“Have you talked to your doctor? Postpartum depression is normal. You’re exhausted. Your hormones are all over the place. Your body just finished a marathon. It’s okay to ask for help, Leelee.”
Her nickname, one he’d given her in college and stopped using somewhere around the second year of arguments, closed her eyes.
“Paul says the baby blues are all in my head and I just need to toughen up.”
“Not to sound like a bitter ex-husband here but, from a medical point of view, Paul’s an asshole. Is he helping you at all?”
She dashed tears from her face and shrugged. She fiddled with the tea bag. “He tries. But she scares him. She’s so little and he’s afraid to touch her, afraid he’ll break her or something. He’s a good man, he’s just clueless what to do.”
A liquid blurting noise jerked her face toward the carrier and she stood, pulling the blanket off. Bastian got a flash of pink clothes and a bald head before he turned away. A noxious odor filled the room. Lisa looked at him apologetically. “Sorry. This bothers you.”
“Trust me, a drunk on a four-day bender makes a lot worse smell. It’s okay,” he protested but she shook her head.
“Stop. Kids bother you since…You switched specialties mid-residency after the tests came back. I should’ve thought before I showed up. I just didn’t know where else to go and…”
“I can take her.” Standing just inside the door, Caz’s voice was timid. “I mean, I can take her into the parlor and let you guys talk or whatever.”
Lisa’s smile shivered just a bit. “She needs a diaper change.”
“I’ll figure it out.” Caz picked up the bag and went to grab the carrier handle but Lisa’s fingers tightened on the sides. He stopped. “I won’t hurt her.”
Her grip slid away. “I know that. Sorry, I’m just a mess right now.”
Caz nodded and lifted the baby seat. He paused before leaving. “Babies liked to be talked to, right? I’ll sing her a song. What’s her name?”
“Eleanor but we call her Elli.”
“No smoking around her, Boo,” Bastian cautioned.
His brother sent him a “no shit” look then disappeared with the baby. Lisa turned to him with wide, wet eyes. He didn’t think but stood and opened his arms. She dove into them and wept. He propped his chin on her head, just letting her cry. So many times at the end of their marriage, he’d wanted to hold her like this, to give her some comfort, find some comfort in her embrace. But they’d been too bitter, too angry, and they’d done nothing but hurt each other. This felt like closure to him, a healing of a wound he hadn’t realized still ached.
When her sobs finally slowed, he dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “Call your doctor. Get some help. Call your mom and have her come visit. Tell Paul I said to man up and be a father. He’s lucky to have you both.”
At five minutes after seven, Charlie was reapplying more lipstick when her door banged open on the ground level. The wooden steps echoed as Bastian sailed up them.
“I’m sorry. I’m late. I had to make one more stop and the line…Charlie.” His feet slammed to a halt and his jaw dropped. With a warm pride filling her breast, she watched his gaze slide from the top of her hair to her feet.
She’d chosen a chic, 1940s-inspired gown in shimmering black. The simple sweetheart neckline with wide straps drew attention to her framed bustline and nipped waist while remaining tastefully prim. Hugging the curves from her hips to her knees, the skirt fell to a fan, emphasizing her silhouette. She accompanied it with long white opera gloves and the understated diamond stud earrings he’d given her for Christmas. Her black hair cupped her head, focusing his gaze on her flaming ruby lips. The look was timeless and, in her opinion, suited her perfectly.
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.” Bastian stopped and swallowed. “But tonight, you’re…stunning.”
His comment humbled her. Men had told her she was beautiful before. The words meant nothing. Bastian made her feel it, and her heart quivered. “Thank you.”
Beneath his classic tuxedo jacket, his chest expanded with a deep breath. “Ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“Let’s go find out.” Down to the wire and still he held his surprise out of her reach. Her head shook with amazement.
“You win. Just let me grab my handbag.” Twirling to the counter, she clutched the drawstring bag and Bastian’s gasp shivered up her spine.
“Where’s the rest of your dress?”
From her hairline to the top swell of her behind, the air kissed her skin, bared for his eyes. The front may have purred subdued sensuality, but the back screamed reckless temptation. The look she sent him was pure tease.
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.” Clearing his throat, he caught her eyes. Admiration and desire flared with sparkling clarity. “I like it very much.”
“Good. Did you really threaten Boo with a spoonectomy?”
“First rule of brothers, never admit to anything. Got my behind out of many groundings growing up.”
She laughed up into his face and caught the whiff of spearmint from the breath that grazed her cheek. An elbow rose before her and she curled her fingers underneath and allowed him to lead her into his surprise.
Chapter Eleven
Bastian was taking her to a hotel?
If Charlie didn’t know him better, she would have assumed he wanted sex. The Winchester Regency’s valet service, formal dining and the whole works oozed with adult elegance, but the smirk on his face belied a simple night of naked hokey-pokey. Nibbling the inside of her lip, she leaned forward to peer through the windshield. And what was up with borrowing Caz’s car? He never drove Caz’s Audi. Why didn’t he just use his own SUV? Something was rotten in Bastianville and it reeked of secrets.
“Why are we here?”
His golden head shook and a smile spread across his entire face, lifting his lips and crinkling his eyes. “Two minutes. You have two more minutes to wait. Think you can make it that long?”
“No and if I die of curiosity in the passenger seat, there’ll be some investigation and I hope some big burly cop locks your blond butt in a cell.”
A chuckle was his only reply. She huffed back in her seat. When his birthday rolled around, he’d better watch out. Maybe she would sign him up to give out free prostate exams or something.
The bright lights of the canopied archway shifted a slash of brightness across his face as he pulled to the front entrance. A red-coated valet sprinted toward the sports car like a puppy chasing a ball. He opened her door and Charlie had to push a swallow down her throat but she stepped out. The entranceway was blanketed by a deep blue carpet and potted greenery flanked the open glass doors. An older portly man and a gangly teen waited beside the doorway, both in black tuxedos.
“Dr. Talbot?” The skinny man-child approached cautiously.
Bastian’s brows shot up and he offered a hand. “Devin?”
Devin? As in cement-shoes-in-the-river Devin?
Devin jerked Bastian’s hand up and down like an oilrig as the older man joined them. No one acknowledged her presence. The males did the Y-chromosomal-bonding thing and Charlie fumed. Okay, this sucked. Everyone seemed to know what was going on but her. Bastian slipped a hand inside his jacket and handed a white envelope to the man but addressed the teen, expressing his thanks. Thanks for what?
Before she could kick her date in the shins, or slightly higher, Devin handed her a pink rose.
“Welcome to the Senior Prom, Ms. Pierce.”
“Prom?”
The bottom fell out of her world and she gawked at the flower. What prom? She never went to her prom. Her deadbeat boyfriend at the time had refused to take her. The entire night she’d sat in his dingy apartment while he watched the Playboy channel, feeling like Cinderella minus the fairy godmother. She told everyone he took her out for a special night on the town instead of some stupid cardboard school dance. She’d lied because it hurt too much to admit she wanted the high school magic. She’d never told anybody the truth…except Bastian.
A maddeningly smug look painted his face and he caught her eye with a wink. He was taking her the prom? Her mind tried to grasp the idea while he led her through the glass doors, down a hall and into a ballroom bedecked with streamers and teenagers. Candles flickered on linen-covered round tables tucked into shadows, and the dance floor teemed with swaying people in sparkling dresses. Young men preened like show ponies and girls batted mascaraed lashes at youthful heroes.
They looked like babies playing dress-up. Charlie stared. Had she ever really been that young?
“How did you do this?”
“I just bought tickets.” Bastian held a chair out and she sank into it, her knees vibrating harder than the DJ’s speakers. “And made a donation to the Athletic Boosters. And promised that Honeypot would behave tonight and not influence young, untainted, growing minds.”
A snort restored her mental balance. “Untainted? Please, do you know how many of these kids are regular listeners to our show?”
“Then think of all the good we’re doing by giving them the facts.” Bastian settled beside her and leaned an elbow on the table. “Gotcha.”
Her laugh sprang from a bubbling cauldron in her belly. She couldn’t have contained it with a five-gallon bucket. He had indeed surprised her. There was no way she could have ever expected this. Soft, squishy things she didn’t understand welled inside her. “Why?”
Tenderness softened his face and he palmed her crown, no longer a substitute brother but a potential husband. “Because, Charlie. Just because.”
“Because why? I mean, we’re way too old to be at the prom.”
“You’re never too old to be treated special. You told me you never went to your prom. I wanted to do something, one thing that you’ve never experienced, something sweet and innocent. This just seemed right.” From the back of her head down to her nape, his fingers stroked a slow line. “So tonight, there’s no sex kitten or radio doc, no Wed or Bed race, there’s just me and you at the prom. Dance with me, birthday girl.”
Some sort of fuzzy brain blanket covered her mind as Bastian box-stepped her around a horde of developing bustlines and testosterone peaks. It was just thick and cozy enough to surround her in the simple warmth of his embrace. Lights flickered and shone on his hair, while they swayed and dipped in the midst of a sea of adolescence and Charlie basked in the magic he created.
So the music wasn’t her style, and the crepe paper really detracted from the formal elegance of the ballroom, but something sizzling in the air hid all the hokeyness. Maybe it was the strength in his arm around her waist or the gentleness of his hand cradling hers, or maybe it was something mixed in the too-sweet raspberry punch. Whatever it was, it filled her with the most tender ache she’d ever felt. It persisted, delightfully, through a picture in front of the cardboard backdrop and a giggling cheerleader with a small hickey accepting a tiara.
Charlie got lost in the loving gaze of warm cocoa. She had no idea how many trips around the small dance floor they made, but each one wound him tighter and deeper into her soul. Burrowing her nose in the lapel of his jacket, she snuggled a bit closer. He knew her better than she knew herself. Had she known he planned to take her to the prom, she’d have balked and fought him, claimed he’d lost his mind. But for hours, he gave her something she hadn’t realized she’d missed—innocence. She loved him, and this night, this present without wrapping paper, was one she would always cherish.
“I’d do her in a heartbeat.”
The cocky male voice penetrated the haze of enchantment, pulling her head from Bastian’s shoulder. They locked eyes and smiled. Another voice floated toward them.
“Get over yourself, asshole. You can wet-dream all you like but she’s way outta your league.”
“Maybe, but I’d be damned if I said no when she’s giving it away. He’s stupid or something.”
“Did you ever think maybe he’s serious when he says he loves her?”
“Love can kiss my ass, dude. She wants it and he ain’t doing it. Stupid. Hell, I’m supposedly at my sexual peak. I’d give her a run for her money.”
Wickedness slithered up Charlie’s spine and she cocked her eyebrow. Bastian shook his head. “Oh, no. I promised you’d behave.”
“Bastian, do you really think I’d do anything…bad?”
“Yes. Bad is your middle name. They’re just horny kids who’ve spent the past hour looking at your ass. Let it go.”
“Can’t do that, medicine man. Inflated young male ego, must destroy.”
“What are you going to do?”
Tongue to her lip, she sent him her best bad-little-angel look. “Nothing too terrible.”
A soft groan sounded but he dropped his hand. Charlie turned toward the voices and spotted a small knot of large jock-types, the type that pursued her relentlessly in high school looking for easy tail. Her hips swinging in time to the ballad pouring over the air cemented their gaze far below her face. Two sets of eyes widened as she approached, one Adam’s apple bobbed and every set of eyes fell to her bustline.
She halted just before the pack and sent them a sultry look. The obvious leader slid his own appraising inventory over her. His hand slipped up to smooth his deep raven hair and he stepped in front of the others.
“Hello, Honey. Can I help you with something?” His voice held far too much ego, and Charlie could see how girls would fawn over the not-quite-a-man. She allowed her eyes to rake from his toes to his hair. The smile he flashed reeked of entitlement and inflated self-worth, and her inner bitch growled.
“Not even with a learner’s manual, little boy. And don’t call me Honey.”
The smirk froze before dripping off his face. Triumphant vibrations coursed through her bloodstream and she heard the rich timbre of Bastian’s laughter behind her. Confidence lifted her chin. She slid deeper into the knot of hormones. “So boys, who wants to ask a lady to dance?”
Four questions popped like balloons and wide palms shot out, waiting for her hand. With outrageous flirtation, she tapped each palm as if playing eeny-meeny-miney-moe but her gaze was occupied elsewhere. In the back of the group, one tall red-haired boy watched with a longing expression. Something in his eyes reminded her of Bastian, a gentleman who might wish but would never pounce.