Husband Under Construction (13 page)

Charley braced himself. “Sure.”

“That Roxie of yours turned out to be one fine gal. Smart. Sure of herself. And pretty as they come.” His gaze slid to Charley's. “And you know what I think? I think she could work wonders with my boy. That she'd be real good for him. If she'd have him. Don't get me wrong, Noah's a good boy, but he needs some…fine tuning, if you know what I mean.” He aimed the remote at the TV to turn up the volume. “Just thought I'd toss that out there.”

Charley smiled. “Even though it's none of our business.”

“Even though,” Gene said with a sly smile. “Even though.”

O
n Friday night, her head still in Atlanta—and not in a good way—Roxie and her carry-on trundled blindly down the Albuquerque Sunport concourse toward the meet-and-greet area beyond security, where Charley was supposedly waiting for her.
Supposedly
being the operative word here, she thought as, frowning, she scanned the crowd.

“Rox! Over here!”

And okay, so her heart did a little flippity-flop when she saw Noah instead. Because her heart was an idiot.

As was, apparently, the rest of her, she irritably mused as she watched him shoulder his bad, black-clad self through the mob until he reached her, panting, and irritation instantly morphed to panic.

“Ohmigod—is Charley okay—?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, he's fine. But he got tied up, so he asked if I could meet you instead. Only he didn't call until
forty-five minutes ago, and I kept getting your voice mail, so I nearly busted something trying to get here in time—”

At which point her emotions did the lemmings-off-the-cliff thing, and she burst into tears. And launched herself into Noah's arms.

Like she said.
Idiot.

“Whoa, honey…what happened?”

“I left my phone charger back here,” she burbled as he wrapped his arms around her, and she thought,
Okay, so sometimes playing the distraught female has its advantages.
“Along with my pride and common sense.”

“You're crying because your phone ran out of juice?”

“No, I…” She weighed the wisdom of what she was about to do, thought,
Screw it, you already threw your sobbing self into his arms, how much worse can it get?
and said, “I need a drink. And food.” Then, telling herself to be brave, she pulled out of his arms to wipe her eyes, dig a tissue out of her handbag to blow her nose. “How about dinner?”

“You drink?” This said with a puzzled frown.

“I do now. Well? My treat.”

“You're on,” he said, which prompted her first laugh in more than twenty-four hours. Soggy though it may have been.

“You don't have a problem with a woman paying your way?”

“Oh, hell no,” he said with a chuckle, steering her across miles of tile toward the glass doors, where the crisp night air dried what was left of her tears, blew some of the cobwebs from her brain. “I will, however, probably insist on reciprocating at some point. You okay with that?”

It was scary, how easily she could talk to this guy. Or, in this case, leave tear splotches all over his leather jacket—which smelled really, really good—how at ease she felt
with him in so many ways, when in so many other ways they made no sense together.

“I am perfectly okay with that.” A moment later they reached his truck in the parking garage and he held the door open for her and helped her in, because it was the biggest-ass truck west of the Mississippi and she was still wearing the stupid straight skirt she'd worn for the interview. And high-heel boots. When she settled into the seat, she noticed he was grinning. She sighed.

“Ogling my butt, were you?”

“It was kinda hard to miss. Because it was right in front of my face,” he said, laughing when she shot him a look. And despite her disappointment and borderline humiliation, she was actually very glad to be home.

Inherent complications thereof be damned.

 

“So. You gonna tell me what went down?” Noah said as they drove, hoping that talking would get his mind off at least some of the crazy, explosive feelings reverberating inside his skull. Partly because he was still digesting what Charley had told him that morning about Roxie, partly because…holding her in his arms? Serious head rush.

She snorted. “Turns out they invited a
dozen
people to interview for the job. In
person
. I mean, they could have at least whittled it down to two or three, right? Because we have this thing called Skype now? But no. Twelve people had to schlep to Atlanta—except for one dude who lived there—for face time.”

“Wow. That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Noah swallowed. “I take it—?” Her eyes cut to his. “Ouch. Obviously not.” And was it wrong of him to be not exactly broken up about that? Yes, of course it was. Dumb question. “I'm really sorry, Rox,” he said, taking one hand
off the wheel to clasp hers. When she sadly shrugged—and held on to his hand, he noticed—he said, “You gonna cry again?”

She seemed to consider this. “Nah. It's
so
nineteenth century. Mostly I'm mad. And feeling really stupid for not finding out what the deal was beforehand.” Sighing, she removed her hand. “And what do you mean, Charley was tied up?”

“His words, not mine.” Although he could guess. He also figured Rox had enough on her mind without getting into that right now.

Except she jumped right in anyway. “Meaning he's with Eden.”

“That would be my take on it, yeah. Unless he's already found someone to replace her.”

“Bite your tongue,” she muttered, leaning against the passenger side window, only to immediately point to an Italian restaurant coming up on the right. “Oh! Can we eat there? I could devour my weight in shrimp scampi right now.”

Noah pulled into the parking lot, taking in the faux Tuscan façade, the courtyard with a fountain. Even he could tell the place wasn't cheap, at least not by Albuquerque standards. “You sure? Might set you back a few bucks.”

“You can leave the tip,” Roxie said, releasing the seat belt. “How's that?”

“Deal.” He got out, going around to help her down from the truck before she fell out and broke something. Except she stumbled anyway, landing smack against his chest. Never one to let an opportunity slip by, Noah hooked his hands on her waist and tugged her closer. “I'm gonna say you don't need that drink.”

Rox smirked up at him. “And I'm gonna say you're wr—”

He honest to God hadn't meant to kiss her, but it seemed like a good idea, so he thought
What the hell?
and went for it. Just followed, if not his heart, a couple other things intent on making their preferences heard. And
hel
-lo, damned if she didn't kiss him back, no holds barred, tongue and everything, right there in the halogen-lit parking lot. Kissed him as if this was the last kiss she would ever get. His hands moved from her waist to her jaw, his fingers tangling in those soft, smooth curls as he sank deeper and deeper into something he could feel picking off his brain cells, one by one by one.
Ping. Ping. Pingpingping.

Eventually, though, common sense tapped his shoulder and cleared its throat, and he let go, only to have her grab the front of his jacket and shake her head. “You have no idea how much I needed that.” Then, with a weak laugh, “Heck,
I
had no idea how much I needed that.”

“I kinda guessed.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Want another one? Because there's a lot more where that came from.”

Then he guessed common sense tapped her shoulder, too, because he could see the focus return to her eyes. The truth of the situation. “Oh, you have no idea how much I want another one,” she said softly, ruefully, taking his hands in hers. “But—”

He pressed one finger to her lips, even as that
but
walloped him upside the head. “It's okay, you don't have to explain.” Stepping away, he curled his hand around hers and tugged her toward the restaurant's entrance. “It never happened, okay?”

Except it had. Because he'd let it. And thanks to following whatever the heck he'd followed he no longer had to wonder what it would be like to kiss her. Now, he knew.

Damn
it.

 

“You leaving already?”

Buttoning his shirt, Charley looked back at Eden, still in her eyelet-smothered, four-poster bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. Still flushed from fooling around, he thought with a little thrill. Or maybe that was gratitude, that things—his, anyway—still worked. Sitting on the bed, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss on her coral-smudged lips. “Roxie'll be back soon, she doesn't know I'm here. I don't want her to worry.” Then he raised his brows, daring her to say something.

Instead, she sighed and patted his arm. “I wouldn't have called if I wasn't over all that.”

“It's not a competition between the two of you—”

“I know, babe. No, really, I do.” Clutching the covers, Edie settled farther into the down pillows, surprisingly modest, considering how surprisingly immodest she'd been a little bit ago. “I was just…panicked.”

“Why?”

“Because I was scared I'd lose you, what else? So scared I wasn't thinking straight.” She smiled. “Swear to God, I won't do it again. Promise.”

“Good. Because that nearly killed me.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Edie leaned over and tugged a slithery pink robe off the nearby wing chair, somehow sliding it on without showing anything before getting out of bed, and Charley felt a surge of affection for her so strong it startled him.

They hadn't exactly talked before now, pretty much getting down to business within seconds of his walking in the door an hour earlier, with all the frantic desperation of two lonely souls who'd probably thought they'd never have that kind of connection ever again. Would they be each other's
second Great Loves? Charley had no idea. But at this point he was more than willing to settle for close enough. And so, he wagered, was Eden.

“You think Roxie will be okay with this?” she now asked, watching Charley tuck his shirt into his pants, buckle his belt as she finger-combed errant red spikes back into place. Sort of.

“If she's not, she'll simply have to get over it,” he said, slipping on his wool sports jacket, pocketing his keys. “Gal's not the boss of me.” When, chuckling, Eden sat on the tufted pale blue velvet bench at the foot of the bed, he added, “Besides, I imagine she'll be moving to Atlanta soon, anyway. Once she gets this job.”

Eden reached over to take his hand. “You don't exactly sound happy about that.”

Charley met her gaze, feeling his forehead pinch. “I don't, do I?”

“Any idea why?”

He thought for a moment. “It's as if I only ever got to borrow her, you know? For a week or two in the summers, that one year she was in high school. These past few months now. I know she was never truly ours—mine—and God knows, she sometimes makes me want to pull out my hair,” he said with a rueful half laugh, “but…I'm torn. Between wanting her to do whatever floats her boat and selfishly wanting her to stick around.”

A half smile tilted Eden's mouth. “And you know you don't get a vote in it either way, right?”

Charley looked at her for a long moment, then said, “After your husband died, did he ever…talk to you?”

She laughed. “Only all the damn time. Especially in my dreams. Made me nuts. Why? Oh. You, too?”

He crossed his arms. “Yeah. Well, not all the time. And not for a while, actually. But a few weeks ago I got this
real clear message that I was supposed to somehow ‘fix' Roxie.”

“Interesting. Considering the riot act you read me about you two not getting in each other's business.”

“I only said I got the message. Not that I'd ever intended to act on it.”

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes sparkled. “So you sending Noah to pick her up…?”

“Nobody else was available,” Charley said, jerking down his sleeve cuff. “He was…convenient.”

“Of course he was.”

“You don't see them together! The way they interact…he makes her
laugh
, Edie!”

“The maintenance guy here makes me laugh, too. Doesn't mean I want to marry him. Or even schtup him.”

“I just thought—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She did a “Men, God,” eye roll, than stood, clamping her hands around his arms. “Okay. Setting aside your one-eighty about Noah, here's where I throw your own words back in your face. Assuming Roxie's ‘broken,' which I'm not all that sure about to begin with, nobody can ‘fix' her except Roxie herself. Not you. Not Mae. Not Noah. Or any other man. And whether she goes or stays has nothin' to do with it, either. But considering all the crap she's had to deal with? Hell, she's stronger than you and me put together.” She grinned. “Good thing, too, if she's gonna put up with me.”

True enough,
Charley thought, as a little more of the junk cluttering the inside of his head broke away and floated downstream. Smiling, he kissed the top of Eden's head before opening her door. Then he turned and said, “You know…I think you and I could be very good together.”

Her eyes shimmered. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing,” she said, and he could have
sworn
he heard Mae
heave out a relieved sigh. Or maybe it was only the wind, pushing through the open door.

Charley kissed Edie again, then left, whistling quite the merry little tune as he walked down the stairs and out to his car.

 

Roxie's head was still buzzing as she climbed the steps to the house after Noah dropped her off. Without, it should be noted, any more hanky-panky, as if they'd come to some sort of mutual unspoken agreement that as far as bad ideas went? That was the granddaddy of them all.

Never mind the electricity arcing between them during dinner, even as they pretended the kissy-face session out in the parking lot had never happened. Although she had to say, the necking definitely took the edge off losing the job. Or maybe that was the two glasses of pinot blanc with dinner. Or maybe the wine had taken the edge off knowing she would never, ever, ever kiss Noah again. Ever.

Okay, now she was making herself depressed.

She let herself inside, to find a humming Charley reloading cabinets in the newly finished kitchen, now a symphony in tans and creams and blacks. Pretty. If they'd had a kitchen table she would have definitely sat at it, since, between the flight and unwinding and the kissing and the wine she wasn't entirely sure how long she had until her knees gave out. Not to mention her brain. Which finally caught up to Charley's humming.