Emma Holly (28 page)

"Well," he said, blinking himself back into composure. "That's… that's very kind."

She hid her smile by laying her cheek against his chest. "No problem. Apart from the hopping wineglasses and the ghosts, you've made me happy yourself."

"Ghosts?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. This afternoon I thought I heard one down in your creepy Elizabethan hall. Sounded like a gown sweeping the floor."

His hand stilled on her hair, then moved again. "Probably a squirrel," he said, relaxing beneath her.

"They're always getting in."

B.G. didn't sound as if he believed this. In fact, he sounded as if he knew differently. Charity opened her mouth to call him on the lie, then decided she'd rather let his denial stand. If he had reason to believe in ghosts, she didn't want to know.

True
to form for her new-and-improved quantum self, Charity woke before either of the men.

The skylight in B.G.'s sitting room announced a watery gray morning. Without a clock, or instructions on how to find one, Charity had no idea if it was time to get up.

Her stomach settled the issue by rumbling.

Somehow she'd ended up in the middle of the bed. When she squirmed out from between the two warm male bodies, B.G. grumbled in his sleep and immediately snuggled closer to Eric.

The move made her smile even though it was insulting to be so easily replaced. But who cared about that? She'd be twice as popular when she came back. It was a well-known fact of Seattle life that you couldn't judge a new lover until you'd seen him before coffee.

B.G.'s cook helped her in her mission by loading a trolley with Spanish omelets, quartered oranges, and a big pot of espresso. Feeling extremely pleased with her haul, Charity pushed it into B.G.'s bedroom.

"Food," Eric groaned into his pillow.

B.G. rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his arm. His bedhead was less comical than Eric's, but his face was definitely morning pale. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "Tell me there's coffee."

"There is," she said. "Freshly made." She tipped the lid of the steaming pot and let the scent waft out.

"Mm. Smells like double roast."

Eyes still closed, B.G. held out his hand. "Please," he said. "Black."

"What'll you give me for it?"

"My first-born child."

"As far as I know, you don't have one."

From the way his eyes slitted open, she decided she'd pushed him past his pre-coffee edge. "Never mind," she said, passing over a cup. "I'll collect my favor later on."

He inhaled, then swallowed, then let out an addict's sigh. Eric was more interested in food, but as she set a laden bed tray over his lap, he was equally appreciative.

"You're a goddess," he said, his mouth full of hot omelet.

"Yes, I am." Charity perched beside his hip. "Though Mrs. Alvarez deserves some credit."

Feeling pleasantly wifelike, she filled B.G.'s cup again, then helped herself to Eric's toast.

"Sorry 'bout crumbs," Eric said, but B.G. waved away the concern. He looked less pallid, even if his nose was buried in his cup.

"Keeps the maids from getting bored," he said, and all Charity could think was,
Must be nice
!

When he'd sucked down his second cup, he turned to her. She wasn't prepared for his next question.

"Tell me, Charity," he said. "How many foreign nationals have you seduced?"

"B.G.," Eric chided.

"I'm sorry," B.G. said. "The way she bargained with that coffee made her seem sly. I decided it would be irresponsible not to ask."

"I dated a Canadian skier once," she offered, though she didn't understand why he needed to know.

"Canada." He rubbed his chin musingly. "No. That wouldn't do it."

"Do what?"

"Nothing." B.G. gave her one of his semi-goofy, all-sweet smiles. "We shall have no negative talk this morning. Unless"—he pressed the side of a finger to his mouth—"you didn't by chance accept gifts from the skier worth more than a hundred dollars?"

"Uh," she said, now thoroughly confused. "The most I got was a bunch of roses. In fact, now that I think back, he gave me a bunch of roses with the wrong girlfriend's name on the card. He sent both at the same time and got them mixed up."

"Not good."

"Not good at all—though it was kind of funny to think of him having two girls mad at him at once, all because he couldn't be original."

"Spontaneity can be a challenge for some men." B.G. wagged his head as if this was his problem, too.

Maybe it was. B.G. sure did have a thing for pre-planning.

"I know what we could do," she said, "if you're feeling like you're in a rut."

"Oh, God," Eric said, seeming amused.

She pushed his thigh. "Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm thinking we could go bowling."

"Hm," said B.G. "Mosswood has many amenities, but I regret to inform you a bowling alley is not among them."

"No, let's
go
bowling. Off the estate. I'm sure I saw some lanes in one of the towns on our drive here.

We should do it, B.G. Everybody needs an occasional break from mind-blowing sex."

This inspired a grin. "You know," B.G. said, "I don't believe I've ever bowled in my life."

"All the better. I'll mop the floor with you. Ooh!" She jostled Eric's coffee by bouncing on the bed. "Can we take Maurice? I know Sylvia is in the doghouse, but I bet Maurice knows which holes to stick his fingers in."

"And then some," Eric quipped while steadying his cup.

B.G.'s eyes were wide. "You want my chauffeur to join us?"

"Sure." The more she thought about it, the better the idea seemed. "Isn't Maurice an important part of your quantum soup? You wouldn't want to neglect your potatoes."

"No, indeed," the great scientist said. "Neglecting my potatoes would be a grave oversight."

Bowling
was a total blast—even though, contrary to her expectations, Maurice turned out to have two left thumbs. B.G. did fine once he started plotting trajectories, but it was Eric who surprised them all, getting spares and strikes nearly every time. It took all Charity's math to remember how to keep score.

"Played in a league at college," he said with a secret glint in his eye.

"A ringer!" B.G. exclaimed, obviously enjoying his friend's triumph. "Give him a handicap!"

Soon after they arrived, the lane beside them was taken by a group of teens. With B.G.'s photograph a staple in high school science texts, it was only a matter of time before they started glancing his way.

When they figured out who he was, they insisted on treating him to greasy pizza, which he ate with great relish, using the pepperoni to give an impromptu demonstration about the nature of what he called the

"multi-branching multi-verse," where reality split according to whether you ate the slice or put it down.

"Dude!" said one of the teens when he started in on multi-dimensions. Apparently, B.G. Grantham was a hero to the high school set. The only brighter moment was when Maurice was recognized from his wrestling days. "Bad Mo," as he'd been known, redeemed his gutter balls by signing autographs all around. Blushing, he drew the line at signing one girl's bra.

All in all, it was a day for the record books.

"Hah!" Charity crowed as she and Eric walked companionably to her room. "Who says you can't make other people happy?"

"Certainly not me."

They were at her door, swinging hands in a way that was both delaying tactic and whimsy. B.G. had wandered off, murmuring something vague about "seeing to business." Charity wanted Eric to stay, but was it too much to ask?

They'd spent an awful lot of time together. Maybe even an erotic keeper needed time off. For that matter, she ought to be needing time off herself. She'd never been one to want to be joined at the hip with a man.

Of course, it wasn't her hips that were most interested. From the glow in Eric's eyes, she wasn't the only one whose sex drive had recovered since the night before.

If she put the moves on him, was the best she could hope for more teasing? She wasn't sure she was up for that. Maybe not asking was better than having to hold back.

Unable to decide, she dropped her gaze to watch her feet shuffle on the floor. "It was nice of B.G. to buy us all new shoes," she said, admiring the red and cream leather.

Eric pulled her hands to his chest, letting them rest lightly on his shirt. "I suspect the thought of all the feet that had been in the rentals before us gave him the shakes. Plus, he might want to see you in those again."

"Hoo, baby," she said with a laugh. "Your friend has some weird kinks."

"He's not the only one."

"No, he's not. Last night was fun."

The crinkles around his warm gray eyes did dangerous things to her heart. She had to brace herself when his thumbs rubbed tingling circles under her palms.

"More than fun," he said. "And today was good, too." He drew a breath as if he needed courage. "That was a really nice thing you did."

Even though she craved it, his approval embarrassed her. She shrugged crookedly. "It was only bowling."

"It wasn't only bowling. You got him out of the house. You reminded him he can have fun in the real world. I confess, it wouldn't have occurred to me to do that. I wouldn't have expected him to let me."

"Why not? He's not your boss twenty-four-seven. When it comes right down to it, he's your friend."

This time, Eric shrugged. "Friendships have dynamics. I guess that's ours."

"That's dopey. You told me he doesn't like to be coddled. If you think he's getting too hermity, you should speak up." Eric's hands rose to smooth her hair, but Charity wasn't in the mood to be soothed.

"Screw the rules, anyway. Why can't we just be people?"

He smiled, seeming to know she meant more than the rules that applied to him and B.G. "We're still

people even with the rules."

"Yeah, but with the rules, you can't always tell what's real and what's play."

He lowered his head to kiss her, starting soft and ending deep. Her knees went wobbly within seconds.

All too soon, he pulled away, her shoulders braced in his hands. "This is real."

It might have been real, but it was just a kiss. Even the huskiness in his voice didn't tell her what she wanted to find out. She already knew he was attracted to her. The question was, did he
like
her? Did he think she was good enough for more than games? The funny thing was, for a moment, he was looking into her eyes as if he longed to know the same thing.

"I should go," he said, sounding reluctant. "You were up early. You'll want to rest."

"Right," she said, stepping back awkwardly. "Thanks."

She clenched her jaw as she turned, determined to hide both her hurt and her sense of stupidity. Being too direct seemed not to be her problem now.

Dolt
,
Eric thought, watching her back go stiff. He hadn't meant for her to feel rejected. He'd meant for the things he'd seen in her eyes the night before to be said out loud.

Not that he had any right to want her to admit she loved him. It wasn't like he knew what to say back.

A man who could be jealous of both her and B.G. hardly qualified as clear in his mind.