Charlie's Angel (5 page)

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 on 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.”

His heart kicked into overdrive. His nose for trouble had proved right again. “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. L.A., like so many other metropolitan cities, was filled with crazies. Charlie puffed 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 who 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 co-workers 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 by “L.A. was more than I’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, sweating glass of Coke, she closed her eyes and imagined Charles sinking to one knee reverently, 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.

That 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 nylons fell to her ankles, she would try to kick out of them impatiently, but he would stop her with one, pleading look, stopping her in mid-motion. She so wanted his hands against the inside of her thighs on the soft, tremulous flesh. He would go further 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 continuation at 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. 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’s taking the next bus somewhere—like he’s 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 sat on a bus bench, his hands held idly between his parted legs. He’d changed since he’d been in Woody’s. A white golf shirt, unbuttoned at the column of his throat, showed off his muscled chest to perfection and khaki shorts deepened his tan. 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, she bent to lap at that button and lower.

“See? I told you so,” Eileen announced proudly, as if she’d sensed 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.

“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.
If she could run over, and strip their clothes off, one item at a time—

“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’s why Charles had appeared while she had been on her bike and at the diner, and that was what “L.A. was more than I’d bargained for” 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? When he’d arrived in the diner, he hadn’t shown any signs of recognition when she waited on him. And if he was carrying out her father’s orders, although that did sound farfetched, why hadn’t he said anything to her and dragged her onto the first plane back to Maine? None of this fit 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 with 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 there was no crosswalk for over two blocks?

Had Charles spotted her? His head was turned away from her, and she couldn’t tell if 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. She froze in mid-motion.

A huge semi roared right toward her.

* * * *

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 who hung out in such awful conditions. He’d done the protection racket for a 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 of filled crazy drivers?

He caught her taking a quick look at him from lowered lashes. Was she headed toward him? A bright blue eighteen-wheeler in his peripheral drew his scrutiny 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 beside it 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 onto 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 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 along 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 of 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 enough to push her down onto the unyielding wooden slat bench. Of all the stupid things to do, to want a woman after she’d just about been run over by a maniac trucker.

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

He cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words to say.

She’d been crossing the street with a cold drink for him? Had she been watching him?

Her tiny earrings glittered in the strength of the sunlight. His gaze slid from her twinkling eyes to her quivering mouth. Her glossy upper and bottom lips parted slightly. He could bend ever so slightly and kiss her, taste her, drive himself further into this insanity of longing. And he did. Ever so slightly. “Charles Vernon,” he said, introducing himself. “Most people call me Charlie.”

“Oh.” She bit into her lower lip, and seemed to hesitate. “Roxanne, Roxie Abernathy.”

Highly erotic thoughts of what those parted lips could do to him flooded his feverish mind. She’d kiss his mouth with 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 anything but sex in Roxie’s presence? Heck and out of it too, he told himself, remembering his much too vivid fantasy on 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 still boiled, not only from the exertion, but from the fear he’d felt as he’d seen what was about to happen.

She touched his forearm. “Thanks.” She blushed prettily and tantalizingly. “For saving me.”