32. Henry and Charlotte #2
Brushing her own fingers through his silky chest hair, Charlotte waited breathlessly for his hand to make its way lower.
“Henry.” She hungered for more as his fingers fluttered across her hip.
He had a way of holding her hips and using his thumbs to apply just the right amount of pressure.
“There,” she told him, and he swallowed the sounds of her pleasure.
Wearing his shirt, Charlotte urged Henry onto his back.
With her dark hair falling around her shoulders and her brown eyes hooded with desire, her voice was husky when she commanded him, “I’m going to need you to be really still while I do this. ”
Mindless, he could only nod, having lost his ability to speak, but he couldn’t have made a sound even if he wanted to.
All he cared about was the sight of her, the weight of her, and the smell of her, and how insanely erotic she was, with his shirt hanging open, allowing him free access to stroke every inch of her ripe, velvety skin.
Leaning back on her heels while Henry gripped her hips, Charlotte kept her eyes on him, his expression nearly undoing her, with passion and need that mirrored her own. Bending slightly toward him, every thought fled as he bucked beneath her.
Waking later in his arms, Charlotte surveyed his chiseled face, awed at how serene he looked while sleeping.
Carefully, she smoothed his hair back from his forehead, wondering how the man who performed such devilish acts on her body managed to look so angelic.
Her stomach grumbled, and she realized it was after eleven in the morning.
Their desserts had been forgotten in the car last night, their only focus on getting to his bedroom.
Gently extricating herself from his arms, she snapped up his shirt and slipped on a pair of comfy shorts she had brought with her a couple of nights ago.
Sliding her feet into her flip-flops, Charlotte padded out of the room after a last wistful glance at his sleeping form.
Bouncing down the stairs, she went straight for his refrigerator to see what he had inside, inspired to make Henry a hearty breakfast. Although this was the first time Charlotte could put Henry’s kitchen to use, wanting to cook for Henry had been at the top of her mind all week, but they’d each been busy.
The night before last, she had a staff meeting that ran until late in the evening, so they had met up at Betsy’s diner for malts, then walked around the pond in the town square before making their way back to his house on foot.
The night before that, they’d gone to Steiner Cinema to see a campy musical version of The Big Lebowski called When the Dude Abides, and both of them had laughed until they each had tears streaming from their eyes.
Humming, she extricated eggs, sausage, and milk from the fridge.
Upstairs, Henry rolled over to find the other side of the bed disappointingly empty and unappealingly cold.
Wondering where Charlotte had gone, he was ready to swing his legs from under the covers when a voice rose from the ground level.
Smiling, he listened as she sang along to Reba.
Was that bacon he smelled? And sausage? If not for his open eyes, he would believe he must be dreaming until a buzz from the bedside table made him reach for his phone, turning everything into a nightmare.
Not now, he thought with a grimace, regretting his decision to unblock his ex.
He’d only done so to stop the strange phone calls to the shop from continuing, most of which came in well before the shop was open, as if the caller somehow knew Henry would be the only one there to answer the phone.
Except for a sharp intake of breath when he picked up the call, followed by a few seconds of light breathing, the person on the other end remained silent until they hung up.
At first, he’d demanded Melanie to say something, but after a few calls, he stopped, uninterested in playing her games.
Hoping she would stop pestering him on his work phone, he had unblocked her on his cell yesterday. Now she texted:
Well, well, well. Look who misses me.
I won’t pretend I wasn’t hurt when you blocked me. Now that you’ve changed it, I assume you’re ready to communicate with me?
Henry, please, I’ll explain everything. Call me?
The three texts she’d sent minutes apart. And then:
Please, Henry, I know I pushed too much
I promise I’m not playing games.
We need to talk, ASAP.
Running his hands over his face, he knew the last thing he wanted was Melanie ruining his time with Charlotte, so he deleted the messages.
Reaching back to the table to disconnect his phone from the charger, Henry looked down at his chest at the red marks Charlotte had scored with her nails.
Tracing his fingers over them, he shivered as he replayed the image of her on his lap in the Tempest. She’d been insatiable, they both had, and if he tilted his head just so, he could still hear her gasping cries in his ear.
Unfolding his tall frame from the bed, Henry grabbed a pair of shorts from his dresser and from the chair next to the mirror, the ancient Rolling Stones T-shirt Charlotte had worn a week ago, the first time they’d spent the night together.
His body responded to the memory of her in the shirt, and her light sent still clung to the material.
Once he had brushed his teeth and combed his hair into some semblance of order, Henry made his way down the stairs, relishing the cool wood floor under his bare feet.
A few years after moving into the house, he and Josh had torn up the carpet, exposing the beautiful hardwood underneath.
That same winter, he, Josh, George, and all three nephews (Liam, Daniel, and Felix) spent weekends sanding and staining the old floorboards until they gleamed.
His niece, Cait, had supervised with her keen eyes, pointing out when someone missed a spot.
Entering the kitchen to Charlotte belting out “Fancy” at the top of her lungs, he paused, drinking in the sight of her keeping beat with her luscious hips wiggling.
She stood at the stove, wielding a pair of tongs in shorts that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, and Henry was ready to lift her over his shoulder and carry her back upstairs.
On second thought, the living room was closer, and the sofa was comfortable enough.
Plenty of spring in it. Heaven help him, she still wore his shirt from last night.
Closing the distance between them, he put his hands on her ribs, delighting as she breathed in deeply.
“Mmm, I like this.” She tilted her head back against his chest. She dropped the tongs she’d been using and raised her arms behind her to cup his head close to her neck.
“Mmm,” he responded, “not as much as I do.” The top snaps were open, exposing her cleavage, and his view was incredible.
Braless under his shirt meant breakfast would have to wait.
Bending, he touched his lips to the side of her neck when his watch rang with an incoming call.
Glancing at it, he dismissed it, then raised the hem of her shirt.
His watch annoyingly rang again. “Charlotte, I’m sorry.
I need to return this.” Turning her around, he cradled her face to kiss her gently.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s nothing,” he assured her, eager to be rid of Melanie.
“I left my phone upstairs, so I’m just going to run up there.
Don’t worry.” His finger stroked her cheek.
“It’s just some issue I’ve been having with a difficult customer.
” A little white lie seemed innocuous, because the last thing he wanted was Charlotte believing that his ex-wife had some kind of hold over him.
After everything that had gone on last year with DD, he didn’t want their budding relationship dragged into whatever mess Melanie was looking to create.
Kissing her again, Henry stared into her luminous eyes.
“I can’t wait to have breakfast with you.
” He softly kissed her knuckles. “I need you to know how honored I am, how lucky I feel, that you’re here with me. ”
Keeping her tears at bay, Charlotte said, “I feel the same, Henry. No one has made me feel the way you do.” She could smell that the bacon was almost done in the oven, so she made her voice light. “Now go and take care of business so we can eat!”
After one last, deep kiss, Henry trotted up the stairs, feeling somewhat deceitful. Normally, he wasn’t a man who engaged in lies and half-truths, unless it came to his ex. As soon as he was off the phone with her, he planned on explaining everything to Charlotte.
Downstairs, Charlotte removed both the bacon and the breakfast casserole from the oven.
Henry’s fridge and pantry had all the ingredients, and the recipe was abundant, ensuring that he would have enough to eat over the next few days.
Pouring herself another cup of toffee crunch coffee, with a heavy splash of cream, she startled when she heard his voice upstairs, almost as if he was shouting.
He grew quieter, and she opened the newspaper, intending to start the crossword puzzle, his doorbell rang.
“Henry,” she called, torn between ignoring or answering the door.
The bell rang again, so instead of bothering Henry, she walked over to it.
Upon opening the door, a wave of heat blasted her from outside, and she was surprised to see who stood on the porch. “Hi.”
“Why are you answering Henry’s door?”