Emma Holly (39 page)

Academics were people just like her. They might have started out with a better education, but some of them for sure didn't have her sense.

The realization was quite freeing.

Life was good, she thought. Not perfect, but more than promising enough to let herself enjoy the pleasure of entertaining possibilities. She'd come a long way and had no reason to think she wouldn't go further still.

She regretted nothing. Never mind her tear-stained pillow; she wouldn't have undone her time with Eric or B.G. or the silly jumping wineglass for anything. Truthfully, at that instant, if she could have pushed a button to make it happen, she would.

Just as she had the thought, a small brown bird swooped across her path, so low and close the breeze from its wings brushed her jeans. Her pulse skittered at its passage, but almost at once she laughed.

Maybe the universe was sending a sign that this moment, with its little punch of emotion, was the one that reached back to that dinner to make time skip.

She was huffing pleasantly when she reached her apartment's cracked cement steps, the fatigue in her muscles as satisfying as her state of mind. "I am a quantum toughgirl," she murmured humorously to herself.

Her smile slipped from her face when she saw the car. Parked in front of her building, it was a classic convertible from before the second World War. Obviously in cherry condition, it had red leather upholstery, a long cream-colored hood, and a winged lady for an ornament. What looked like lightning bolts shot across the shiny chrome grill. The car was, she thought, thoroughly cool. It was not, however, what set her heart to hammering against her ribs.

That honor belonged to the car's driver, who'd slipped from behind the wheel and was resting his hips on the swooping fender with the very sexiest casual ease.

"Eric," she said, his name coming out breathy. "I almost didn't recognize you in those clothes."

He wore black sweatpants and a snug gray T-shirt that did nothing to hide his impressive upper body.

From the bulging of his arms as he braced his weight on the hood, he'd spent some time in a gym since she last saw him. He wasn't bulkier, just a bit more ripped. His sweatpants were loose at least, but the way his long legs were crossed drew her attention to the mouth-watering heft of what hung between.

Charity swallowed and tried to smile brightly.

"I hope it's okay to be here," he said, his eyes as gray as ash in the gloomy light. His gaze was very steady, as if he might be working to appear calm. Working or not, he was doing better than Charity.

His lips were even more kissable than she recalled.

"It's fine," she said, waving her hand. "Perfectly natural for you and B.G. to want to check up on how I'm doing."

"Actually—" Eric pushed off the car and prowled forward. "We're hoping you'll spend some time with us on your break."

His scent reached her before he did, along with a thousand erotic memories. The shower. B.G.'s bedroom. Being taken in a leather harness in a small black room. Charity's mouth was dry. She tried to keep her gaze on his, rather than let it drop to the situation she was pretty sure was developing in his pants.

"On my break?" she repeated. To her dismay, the final word was a squeak.

Hearing it, Eric smiled and tugged a waving lock of her hair. Immediately, the blush she'd been trying to pray into oblivion seared across her face. Even worse, a sluice of hot, creamy moisture wet her panties.

"I missed you," he said in a low, growling tone that made her body clench on another gush. "I missed you so much I guarantee I'll go insane if I have to wait until you graduate to see you again."

"Really?" Her eyes were losing their battle. His sweatpants hung temptingly low on his hips, the drawstring knotted sloppily. Seemingly by themselves, her hands had found their way to his waist.

Unfortunately, she wasn't pushing him away.

That being so, she couldn't blame Eric for leaning down.

"Really," he said into her ear. "In fact, I think I'll go insane if I don't get you somewhere really private, really soon."

Charity gasped as his teeth pressed gently, slowly, into the skin between her neck and shoulder where her oversize V-neck sweater was slipping down. The bite couldn't be mistaken for anything but a sexual claim—and a primitive one at that. His hands slid down her arms to urge her to touch the warm, bare skin beneath his T-shirt. When he pulled back, she was completely at a loss for breath.

The gleam in his eyes said he knew exactly what he'd done.

"I'm assuming," he went on, "that you're interested in getting together."

She snorted, because of course she was. "Just a visit?" she asked, peering up at him through her lashes.

He shrugged, the gleam in his eye sharpening. "A visit's a place to start."

"Here?"

Though he joined her in glancing up the old brick building to her window, he made no move toward the door.

"I'm ready enough for here," he said, "as you might have guessed, but that wouldn't be fair to B.G. He's been missing you, too, you see, and I insisted he go cold turkey until I coaxed you back."

"You're playing the game again?" She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Excited? Disappointed? A bit of both?

Eric shook his head before she could settle on an answer.

"No games," he said. "We want you to come because you want to spend time with us."

She thought for all of two seconds.

"I do," she said, "but I'm making no promises."

Her
coming was a kind of promise, no matter what she said. Eric opened the passenger side door and held her elbow to help her in. Seeing her slide into the car he'd restored with his own two hands offered a satisfaction that leading her to B.G.'s limo couldn't have matched.

When she said, "This is
sweet
," and cruised her palms across the dash, she might as well have been stroking him. He had to adjust himself before he could sit.

"I fixed her up," he said after clearing his throat. "I think restoring old cars is going to be my new business."

"Ah-ha. Ready to try your hand at being a boss."

"Only the boss of me," he said, secretly pleased by her approval. "At least for now."

It seemed too soon to mention that Maurice had been dropping hints about helping out, but Eric certainly didn't mind when she cooed some more as he drove, wriggling around to check out all the details. His occasional glimpse of her jean-clad derriere provided a welcome distraction from the giddy drop to Puget Sound. She was dressed in her official student uniform—jeans, sweater, a long white shirt underneath with the tails trailing. The clothes were indistinguishable from thousands of others' except for the delectable way she filled them out. Entertained by the New Her, he passed the car dealerships and the Space Needle, then headed south on Second, through downtown toward his building.

"B.G. is at your place?" she asked.

"He's been staying with me since you left." He turned his head to check how she reacted. She seemed accepting but nervous. He hoped he was doing the right thing. B.G. was the one who was usually sure about everything.
Believe it and you can do it
, was his motto. Eric was the worrier, always had been and maybe always would be. He'd employed more will than confidence to convince B.G. to go along with his plan. Chances were, in fact, that he'd convinced B.G. because B.G. had wanted to be convinced. If Eric's idea worked, it could be the most rewarding turning point of their lives.

If it didn't…

Eric gnawed his lip and eased the Isotta down the ramp to his garage.

If it didn't work, he supposed he'd survive, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Falling in love with Charity had taught him life could be a hell of a lot better than surviving.

Charity's
first thought on entering Eric's twelfth-floor condominium was,
Wow, this place is big
. Her second was,
Boy, does he like navy
. Apart from the blond wood floor—so new it still smelled of sawdust—navy was the only color in the place. The modern L-shaped couch, the Danish-looking side chairs, even the starkly designed display boxes on the wall were midnight blue. A scattering of throw pillows bore black-and-white zebra prints. She liked the effect, though—apart from the zebra prints—it wasn't what she would have chosen.

"Nice view," she said, turning toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, all of which were shielded by thin vertical blinds.

Eric put his hand on her shoulder, maybe to anchor himself. "City and sound," he said, then made a face.

"This was the lowest floor I could get."

She laughed, remembering how much she'd liked being with him when he loosened up. "I guess our encounter on B.G.'s catwalk didn't cure your problem."

"No." His fingers found the curve of her neck, his eyes soft and smiling as he traced her tendons to her collarbone. "If you wanted, I'd be willing to try again."

"And try and try," she quipped. Her skin was tingling where he'd touched it, a tide of emotion rising helplessly in her chest. No matter what she'd thought, she hadn't left him behind. She'd carried him in her heart all along.

Eric's expression changed as he read her look. "Charity," he murmured, clearly the prelude to something more intimate.

"Try and try what?" B.G. asked with perfect timing, padding out from a back room.

Ridiculously, her emotions surged just as much at seeing him.

He was carrying a yellow legal pad and pen, and he looked more approachable than she'd ever seen him. His sweatpants were a mirror image of Eric's except in gray. He had also forgone a shirt, which gave her an eyeful of his lean physique. Even allowing for this uncustomary show of skin, he looked different: sexier, less ethereal.

Having spent the last few months with him, Eric was less dazzled. He gestured toward the pad and pen.

"Why are you working?"

"My brain doesn't turn off at my convenience. I had an idea for a new synchrotron experiment."

"You let your hair grow back," Charity interrupted, suddenly realizing what was new. His pecs were furry, a nice black haze that narrowed beneath his sternum before diving under his waistband.

"Er, yes," he said, rubbing his chest. "I hope you don't object."

His unsureness made her close the distance between them, made her draw him into a hug and press her cheek to the manly fuzz. "I like," she said. "Very much."

He hugged her back more tightly than she expected, the pad he'd been carrying poking her back.

"Charity," he said into her hair. "It's good to see you again."

Maybe it was silly, but she couldn't make herself let go. Instead, she held him and swayed, letting out a sigh when his hand curved behind her neck. Considering all they'd been through, it was funny how safe she felt in his arms.

"Where are the candles?" Eric asked. Some men might have been jealous at her greeting B.G. this warmly, but he sounded as if he were about to laugh. B.G. inhaled sharply and pushed back.

"Shit," he said. "I forgot." He plunged his narrow hands into his ink-black hair. "And the champagne!"

"Guys," Charity scolded. "This is me. You don't have to lay out a big seduction scene. Honestly, having both of you in one room is seduction enough."

"We wanted to create a conducive mood," B.G. explained. "Because we… we—" He shot a pleading glance at Eric.

"Because we have important things to tell you, B.G. in particular." Obviously still amused, Eric waved him on. "Go ahead. Tell Charity what you want to say."

B.G.'s grimace was so comical Charity had to laugh. "Sorry," she said, her hand in front of her mouth. "I feel like a shopkeeper, and you're the kid whose mother is about to make him apologize for stealing a pack of gum."

"It's not a matter of 'making' me." B.G. pulled his shoulders straighter in affront. "Eric has been kind enough to provide me with an opportunity to confess that I love you."

Charity had been braced to stifle more laughter at whatever he had to say. Instead, her jaw dropped like it had turned to lead. She'd known B.G. was fond of her in his eccentric way, but
love
her? When she reached out to steady herself, Eric took her arm.