling a slight sting of rejection, but also realizing that real concern clouded his hazel eyes.
“Ava, I really don’t mean to—”
She raised her hand to stop him. “I appreciate your kindness. I guess—I guess I have had a rough day, and that is affecting my thinking.”
Charlie made a pained face, and she wanted to tell him that his kiss was affecting her thinking too, but decided she might seem desperate. And Ava Wells wasn’t desperate.
Addy Wellmeyer was desperate though. And Addy did not want to be alone. Addy wanted this man.
She wandered over to the nightstand to finish off her glass of vinegary wine. Not that she really noticed the flavor. Or cared. She just wanted the mellow feeling the alcohol would eventually give her.
“Could I have some more?”
“Of course.” Charlie appeared almost relieved by her request. He came forward and took her plastic glass. Their fingers touched briefly and her body was right back to burning intensely for him. It was amazing, and a little disturbing.
“I’ll—um—get that for you,” he said, and it was heartening to see that the mere touch had affected him too.
He took the few steps to leave the room, then paused in the doorway, glancing at her over his shoulder as if he wanted to say something more. But instead he just nodded and disappeared out of the room.
Once he was gone, Ava collapsed onto the edge of the bed. What was she doing? How was this going to help her situation in the least? Well, it wasn’t; that was the answer. But she really didn’t care. She liked being around this man. Charlie—she even liked his name—made her feel like the person she’d once been. She didn’t want that feeling to stop. But of course, it would have to eventually.
Finola White would never agree to her star supermodel dating a lowly mailroom clerk. If he even wanted to date her. Finola owned her, lock, stock and barrel. And Finola chose who she dated. Finola chose everything.
She considered getting up from the bed, but instead found herself sliding back against Charlie’s soft pillows. She curled onto her side and allowed herself for a moment to imagine what it would be like to date a man like Charlie. To share this comfy bed in this cozy little room.
Now she wondered why she’d had such big dreams, and had done the unthinkable to attain them. Now she just wanted to go back to simple dreams, a home, a family, a person who loved her for herself, and happiness.
Too bad those dreams were now as unobtainable as she’d once believed the jet-set lifestyle, wealth and fame of being a professional model was.
But just for a moment, she was going to close her eyes and pretend she had the simple dream. Simple happiness with a good man at her side.
Charlie finished pouring a glass of wine for Ava, then braced his hands on the counter and closed his eyes. What was going on here? Ava Wells was in his apartment . . . in his bedroom, apparently willing to have sex with him and he’d turned her down. What the hell was wrong with him?
But he knew the answer. He’d been honest when he’d called a halt to their kiss—and what might have followed. He didn’t want her regretting anything she did tonight.
He groaned, wishing just for a moment, he could be a selfish jerk.
But he couldn’t. He was doing the right thing, and he could certainly control his libido—as uncomfortable as it might be.
He pulled in a deep breath, then opened his eyes. This was a woman who had something very real bothering her, and she needed a sympathetic friend more than a one-night stand.
Which really sucked, but he was a gentleman—unfortunately.
He braced himself, because his body wasn’t feeling nearly as gentlemanly as his mind. He forced a calm expression and headed back into his tiny living room, sure that Ava would be out of there by now. But she wasn’t.
He frowned, then turned toward the bathroom. The door was open and the light out. That meant she still remained in the bedroom.
He wanted to groan again. He had to be honest—he didn’t know how much temptation he could take.
He moved slowly, reluctant to be back in his closet-sized bedroom with a woman he was more attracted to than any woman he could recall. Ever. He took one more deep breath, then entered the room.
Ava lay on her side, cuddled down among his pillows like some rich golden jewel against his plain gray bedding. Her dark hair was spread around her peaceful face. Her long legs curled up into an almost fetal position, her hands pressed palms together by her cheek like the perfect image of a small, sleeping child.
Again he was struck by how breathtakingly lovely she was, but not in that glamorous, couture way that most of the world saw her. She looked angelic and sweet. He wanted to kiss her, but he maintained control.
“Ava,” he said softly.
He was greeted by a small sigh, then a long even breath. She was out cold.
He considered waking her and seeing her home, but she looked too serene, more serene than he’d seen her since meeting her outside of Finola White’s office. And he got the feeling she needed her rest.
Quietly, he left the room to put the wine in the kitchen, then returned to stand in his bedroom doorway, watching her for a moment.
Ava Wells in his bed.
He smiled, shaking his head. He could never have predicted how this day would play out when he’d forced himself out of bed at the grating beeping of his alarm clock this morning.
Without much contemplation, he walked over to the desk wedged in beside his sofa and grabbed his Canon EOS, the black digital camera’s weight nice and natural in his hand. He hadn’t taken many pictures since starting his mailroom odyssey, and he missed the feeling of his camera.
He then went back to his bedroom and inched toward the bed. Cringing slightly at the sound of the shutter, he took a picture of Ava. She didn’t rouse, so he took another and another.
Maybe he was driven to photograph her among his pillows as proof that Ava Wells had been in his place, in his bed. But once he started shooting, he was overcome by the need to capture the way she looked right this minute, the need to capture her easy, natural beauty.
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