Chapter 17
B efore I leave for dinner at Charlie’s place, I spritz perfume on all my pulse points. And over my cleavage—just in case.
My freshly washed hair has the perfect amount of volume in its signature long bob. I’m wearing my favorite smoky gray eyeliner that makes my green eyes pop. And my lips are a kissable, velvety pink.
I’m in the beige bodycon dress that I was wearing in my client’s viral video. The one that perfectly hugs my curves.
I guess you could say I’m trying to tempt fate. Or, at the very least, I’m trying to tempt Charlie. After all, he was the one who took his shirt off during yoga this morning, and I haven’t been able to think straight ever since.
This dress is payback.
I grab the plate of brownies I made from scratch for dessert, and head down the hall. A smile blooms on my lips as I envision the look on Charlie’s face when he sees me dressed up for the first time .
And the reaction I get when he opens the door is every bit as satisfying as I imagined. His eyes widen, his lips part, and he takes in a quick, ragged breath.
What I did not anticipate was the way my heart would stop the moment my gaze landed on him.
He looks like a supermodel. He’s in perfectly tailored charcoal dress pants, and a light gray button-down shirt that fits like a glove over the ripples of muscles I’ve been thinking about all day.
His chestnut hair is styled to bring out the little bit of curl I love so much.
And he smells so damn good, I want to rip his shirt open and?—
“Wow,” he sighs out, running a hand over his hair. “You look amazing, Jenna.”
Judging by the flush in his cheeks, I’d say my dress did its job. He’s definitely tempted.
And the feeling is mutual.
“Thanks,” I say, standing on my tiptoes and wrapping the hand that’s not holding brownies around his neck.
I steal a glance into his apartment behind him, which is immaculately clean.
His aesthetic is modern and minimalist, with neutral colors and framed black-and-white photographs on the wall, highlighting his passion. The vibe is sexy—just like him.
When we stopped by yesterday so he could grab his camera on our way to the park, it didn’t look like this.
He hadn’t anticipated company, and he apologized profusely for the disarray, even though I’ve seen bachelor pads in way worse shape.
Charlie’s mess just made him more interesting, because I got a glimpse into his real life.
There were stacks of photography books on the couch I could tell he’d been flipping through.
Travel magazines strewn on the coffee table.
Weights on the floor near the windows, where he’d been working out.
A Dartmouth sweatshirt thrown over a chair, and an empty cup of takeout coffee here and there.
It was a relief to see this more human side of Charlie, beneath the picture-perfect exterior.
But tonight, his place is as spruced up and sparkling as he is, and I don’t mind that either. It’s sweet that he put so much effort into impressing me.
Although he didn’t need to. If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that Charlie Sutton is the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.
Maybe ever.
He takes his palm to the small of my back and presses me into him as our lips meet.
I let him lead, and the kiss is soft, sweet, and gentle.
No tongue. He’s playing by the rules, which is both incredibly sexy and unbearably frustrating. His impressive restraint and unwavering respect for me only make me want him to throw me over his shoulder, toss me onto his bed, and have his way with me.
One thing’s for sure. The ball will be in my court tonight.
“Come in,” he says, closing the door behind me. Then he eyes the plate in my hand. “Did you make brownies?” he asks with an adorable grin that reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning.
I nod. “Now, I don’t want you to feel threatened, because the Sutton’s brownie mix is respectable…”
He chuckles, giving me a look out of the corner of his eye that turns my legs into putty.
“But these are the chocolatiest brownies you’ll ever have,” I continue. “I used to make them for cheer meets in high school. I’m kinda famous for them.”
Charlie just looks at me for a moment with that smitten gaze of his. Then he shakes his head. “God, I love?—”
My breath hitches.
“Brownies,” he says after the slightest pause. “I love brownies. You know, with my sweet tooth, and all.”
“I had a feeling,” I say with a smile, although my pulse is racing. Did Charlie almost tell me he loves me?
As he takes the plate from my hand and puts it on the kitchen island, I shake the thought from my mind. It’s still so early in our relationship. That thunderbolt that struck the instant we crashed into each other was just lust, right? He couldn’t possibly love me yet.
Although the look in his eyes sure seems to say otherwise.
“So this is the famous dress you were wearing in the viral video,” he says before turning his attention to the stove.
The tagine is simmering in a pot, and the mix of spices in the air is intoxicating, making me hungry for more than just Charlie.
“Did you ever get back to the designer about modeling for them during Fashion Week?”
My cheeks warm. “I’m surprised you remember that.
” I’d only mentioned it to him once, a couple of weeks ago, when we were walking home from the Museum of Contemporary Art.
He’d asked what I was planning to do with the rest of my day, and I told him I’d be replying to all the inquiries I’d received since going viral.
I guess I can add “good listener” to his list of swoonworthy qualities.
“I decided against it,” I continue. “I mean, I’m flattered, of course. But I think my fifteen minutes of fame is finally coming to an end, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Charlie looks at me over his shoulder as he stirs our dinner, and smiles. “Not a fan of the spotlight, I take it?”
I tilt my head. “It’s not that, really. I’m just afraid walking in their runway show will put me back in the news as the ‘Bombshell Interior Designer,’ and I’ll get slammed with design inquiries again—when, deep down, my heart’s not in it.”
He turns from the stove and steps toward me, his arms settling around my waist. “You just want to paint,” he says, matter-of-factly.
I nod, enjoying the way Charlie understands me. And the way his hands feel on my body. “I do. And life’s too short not to follow your heart, right?”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, then grazes his fingers down my jawline and under my chin. “Ain’t that the truth,” he says with a glimmer in his eyes as he lifts my head to kiss me.
His lips are so pillowy soft that I can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on other parts of my body.
It’s not like me to want someone this much.
It’s not that I don’t crave sex. But more often than not, the reality doesn’t live up to the fantasy in my head—and instead of passionate kisses, frenzied touches, and mind-blowing orgasms, it’s just me trying to keep my mind from wandering to my to-do list.
Something tells me I won’t have that problem with Charlie.
My body has never reacted this way to anyone before.
Just his lips on mine makes me pulse, everywhere, with desire.
I feel the rush of blood flow to my breasts, and deep inside my core, and between my thighs.
I sigh into his mouth, letting our tongues touch, pulling him so close that I can feel my heart hammer against his rock-hard chest.
I don’t just want him. I need him. There’s a fire burning inside me that only Charlie Sutton can put out. As he threads his fingers through my hair, the heat between us rises so high, I can practically hear a sizzle in the air?—
“Dammit, the tagine,” Charlie says breaking away to check on the food. He lifts the lid of the pot and breathes out a sigh of relief. “We’re good. Wanna eat before I burn down the building?”
I giggle. “Absolutely. It smells amazing.”
“I hope you like it. I made a chicken tagine with apricots and almonds. And I have a few bottles of wine for you to choose from.”
He pulls the selection from his wine fridge, and I pick an Italian pinot grigio, trying not to get too lost in a daydream of me and Charlie on vacation there together.
Ever since he mentioned that his friend, the travel journalist, invited him to Italy next summer to take photographs for his book, I haven’t been able to get my mind off the idea that maybe—if the stars align, and we’re still dating—I might join him.
I’ve been dreaming of a trip to Italy since I was a teenager.
There’s even a drawing in my journal to prove it.
Christy was right that I put all my wishes in it for safekeeping.
It’s like the inside of my heart, transferred to paper.
And on the very last page is a sketch of me and the man of my dreams, kissing in front of the Colosseum in Rome.
“Great choice,” Charlie says as I hand him the wine bottle. “You’ll feel like you’re in a vineyard in Tuscany.” He winks at me and I have to lean against the kitchen island for support.
“Speaking of Tuscany…have you given any more thought to that photography gig in Italy this summer?”
Charlie heaves a sigh as he pours a glass for me.
“Well, I’ve certainly given it more thought while my dad’s been on vacation the past week.
It’s a lot easier to consider the offer when he’s not texting me fifty times a day,” he goes on with a wry laugh.
“He won’t handle the news well, though. So if I’m going to tell him that I want to quit the family business to be a travel photographer, I have to mean it.
And I have to be prepared for it to blow up my life—maybe more than just a little. ”
I frown, my heart aching for the tough decision he has to make. “Your dad’ll be that upset, huh?”
Charlie tilts his head. “Let’s just say, my father’s not known for his easy disposition.”