He nodded with his eyes closed. “It was a nice place to grow up. I used to love sliding down the banister until I hit puberty. Newel posts and nuts do not mix.”
The two women who hung on Caz’s every word giggled. Charlie smacked him on the shoulder. “I’m talking about things like the molding in the dining room, the one that has all those notches in it where your parents kept track of your height. That is like picture-book sweet.”
“Mom didn’t think replacing the old-fashioned window glass was sweet when Bastian knocked a baseball through it three times in one summer.” Caz smiled. “This place took a beating at times. When I was about six, I went through this fireman phase and decided I needed a pole in my bedroom. Dad nearly shit a brick when he saw the hole I put in the ceiling.”
“You didn’t!” Girl Groupie Number One gasped.
Charlie laughed. “What about Bastian? I see him as this geeky bookworm growing up.”
A loud masculine snort burst out. “No way. Check out the foyer steps, under the carpet runner. Bastian used to ride his skateboard down them. I think there’s still an imprint of his head on the baseboard, too.”
Charlie propped her chin on her hand and stared out at the yard. It teemed with dancers swaying to the music. This place needed people, welcomed them, made everyone feel at home. She was so glad Bastian and Caz hadn’t sold it after their mother died. Her gaze landed on a splash of pale pink, and a bittersweet sigh bled out. Bastian wasn’t a gardener but his mother’s rosebushes still bloomed along the fence line, and a grapevine archway stood proudly in the center of the hedges, guarding any who entered.
“Bastian told me he got his first kiss under that archway.”
“Tammy Kincaid.” Caz grinned in memory, a devilish gleam in his eye. “I could see into her bedroom from the east hallway window. Bastian might have kissed her but I saw her naked.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. She could just see a younger Caz scoping the neighborhood beaver shot and Bastian learning about love under the archway. This old Victorian held memories like a blanket, a warm cover to keep out the cold unknown. Although both Talbot men had moved out, this place remained, waiting for their return.
And returned they had, to her welcoming inherited arms. After their divorce, Lisa had kept the house she and Bastian had lived in, while he moved back to his childhood home to take care of his ailing mother. Caz had an apartment somewhere in California. But this was their forever place. She doubted Bastian could even see it. To him, this was simply home. To Charlie, it was something she’d never had.
Through the window, she caught Bastian’s stare. Her best friend wanted more, wanted to marry her. She didn’t know about the marriage bit but she could definitely handle more of the “more.” Her hips rolled in time to the music as she walked back into the kitchen and his gaze shifted down her body.
Fight all you want, Bastian. You will be mine…for a little while anyway.
She brought heat and wind and the scents of early summer inside but the look sizzling from her eyes was what scorched him. From the sway of her hips to the wicked look painted on her face, she silently announced she was hunting and he was her prey.
“I’ve got dibs on the first shower…unless you want to share?”
I want to share more than water with you.
“Come here.” He hooked one finger in the vee of her shirt and pulled her a step closer. Last night they’d crossed a line, moved from friends to more. But so far, the “more” had not materialized other than flirts and kisses. He was fine with that. Slow was better for what he wanted, better but physically agonizing.
Charlie had looked at him as if he’d sprouted a third eye but gradually agreed to see what would happen between them. The timidity in her acceptance was so different from her vibrant personality that he knew she was still trying to sort out her jumbled emotions. But Bastian already knew. His first taste of her lips was like coming home. He’d wait.
It had been hard to crawl inside the tent beside her and not remember the feel of her beneath him. Actually, it’d been impossible. He’d spent the entire night watching her sleep, reliving the brush of her lips.
Now lips he’d craved for years and feasted on last night widened with her grin as she hooked her arms around his neck. “Come wash my back.”
Dear Lord, help me or I’m a goner.
Four small kisses and he pushed her toward the staircase. “Go wash behind your ears, Charlie.”
A frustrated noise gurgled from her throat before she grabbed her overnight bag. “Fine. Then I’m using all the hot water.”
“I have no use for hot water when you’re around, so enjoy. But hurry up or I’m eating your enchilada.” His chuckle lasted as long as her scurrying feet were visible through the scrolled balusters. Never mess with Charlie’s food.
“Well, that’s new.” Luci snickered behind him.
“Very new.”
“Ustedes dos son muy bonitos.”
She patted his cheek. “You’re a good match.”
He didn’t know about he and Charlie being cute but they were a good match. He just had to convince her that the match could last and he had only a vague idea how to do that. Thoughts muddled in his head as he listened with half an ear to Luci talk about their shows for the past six months while she dished up mountains of food. Charlie reappeared, damp midnight hair slicked straight back from her face, wearing a flowing skirt and matching halter that clung to too many places. Judging by the saucy wink she gave him, she knew it, too.
She hadn’t used all the hot water but he took a cold shower anyway. By the time he made it to the backyard, the crowd had thinned by half. Charlie and Caz were plastered together doing some sort of bumping, grinding club dance he had no desire to understand. Every so often, each would switch partners.
Bastian was simply captivated by the way Charlie held her skirt, the roll of her shoulders, the undulation of her belly. The anticipated meal grew cold on his plate as he watched her. There were no solid lines in her body as she swayed and dipped to the rhythm. With man or woman or alone, she moved as if making love to the melody. Music loved her like he did, completely.
A loud scrape of wood and metal brought his attention back as Caz sat beside him. “Sorry, man, I tried to call and see when you guys were headed home. I thought I could get everyone cleared out before then. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”
“No problem. It’s your house, too.”
A harsh snort sounded. “My name might be on the deed but that’s just inheritance. You keep it up, pay the bills and shit. Damn, Charlie can move, can’t she? Look at that.”
“She was a dancer.” Bastian dropped his eyes to the plate and forked a lukewarm bite.
“Really? I didn’t know that. When?”
“It’s how she paid for her communications degree.”
Both brothers watched her until the song ended. The dark-haired man named Tony slid his hands around her waist as another chord vibrated the night. Blistering jealousy rammed into his gut and for the first time, Bastian allowed it to brew. He didn’t like anyone touching her like that. But it was just a dance, so he sat and watched with a fisted grip on the fork.
“Uh, Bastian, those moves are kind of…sexual. What kind of dancer was she?”
He had to force the word out. “Exotic.”
“Littlebit was a stripper?” Caz gaped at the couple down on the grass. “Damn. Ever see her strip, I mean, dance?”
“No. She stopped a few years before we met. Said she made good money but it was time to get out. It was just a way to pay for college. Don’t make too much of it, okay?”
“Doesn’t bother me none.” Caz shrugged. “I’d think it’d gall you, though. You’re not exactly the hanging-out-with-strippers type.”
“No, I’m the hanging-out-with-Charlie type. Drop it.”
Tony’s hands were sliding far too close to her ass for Bastian. Before he could rise from the table, Charlie turned, grabbed the wandering hands and laced her fingers in them, pulling both above her head in a sensual but distracting move. She knew how to take care of herself. He wasn’t about to drop his guard, though, and he locked his gaze on her partner. He didn’t like this Tony.
Ghostlike, the music pouring through the speakers called to him. Bastian couldn’t place it. Slower, sadder, nearly weeping with pain, it had a small thread of hope woven through it. He couldn’t even place a genre to the piece. It was blues and jazz with a splash of wordless soul. Stirring in his chest, the cadence was at once soothing and invigorating. The mournful wail of a sax in the background made his breath catch. Bright golden sun couldn’t fight against the poignant tones. It was more suited to smoky, darkened rooms with a Creole aura than backyard daylight.
“What song is this?”
“It’s called ‘Wishing for Grace.’” Caz’s tone was hushed, unwilling to cover the music.
“It’s beautiful…almost haunting.”
“Thank you.”
Bastian’s face snapped to his younger brother’s. “That’s you playing?”
“No, I wrote it. A group called Blues and Bones recorded it. This is just the instrumental. The words came later. I wrote those, too.”
Stunned once more by Caz’s gift when sober, Bastian nearly missed Tony bowing his head to Charlie’s shoulder. She danced away from him before his lips touched her skin. Red seeped into Bastian’s vision, blinding him as his temple throbbed.
“You’re going to pop a vein.” Caz snickered and leaned back on two chair legs. The song faded on a melodic sob before rising to a more lively beat. He followed Bastian’s line of sight. “Something change between you and Charlie?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
“What?” Caz’s chair legs crashed to the wood floor with a thump. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know, man. Shit. Shit. Shit. When Tony asked, I told him you two were just friends. What’d she say? Littlebit joining the family?”
“She said no.” Stabbing the enchilada, Bastian shrugged. “But I don’t listen well.”
A laugh rumbled beside him. “Hell, I know that. Charlie’s holding her own, but if you want, I’ll go tell Tony to back off.”
He didn’t have to. Charlie sauntered up the stone steps toward him, escaping both roaming hands and baking heat. Two other women joined her and soon the shaded table was surrounded. Hiding behind the excuse to make room at the table for four, Bastian pulled her toward his lap. He deliberately let his palm slide across her stomach under her halter hem. Possession gripped him with sharp claws and he glared at Tony.
The swarthy man stopped on the steps, noticed the hold and sighed. “Didn’t know.”
“Now you do.” Bastian glowered until a chastised Tony joined a few people leaving the yard, hands raised in farewell. At last, it was just the five left on the veranda.
“Oh, jealousy. I kind of like that.” Low and purring, Charlie snuggled into his lap. “Next you’ll want your name tattooed on my ass.”
“No more tattoos,” Bastian grumped.
The hand from her stomach slid to the small of her back, touching more than supporting her. He glided his free palm along her thigh, cradling her closer. He had a sudden flash of comprehension into Caz’s addiction. Touching Charlie was addictive.
“You get new ink?” Caz asked, yanking the elastic out of his hair.
Before he could reloop it, the pale redhead was behind him, running her fingers through the shaggy locks, doing it for him. She was taking an exorbitant amount of time, her fingers trailing down his neck and around his ears. Under the table, the busty blonde woman kept bumping Bastian’s feet as she used her toes to stroke Caz’s leg.
Dear Lord, he’s got girl groupies.
“Just one. Plus, I had color added to my cherries.” Charlie jerked up her flowy skirt and extended her leg to show off the now bright-ruby-red cherry cluster on her ankle. The tiny design accented her delicate bone structure. Bastian cupped her thigh to prevent her falling off his lap. The feminine satisfied smirk showed him he’d fallen right into her trap.
She’s good.
“Oh, I like that design,” cooed Girl Groupie Number Two.
A comparison of body art flowed while Bastian ran his thumb slowly back and forth high over her inner thigh.
Two can play this game
. Sapphire eyes caught his in a challenge seconds before her behind shimmied deeper into his groin. Bastian stiffened.
Or I could be out of my league.
“What’s your new tat, Littlebit?”
“Betty Boop. Bastian thinks I look like her with this haircut. Want to see it?”
Bastian tightened his grip on her leg. “No, he doesn’t want to see it.”
The steel in his voice made his brother laugh. “I take it you got it someplace covered?”
“My butt.”
Caz laughed. Bastian found nothing amusing in his brother’s fascination with body art.
“I haven’t got up the nerve to drop my pants for a needle yet. Does that make me a pussy? I should be able to handle a little ass-ink.”
“Anyone with full sleeves can handle it, no problem,” Charlie encouraged. “The pose is a bit embarrassing, though.”
“Stop giving him ideas,” Bastian interjected. “He’s got more color now than Crayola.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Butt out, Bastian. Just because you went single color doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”
Caz jerked forward, ripping his head from the groupie’s fingers and jabbing a finger at Bastian. “You got a tattoo? You gave me a three-hour lecture on Hepatitis C, HIV, malignant skin tumors and dirty needles, and then you got a tattoo? No fucking way, you hypocrite.”
The angry words brought an unwelcome chill to the sunny afternoon. Charlie stiffened in his arms.
“Bastian didn’t want me to get another one, either. But he relented when I let him check out the parlors and artists until he found one that met his minimum approval.” She twirled her fingers through his hair, her voice teasing and tender. “Of course, since my pants were down, he insisted he be there to make sure nothing ‘unsavory’ happened, as he put it. After he helped me off the bench, I told him it was his turn. You should have seen his face.”
Charlie’s lighthearted story was meant to ease sudden tensions, but Caz still fumed. A silent breath filled Bastian’s chest before he looked at his brother. Despite their differences, they could read each other well enough for this. He selected each word with care.