You're Still the One (9 page)

Chapter Seven

“
I go out walkin’ after midnight…”

Arabella was singing in his kitchen. An old Patsy Cline song he wasn’t surprised she knew, her voice slightly off-key, hips swaying softly beneath her flared teal-blue dress. Ginny, a local blues singer who stopped in to record the other day, described her style as Audrey Hepburn-esque, which was fitting since everything about his new tenant seemed like she was from another time. Her musical preferences, her hipster dresses, the way she spoiled her coworkers with homemade cookies…

Her freaky love affair with his dishes.

Charlie had a dishwasher. He didn’t often use it, but he had one, it worked, and yet she still preferred washing them by hand. It was like she got some secret thrill out of the process—and damn if that didn’t make her even cuter.

Reaching for the cold Bud Light on the coffee table, Charlie smirked at the marble-lined coaster collecting the condensation. More of Arabella’s handiwork. Ever since she’d moved in next door, odd little knickknacks kept appearing. His clutter was contained, his house smelled better, and that morning when he went to get dressed, a basket full of clean and dry choices awaited him.

Arabella was definitely keeping up her end of the bargain. Charlie was, too. Every night for the last week, whenever he dragged his sorry ass to bed and lay staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to knock on her door, he told himself that’s what he was doing. Fulfilling his side of the deal he struck with Stone. Keeping an eye on the man’s daughter and helping her out.

But it was more than that. So much more.

Charlie sought quiet. After growing up in a loud, chaotic household with sisters coming out of the woodwork, and living on a cramped tour bus for half the year, he preferred solitude when he was home. But Arabella’s constant chatter honestly didn’t bother him. Her bubbly laughter and low singing was entertaining. And he was smiling a hell of a lot more often.

A loud
ding
came from the kitchen, another damn text from the sound of it, and Arabella appeared in the doorway, one hand dripping soapsuds on his floors, the other holding his cell phone.

“I didn’t mean to look.” Her smile was tight as she crossed the room to hand it over. “It went off by the sink, and I glanced down out of habit.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Without reading the message, Charlie pocketed the phone and returned his attention to the ballgame. Her stare sat heavy on his cheek.

“Aren’t you going to respond?”

“Nope.” He took a swig of beer, feeling strangely annoyed. “Anyone I care to talk to knows not to text me. If they have something to say, they call so we can have an actual conversation. One with words and inflection and tone of voice. I hate texting.”

Arabella didn’t respond, but he felt her studying him. What she was looking for beat the hell out of him, but he didn’t flinch, sitting there watching the screen. Eventually, though, he had to read the thoughts in her eyes, so he shifted his gaze toward her.

A soft smile curved her mouth.

For six days they’d been living side by side, feeling each other out and getting used to each other’s patterns. The tension never went away. It was always there, subtle at times, blazing on a whim. Ignoring the magnetic pull toward her was harder than he’d expected, and adoring looks like the one she was giving him now didn’t help one bit.

Charlie grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “There’s no reason to respond anyway. From the look on your face, it was obviously from a woman, and that could mean one of two things. Either someone new got my number, or it’s a former hookup wanting more. I’m not interested in a repeat, and I already have plans for the night.”

Her doe eyes flitted away, message received.

Doing the right thing felt like ass.

Charlie wasn’t in the habit of denying himself what he wanted, and doing so now made him cranky. He didn’t want to hurt the girl. He only wanted to protect her. Maybe, for both their sakes, he could find a way to ease off the gas just a bit. Keep her at a safe distance without being a total jerk. Besides, they did have a list to conquer.

Scanning her perfect, fit little body, he said, “Go get dressed.”

Arabella frowned and glanced at the flirty dress she wore. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Nothing.” Standing, his gaze lingered on the creamy skin beneath the hem.
Absolutely nothing.
He cleared his throat. “But it’s not biker bar appropriate.”

Her mouth twisted in confusion, a tiny wrinkle forming between her brows. Silence reigned for three bats of her thick lashes.
Blink, blink, blink.

Then, “We’re going to a biker bar?” Her voice was low and disbelieving, almost as if she was scared to ask him too loudly in fear he’d change his mind. Charlie felt his lips twitch as he answered with a slow nod, and her eyes grew large and round. “You’re taking me to a biker bar.”

“Not dressed like that,” he replied, letting loose his smile.

Arabella’s squeal of delight shocked the hell out of him, and her feet pounded the floor in a move reminiscent of the hot girl on
Flashdance
. She fisted her hands on either side of her mouth and said, “You remembered my list.”

How four words could make him feel like a hero, Charlie had no idea. But the wonder and pleasure in her liquid eyes made him feel ten feet tall. “It’s not every day a woman declares it a life goal to throw back a cold one with a bunch of rowdy bikers. That’s not the sort of thing a guy forgets.”

Neither were midnight skinny-dips or toe-curling kisses, but he hadn’t quite figured out how to help with those and not lose his sanity.

Arabella’s smile lit the whole damn room. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

But he did. When she told him about the list at Country Roads, Charlie had recognized the need to prove herself, to test her limits and see where she stood when the dust settled. He felt that way every damn day of his life, and if he were honest, that was why he wanted to help her, more so than Stone’s implied threat.

Sharing that, though, would be too personal, and he didn’t do touchy-feely. So, instead, he gave her a pointed look. “You gonna go get changed, or do I need to take that dress off for you?”

Well, shit. That just sort of fell out.

As expected, Arabella’s cheeks turned a bright, blushing pink, and her eyes latched onto his, searching with an intensity he couldn’t name. Immediately, his shields went up, trying to play off his dangerous suggestion behind a teasing, cocky grin, and she exhaled, one big gust of breath that shook her shoulders.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” she said, sliding up close beside him and making a move like she would lean up and kiss his cheek. Clearly thinking better of it, she squeezed his hand instead and tilted up her chin to say, “Thanks, Tucker.”

The honest gratitude was more potent than any flirtatious come-on or seductive glance she could’ve given him. At a genuine loss for a snappy reply, for perhaps the first time in his life, Charlie simply nodded, swallowing hard as he watched Arabella tear out the front door with a radiant smile on her face.

…

YouTube tutorials were a godsend. With the click of just a few keys, Ella discovered how to make her eyes look smoky, her lips appear plumper, and her hair have that tousled, bedhead style without looking like she’d accidentally stuck her finger in an electric socket. The result, while not exactly matching the painstakingly gorgeous models in the videos, was so different from her usual style that Arabella couldn’t help gawking at her reflection.

The fact that she was naked as a jaybird while doing it? Well, that definitely contributed to the gawking.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she told the naked chick, her eyes trained straight ahead. She wiggled her toes on the furry, polka dot mat in front of the sink. “Women around the world do this every day. It’s no big deal.”

But it sort of
was
a big deal. Ella wasn’t a prude or anything. She’d stood shirtless in dressing rooms and caught glimpses of the nether region when she hopped in and out of the shower. But as far as standing around in her bare-naked glory with the express purpose of checking out the goods? Yeah, that never happened.

The thought wouldn’t have even crossed her mind had she not seen it on a bucket list entitled Bold Things Every Woman Should Do Once. Her shock had been so profound that she’d immediately added it to her own list. What she hadn’t considered was the awkward execution.

“It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid,” she whispered, the momentary surge of confidence she’d felt after her pseudo mastery of the tutorials long gone. Flying high and already naked, she’d whipped off her robe and tromped back into the bathroom, ready to tackle another activity on the list. But apparently, she wasn’t as ready as she’d thought.

“Once you take a peek, you’ll never have to do this again.” she reassured herself, and her birthday-suit-wearing reflection nodded in agreement. Inhaling a deep, fortifying breath, she then released it slowly and glanced south.

That was a whole lot of naked.

Arabella squinted, taking in the entire kit and caboodle. She liked her collarbone. Was that a weird thing to notice? Truth be told, she was also partial to her arms. They were long and slender, not bulky with muscle but lean without really having to try. Photos of her mother showed she’d had the same willowy figure, standing toe-to-toe with Ella’s tall father.

She glanced at her legs. Nothing to write home about there, really. Once upon a time she’d been all knobby knees and stick limbs, but over the years she’d filled out a bit. Rounded out the harsh edges. But still, they were just legs.

Skipping over the
other
areas for now, Arabella pivoted slightly and gazed over her shoulder. The article had said to get the entire experience in one go, scanning your body from head to toe from every possible angle. Considering she didn’t have one of those terrifying three-sixty mirrors they used on
What Not to Wear,
she figured she’d make do with what she had—one jumbo-sized, incredibly harshly lit mirror over the sink.

Honestly, she should’ve replaced the bulbs. This activity screamed for special effects.

As far as rear ends went, she guessed hers was okay. It wasn’t covered in slimy scales or anything. No weird moles or random patches of hair. It was, however, paler than she’d expected, and appeared longer than she would’ve thought. Also, it wasn’t perky. Her love for carbs may’ve skipped her arms, but it made itself known in the caboose. But, barring a desire to search for old Buns of Steel videos, she supposed it did its job. Held up her jeans and whatnot.

Turning back around, Arabella placed her hands on her hips. Sucked in the gut.

This wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. It made sense, actually. If she planned on giving anyone other than her senior year boyfriend a glimpse of the promised land, it was a good idea to know what she was offering. So far, she’d give her body a solid six.

In fact, now that the initial fear was gone, she was kind of getting into the process.

Almost feeling…wicked.

Biting her lip, she trailed her fingertips up along the curve of her hip and skated them over the sensitive skin of her stomach. Goose bumps pebbled in her wake, and she couldn’t fight the blush, even though she was completely alone. She hesitated below the swell of her breasts, then cupped her hands and gently guided them over the modest globes, sliding her fingers apart to absorb their full weight.

What would Charlie think, if he came in here and saw her like this? Would he approve of the way her body looked? Her small breasts, long legs, decent collarbone, and slightly jiggly behind? Or would he be disappointed?

Would she measure up to the scores of women he’d seen this way over the years?

Arabella’s mind wandered, imagining him suddenly appearing behind her in the mirror. He wouldn’t be shocked. No, he’d be turned on, his eyes molten and hungry, devouring her. He wouldn’t be able to stand still, either; he’d step up behind her and knock her hands away, replacing them confidently with his own.

A moan escaped. It echoed off the glass and the basin, and Ella’s head fell back, envisioning his rough, calloused palms molding her breasts, his fingers plucking the tips. Heat exploded under her skin as she imagined his golden eyes hooded and filled with sin.

“You ready, darlin’?”

Ella’s head snapped up as her heart leaped into her throat.

“Arabella? You about ready to go?”

Charlie’s heavy footsteps clomped down the hall, and in a panic, she slammed the bathroom door shut, her heart pounding in her ears. “Uh…just a minute!”

Those heavy footsteps stopped just outside the door, two seconds away from getting a shocking show, and Ella frantically spun around looking for something—
anything—
to cover herself with. Her gaze landed on the pink fingertip towel she’d hung near the sink, thick and lush, and far away from its matching larger friends who were stupidly waiting for her in the hallway linen closet.
Way to go, Ella!

“H-how did you get in here?”

“Uh, I own the place, remember?” Normally, his low chuckle would’ve twisted her insides into goo, but now it only heightened her awareness of her supreme nakedness. “I’ve got a spare key…not that I needed it,” he added, shifting his feet, “since the front door was wide open. I did knock, though.” He paused for a second before adding, “Sorry to barge in.”

She heard what he didn’t say—that Ella had been barging her happy butt into
his
side of the duplex all week, assuming that as long as no women were around (which strangely enough, there never were) it wasn’t that big of a deal. And from what she could tell, it hadn’t been; Charlie hadn’t said so much as a peep. Which meant she was being a big fat hypocrite.

A very naked, slightly cold, incredibly freaked-out hypocrite.

“No, that’s okay,” she assured him. “You just caught me by surprise.”

From her thorough reconnaissance, she deduced she had three options: the shower curtain, the fingertip towel, or the bath mat. Gnawing on her lip, she inched closer to the door. “I’m almost ready to go. Just, uh, need to get dressed.”