Public Displays of Affection

  “HMMMPPPPHHH!” she screamed. “GMMMMM-PHHHHMMMMM!”

  “I am going to let you up now,” the voice said. The voice was deep and rich and made something in her brain snap. Because it was his voice. She remembered that voice with every fiber in her being.

  “I am going to let you up now, Charlotte.”

  He knew her name! He’d just said her name!

  “Please calm down and listen to me.”

  Where was the scent of honeysuckle coming from? She was lightheaded with it. It permeated the air. It was on her skin and inside her nose and throwing a heavy blanket of confusion over her mind. The feel of his wet, rock-hard body against hers was intoxicating. She felt drunk with the realization that finally—after thirteen endless years of wishing and praying and hoping and imagining—this man’s body was once again touching hers.

  “HMMMMPPPHHH!” she screamed, arching up beneath him, closing her eyes as she used every Billy Banks–honed muscle she possessed to resist him.

  It was the worst possible thing she could have done.

  Because now she knew he was aroused.

  She was being assaulted by a madman with a hard-on and a gun, which was probably not a good combination.

  Charlotte’s eyes flew open. Nerve endings began to short-circuit from her scalp to her toes.

  Then he smiled down at her sheepishly.

  “Hello, Charlotte,” he whispered, brushing a clump of wet hair from her cheek. “It’s really great to see you again.”

  She was slippery, firm, and thoroughly female crushed beneath him, but never in thirteen years of fantasies had he imagined it quite like this.

  And the worst part of it was that Charlotte would not stop screaming.

  “I will not hurt you. I am your neighbor. My name is Joe Mills and I promise I will not hurt you. I’m going to release you. This has all been a big mistake. Just please stop screaming.”

  He raised himself on one hand, his other still cupped over her mouth, his body still in contact with hers from the waist down.

  Her eyes were wide with terror and it broke his heart.

  “Charlotte?”

  She nodded.

  “If you scream, the neighbors will think I’m hurting you. I don’t want any trouble. I just…” Her brow creased in a frown.

  “I’m a little paranoid about burglars. I’m very sorry about the gun—my mistake. Please don’t be frightened. I’m going to let you up if you promise me you won’t scream again.”

  Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead and she nodded enthusiastically.

  He took his hand off her mouth and rose above her, pulling her to her feet. She screamed.

  In an instant he’d flipped her around, one arm tight around her waist and the other hand slapped once again over her mouth.

  She was kicking him in the shins with her running shoes.

  She was a wildcat.

  But he already knew that, didn’t he?

  He couldn’t help but laugh, and that apparently pissed her off even more, because the kicks grew more ferocious.

  God.

  The truth was that if he’d been the subject of some strange test, blindfolded, led into a room filled with twenty women, and told to touch each one and then identify Charlotte—a woman he hadn’t laid a finger on in thirteen years, a woman he’d known for less than two hours—he could have done it. No problem.

  He knew her. His hands remembered her. His skin remembered her skin. His bone and muscle remembered hers. And the smell of honeysuckle was everywhere, so intense he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t separate fantasy from reality.

  He picked her up at the waist and began to walk across the lawn toward the pine trees. It was a long and painful trip, and he knew his legs were going to be black-and-blue from knee to ankle.

  “You know, dumplin’, it would be easier for both of us if you just stopped yelling.”

  She somehow maneuvered a pointy elbow into his gut, and it hurt like hell. Her feet were still thrashing.

  “Really, Charlotte. I don’t want any trouble.”

  But he was well aware it was too late to avoid it, because trouble was right there in his arms, wet and hot and slippery and curvy and pressed against him in all the right places. And though he’d promised himself he’d get out of Minton without seeing her, touching her, smelling her, he’d just failed big-time.

  Eventually, they made it through the pine trees and to her driveway, yet she kept squirming and writhing against the front of his boxers. It was more than he could stand. It wasn’t fair. And he just couldn’t help himself.

  Joe lowered his mouth to the nape of her neck, planting one soft, openmouthed kiss on her slick skin. The contact of her hot flesh on his lips was shocking. He pulled away and gasped.

  The thrashing stopped. She went rigid in his arms.

  He loosened his grip, allowing her to slide down the front of his body and place her feet on the asphalt. He felt every wet inch of her on the way.

  The arm that had been around her waist had slipped up to her chest, and—thank you, Lord—he’d somehow been allowed to spread one hand over a wet, spandex-covered breast while the other hand remained over her mouth.

  She was silent and unmoving. The darkness gathered around them, and Joe took a second to scan the street. No one was out. Her dog was nowhere to be seen. It was just the two of them in her driveway, under the basketball hoop, in the faint light coming from her upstairs windows.

  He felt her shiver in his arms.

  “You’re wet and cold and you need to go inside.”

  She nodded, and the slight movement sent a burst of scent into his nostrils. She smelled exactly like she had thirteen years ago. She felt the same. He’d finally found her.

  And he’d likely never speak to her again, because he was leaving. And the sooner the better—for everyone. The nipple under his palm was hard as a .40 caliber bullet, and he couldn’t resist finding out what the other one was up to, so he dragged his hand across her little sports bra to find out. He felt her heart pound and her breath catch. Damn—her other nipple was just as tight and hard.

  Her hand suddenly covered his own. It was soft and warm and pressed his palm with urgency against her breast, and it was the most amazing thing he’d ever experienced, and the last thing in the world he wanted.

  With that single touch she’d told him everything. Yes, she remembered him. Yes, she wanted him, too.

  “Oh, damn, Charlotte.”

  She whimpered in agreement, as if she somehow understood everything she couldn’t know, why this was such an impossibly bad idea. Then Joe felt a hot droplet fall onto his fingers. Tears. Then he felt the subtle pressure of her butt. She was pushing back against him, fitting her hips against the front of his body, where she still fit perfectly.

  He let his hand fall from her mouth and he spun her around to face him.

  Those eyes looked back at him full of shock, confusion, and need. And he decided he’d go ahead and do it—just once—the one thing he’d longed to do since 19-fucking-91….

  He kissed her. And the instant their lips touched, the kiss rocketed out of control. Everything went fierce and hot and deep and Charlotte was all over him and every single detail Joe thought he’d imagined was right there under his mouth as real as real could be—this perfect mix of sweet and sexual, this wild little redhead, this woman of his dreams.

  He had to end the kiss. It was a mistake. Too much, too fast, too intense. But as Joe pulled away, her lips sought his. Her nails dug into his forearms as he tried to separate.

  “Charlotte. No. Wait.”

  She looked as dazed as he felt. But he had to tell her this one thing while he had the chance. He was leaving, maybe as soon as tomorrow, but she needed to know he’d never forgotten her.

  He grabbed her by her slippery, shapely shoulders and watched her struggle to focus on his face.

  “I’ve thought about you every day for thirteen years,” he said.

  Her eyes flashed. S
he took a deep breath. Then she smiled at him with that pretty mouth and his knees wobbled.

  “Can I tell you what I’ve thought about for thirteen years, Joe?”

  Oh, man…. He nodded, because he couldn’t speak.

  “I’ve thought about this—”

  Her hot little hand landed on the front of his boxers. She cupped him through the soaking wet cotton, then stroked, moving her palm up the underside of his now record-book bulge.

  Joe froze. His head buzzed from the staggering amount of pleasure in that touch. A storm blew through his heart. Never in his life had he been this surprised, or this torn. This couldn’t happen. This was sheer stupidity.

  This felt so damn right.

  He managed to grasp her wrist, pull her hand away, and smile politely.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Oh God,” she said.

  Then Charlotte let out a moan of anguish and twisted away, running toward her house, leaving him in the driveway in wet boxers, aroused, perplexed, and sorely tempted to chase after her.

  Some things never changed.

  Chapter Seven

  “Have you talked to him yet? He’s been next door for a whole week!”

  Charlotte shuddered, taking a quick peek at Bonnie before she tried to answer LoriSue’s question. Not even Bonnie knew what an idiot she’d made of herself with the man in question. No one knew but Joe himself.

  “We haven’t spoken. Not really,” Charlotte managed.

  LoriSue took a sip of her coffee and raised her eyes to the house beyond the pine trees. “My God. If he were my neighbor, I’d have already brought him a little welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift… if you get my drift.”

  “We get your drift,” Bonnie said.

  “Well, I can tell the man just puts it down in bed.”

  Charlotte’s heart skipped at least two full beats.

  “I only meant—” LoriSue laughed and waved her hand in the air, as if to shoo away the bluntness of her words. “Look. I’ve always had this theory that some men are put on this earth simply to make women happy. I know one when I see one. Joe Mills is one of them.”

  Charlotte stared at her brown leather sandals, feeling sweat dribble down her spine. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have thrown herself at him like that? She groped the man! Just reached right out and assaulted his person! He could file charges against her for a stunt like that! Oh God, if she ever saw Joe Mills again in her life, she’d probably die of shame.

  “And Big Jimmy isn’t one of the anointed?”

  LoriSue laughed at Bonnie’s inquiry. “Oh, I used to think Jimmy was a real babe.” She tapped her long red acrylic nails on the side of her coffee cup. “Unfortunately, he’s always thought so, too, and didn’t want to deprive any woman in the greater Minton area of his charms.”

  “So what’s the status of the divorce?” Bonnie was apparently on a roll with the nosy questions today, and LoriSue launched into a twenty-minute update on the couple’s dueling attorneys, postponed court dates, and the apartment Jimmy had set up for himself in the basement.

  “He’s got a little fridge and his remote and his recliner, and being the bottom-dweller that he is, I think he could live there for the rest of his life. Not that I’ll let him.”

  “But what do you say to each other in passing?” Bonnie shook her head. “I mean, isn’t it weird to see him standing there in the kitchen, pouring his morning coffee?”

  “No weirder than the past sixteen years of marriage.”

  Charlotte was startled by LoriSue’s next comment.

  “I just don’t understand how you’ve done it, Bonnie.”

  Bonnie laughed. “Done what?”

  “Stayed happily married.” LoriSue sighed, letting her gaze travel across the yard to where the kids were playing. “I honestly don’t know how anybody does it.”

  The women sat at the outdoor table without speaking for a moment, the cacophony of Matthew’s, Hank’s, and Justin’s voices filling in the silence.

  Bonnie leaned back in her chair and cleared her throat. Charlotte could see the gears turning in her friend’s head.

  “It’s never been very complicated for us, LoriSue.” Bonnie’s voice was soft. “We just made the decision to love each other, no matter what. Raising the boys. Moves. Hard times. We just kept loving each other.”

  Charlotte looked over to see LoriSue’s chin quivering and reached out to touch her hand.

  “Well, there you go,” LoriSue said brightly, offering them a big smile. “That’s the difference between the Bettmyers and the Prestons, right there!” LoriSue slid her hand out from under Charlotte’s. “Jimmy and I decided to give up on each other a long, long time ago. It didn’t seem worth the effort anymore.”

  “Any more bananas left, Mrs. Tasker?”

  Justin appeared behind his mother, and Charlotte was struck by the similarities in their features—all except the eyes. Behind the eye shadow and mascara, LoriSue’s were tired and wary. Justin’s were wide and bright. Were LoriSue’s ever like her son’s?

  “In the fruit bowl, sweetie. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Justin walked toward the house, LoriSue reached down at her feet for a large red-leather organizer bag. Before Charlotte realized what was happening, she’d pulled out her checkbook and begun scribbling.

  “Take this.” She held out a check, and Charlotte stared at a sum of “five hundred dollars” written out in elaborate script. Her mouth fell open.

  “What in the world is this for?”

  LoriSue laughed bitterly. “I probably owe you thousands for food and child care over the last couple years.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.”

  LoriSue abruptly stood up. She fluffed her hair and smoothed out the skirt of her fire-engine red spring suit. “I know I haven’t been the world’s best mother in the last couple years. I’ve let my problems with Jimmy and the business kind of distract me. If it weren’t for you, Charlotte…” LoriSue let her words trail off, then shook her head.

  Charlotte and Bonnie said nothing.

  Justin came out with a banana in his hand, already munching away.

  “Honey, come here a second.” LoriSue crooked a red-nailed finger in the air.

  Justin walked up to his mother. “Yeah?”

  “Do you remember to say thank you to Mrs. Tasker for the things she does for you?”

  Justin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and he stopped chewing. “Am I in trouble for something?”

  Everyone shouted “No!” at the same instant.

  His shoulders relaxed and he swallowed his mouthful of banana. “Whoa. Good.”

  The women laughed, and Charlotte watched with amazement as LoriSue put a hand on her son’s blond head. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the woman touch her own child.

  Then LoriSue kissed Justin’s forehead. “We’re lucky to have the Taskers as our friends.”

  Justin nodded.

  “Scouts tonight?” LoriSue asked.

  Justin looked at Charlotte, then at Bonnie and back to his mother, blinking. “Uh. Yep.”

  “Your uniform should be clean. Want to have dinner with me before you head out?”

  “You gonna cook?” Justin sounded a bit scared.

  LoriSue laughed loudly and gave him a quick hug. “Heck no. I thought we’d go to Chico’s for Mexican.”

  A huge smile spread over his face. “That’s my favorite, Mom!”

  “I know.”

  “Cool.”

  When Justin ran back into the yard, Charlotte stood up. “I can’t take this, of course.” She held the check out to LoriSue.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t do things for Justin for money. He’s a great kid. I like him. He’s always welcome here.”

  For a second, Charlotte was sure LoriSue was going to cry—her nose wrinkled up and her eyes watered. But instead she sniffed, raise
d her chin, and hoisted her bag to her shoulder.

  “I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “I appreciate the thought, but that’s not the way to do it.” Charlotte placed the check in LoriSue’s hand, then watched her rip it in half with a flourish and stuff the scraps in the front pocket of her bag.

  “All right. Then how about I take everyone to Chico’s tonight? The kids, you, and Bonnie—even Ned if he’s around.”

  Bonnie and Charlotte grinned at each other. “You’ve got yourself a date,” Bonnie said.

  “What’s going on with Charlotte?”

  Bonnie raised her head from Ned’s chest and smiled at his question. He may have been retired from police work, but he’d forever have a cop’s instincts. She’d seen how closely he’d studied Charlotte at dinner, sitting across from her at the big table at Chico’s.

  “She’s just tired. She’s got a few new clients.”

  “The woman needs a good New York Strip and a side of onion rings.”

  Bonnie giggled and kissed the curly graying hairs of her husband’s chest.

  “Did you see what she ate tonight? I’m telling you, human beings are not designed to live on brown rice and fish flakes. Those kids are going to get rickets—just you watch.”

  Bonnie shook her head. “And maybe they won’t have to take pills to lower their cholesterol, either.”

  “Ouch! That hurt.”

  She felt Ned’s chest rise and fall with gentle laughter as he put his strong arms around her and pulled her tight. “You gotta admit this old geezer’s still got it, though.”

  “You’ve still got it,” she said dutifully.

  “And you still want it.”

  “I still want it.”

  “You want it again?”

  Bonnie laughed and kissed the crinkled skin of his neck. She’d been kissing that same neck for a long, long time.

  “You offering?”

  “Damn right I am. All I need is a good night’s sleep and two cups of coffee and I’ll be raring to go again—just like magic.”