Full Throttle Yearning (4 page)

Charlie settled onto the bench across from the diner and pretended to wait for the transit bus. Although he was much cooler in his new shirt and shorts, the shelter canopy did little to block the glare and intense heat of the late afternoon sunlight.

This is utter foolishness, waiting for trouble when it will never come. Why don’t I go back into the comfortable, air-conditioned condo and look at different ways to help Kyle out with this case? There has to be some way to convince the jurors that the defendant is guilty. The perp’s admitted to all the gruesome facts to Kyle and me, and yet he’s left out the details that would put him away for life. And a half.

He’d work on the case here, while the sun cooked his brain and he feasted his shaded eyes on the gorgeous woman he’d somehow sworn to protect from danger that might not exist. If he left, could he live with himself if something happened to Roxie? Was that her real name? Many people in southern California had run from intolerable lives and completely changed their personae when they arrived. Had Roxie done the same?

Through the huge, unprotected diner windows, he observed her graceful walk as she served one table after another. He could totally imagine tugging her uniform down the length of her body and her moans of delight as she threw her head back. With her naked and beautiful, he’d part her silky thighs and love her slowly, as she had never been loved before.

His cell phone chirped. It was his friend from law enforcement. “What do you have, Manny?” Charlie asked, feeling as if he were about to melt into the bus bench. Casually, he waved on a bus headed his way. The driver, who must have been in a hurry, nodded back and continued without braking.

“The fella you asked me about, Otis Rowter, has a record a mile long, along with assault with a deadly weapon. You might want to stay clear of him.”

Charlie breathed a huge sigh of relief. His nose for trouble had proved right again. At the same time his heart kicked into overdrive. “Is he on the wanted list?”

“Not currently, but he’s served time in the federal pen. I’ll send over the details if you like.”

“Sure. Thanks, Manny. I owe you one.”

His friend chuckled. “You owe me big-time.” He disconnected, leaving Charlie with a bad feeling. Roxie shouldn’t have messed with Otis Rowter. LA, like so many other metropolitan cities, was filled with crazies. Charlie puffed out a frustrated breath. He shouldn’t have stood up to Rowter. Why hadn’t he called in the uniforms instead?

But, he told himself firmly, he’d grown up in the inner city and could handle any bully that came his way. He’d blackened a few eyes and bloodied a few noses back then. He wasn’t above doing that now, either, not if it meant protecting the gorgeous woman and her coworkers in the diner.

Roxie’s thoughts were filled with steamy, hot, erotic images of Charles Vernon. Why had he walked out without his burger and what had he meant that LA was more than he’d bargained for? Even though her shoes were comfortable, her feet were killing her from the long hours being on them. She was glad when she slid into the back booth for her fifteen-minute break. Sipping from a tall glass of sweating Coke, she closed her eyes and imagined Charles sinking reverently to one knee, slipping her shoe off and massaging her foot with strong, deft hands. His thumb and forefinger slid up and down her sole as she watched with rapt fascination. This was only the beginning. In a moment, he would reach up inside her uniform and delicately and slowly roll her pantyhose down her hips and her trembling thighs. When the nylon fell to her ankles, she would try to kick out of them, impatient, but he would stop her with one pleading look, halting her in mid-motion. She so wanted his hands against the insides of her thighs on the soft, tremulous flesh. He would go farther, to that yearning, hot spot—

“Have you seen him?” Eileen interrupted Roxie’s daydream. Her eyes, a rich amber, were aglow with excitement.

Roxie sighed, stowing away her fantasy for a later time when she could indulge herself more fully. “Seen who?” She sipped at her Coke again, grateful for the ice that soothed her parched throat.

“Charles Vernon!” Unconsciously, Eileen smoothed her apron at her right hip. “He’s been there for ages!” She grinned and batted her eyelashes.

Roxie took a deep breath. She’d never seen Eileen quite so animated before. “Charles Vernon has been here for ages?” she parroted, surveying the diner. If he had been in the vicinity, she would have known. At least, her body would have reacted to his powerful and masculine presence. She tried to quell the spark of hope flaring to life in her chest. He was near the diner. Did that mean something?

“He’s outside, sitting across the street on a bus bench.” Eileen gave a sweet smile and exhaled. “At first I thought he was taking the next bus somewhere, like he’s not so rich he could buy the whole transit system, but several have gone by and he’s not gotten on a one. So now I’m wondering what he’s doing. Why don’t you take a look?”

Eileen wasn’t a woman to play jokes on others. Feeling foolish for distrusting her, Roxie turned her head to look out the window. Sure enough, Charles was sitting on the bus bench, his hands held idly between his parted legs. He’d changed since he’d been in Woody’s. The white golf shirt, unbuttoned at the column of his throat, showed off his muscled chest to perfection, and the khaki shorts deepened his tan. The chocolate-brown loafers gave him a very southern Californian look. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses and his hair was slightly mussed, quite probably from the sweltering heat. Roxie imagined rivulets of salty perspiration running down his abs to pool in his navel. She took a deep breath, and in her mind bent to lap at that button…and lower.

“See? I told you so,” Eileen announced proudly, as if she’d sensed that Roxie wouldn’t believe her.

Roxie exhaled and a blush seared her cheeks. The fact that Charles was across the street didn’t mean anything in itself. If she could run over and strip their clothes off, one item at a time—

“He’s just so handsome,” Eileen continued, oblivious to Roxie’s thoughts. “I could eat him right up!”

So could I, from head to toe and back up to his hard cock.

“Eileen!” Gerry called. Once again his voice boomed across the diner.

“Gotta go!” Eileen whisked herself away.

Roxie’s attention returned to Charles seated on the bench with hardly any protection from the glaring sun. A slight wind had crept up, as it often did in the late afternoons. Was he following her? The notion hit her out of the blue. Why would such a wealthy and respected lawyer want to do such a thing? Dismayed, she answered her own question with ease. Her father had somehow set him up to it. That was why he’d appeared while she had been on her bike and again at the diner, and that was what “LA was more than I bargained for” had meant. Yet was there the possibility that she was wrong? That Charles Vernon had an agenda of his own that had nothing to do with her? He hadn’t shown any signs of recognition when he’d arrived at the diner or when she’d waited on him. And if he was carrying out her father’s orders, which did sound farfetched, why hadn’t he said something to her and dragged her onto the first plane back to Maine? None of it fitted together. Maybe she had the wrong puzzle.

Roxie finished her Coke and glanced at her wristwatch. She still had some time left before she had to return to work. And it was really hot outside. Her own body temperature skyrocketed as she thought about the hard-packed muscles under Charles’ shirt and shorts.
Oh, yummy!
She could take him a cold drink to slake his thirst. His throat had to be parched under the summer sun beating down on him. It wouldn’t take long.

Her mind made up, she rose, paid for an ice-cold Coke and rushed toward Charles. The can began to sweat, although it felt good in her hand. She wondered if she should ask what he was doing sitting in the direct sun? Was that how he got his work done? Not likely.

She jaywalked across three of the four lanes, dodging several speeding vehicles. Why was everyone in such a hurry? Couldn’t they respect the fact that there was no crosswalk for over two blocks?

Had Charlie spotted her? His head was turned away from her and she couldn’t tell whether he could see her, with his sunglasses darkening his eyes. As she began to cross the lane nearest the bus stop, a sharp, insistent blaring drew her attention. A huge semi was roaring right toward her.

She froze in mid-motion.

Sweat trickled down Charlie’s spine and he swore his shirt was wetter than if he’d showered in it. He turned his head to glance at a passing sedan with tinted windows and wondered if the occupants were cool inside. Private eyes did surveillance all the time in such inhospitable environments. He backhanded beads of perspiration from his forehead but to no avail. He had to admire the several PIs he knew and worked with for hanging out in such awful conditions. He’d shadowed many people over the few years when he’d been putting himself through law school, but that had been a while back.

His shaded gaze returned to the diner and his heart leaped into his throat. Roxie, with a bright red Coke can, was making her way through the rush-hour traffic in his direction. He remained seated, his thighs tense and his neck muscles tightening with dread. Where was she going and why across four lanes filled with crazy drivers?

He caught her taking a quick look at him from below lowered lashes. Was she headed toward him? A bright blue eighteen-wheeler in his peripheral vision drew his glance for a brief second. Then the world segued into slow motion. The semi bore down on Roxie, who had frozen in her tracks, a look of pure terror on her lovely face. Charlie had mere seconds. He sprang to his feet, hurtled across the truck’s path, and barely pushed the waitress out of the way in time. A strong wind current whipped them both. The Coke can lay crushed on the hot pavement. Dark brown liquid poured out as if it were blood. The sweat on his body chilled in the abruptly cool air as he held Roxie against his chest, his arms around her slender waist. Miraculously, they were standing rather than lying on the ground. Vehicles in their lane and one over came to a standstill while in the other two cars crawled by.

“Are you okay?” he asked into Roxie’s hair, afraid to look into her face or at her trembling body. He couldn’t stand it if she were injured.

“I think so,” she said in a shaky voice. Her accompanying nod was barely perceptible against the expanse of his chest. Her hurried breaths fanned his left biceps, sending shivers up and down his spine.

“That was far too close,” he whispered in a husky tone, fighting his inner demons. Roxie could so easily have been killed right in front of his eyes.

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t stir against him, her arms tightly circled around his neck, the soft suppleness of her body pressed to the length of his. The fragrance from her hair enveloped him, teasing, coaxing, arousing.

He was oblivious to the traffic passing by until a gravelly male voice called out, “Hey guys! Get a room!”

She gave a little laugh, but Charlie couldn’t make out whether it was from embarrassment or some other emotion. As he rushed across the street with her tightly pressed against his aching body, he wondered if she’d felt the same heightened sensations he had.

Angry with himself for being wound up to fever pitch by his own desire, he paused under the bus shelter’s roof, and spun Roxie around. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?” He hadn’t meant the words to sound so harsh, and bit his lower lip. Where had his self-control gone? He released her and pushed her down onto the unyielding wooden slat bench. Of all the stupid things, to want a woman after she’d just about been run over by a maniac trucker.

Her blue eyes went wide and her glossy lips edged apart slightly. “I wasn’t intending to get killed,” she murmured, her gaze fixed somewhere near his nose. “I thought you might like something cold to drink.”

Her tiny earrings glittered in the sunlight. His gaze slid from her twinkling eyes to her quivering mouth. He could bend ever so slightly and kiss her, taste her, drive himself further into this insanity of longing. He cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. She’d been crossing the street with a cold drink for him? Had she been watching him?

Highly erotic thoughts of what those parted lips could do to him flooded his feverish mind. She’d kiss his mouth in a fierce onslaught and they would leave a fiery trail down the length of his body, from his throat to his navel and beyond.
Oh God, Charles Vernon. Stop tormenting yourself like this.
Why couldn’t he think about anything but sex in Roxie’s presence?
Heck, and out of it too,
he told himself, remembering his much too vivid fantasy of the ballroom floor.

“That semi would have run you over,” he told her. It wasn’t hard to drum up the fury rising from within his chest. His blood was still boiling, not only from the exertion but from the fear he’d felt as he’d seen what was about to happen.