“You’re going to stay in a hotel room for a month?” I ask her.
“Sure. Why not?” she questions when we come to a stop next to my Harley.
“Because spring break is coming up soon and all the hotels are probably booked. Not to mention the resorts will be hiking their rates to make up for the winter lull, which means you’re probably looking to pay at least two or three thousand a week, if you can find someplace vacant that doesn’t have big-ass water bugs running around everywhere.”
Charlotte winces. “Water bugs?”
“Yeah, they’re like cockroaches except bigger. Supersized, if you will.”
“S-supersized roaches?” Her throat works as she swallows hard, imagining the creepy bastards crawling around where she would be eating and sleeping, just as I wanted.
“Uh-huh. They’re a big problem on the coast unless you’re serious about spraying.”
“I didn’t see any bugs at your rental house,” Charlotte points out with her hands on her hips, as if she thinks I’m making this shit up.
“Because we’re high class, baby,” I joke. “But you get what you pay for out here. A hundred bucks a night during spring break will only get you water bugs or bed bugs. Possibly both.”
“Ew, yuck,” she mutters. “What about the beach house?”
“What about it?” I reply, leaning my ass against my bike with my arms crossed, pretending I’m clueless and don’t know that she’s asking to stay there for a month.
“All my stuff is already there. Is it available for the next month?”
“Booked solid through September like all the other decent places,” I tell her truthfully. “I had to put up this last group that came in Sunday in the penthouse of one of the hotels to make up for the fact that you, Paul, and his brother are still staying there.”
“Oh, crap. Sorry,” she says with a cringe. “So, um, what do you suggest I do? Where am I supposed to live for the next thirty days?”
“You could stay with me.”
The words barely leave my mouth before she grins and laughs aloud. “Try again, Roman!”
“I’m serious,” I tell her. “I’ve got a big house, plenty of beds, and I won’t charge you a dime, so you can stay as long as you need to. Although, I’ve got to be honest with you, my bed is by far the best, like sleeping on clouds.”
“Of course it is,” Charlotte says with a roll of her eyes and a smile.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I think…that you’re just trying to get me into your bed.”
“So what if I am?” I ask.
“I’m not ready to be with you the way you may want…” she starts. The rejection stings, even though it was expected. “But, um, I don’t think I want to sleep alone tonight either.”
Wow. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m thrilled she’s not only agreeing to stay with me but sleep with me.
“That’s fine. I can wait until you’re ready. I’m a grown-ass man, so I am capable of sleeping with a woman without touching her.”
“Are you really, though?” she asks with a tilt of her head, again like she doesn’t believe me.
“Even before what happened to Tessa I could keep my hands to myself,” I explain to her. “But after? Well, I may just have to get on my knees to ask permission to kiss you, then get you to put it in writing, sign it and have it notarized. I don’t want you to ever have to deal with even a whisper of what happened with Tessa.”
“So you won’t rush me into anything,” Charlotte responds as a statement, not a question.
“That’s right,” I agree. “I’m not an idiot. I know you haven’t been with anyone since Adam.”
“No, I haven’t,” she says softly. Lowering her eyes to the wedding ring still on her finger, she twists the gold band around and says, “He was my first and only.”
But you weren’t his.
It’s a horrible thought, but it’s true, nevertheless. Still, it’s a truth that would only hurt Charlotte, not help her.
“I get it,” I tell her. “You take sex seriously.”
“I do. And you’re just about having fun…”
“Nothing wrong with having fun, is it?” I ask.
“No. You’re obviously an attractive, single man. And just because I take sex seriously doesn’t mean that I haven’t thought about having…fun with you.”
“Is that right?” I ask, my chest swelling with hope from just hearing her admit that she wants me. That means more than anything.
“That’s right,” Charlotte says while closing the small distance between us. She then places her palms flat on my chest, just underneath the open sides of my cut and goes up on her toes to place a soft kiss on my lips before sinking down to her normal height again.
“Since you’re kissing me, does that mean I can kiss you whenever I want without signed documentation?”
“Kissing is definitely on the table for any and all hours of the day. Or night.”
“That’s good to know,” I reply before leaning down to brush my lips over hers. “How about tongue? Is that permissible?”
“Tongues are good,” she answers before our mouths meet again, this time parting so that I can stroke my tongue over hers.
And that small touch connects the two of us in a way that I’ve never felt before. I feel it in every cell of my body. It’s not about sex, although the throbbing behind my zipper would beg to differ. This kiss is about more. So much more.
When Charlotte moans softly against my lips, I know she feels it too. The two of us are damn good together. I just have to be patient and give her time to let go of her husband once and for all so she can finally move on.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte
* * *
“You live at the bar? Should’ve known…” I tease Roman after he kills the engine and backs his bike into one of the parking spots.
“Just need to have a quick word with my men,” he replies. “Won’t take long. You could wait here…” he trails off. When I don’t respond to that, he says, “But of course you’re going to want to come in. Not that I’m crazy about the idea of leaving you outside alone until we catch those fuckers.”
“You think?” I reply as we climb off and I follow him inside the bar. Just like the times before, as soon as the guys see him, they all immediately stop what they’re doing and head into the meeting room.
I fully expect Roman to shut the door in my face, but he actually leaves it open just an inch or so, allowing me to listen in.
“So, what more do we know? Do we have any leads?” he asks.
The responses are mumbled, but I get the gist of it…they’re trying to track down the men but don’t have anything concrete just yet.
“What about a sketch artist?” a voice that sounds like Verek’s asks.
“What about one?” Roman replies.
“If we could find an artist to talk to the women, they might be able to give us a better description…”