Twenty-Four #2
Her stomach churns at the mention of her parents, and she can’t help thinking about how strained her relationship with them is regardless of her achievements.
She smiles tightly, pinching the stem of her wineglass before catching Wes’s eye.
She’s not sure if she’s imagining the trace of reassurance in his smile.
“Unfortunately, it won’t happen if the clinic closes. ”
“It was Charlie’s idea for Theo to bring that doctor on his show, Mom,” Emilia chimes in. “She’s planning a huge fundraiser to keep her clinic open.”
Charlie straightens in her seat. Emilia grins encouragingly while Wes continues to regard her in a way that makes her blood hum.
“It’s in April—the Great Sexpectations Expo.” She smiles sheepishly. “It’s a big task, but my colleagues are phenomenal, and I feel hopeful.”
Over the rim of his glass, Gabriel observes her with renewed interest. Her skin prickles under his assessing gaze.
“Quite the ambitious young woman you are,” he muses.
Charlie smiles politely.
Rebecca covers her hand. “What you’re doing is truly significant. I commend you for trying to keep this important clinic open.”
Charlie’s throat tightens; she didn’t realize until then how much it meant to hear someone recognize what she’s trying to achieve. “Thank you.”
“She made some excellent connections at your holiday party.” Wes waves a hand at Charlie, his eyes slightly glassy. He’s already on his second glass of wine.
“That’s right.” Gabriel’s gaze flickers with sudden recognition. “You were there. I remember you now.”
A flush erupts across her face as she remembers exactly how he found her.
Wes’s hair, neat when they arrived, is back to its usual disheveled state.
She doesn’t know when it happened; she’s been too focused on choosing careful answers to his parents’ questions to notice.
His cheeks are pink, though whether it’s from embarrassment at his dad not remembering her or the alcohol, she can’t be sure.
When their food arrives, the conversation descends into more personal family exchanges, and Charlie breathes a silent sigh of relief.
Spinning her fettuccine Alfredo around her fork, she only half pays attention to the conversation, focusing on keeping her hands from shaking.
She’s rarely scrutinized this closely, and with Wes’s family—while they seem well-intentioned—she feels she is under interrogation.
Rebecca exudes poise and self-possession that Charlie admires, and her warmth toward her children is something she’s always craved from her own mother.
Gabriel, on the other hand—
“Charlotte,” he says, slicing through her thoughts with that single word. There’s a calculating glint in his eye.
“It’s Charlie, Dad,” Wes mutters before draining his second glass of wine. She can’t help examining the pull of his throat as he drinks.
Gabriel ignores him. “What type of law do you intend to practice?”
Charlie swallows her bite of pasta. “I haven’t thought too much about it. But I’d like to do something with civil rights or immigration.”
He claps his son on the shoulder. “Wesley, we must get her up to the office and show her around.”
A moment of silence passes, and Wes focuses on the deep burgundy liquid flowing into his third glass. He tips the bottle upside down to get every last drop, then exchanges another glance with Charlie.
Setting the empty bottle on the table and picking up his glass, he says, “Charlie has seen the office.” He shoots his father a sidelong glance. “You were too preoccupied with bribing Benjamin Hardy to join the firm with a seven-hundred-dollar meal to notice.”
Gabriel’s hand tightens on his son’s shoulder, his smile placating.
“Ah.” He turns that same smile on Charlie. “My apologies, Charlotte. We’ll have you visit again, of course. Give you a proper tour. The view from my office is spectacular.”
Wes laughs under his breath, his fingers tapping the base of his wine glass.
“I bet I can persuade you to join our firm with the view alone,” Gabriel adds with a wink.
“No,” Wes says in a quiet but firm tone. “Charlie doesn’t want to join your firm, Dad. She has much higher standards for herself.”
Gabriel shoots him a sharp look. “You want to slow down there, Wesley?”
Wes grins tauntingly, maintaining eye contact while he drains his glass.
Gabriel frowns and looks away, clearing his throat.
“Wait, so you already took the LSAT, right?” Emilia pipes up, and Charlie could kiss her for directing the conversation away from her brother and his increasing intoxicated state.
“I have.”
“What’d you score?”
“One seventy-eight.”
Emilia whistles low. Rebecca exclaims with the exact amount of enthusiasm Charlie wishes she’d received from her own mother when she told her.
Wes reaches for the second wine bottle and pours another full glass.
Gabriel’s shrewd gaze slides from his son to Charlie, a sharp smile on his lips.
Ten minutes after the Quinns drop Charlie off at home, there’s a knock at her door.
For the third time in just over a month, her heart stutters when she spies Wes through the peephole.
She opens the door. “Hey, what are you—”
He holds up her work bag, the strap dangling off his middle and index finger. “You forgot this in the car. Wanted to make sure you had it in case you need it tomorrow.”
She accepts it from him, setting it just inside the door. “Thank you.”
He nods but doesn’t leave. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he watches her, his gaze roving over her whole body. Her skin flames under his stare, the silence between them stretching.
She clears her throat. “Do you need anything else?”
His lips curve in a devilish smile. She can tell he’s not as drunk as he was the night of the clinic’s holiday party despite the amount of wine she watched him consume at dinner, yet leaning against the doorjamb, he studies her like a predator who doesn’t want to frighten his prey.
“Do you remember…” he begins, lifting his hand to her face.
Her mouth goes dry when his fingers trace her jaw, leaving sparks of electricity in their wake, her skin blistering under his touch.
“…the rainstorm we got caught in freshman year?” His grip on her chin is gentle.
He doesn’t wait for her answer, which is good, because she’s not sure she can respond if she tries.
“The sky opened up on our way back from the library, and we had to sit in the student union for hours, waiting for it to pass. You looked like a drowned rat.”
She scoffs and tries to pull away, but he keeps hold of her chin.
“It was adorable.” His heavy-lidded gaze moves to her lips. “I never had to pretend with you, Charlie. It was always so easy.” His lips hover so close, their breath mingling. “You’ve always had the power to ruin me.”
His thumb brushes her bottom lip, and her breath stutters.
She wants to pull it into her mouth.
Even more than that, she wants to interrogate him about dinner. Ask him why his parents knew about her years ago. Why did it feel like they knew more about her than they should?
She turns her face away before he kisses her, and his lips meet her cheek instead. She shivers, and he sighs, his forehead resting against her temple.
“You’re drunk,” she breathes.
“And you’re beautiful.”
Given how drunk he is, she tries to ignore his words despite how they threaten her resolve.
He drops his hand, drawing away. “But you can’t stand me except when I’m making you come.”
“Quinn.”
“It’s ‘Quinn’ now.” His eyes are dark, burning with a fire she’s only seen when he’s on his knees staring up at her with so much heat she swears she’ll incinerate.
The air is alive with palpable frenetic desire and anticipation.
“But it’s ‘Wes’ when my fingers are inside you, when my tongue is on your clit.
When you’re wet and needy and wanting and so close. ”
A swoop of feverish lust erupts in her core. She squeezes her eyes shut, certain he doesn’t know what he’s saying, certain he won’t remember this in the morning. She needs to shut the door while she’s still thinking clearly, knowing he is not.
“I know what I do to you, Charlie.”
Dipping his head, he brushes his mouth against the skin under her jaw, dragging his lips down her throat. She gasps, and he chuckles.
“See?” He presses the pad of his thumb to her pulse point. “That right there. I can die happy, knowing I can make that happen.”
Charlie presses her palms flat against his chest, gently pushing him back. “It’s a physiological response to a pleasing stimulus.”
“Always so intelligent. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
Somehow, she manages to pull back, steadying her nerves and fighting the urge to throw her intelligence out the window and wrap her legs around his waist until he knows exactly what he does to her.
“Good night, Wes,” she says, and shuts the door.