The Bachelor (Chandler Brothers 1)
Charlotte glanced over to where Rick was showering Beth with attention in a futile attempt to restore her humor and self-esteem. Beth was even smiling at his bad jokes. At least someone was helping. Charlotte was in too foul a mood to do her friend much good.
First her mother disappeared out a side door just as Dennis Sterling walked in the front entrance, then Beth missed the town’s big night because she’d been stood up again. Charlotte didn’t know what was worse, a woman relying on a man for happiness or being manless and miserable.
Her stomach cramped and her heart lodged in her throat. Charlotte knew she was comparing herself with both Beth and Annie, fearful of being just like them. Both women were unhappy over a man. Even if miserable was too strong a word for how Charlotte was feeling now, she couldn’t deny that the emotions Roman evoked within her were strong.
He treated her to sexy come-ons, encouraging and emboldening her to act, then he shut her down without reason, and followed up the insult by first ignoring her and then showering other women with his charms. If only sexual attraction were at work, Charlotte could deal with this better. But her reaction to Roman went beyond the physical. She wanted to know the man inside the gorgeous body, and that frightened her.
Damn the man anyway. She rubbed her bare arms, wanting to go home. Her two friends were engaged in conversation, Rick providing a friendly distraction for Beth.
Charlotte slipped out without being noticed. The full moon in the night sky guided her way, the stars providing a glittering backdrop to the inky background above. The scent of the outdoors—new grass and flowers—accompanied every breath she took.
She tried to give the panty thief some thought. Rick said things had been quiet during the week, but he didn’t consider the case over or forgotten. Charlotte drew a blank on who could be responsible, so she gave up trying.
Twenty minutes later, she was home and had shed her party clothes and changed into lounging wear—her favorite outfit, a white tank dress that hung to midcalf with a thick lace ruffle around the hem. She’d snagged it out of the box before Beth could hang the garment or sell it to a customer. It was one of the few items Charlotte had taken home instead of selling—because in it she felt feminine yet comfortable, and completely herself.
After mixing a glass of iced tea, she grabbed her favorite book, pushed open the window that led to the fire escape, and climbed out. The cool breeze brushed over her skin, but she didn’t mind. From the moment she’d seen this apartment, the hidden escape had been her favorite part of the deal—if she didn’t count the ability to roll out of bed and walk downstairs to work.
Anytime Charlotte climbed out here, she found herself alone, and she adored the solitude. She sat down, the oversized book in her lap, and began to browse through the pages. Of all the travel books and brochures she owned, Glamorous Getaways was her favorite. She’d purchased it with money from her first babysitting job and chosen it because the book highlighted Los Angeles, with the Hollywood sign nestled in the foothills. Within the City of Angels were the stars and celebrities, people like her father, she’d thought, when she was still little enough to dream.
Buying this book had enabled her to picture the places she thought he’d go, the restaurants he’d frequent, and the people he’d meet there. She’d conjured scenarios in which he’d take her by the hand and introduce her to the beautiful people while showing her the exotic places. Later, after she’d grown up and realized he wasn’t ever coming back for good, she’d substituted the dream of him taking her with him to traveling and seeing these places for herself.
But with that dream came the dreaded fear of being like the man she disdained, and Charlotte knew in her heart she’d never dare make those kinds of trips herself. Never again take the chance on being disillusioned by bitter reality. Or of turning selfish, like him.
Still, when she needed soothing, books like this one provided the distraction. She’d simply put her father and her past out of her mind, and enjoy the fantasy of travel and seeing wonderful new places. She inhaled deeply and flipped through the pages, but she wasn’t able to lose herself. Not tonight.
Just then, she heard a banging on her door. She rubbed her arms, realizing goose bumps had settled on her skin. The knock sounded again and she headed back inside to see who could possibly be out there. Nearly midnight wasn’t appropriate calling time by Yorkshire Falls standards.
She placed the book back on the table and walked to the door. “Who’s there?”