Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (13 page)

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

He glanced over, wary.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll come to you.” She scooted over and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t freak out or anything. I just thought you could use a hug.”

He let out a breath, pulled her onto his lap. “Hon, if anyone needs comforting it’s you. You’ve got an enamored mobster on your tail.”

“I’m not worried. You’re really good at your job, right?”

He smiled. “Right.” He relaxed against the sofa, stroked her hair, and fell silent as they both seemingly focused on the movie.

She ignored the tingling between her legs, the almighty pull to tilt her face up for one of those blue-ribbon kisses. She told herself that this was about comforting Murphy, not exploring her ever-increasing sexual urges.

She forced her attention to the on-screen action—Robin and Marian, the rebel and the maiden—but her mind whirled with another adventure. Lulu and Murphy—the princess and the bodyguard. Lulled by his warm caress and the lingering Chablis, Lulu closed her eyes, and gave over to her imagination. If nothing else, she could dream.

“Wake up and smell the espresso, Rudy. You’re in love.”

Rudy didn’t shift. He didn’t wince or frown or laugh. He just stared at Sofie as the bomb she’d hurled lobbed him in the chest. His breath seized as he waited for the explosion. Afia had made the same observation months ago, after he’d first acknowledged an attraction to Jean-Pierre. He hadn’t argued. It was definitely that giddy, walking-on-air feeling that most people attribute to being “in love.” But this was different. This was deeper, darker, and frightening in its intensity.

Sofie’s bomb scared the hell out of him.

He wouldn’t have confided in her but Afia was off-limits just now, and his houseguest had walked in while he’d been trying to numb his heightened emotions with a bottle of Merlot and an ear blistering session with ABBA’s greatest hits. He’d been obsessing on this afternoon’s bizarre blow out. The way he’d felt when Lulu had railed into Jean-Pierre. He’d wanted to get in her face and to hurt her as deeply as she’d hurt his lover. He’d never yelled at a woman. Not once. Not for any reason. Knowing that she was upset was the only thing that had enabled him to keep his anger in check.

Other feelings were an entirely different matter. He’d experienced a sharp pain in his chest, so severe, that for a split second he’d imagined he was having a coronary. It was the first time he’d seen Jean-Pierre genuinely upset, and he’d felt sick. All he wanted to do was make it right. His physical reaction to his partner’s emotional pain was so over-the-top it had thrown him for a cataclysmic loop.

He’d been relieved when Jean-Pierre had received a phone call from Ruby Slippers regarding a distraught queen and an emergency wardrobe crisis. He’d thanked his lucky stars when Sofie had been called in to cover a shift at the Carnevale, allowing him total privacy to spaz out.

But then she’d returned home an hour early, catching him two-thirds of the way through the bottle and mid-chorus on “Take A Chance On Me.” She’d badgered him until he’d spilled his guts. Now life as he knew it was about to be blown to smithereens. Just as soon as he acknowledged that bomb.

“Denying the truth won’t change it,” Sofie said, as if reading his mind. “You might as well suck it up, admit it, and get on with life. A life with a sexy, talented partner with a heart of gold, I might add. A devoted partner who’s willing to work himself into the ground to make your dream come true. Do you know how lucky you are?”

The question of the week. “Yeah, I know how lucky I am.” That was the problem. Jean-Pierre, their relationship, was too good to be true. After years of playing the field, he’d poured his energy into turning his life around. Six months and a stack of self-help books later and—Ta-dah!—there was Jean-Pierre. It was too flipping simple. It
couldn’t
be this easy. And now he’d complicated matters by falling in love with the man.

BOOM!

“Ah, hell.”

Sofie huffed an exasperated breath and grabbed the bottle out of his hand. “Why are you so freaking upset?”

“Why are you so freaking angry?” Rudy watched while she poured herself a glass of wine, only too happy to focus on someone else’s problems.

“Because my life sucks!” She slammed down the bottle and whirled on him. “I had the bad sense to believe a man when he said he loved me and promised me the world. I’m almost thirty and I’m thousands of miles from Hollywood. Instead of standing on a stage or in front of a camera, I’m standing in front of a frickin’ sweepstakes bin. My sweet sister’s being stalked by a maniac, and my hands are tied because of an
arrogante mucca
who thinks I’m
eye candy!”

Rudy pushed out of his recliner. He had his arms around Sofie just as she burst into tears. She’d lost him at
arrogante mucca,
but he heard her other woes loud and clear. His own troubles fell by the wayside as he stroked a comforting palm down her spine. “Nothing’s going to happen to Lulu, honey. She’s got Murphy and Jake. She’s got us. And for the record, you’re two years from thirty and one hour from the Philadelphia airport. If you wanted, you could be in Tinseltown by tomorrow morning.” He gave her a quick squeeze and then guided her to the couch. “Now, let’s talk about the asshole who broke your heart.”

His chest hurt like hell. Murphy told himself it had everything to do with the CNN report he’d just watched on the conflict in the Middle East and nothing to do with the conflict raging within. He’d survived enhanced training programs, Desert Storm, and natural and man-made disasters. He could sure as hell survive Lulu’s hugs. He could stand fierce in the face of her good will. He refused to be charmed by her antiquated values. As far as wanting to ball her brains out, well, he continued to wrestle that demon.

He had the boner to prove it. He’d been hot and hard, oh, a good three hours now. The moment she’d curled up on his lap, Russell the love muscle had sprung to life. Fortunately, she’d fallen asleep ten minutes into the movie. It had saved him from trying to explain his
predicament.

Man, he was an ass. Her intentions had been pure, not sexual. She’d tried to comfort him because, Christ, for a moment he’d put his guts on the table. He still couldn’t believe it. He never talked about those humanitarian ops. But Lulu had a strange effect on him. She started talking about marriage and kids, and his insides twisted in a new and painful way. Talk about taking risks. He’d lost a mother and father. He couldn’t imagine losing a wife and child. Not when he could so easily imagine one thousand freaking calamities.

But then she’d fallen asleep in his arms and, for one hundred and two minutes, the running time of
The Adventures of Robin Hood,
all was right with the world.

If they awarded medals for superhuman control, he’d be polishing a couple right now. One for carrying her upstairs to the guest room instead of depositing her in
his
bed. Another for enduring the major discomfort of a stubborn erection. Waxing the soldier wasn’t an option. The object of his desire was sleeping just upstairs. He’d already tried a cold shower, although another might not—his body tensed at the sound of creaking—hurt.

Strike that.
The object of his desire was descending the stairs.
Damn.

“Colin?”

His heart fluttered at the sound of her shaky voice. “I’m in here,” he called out. Worried that she’d suffered a panic attack, he kicked off his sheets, swung out of bed and reached for his boxers. “Hold on. I’ll be out in a—” he glanced up at a soft intake of breath “—flash.”
Oh, shit.
She was standing on his threshold. She’d changed into a pair of baggy pajama bottoms and an oversized T-shirt. He, on the other hand, was buck naked.

The lights were out, but his nineteen-inch television was on and illuminating him in all his seven-inch glory.

Ooo-kay. Here’s the part where Miss Goody Two-shoes runs screaming from the room.
Except she just stood there. “I can’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us.”
Okay, bonehead. Step into your shorts. You’re holding them in your right hand. All you have to do is bend down and …

“It’s too quiet upstairs,” she said, shifting her weight, but not her gaze. “And dark. I turned on a light but, well, my imagination …”

“Yeah, you’ve got a whopper.” He regained his senses enough to stab one leg into his boxers.

“I changed my mind. I
would
feel safer if we …” She glanced at his rumpled bed.

“Slept together?”
Holy Christ.
He yanked his shorts up and over his package, for all the good it did. His pole tented the thin fabric. He’d felt less self-conscious in the raw.

Lulu glanced toward the television, wrung her hands. “Did I come at a bad time?”

He blinked at her word choice, stifled a laugh. Then he realized he’d muted the audio, and she wasn’t standing at an angle where she could see the screen. Great, so she thought he was watching porn. “Just catching up on the news.”
Snap out of it, Murphy.
He pulled on a fresh T-shirt and snatched up one of four pillows. “Climb in. I’ll bunk on the floor.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Trust me, I’ve slept on worse.”

“No, I … really. I wouldn’t feel right putting you out. I …” She threw up her hands, sighed. “Okay, here’s the deal. Even though your house is minutes from civilization, it’s so secluded within the pines, I feel like I’m in the boonies. I’m a little freaked out from that creep’s phone call today. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow, but tonight, I just …” She tugged at the hem of her thigh-grazing shirt. “I don’t want to sleep alone. I know it’s an imposition.”

“It’s not an imposition.” He climbed back into bed, pulled back the covers and motioned her over. He could do this.
Nuns and puppies. Nuns and puppies.

She climbed in next to him, right up against him, though she was careful to keep her hands clasped to her chest. “It’s been a long time since I’ve slept with a man. I mean in the same bed. I mean—”

“I know what you mean.”
Christ.

“This is really nice of you.”

He rolled his eyes.

“You really
are
watching the news.”

Since she was looking at the television, he lazed his head left and looked at her. Her face scrubbed free of makeup, her hair tousled, she looked pure and wild, and man he wanted to kiss her—slow, wet, deep. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss, but he couldn’t go there. Couldn’t even think about it. He was
nice.

Nuns and puppies. Nuns and puppies.

“So men at war turn you on?”

He scrunched his brow. “What?” Then he realized she was finally acknowledging his hard-on. He glanced at the screen, soaked in the replay of a U.S. missile strike. Though it did inspire him to cheer
OohRah
!—once a Marine, always a Marine—it wasn’t an aphrodisiac. Two choices here. Admit the truth
—she
turned him on—or change the subject. “Tell me about
The Spookytown Scare.”

Her head lulled right. “Tell me what you did before you were a protection specialist.”

He met her gaze and allowed himself to bask in her tender regard, unable, this moment, to deny her anything. “I served in the military. MEU SOC.”

“Which stands for …”

“Marine Expeditionary Unit. Special Operations Capable.”

“Sounds dangerous.” When he didn’t comment she added, “What does that mean? What did you do?”

The list was long and varied. He chose a few select tasks, purposely excluding things like ground offensive combat and hostage extraction. “Peacekeeping/ Enforcement. Humanitarian/Disaster Relief. Security Operations.”

“Sounds very noble.” She glanced back at the screen. “Did you ever have to shoot your gun?”

“I encountered hostiles, yes.”

“And?”

Mentally, he took ten paces back.
Distance is key. Distance equals survival.
“You don’t want to know particulars.”

“You mean you don’t want to talk about it.” She winced as the camera zoomed in on the carnage of a roadside bomb.

Murphy reached for the remote and searched for a sitcom. “Tell me about
The Spookytown Scare.
What’s an eyeball relay?”