natural cures for a headache. Didn’t you take an oath to help those in…need?”
Bastian smoothed the stray wisps of hair from her forehead. “I also pledged to do no harm. Take two tablets and pull the blinds. Get some rest, Charlie.”
She stuck her tongue out at him but retreated into the house.
“Interesting,” Caz murmured. “So you two aren’t—”
“No.”
“Masochist.”
Ignoring the jibe, Bastian took his half-full plate to the kitchen. Luci was a dream and had cleaned up most of the mess, but he spent a few minutes adding odds and ends to the dishwasher. A nap sounded pretty good but he was fairly sure Charlie was upstairs in his bed. It would be just like her to disregard his instruction. One part of him leaped with anticipation, the other balked.
Charlie used sex like a weapon, a shield. He’d long ago figured out she was afraid of being hurt so she put it out there, denying to the world she was anything but in control. She implied many more lovers than she’d actually taken, insulation from heartache. Flaunting her beauty prevented anyone from looking deeper, to seeing the woman who just wanted to be loved.
As her friend, he’d filled that spot gladly. Friendships didn’t form overnight, especially not one as strong as theirs. A single moment in time would forever be frozen in his mind as the minute Charlie decided he was worth her trust.
Their relationship had still been new, maybe three months old. He and Lisa had yet another argument before his shift, and his mood was beyond surly by the time he got off duty the next morning. Stopping by Charlie’s apartment for coffee allowed him to avoid going home. In her bathrobe, long legs peeking out, she listened to his pointless story about some patient or another with a knowing look. Halfway through, she’d stood, walked to him and ran her fingers through his hair.
She’d given him the most open invitation for an affair he’d ever imagined.
“Do you want to talk or go to bed with me?”
He’d chosen talk. His wedding band would allow nothing else. But the expression on her face was burned into his mind. She’d been stunned and then touched. The comfort he’d sought was not in her bed but in her heart. He’d valued her more than for what was between her legs. He still did. Somehow he had to convince her that wouldn’t stop if they became lovers.
He wanted sex to be different with them, knew it could if she’d let it.
Fighting a yawn, Bastian climbed the stairs wondering how to approach her, but his bed was empty. Charlie had surprised him. A note perched on his pillow teased him that he didn’t know what he was missing and, just in case he wondered, gave a descriptive blow by blow of what awaited him next door. He knew—in full, aching lust, he knew—but he deliberately lay on his empty bed. Several sets of footsteps reminded him they were not alone in the house and he rose to close the door. He nearly collided with his brother.
By silent agreement after his divorce, Bastian had moved across the landing from his childhood bedroom into the master and remodeled the second story. Caz maintained the other half of the upstairs when at home. Although both sides held a guest room, Caz used his for instrument storage. They rarely ventured to the other’s side so the surprise was natural.
Caz’s eyes flitted across the bedroom to the open door of the master bath. His question was soft. “Charlie?”
“Guest room,” Bastian said, earning a laugh.
“You’re a glutton for punishment. I need your keys. You’re blocking Heidi in.”
“Which one’s Heidi?” Bastian tossed his keys from the dresser.
“Redhead. The blonde’s Amy. And FYI, I’m having company over tonight, so I doubt I’ll be around when you get up later.”
“Which one’s staying?”
Caz raised his eyebrows thoughtfully before giving a shrug. “Don’t know yet. Maybe both.”
“I don’t need to know this,” Bastian groaned, returning to the bed
Bastian smoothed the stray wisps of hair from her forehead. “I also pledged to do no harm. Take two tablets and pull the blinds. Get some rest, Charlie.”
She stuck her tongue out at him but retreated into the house.
“Interesting,” Caz murmured. “So you two aren’t—”
“No.”
“Masochist.”
Ignoring the jibe, Bastian took his half-full plate to the kitchen. Luci was a dream and had cleaned up most of the mess, but he spent a few minutes adding odds and ends to the dishwasher. A nap sounded pretty good but he was fairly sure Charlie was upstairs in his bed. It would be just like her to disregard his instruction. One part of him leaped with anticipation, the other balked.
Charlie used sex like a weapon, a shield. He’d long ago figured out she was afraid of being hurt so she put it out there, denying to the world she was anything but in control. She implied many more lovers than she’d actually taken, insulation from heartache. Flaunting her beauty prevented anyone from looking deeper, to seeing the woman who just wanted to be loved.
As her friend, he’d filled that spot gladly. Friendships didn’t form overnight, especially not one as strong as theirs. A single moment in time would forever be frozen in his mind as the minute Charlie decided he was worth her trust.
Their relationship had still been new, maybe three months old. He and Lisa had yet another argument before his shift, and his mood was beyond surly by the time he got off duty the next morning. Stopping by Charlie’s apartment for coffee allowed him to avoid going home. In her bathrobe, long legs peeking out, she listened to his pointless story about some patient or another with a knowing look. Halfway through, she’d stood, walked to him and ran her fingers through his hair.
She’d given him the most open invitation for an affair he’d ever imagined.
“Do you want to talk or go to bed with me?”
He’d chosen talk. His wedding band would allow nothing else. But the expression on her face was burned into his mind. She’d been stunned and then touched. The comfort he’d sought was not in her bed but in her heart. He’d valued her more than for what was between her legs. He still did. Somehow he had to convince her that wouldn’t stop if they became lovers.
He wanted sex to be different with them, knew it could if she’d let it.
Fighting a yawn, Bastian climbed the stairs wondering how to approach her, but his bed was empty. Charlie had surprised him. A note perched on his pillow teased him that he didn’t know what he was missing and, just in case he wondered, gave a descriptive blow by blow of what awaited him next door. He knew—in full, aching lust, he knew—but he deliberately lay on his empty bed. Several sets of footsteps reminded him they were not alone in the house and he rose to close the door. He nearly collided with his brother.
By silent agreement after his divorce, Bastian had moved across the landing from his childhood bedroom into the master and remodeled the second story. Caz maintained the other half of the upstairs when at home. Although both sides held a guest room, Caz used his for instrument storage. They rarely ventured to the other’s side so the surprise was natural.
Caz’s eyes flitted across the bedroom to the open door of the master bath. His question was soft. “Charlie?”
“Guest room,” Bastian said, earning a laugh.
“You’re a glutton for punishment. I need your keys. You’re blocking Heidi in.”
“Which one’s Heidi?” Bastian tossed his keys from the dresser.
“Redhead. The blonde’s Amy. And FYI, I’m having company over tonight, so I doubt I’ll be around when you get up later.”
“Which one’s staying?”
Caz raised his eyebrows thoughtfully before giving a shrug. “Don’t know yet. Maybe both.”
“I don’t need to know this,” Bastian groaned, returning to the bed
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