Fiddles and pipes swelled, drowning out his voice as he took a second to glance around, more than impressed. Incredible workmanship, not professional, with an uneven seam in the pretty wallpaper along the entry hall and a mismatched piece of crown molding, but an impressive accomplishment for someone who knew nothing about construction and restoration a few years ago. He moved farther inside.
Beautiful female voices, Celtic Woman, her favorite group, played, and Christine sang with them about being the dawn and the sun and sky. He couldn't have said it better. God, she sounded incredible. She even sang along when the lyrics switched to Gaelic and his jaw dropped. He had no idea she spoke the language, had all these hidden talents. The music changed as the fiddle took over, and she stood, hips swaying, feet a-flurry as she danced Irish style. He discovered new things about her each time they met, and he couldn't wait to discover more.
She wore faded, stained jeans and T-shirt. He'd seen her in suits and skin—God, her skin, so smooth and creamy. He went hard watching her, remembering her warmth under him, over him, around him. The music changed to a slow song of prayer. Christine gave a breathless laugh and dropped to the floor to yank at nails. Charlie heard a muttered curse and had to grin. Only she could curse with a prayer playing in the background and make it seem like it all went together.
"I'll get you my pretty," she said in a crackly voice. "And your little dog too, who's really a big Hawaiian rat posing as a dog."
He chuckled, and her head whipped around, utter shock on her face. "Surprise." Christine's beautiful eyes widened dark with joy and then something else. God, he'd missed her. Some might say he'd made a career ending mistake being here. Charlie didn't give a damn. He wanted his best friend; he needed Christine. He walked toward her and she dropped the tool. Just when he thought she'd leap into his arms—she punched him right in the gut. He doubled over, trying to get his breath back. She packed one hell of a punch in more ways than one. God Almighty, it hurt. What the hell?
He met the blazing fire in her expression. Her hands slammed onto her hips. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"The door...knocked...opened," Charlie gasped out. He'd broken bones that hurt less. He thought she needed protection? Not this time; he pitied the fool who took her on.
Christine crossed her arms over her chest, pulling the T-shirt tight. Any other time he'd appreciate the view, but not with her in full blown temper. She had power tools and knew damned well how to use them. He finally straightened to rub his sore stomach. "So you just came on in? Nice manners there, Jerkin."
Okay, he got the anger now and didn't blame her, but still. "I detest the mangling of my name and you damn well know it. What the hell? You invited me to stop by anytime I wanted." I risked my entire career and took four days of personal leave to come here, he wanted to shout, and you're slugging me and acting like I committed some damned crime just by walking in your house.
She tossed her head, reminding him of the last time he'd seen her do it, when her body straddled his and she'd worn a wicked grin. Dirt smudged her cheek, but if he tried to wipe it away, she'd no doubt break a couple of his fingers.
"Problem? Oh, I guess it's fine you came, huh? Are you still fine as well?"
Charlie frowned. Why did she stress 'fine' as if it were a curse? "Besides being sore from your fist, I'm well and hope you are too."
"I'm just fine and dandy." She marched away, making him grin at the paint smeared on her gorgeous bottom as she bent to turn down the music volume.
He gestured to encompass the room, hoping to defuse Christine enough to talk calmly about what was irritating her. "The house looks great. You've done an excellent job."
"Yeah, it's fine. Plus, I had all this free time, a real fine thing."
Now he got it. The corporation had put her on administrative leave and did nothing but state they would monitor him. Peg now had a desk at his office even though the threat of possible jail time didn't hang over his head like Christine's. He'd be mad as hell too, especially if his replacement was some oversexed slut who knew nothing about purchasing, whose numbers never added up, and who thought outright demands for invitations to his home and bed were appropriate workplace conversations. He did everything to discourage Laci, including letting his administrative assistant filter any calls from her and place all the orders. "I wish I could explain."
Her head tossed again, messy, short, dark blonde hair flying. "Oh, don't bother. I'm sure it's all just fine anyway."
"Talk to me. Give me a clue what's wrong." Charlie spread his hands.
"Wrong? I told you I'm just fine and dandy." She waved her hands. "You haven't wanted to talk for days or even weeks, so why start now?"
He searched her eyes, hard and bright with tears. Damn, he'd hurt her. Yes, he'd kept his distance, he had to. How the hell could he not tell her what he did to help her if they chatted like normal? Now he saw the mistake. "You're angry. Why don't we have some lunch and work this out?"