Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“I mean it,” Juliette said, feeling fierce.
Suddenly it felt like the most important thing in the world to make Charlie understand what she meant.
More important than solving a murder, or finding a manuscript, or rubbing her success in stupid Juniper’s face.
“Guys like Rajiv, they think they’re immune to being human just because they’ve studied and can do this one very specific thing.
And yeah, it’s hard, and it’s amazing, and modern medicine makes our lives so much more bearable.
But acting like every road should be paved for you, every door should be opened for you, everybody should bow down to you because of it?
That’s bullshit. The fact that you don’t let it go to your head, you don’t let it make you act like a jerk, you still care for your patients as people instead of just chest cavities you pry open, that’s incredible.
I sure as hell couldn’t do it. I certainly couldn’t go home and make bread because of it.
Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not good enough, Charlie Hawkins. ”
If only she could take her own advice. But she wasn’t Charlie; she didn’t hold life and death in her hands all day.
She sent emails and made phone calls and weighed in on cover designs.
She wasn’t incredible like him, and it was only a matter of time before he realized it.
If she had that manuscript, if she could save Simon Says, save the jobs of everyone she worked with.
She could finally prove she was good enough.
To those idiots in the high school reunion Facebook group, to stupid Juniper Kensington and her mealymouthed “everyone’s fighting a secret battle” nonsense, and most importantly to herself and all her internalized trauma from her gaslighting parents and their prodigy bullshit.
Charlie’s gaze was so intense, the weight of his attention almost unbearable. How had she ever considered this man boring? “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very convincing? You must have been a terrifying opponent for your parents as a child.”
Juliette snorted. “How do you think I got this way?”
“What do your parents do? I assumed, based on your flagrant disregard for rules and your loose conception of the truth, that they were lawyers.”
“Close. They’re psychologists, actually.”
“Ahhh, that actually makes a lot more sense than lawyers.”
“Why does that make more sense?” she asked.
“You’re very … how do I say this?”
“Carefully,” Juliette warned.
Charlie nodded. “You’re very guarded. Always looking at everyone else’s motives. Psychologists makes perfect sense.”
“My entire childhood was about self-actualizing and regulating my emotions and constantly having my behaviors and personality picked apart in the name of science,” Juliette said.
“When I was four, they told me my crying fit was an emotional projection of inadequacy because I’d left my favorite stuffed animal in a restaurant in Des Moines.
Olly the Octopus, may his body someday be recovered and sent home for proper burial. ”
“How often do you see them?” Charlie asked, folding up his instruments. “Do they live close?”
“God no,” Juliette said in a rush. “I fly home once every few years for Thanksgiving to appease them, but it’s mostly thinly veiled comments about my increasing age and lack of children to carry on the good family name.”
It wasn’t so much that her parents wanted grandchildren, and Juliette would certainly never subject a child to the Winters family dynamic.
But they wanted a reason to brag about what successful parents they were, and they couldn’t do that if their own child obstinately refused to contribute to the family brand.
“My mother has reached the not-so-quiet stage of sending baby pictures to Jake and me and cooing over how she’d love to pinch cheeks like that again,” Charlie said, though his voice was filled with affection.
“She’s even gone so far as to send me screenshots of Facebook posts from mates I had in high school, showing their baby announcements. ”
Juliette gave a mirthless laugh. “Funny, my mother sent me a journal article about the link between childless women and dementia.”
Charlie’s brows went up. “Your parents really don’t pull their punches, do they?”
He had no idea; but she’d already said too much.
She wasn’t even sure why she had brought her parents up; she never talked about them.
But talking to Charlie was so easy—too easy.
If she wasn’t careful, she might let things slip that no one else needed to know.
She didn’t want to talk about her parents; she wanted to explore what else those deft fingers of his could do.
But Charlie had already snapped his bag closed and looked ready to leave.
“Where are you going?” Juliette asked, putting her legs across the table and blocking his exit. “You just got here. Stay. Have a drink.”
“I think you’re all out,” Charlie said, looking at the empty vodka bottle on her counter pointedly. “And I feel medically obligated to warn you not to mix a head wound and alcohol, though I think that ship has already sailed, considering you smell like a preschooler’s birthday party.”
“First of all, there are worse things to smell like. And second of all, you can’t really tell me you came over here to poke me in the head a bit, confess your elaborate biographies scheme, and just leave.
So, are we doing this?” She shifted her legs until they were in his lap, keeping him in his seat.
“Doing … what?” Charlie asked.
“Don’t play coy,” Juliette said, giving him a nudge with her toes.
“I told you I don’t really do casual sex,” Charlie said, though he didn’t move her legs. He seemed to be silently debating with himself, his body so rigid, his hand coming to rest on her ankle bone and his thumb unconsciously sweeping the soft, thin skin there.
“How about this,” Juliette said, resisting the urge to purr from the friction. “Just one kiss. That’s it. You like it, we keep going. You don’t, we stop and I’ll drop it forever. Deal?”
Charlie’s gaze dragged up the long length of her legs, and even though she still wore those shapeless sweats it was like he was reconstructing the image of her bare legs, every dip and curve, every sensitive area.
She wanted him to taste them all, test her limits.
More than anything, she didn’t want him to say no.
“One kiss, and you’ll let it drop forever?” he asked, looking up at her like she’d handed him a death sentence.
“Just one,” she said, holding up a finger for emphasis.
Charlie closed his eyes and sighed. “Why do I think I’ll end up regretting this? All right. One kiss.”
Juliette leaned forward, sliding her legs out of his lap to afford her better access to his mouth as she pressed her lips against his.
She was surprised at how excited the prospect of kissing Charlie made her, and even as he seemed hesitant to return the gesture, she felt his mouth curving into a complementary shape against hers.
There was a spark, something simmering and expectant like they were always going to kiss.
Juliette let him take a breath, let him relax and drop his guard, slowly luring him into her trap.
When he leaned back, he seemed almost relieved.
“Well, there you—” Charlie started, but Juliette wasn’t anywhere near done.
She leaned in, pressing against him as their mouths came together again, and this time she didn’t hold back.
She raked her fingers into his hair, her legs sliding over his until she was straddling him, her mouth hungry and insistent.
She ran her tongue across his lip, making him shudder as his hands flexed against her back, like he was commanding them not to grab her ass, a command they joyfully ignored as those gorgeous, long fingers of his lifted her up against him.
When her hand brushed the front of his pants, Charlie jumped to attention at the same time as his cock. He shifted her, plopping her back on the couch and staggering to his feet. His hair was pulled in five different directions, mouth shining with her saliva, breath ragged as he sucked in air.
“That,” Charlie said, hoarse and panting, looking at her like she was a feral creature he had found in his kitchen, “was more than just one kiss.”
“Technically two,” Juliette said with a grin, “but that was your fault for ending the first one too soon.”
Charlie shook his head. “People don’t … they don’t kiss like that.”
Juliette smirked. “I do.”
But that wasn’t really true. Juliette had never kissed anyone like that, and she had kissed a lot of people.
“I have … I have to go,” Charlie said, looking at the door in confusion like he didn’t know how to escape.
“Or you could stay, and we could finish what we started,” Juliette said.
“Juliette, please,” Charlie said, his voice battered.
She wasn’t sure what he was asking, but her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
She was going to put it in the microwave and nuke it until she saw the caller ID.
Her stomach lurched, her lungs constricted, and any thoughts of continuing what they’d started shriveled into a hard little lump in her chest.
“What is it?” Charlie asked, sensing the drastic shift in her mood.
“Detective Marks,” Juliette said, her hand shaking as she reached to answer it. It was nearly two in the morning. Why would the detective be calling her now? No good news ever came at two in the morning. “Hello?”
“Ms. Winters, we’ve found something of great interest to our investigation,” said Detective Marks. Based on his tone, she couldn’t imagine if it was good or bad. “You’ll want to come down to the station immediately.”