The Bachelor (Chandler Brothers 1)

But she’d have closure. Unlike her mother, who subjected herself to an endless stretch of waiting ahead of her, Charlotte would be strong and come out whole.

“So can I stay?” he asked with that charming grin on his face.

“Because you think I need protection from a nonexistent threat or because you want to be with me?”

“Both reasons work for me.”

“I can take care of myself. Even Rick said I’m safe. As for the other … it’s too soon.” Charlotte wasn’t about to leap into bed with him no matter how hard her body protested against her decision.

She wanted time to assimilate his intentions. To know this time he wouldn’t change his mind again. But most of all, she wanted to get to know him better. All of him. She needed time to get inside both his head and his heart. Because when he walked away, as she knew he would, she had no intention of being hard to forget. Heaven knew, she wouldn’t forget him, even if she would be moving on.

Roman nodded, obviously accepting her answer.

“How about I sleep on the floor and play bodyguard?” he asked in a clear last-ditch effort to spend more time with her.

She shook her head and laughed. “Neither of us would get any sleep.”

“Sleep’s overrated. We could stay up talking.” At least he’d be by her side but she wasn’t giving in.

“We wouldn’t talk, and you know it. But the neighbors would.”

She didn’t want to give a damn what the neighbors said, but in a small town, business was tied to reputation.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’ll call if you need me? If you even think you need me?”

She met his gaze. “Oh, I need you, Roman. I just won’t be calling for that kind of need.”

* * *

Roman rose to sunshine covering his childhood room and bathing his body in heat. He’d left Charlotte’s apartment, but she’d remained with him all night long, in dreams that were hot and compelling, yet strangely unfulfilled.

He shut his eyes and leaned back into his pillows, conjuring everything he’d learned last night in her apartment. While she and his brothers had discussed the latest break-ins, Roman had used his talents for listening to one thing while taking in something else—and he’d discovered the glossy oversized books and magazines laid out on the table in front of him. The covers detailed distant places and glamorous locales. Some were domestic, others foreign, like castles in Scotland, or exotic, like the South Pacific. Nothing unusual for conversation pieces, Roman thought.

Many people bought similar oversized books for decorative appeal. But few people read them until they were well worn and even fewer left those dog-eared copies out for show. Charlotte had.

So as he’d glanced around, he’d been able to put a picture together in his mind, one of contradictions and enticements. Charlotte was feminine and sexy. Predictably, she liked flowers. Yet she was hesitant, uncertain of her appeal, and any bold moves didn’t come easily—which made her choice of business rather unpredictable, he thought. As were the undergarments she handmade. They exposed more than they hid—baring not just the skin beneath the crocheted panties, but Charlotte and her inner self.

The books revealed much more. Although she liked hearth and home in Yorkshire Falls, there was a part of her that was intrigued by foreign locales and exotic places. The notion brought a rush of adrenaline through his veins. She was more perfect for him than she was ready to admit.

Charlotte, he thought. She enthralled him in a way no story, no woman, ever had. He needed to win her over, to convince her that they were so intricately entwined, they had no choice but to make a life together work. Only then could he fulfill his obligation to his family and satisfy his mother’s desire for a grandchild. Only then could he return to life on the road, go where the stories took him, and continue to bring public awareness to important issues. And maybe one day, she’d want to travel with him.

“Oh, my God. Roman, wake up.” His mother’s voice traveled toward him.

There was something to be said for living alone, and when his mother barged into his room without knocking, he remembered what it was. Privacy.

He sat up in bed and yanked the covers over himself. “Morning, Mom.”

Her eyes glittered with knowledge and a touch of amusement that absolutely alarmed him. “Read this.” She shoved the Gazette into his personal space, waving it in front of his face.

He grabbed the paper. “‘PILFERED PANTIES,’” he read aloud.

“Nice alliteration,” she said. “Chase always did well in English.”

He glanced up at his mother and saw laugh lines creasing her cheeks. “Aren’t you concerned about the thefts?” he asked her.

“Rick’s got things under control. So does Chief Ellis. Besides, no one’s been hurt. Read the last line, Roman.”