Читать книгу Miss Charlotte Surrenders - Cathy Thacker Gillen - Страница 8

Chapter Three

“What’s going on here, Charlotte?” Isabella demanded in a shocked tone.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to seduce the hired help,” Paige drawled, a hand splayed dramatically across her chest.

“Very funny.” Charlotte glared at Paige before turning back to Brett. She gave him her most lethal look.

He smiled back at her, pleased at the unprecedentedly passionate response he had wrung from her, without even half trying. Charlotte’s cheeks grew even warmer, but she continued to regard him stonily.

Finally, Brett got her message. “I think this is my cue to leave, ladies,” he announced to Paige and Isabella. His expression was both rueful and full of mirth.

Paige and Isabella both chuckled, despite Charlotte’s silent admonition not to do so.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Paige called airily after Brett.

Arms crossed defiantly in front of her, Charlotte watched Brett strut down the walk to the caretaker’s cottage. She was still tingling all over. And all because of a stupid little kiss. “Don’t encourage him,” she warned her sisters with a scowl as they retreated to the kitchen.

“Why not?” Paige teased as she flicked on the lights and brought out a pitcher of ice tea. “You apparently were.”

“All right, you two, don’t start!” Isabella ordered, halting the free-for-all. Then she looked at Charlotte, her expression serious. “How did the meeting at the bank go?” she asked as she brought out the glasses.

“Not good.” Charlotte sat down at the table with a sigh and began slicing up the lemons. “Hiram Henderson refused to give us an extension on the balloon payment. It’s pay up, as scheduled, or they’ll foreclose.”

“Well, that doesn’t leave us in a very good position,” Paige said, as she poured ice tea. “Together, we only have four thousand dollars.”

“Which leaves us forty-six thousand short of what we need,” Isabella said with a worried frown. She went to a drawer and brought out a calculator. “Maybe if we talked to a lawyer—”

“I already spoke with Jared Fontaine,” Charlotte said. “He says, legally, there’s nothing we can do. The bank has every right to demand we pay up as scheduled.”

They stared at one another in glum silence. “This is just impossible,” Paige said, looking near tears.

It wouldn’t be, Charlotte thought, if Marcie Shackleford would agree to help her locate Stephen Sterling. But since that wasn’t likely to happen, she would have to employ a back-up plan for saving Camellia Lane. She looked at her sisters. “I have an idea how we can raise money quickly.” It had come to her on the drive home.

“How?” Paige and Isabella asked in unison.

“By holding an antebellum-period costume ball and buffet dinner here.”

“Kind of like a charity thing?” Paige asked, beginning to smile again.

Charlotte nodded. “We can call every historical society and women’s club in the state. We can’t charge admission, of course—that would be illegal. But we can have a party here, because it’s a private residence, and we can suggest gifts of two hundred and fifty dollars a plate to help us save Camellia Lane.”

Charlotte picked up the calculator and did some quick calculations. “As long as we have two hundred and fifty people or so attend, we should be able to carry it off.”

* * *

WHILE PAIGE AND ISABELLA began making phone calls, Charlotte walked into the kitchen to start dinner. To her surprise, Brett was already there. In jeans and the usual sweatshirt, he looked casual and relaxed.

Trying not to notice the way the late afternoon sunlight spilling in through the open windows brought out the highlights in his tousled brown hair, Charlotte walked by him and peeked in the skillet on the stove.

“Breast of chicken florentine,” he explained.

It smelled delicious, Charlotte thought. Brett came up behind her. Placing one hand on her shoulder, he reached past her and took the lid off a saucepan. “The spinach is cooking in here. And here—” he closed in on her slightly, the fronts of his thighs brushing the backs of hers as he lifted yet another lid “—we have some rice.”

Warming everywhere they touched, and even places they didn’t, Charlotte said, “It looks wonderful.” Turning slightly, she slipped out from under his hand, so they were no longer touching.

Brett grinned down at her, his eyes twinkling. “Well, I aim to please you, Miss Charlotte. I surely do.”

Again, warmth swept through Charlotte in undulating waves. She knew he was not talking about the dinner he was cooking. He was thinking about that outrageous kiss he had pressed upon her. The one she was still reeling from.

Aware her lips were tingling, she marched past him and went back over to the counter, where he had been slicing the tops off strawberries. “What’s all this?” she asked briskly.

Brett trailed after her lazily. “Strawberry shortcake and whipped cream. Isabella told me it was your favorite. So I figured we’d have it for dessert.”

He was probably trying to get back in her good graces, Charlotte thought. Well, it wasn’t going to work.

Brett dipped the end of a plump, juicy strawberry into the fluffy mound of real whipped cream in the mixing bowl. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” he said.

Mouth-watering, Charlotte thought, recalling that it had been hours since she had eaten.

“Here. Have a bite.” He lifted the strawberry to her mouth. Her eyes locked with his, Charlotte bit down on the berry. It was luscious and sweet. She didn’t know what he had done to that whipped cream, but it was heaven!

Brett smiled down at her, intensifying her sensual awareness of him until she nearly lost her breath. “Good, huh?” he whispered.

Charlotte nodded as she savored the ripe berry with sinful relish, letting its sweetness melt on her tongue. Reluctantly tearing her eyes from his, she looked around for a napkin to wipe the excess cream from her lips. Before she could find one, Brett volunteered to help out once again. “Here, I’ll take care of that,” he said softly. Before she could react, he dabbed her lip with his fingertip, gently wiping it clean, then sucked the whipped cream off his fingertip. “Want some more?”

For a second, Charlotte was unsure whether he meant the whipped cream and strawberries or another kiss. Telling herself she had to stop thinking like that, she shook off the sensuous aura that seemed to surround her whenever she was with him. “No thanks,” she said hoarsely.

Face flaming, she whirled away from him and went to get a glass of water from the tap.

“Sure now?” Brett asked. “There’s no law that says you have to have your dessert last, you know.”

If there had been a law, he would have broken it, Charlotte fumed. She drank thirstily. And could still taste the salty tang of his skin, and the whipped-cream-drenched berry on her lips.

Brett watched her drain the glass.

“How about just one more?” he asked.

Even one more would be too much, Charlotte thought. “I didn’t come in here to indulge myself in sweet treats!” she said hotly, and again Brett grinned wickedly. “I came in here to start dinner,” Charlotte continued archly. “Since you have already done that, I’ll use the time to talk to you about the plans my sisters and I are making.” Briefly, she explained about the party, adding, “I know the deal was you didn’t have to do any of the physical labor on Camellia Lane, but in view of the party we’re having, that stipulation has now changed. You’ll either have to help us get ready for the ball, or move out immediately. Today.”

Personally, Charlotte was hoping Brett would decide to vacate. But, as she could have predicted, she had no such luck. “Normally, I would have to say no to such a request. My dissertation and all. But since you and your sisters have gone all out to make sure I feel at home here at Camellia Lane, of course I’ll put aside my own work for a week or so, to help you out.”

No one had to tell Charlotte how cozily at home Brett had made himself there, she grumbled silently to herself, suppressing a sigh. In fact, it was his sheer accessibility that bothered her. He was up to something, and now she was more determined to check him out, to find if he really was writing a dissertation on dirt farming.

The only way she knew to do that was to get a look at the files in his portable computer’s hard drive.

* * *

DECIDING THERE WAS no better time to investigate Brett than when he was still busy in the kitchen, Charlotte slipped out of the house. Taking care to go the long way and stay out of sight of the kitchen windows, she headed for the cottage. After making sure no one was there, she used her key and let herself in.

Her heart racing, she began to look around. As before, his papers and books were scattered everywhere. She flipped through them quickly. All were on farming. Scowling in disappointment, she sat down at his desk and switched on his laptop computer. Aware of the need to hurry, she called up the directory and took a look at the files. Again, everything pertained to agriculture. Sure she must be missing something, Charlotte utilized the Search function on the computer and began scrolling through the documents. To her frustration, all were exactly as they were labeled.

Finding nothing incriminating or remotely connected to Stephen Sterling, she looked for an alternate directory on the computer. But there was only the one.

Lips pursed, she stared at the screen. Her heart was still racing and she had that prickly, about-to-get-caught-at-any-minute sensation on the back of her neck. Yet she had to find the truth, so she couldn’t leave just yet. Was it possible that Brett was exactly as he seemed? she wondered frantically. A lazy, flirtatious scholar and nothing more? Was it possible she had misjudged him?

Without warning, the door opened behind her. Knowing her best defense was a good offense, Charlotte remained where she was and played it cool.

Ever so slowly, she swiveled around in her chair. Brett stood in the doorway, legs braced apart, arms folded in front of him. His expression was very grim indeed.

“Oh, there you are, Brett. I’ve been looking for you,” Charlotte said.

“Really?” he retorted glibly, his blue eyes glittering with an emotion Charlotte wasn’t sure she wanted to define. “I was under the impression you knew damn well I was in the kitchen preparing dinner.”

“Obviously I thought you’d stepped out for a moment,” she replied, using haughtiness as her main defense, “or I wouldn’t have come down here.”

He nodded, not buying her explanation for one second. His glance flicked over her face, returned to her eyes. “That doesn’t explain what you were doing on my computer,” he said very, very softly.

Charlotte searched for something to tell him as she switched off his computer, closed the lid and stood. “I noticed it was a newer model than my laptop. I wanted to try it out and see if it was any faster.” She flashed him an apologetic smile, then followed that with a demure look as she pushed in the chair. She couldn’t help but notice his thighs were girded as if for battle beneath the soft, snug fabric of his jeans. So were the brawny muscles of his shoulders and chest. She returned her eyes to his face and swallowed to ease the ache of tension in her throat. She moved slightly to the left of him. “I know I should have asked permission first—”

“Damn right about that.” Brett’s expression remained grim as he moved to the left, too, barring any hope of easy exit.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll ask first,” Charlotte promised.

He glowered down at her. He seemed in no mood to let her pass—yet. “Sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” he prodded, his mouth taking on a rapacious tilt. He looked as if he were prepared to kiss the information out of her, if all else failed. Drawing a shaky breath, she decided to change the subject back to the business at hand.

Charlotte went back to the table and picked up the notepad and pen she had brought into the cottage with her. “Actually, I did want to tell you what needs to be done on the grounds before the party.”

“Isabella and Paige said you went off by yourself to make a list. Funny—” Brett glanced down at her notepad “—there doesn’t seem to be anything written on that list of yours, Miss Charlotte.”

She shrugged, refusing to let the warmth of his breath in her hair or his knowing expression throw her. “Yes, well, I got sidetracked,” she explained.

“Sidetracked spying on me?” he elaborated sarcastically.

“Sidetracked stopping in to see if you were here,” Charlotte corrected, her cheeks flooding with warmth. “I wanted to arrange a time for us to get together tomorrow morning.” It was all she could do to keep her eyes on his.

Brett continued to regard her steadily. He was close enough for her to see how closely he had shaved. “What’s wrong with tonight?” he asked huskily.

“Nothing.” Charlotte adapted her most innocent look. “I just thought you might be busy.”

Brett said nothing in response and continued to look at her warily. He knew she was suspicious of him, and that she hadn’t found what she was looking for. Like her, he had been smart enough to lock his secret documents away. “Well, I’m not busy,” he said, mimicking her light, easy tone, “so what did you want, boss lady?”

“I have landscapers coming in tomorrow to plant flowers and trim the shrubs, but I want you to resurrect our lawn mower and mow the grass on the estate.”

“Are you going to help me?”

“No.”

“There are two hundred acres on the estate. That’s a big job.”

Yes, it was, but Charlotte had no intention of working side by side with him. Just thinking about the possibility conjured up visions of Brett, muscles rippling, working bare-chested in the sun. No. She did not want to see that.

“Just find a way to do it,” she advised, exasperated both with him and the unprecedentedly sexual nature of her thoughts. “After that, I don’t care what you do!”

Brett knew she didn’t care. That was what made his own response to her so curious. It shouldn’t have mattered to him how far Charlotte would go to save her beloved Camellia Lane, as long as he kept her distracted enough that she didn’t discover Sterling’s true identity. It also shouldn’t have mattered to him that she was ridiculously naive when it came to Jared Fontaine. After all, it wasn’t as if he were involved with her. He was merely spying on her.

So what if Charlotte labeled Brett a cad and looked at Jared as her rescuer? He shouldn’t have been provoked into kissing her, but he had been. The desire he’d felt as he held her in his arms and experienced the sweetness of her surrender was overwhelming. He wanted Miss Charlotte. And he was going to get her any way he could.

“What if I tell you I won’t do this new work assignment without your help?” Brett asked in an insolent way he knew would annoy her.

Hands on her hips, Charlotte regarded him without flinching. “Then I’ll ask you to pack your bags and vacate the premises immediately,” she said coolly.

He couldn’t stop her from unmasking Sterling from afar, Brett thought. He sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, and he was in this up to his neck. “All right, all right. Starting tomorrow, I’ll get the mower up and running and cut the darn grass, but when I’m done,” he warned silkily, “I’ll expect to be amply compensated.”

“With what?” Charlotte asked with an impertinent toss of her dark hair. “Another kiss?”

So, Brett thought with satisfaction, she hadn’t forgotten their embrace, either. “Maybe,” he said.

“Dream on,” she retorted haughtily. “You caught me by surprise once. Not ever again.”

Brett grinned. He’d felt her response to his embrace. She had to be yearning for another kiss every bit as much as he was. “Should we bet on that?”

* * *

“I DON’T SEE WHY I have to wear the chemise, the corset and the petticoat for the fitting,” Charlotte grumbled the following afternoon. She held on to the bedpost with both hands, as Paige laced her up so tight her breasts spilled from the top of the lacy white linen chemise.

“It’s the only efficient way to measure you.” Paige frowned and gave the strings on the corset another tug. “Can you still breathe?”

“No!”

“Good, then that’s probably tight enough,” Paige decided. She stepped back to admire her handiwork as Charlotte let go of the bedpost. “You know, I think we whittled a good two inches off your waist with that corset.”

“It feels like it, too,” Charlotte grumbled. “Now loosen those strings, Paige.”

Paige propped both her manicured hands on her hips. She was dressed in street clothes, since she had already had her fitting. “Do you want to look like an authentic antebellum Southern belle or not?” Paige demanded.

“I’d rather be comfortable,” Charlotte admitted matter-of-factly. When Paige refused to help her, she reached around and tried to get at the double-knotted laces herself.

Paige slapped her hand away. “Stop that, Charlotte, and quit your complaining! I went to a great deal of trouble to find and borrow these corsets for us.”

“Maybe it would help if the person you borrowed the corsets from had been a size or two larger.” And her chemise cut a little more modestly, Charlotte thought.

Paige went to the mirror and primped, needlessly adjusting her perfectly coiffed hair. “You look fine.”

Charlotte stepped up to the mirror, next to Paige. Layers of lacy petticoat fell from her waist to just above her ankles. Her corset was wrapped snugly around her midriff, to just below her breasts. The chemise was above that. She looked ridiculous, like Scarlett O’Hara getting ready for the barbecue and ball at Twelve Oaks.

“You look wonderful,” Paige said, smiling encouragement at Charlotte.

“Primed to seduce someone, you mean,” Charlotte corrected. And with that thought, the only person who came to mind was Brett Forrest.

Just because he had kissed her once, fed her strawberries drenched in whipped cream and went out of his way to annoy her did not mean Brett was interested in her, or vice versa. Sure, there was plenty of chemistry between them, but that did not change the fact that he wasn’t her type. She liked men who knew exactly what they wanted out of life and had no qualms about going after it. Not men who napped on sofas, played at writing a thesis on farming and skulked around eavesdropping on other people’s private conversations.

As for the way she had responded to his kiss, well, that had been due to the surprise of his embrace, Charlotte told herself firmly. And the fact she hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Actually, she had never been kissed quite like that, which was another reason to stay as far away from Brett as possible.

The sound of a car broke the silence of the spring afternoon. Paige rushed to the window. “There’s the seamstress now. I’ll go down and get her.” She pointed a finger at Charlotte. “Don’t you go anywhere. And don’t unlace those stays!”

* * *

BRETT STOPPED in the doorway of Charlotte’s bedroom, stunned by what he saw. She was standing in a chemise, corset and petticoats. Her dark hair tumbled down around her shoulders in wild, tousled curls. Her breasts spilled from the lacy top in very alluring fashion.

Green eyes flashing, she whirled to face him. Blushing, she reached for a stack of midnight-blue damask curtains on the bed and held one in front of her like a shield. “What are you doing in here?”

Pretending a nonchalance he couldn’t begin to feel, Brett smiled and sauntered closer. He didn’t know what it was about this place, but it was damn near magical. And so was Charlotte. “You know, you look like you stepped right out of another time,” he said softly. Having closed the distance between them, he twined a lock of her silky hair around his fingertip.

“It’s the clothes,” she said stubbornly as their eyes met and held.

“No,” Brett disagreed wickedly. “It’s not even the lack of them, Miss Charlotte. It’s you, plain and simple.”

Charlotte shook her head at him. Hand on his chest, she pushed him away. “You’re sinful, Brett Forrest.”

Her petticoat made soft swishing noises as she glided away from him. Brett followed. “Want to find out just how much?” he taunted playfully, only half kidding.

Charlotte whirled toward him in a drift of lilac perfume. “No, thank you,” she said haughtily.

Just as he had suspected. Brett grinned, not the least bit anxious to leave. He glanced at the four tall windows that illuminated the corner bedroom. “Why did you tear all the curtains down in here?” he asked. The only thing she’d left were the translucent white sheers.

Charlotte blushed. “That is none of your business!”

Uh-huh, Brett thought, taking in her increasingly guilty expression. She was definitely up to something. What exactly, he couldn’t quite imagine. Unless she was going to stand in front of those sheer white curtains at night and drive him crazy with the silhouette of her undressing piece by piece….

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Charlotte demanded, beginning to panic as she darted around the end of the four-poster bed.

“No reason,” Brett fibbed, making absolutely no effort to erase the mischievous grin from his face as he lazily traced her path. It had been a long time since he had chased a girl at recess. It pleased him to realize he hadn’t forgotten how, because Charlotte was one delectable Southern belle who absolutely begged to be chased, even if she didn’t know it!

“Well, then, why did you come up here?” Having gotten herself stuck in a corner next to the bureau, Charlotte turned and regarded him impatiently. Tapping one ballet-slippered foot all the while, she continued to glare at him and hold the blue damask curtain to her breasts. “What do you want?”

Oh, sweetheart, if you only knew. “Just one more thing,” Brett said lazily. Ignoring Charlotte’s soft gasp of dismay, he grabbed her around the waist and, with a determined tug, brought her close so only the curtains were between them. Then he yanked the curtains from her grasp and tossed them onto the bed, so that nothing was keeping him from feeling every inch of her against every inch of him. “You know,” he speculated in a way he knew would absolutely incense her, “I bet beneath that sweet porcelain skin of yours beats a heart of fire.”

Charlotte’s emerald green eyes widened with a mixture of temper and passion Brett found unbearably exciting. She splayed her hands across his chest as he slowly lowered his lips to hers. She exerted even more force with her hands; he ignored it. “I mean it, Brett Forrest. Don’t even think it!” she warned, her thick dark eyelashes already beginning to close.

“Then I won’t think it,” he said softly. “I’ll do it.”

Her lips were hot and soft, her kiss sensual. He knew she didn’t mean to kiss him back, any more than he could help himself kissing her, and somehow that made the culmination of their desire all the sweeter. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, sweeping her mouth with his tongue, leaving not a millimeter unexplored. He had never felt anything like this in his life. Never wanted any one woman so much, never been possessed so thoroughly and so swiftly. And that was when he knew it had to end, before they both suffered the consequences. With difficulty, Brett lifted his mouth from hers. Charlotte’s mouth was damp and pink. She was gasping for breath as she slowly opened her eyes. To Brett’s further astonishment, she looked dazed and completely besotted. She was still clinging to his neck, looking like she wanted very much for him to start up the kisses again.

It was all Brett could do not to groan again. He wanted more than anything to take her over to her big four-poster bed and lie down with her on it. He couldn’t think of anything sweeter or more exciting. He wanted to feel her against him, without all these damnable layers of petticoats and clothes. He wanted to have her against him, all soft and surrendering.

But it wasn’t going to be today, not with Paige and that seamstress due back in the room at any moment.

“I’d sure like to be the man to bring you to life, sweetheart,” he drawled. To his chagrin, Charlotte looked like she wanted that, too. With all the strength he could muster, Brett released her abruptly and said, “Unfortunately for both of us, I don’t have time for this. I have to mow the lawn.”

“What?” Charlotte sputtered, looking as if she couldn’t believe he had gotten her all fired up and then just let her go!

Brett grinned. It did his heart good to know she was as reluctant to end the steamy embrace as he was. “You should know better than to play with the hired help, Miss Charlotte,” he teased. “But perhaps this will teach you a lesson,” he added with mock seriousness.

Charlotte flew at him with both fists. He caught her wrists before they could connect with his chest. “You are a dead man,” Charlotte said irately, struggling unsuccessfully to free herself. “Do you hear me, Brett Forrest?” she shouted. “A dead man!”

Brett laughed, enjoying more than ever the feel of her in his arms. “You sure are pretty when you’re in a temper, Miss Charlotte,” he drawled. And I sure would like to kiss you again.

From behind them came two soft, feminine ahems.

Face flaming, Charlotte stopped struggling abruptly and turned, as did Brett. Paige stood in the doorway beside a middle-aged woman with a sewing basket. It was obvious from the amused looks on their faces they’d seen just about everything. Brett didn’t mind, but Charlotte sure did.

“Are we interrupting anything?” Paige asked.

He took another look at Charlotte in the old-fashioned chemise and petticoats, her tousled hair and pink cheeks. “Nothing that can’t be continued later,” he promised with a sexy grin.

* * *

“SO HOW IS IT GOING so far?” Franklin asked Brett, long minutes later.

Brett held the phone to his ear as he paced the cottage. He knew he rubbed Charlotte the wrong way, and he was working hard on heightening her feelings of both apprehension and distaste. Adding desire to the mix had confused her even more, and that was good. The more he could distract her from thinking about Sterling, the better. “I don’t think the indefatigable Miss Langston is any closer to finding out who the real Stephen Sterling is yet,” he admitted. “But I also know she’s not about to give up. So maybe a preemptive strike is in order.”

Franklin chuckled. Brett could be very creative when it came to taking care of business. “Got anything specific in mind?”

“Aside from spying on her every chance I get?” Brett drawled, tongue-in-cheek.

“Yes.”

Brett frowned and tried not to think how pretty Charlotte had looked in the old-fashioned ladies’ underwear. He had come here to do a job and couldn’t leave until it had been accomplished. In the meantime, he would have a little fun with Miss Charlotte. “Maybe it’s time we set up a wild-goose chase for her,” Brett suggested finally. Something that would really get her going…in the wrong direction, of course.

“Sounds good,” Franklin said. “And in the meantime?”

“I’ll stay one step ahead of and behind her,” Brett promised.

“Won’t Miss Langston get suspicious if you’re always underfoot?” Franklin asked.

“Not if I sweep her off her feet.” Brett grinned, remembering their last kiss. “Besides, she thinks the nature of my interest in her is largely romantic.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “Are you romantically interested in Charlotte Langston?” Franklin asked bluntly.

Brett scoffed at the mere suggestion. “Hell, no. Nosy, spoiled Southern belles are not my type, you know that.”

“Mmm. Well, you just watch yourself, Brett. And remember who is investigating whom here. There’s a lot at stake and not just for Stephen Sterling.”

Brett didn’t have to be reminded of that. His future was riding on this, too. He smiled grimly. “Don’t worry, Franklin. I’ve got everything well under control. No matter how much it irritates her to have me around, Miss Charlotte Langston won’t make a move without me knowing about it.”