The Bachelor (Chandler Brothers 1)

“Oh, no.” Charlotte lowered herself into a chair, her stomach in knots over the thought of other women propositioning Roman.

“What’s wrong?” Beth came up from behind her.

Charlotte waved a hand to halt further conversation. “It’s Roman,” she mouthed and placed a fingertip over her lips.

Beth grinned and settled in to wait.

“Was it that bad?” Charlotte asked him.

“Bad enough that I was thinking of getting out of town for the rest of the weekend.”

Disappointment filled her and she realized how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him. Spending time with him. Sleeping with him. She trembled at the prospect, her body reacting to the mere thought.

“The weekend’s over tomorrow night,” she reminded him.

“But can you imagine how much we can do together in twenty-four hours?”

“We?” She gripped the phone harder in her hand.

“Well, we don’t live in a thriving metropolis, but I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

A warmth rushed through her, a heat that had nothing to do with sexual awareness. Oh, that was there too, but the caring in his voice struck her by surprise—in the heart. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was considering the Falls.” The town’s one restaurant with a dress code, Charlotte thought.

“But can you imagine eating while women are slipping panties into my jacket pocket?”

She laughed. “Don’t tell me they tried that too.”

“Not yet.”

“Your ego astounds me.” She caught Beth’s eager glance and swiveled her chair around so she didn’t have to see her. “You’re asking me—”

“To go away with me. One night, one day. You and me. What do you say?” he asked.

“A date?”

“More than that and you know it.”

Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. They’d been leaning toward this for a while now. She’d already rationalized why she’d allow herself to get involved in a fling. Because being with Roman seemed the only way to get over him. If she were lucky, she’d discover he had too many bad habits to count. If not, at least she’d store memories for the future. She’d never again look back and regret the road not taken.

“He’s asking you out. What are you waiting for? Say yes,” Beth said from behind her.

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Not the answer I expected.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you.” She waved Beth away with one hand. “Yes. I say yes,” she said before she could change her mind.

Beth let out a whoop of glee.

“I’ll make sure it’s a time you never forget,” he said in that sexy, compelling voice.

And Charlotte believed him. She knew for certain that when this weekend was over, she’d never again wonder what she’d missed since her teenage rejection of him.

She would, however, keep in mind this was short-term. And Roman was her interim guy.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Roman picked Charlotte up on time. He drove her to the outskirts of town before pulling over to the side of the road and reaching into the glove compartment for a silk scarf. He dangled it in front of her.

“What’s that for?” Charlotte eyed the scarf, intrigued.

“I don’t want you to see my surprise before I’m ready.”

Anticipation kicked in to high gear. “I love surprises.”

Roman’s deep laugh wrapped around her in the confines of his small rental car. “Is that a note of appreciation I hear in your voice?”

He leaned over and tied the sheath of silk around her head. A shiver of awareness rippled along her nerve endings.

She lifted her hands to feel the blindfold covering her eyes and her stomach jolted with awareness. As quickly as she’d lost her sight, her other senses had heightened, taking over. The rasp of Roman’s deep breathing and his heady, masculine cologne touched off tremors inside her. “So where are we going?”

“You should have tried a more subtle approach. If I wanted you to know, then you wouldn’t need the blindfold, now, would you?” He started the car once more and she jolted backward as they pulled onto the highway.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed as they made companionable small talk. They got along well, which wasn’t surprising. Neither were the things they had in common—love of history and a keen interest in foreign locales, many of which he described to her in detail as only a firsthand observer could. She envied his travels much more than she’d admit aloud.

“When I was in your apartment, I couldn’t help but notice the books on the table.” Not a surprising turn in conversation after the stories and descriptions he’d shared.

“Many people have those books,” she said, not ready to give too much insight into her soul.

“That’s what I thought. Then I looked closer. Yours were worn and well read.”

Damn the man. He was still observant and dissected the littlest thing until he came up with the correct conclusion. “So call me shallow. I like picture books.”

“I’d call you a lot of things.” His hand came to rest on her knee, his hot palm searing her flesh through the light cotton spandex pants she wore. “Shallow isn’t one of them. I think you harbor a secret desire to travel.”