She caught her breath at the blunt rejection. He grabbed his robe from the floor, stood, and pulled it on. "Go back to your room." Walking to the attached bathroom, Charlie shut the door with a finality that shattered something inside her.
Christine choked back tears. He wanted her, damn it. She'd seen it, felt it. How could she talk to him when he had closed more than the door between them? Anger tore through her pride. Christine heard the shower as she walked away. He'd rather resort to the age old method of quenching desire than be with her? "I hope to hell the water is ice cold. I ought to go turn off the hot tap."
The clock read nearly five, not as early as she'd thought but still apparently too late. Christine dressed and cursed under her breath as she struggled with the sling. The damn thing came off next week, not soon enough. Charlie could fly back to Hawaii and go his merry way. No, he could book his flight today; she'd even make the arrangements for him. Searching through the closet, she found a pair of flats and slid them on. Why did he stay anyway? She didn't need his help or his damn rejections. The sooner he left, the sooner she could fall completely apart then put herself back together. She stopped by the kitchen to switch on the coffee maker and then gathered purse and keys. She could handle this all on her own.
***
The damn cold pounded over his body and made Charlie grit his teeth, his body still raging, pulsing, and demanding hers. He could feel Christine's skin and see her beautiful dark eyes as she shifted to join their bodies. He moaned. This didn't help, recalling how she felt, her scent, her touch, or the unbearable pain in her face when he pushed her away. But damn it, what else could he do? She had been physically hurt because he'd failed to protect her again, abused in this very house minutes after he left for a stupid jog. Charlie wanted to break the bastard in half, needed to slam his head into a wall the way he had Christine's. But Charlie hadn't been there.
"Don't touch me! You bastard, you killed my baby, you killed me! I hate you!" Charlie heard those words over and over. Monica never forgave him; how could she? He didn't protect her or their child. He loved and felt more connected to Christine than he'd ever been to Monica. Charlie muttered curse after curse. He couldn't stay under this same roof without wanting her and neither could she apparently. But what if he touched Christine and all she could see or feel reminded her of the attacker?
"God, what a tangle." Charlie couldn't stay, but he couldn't leave Christine alone and vulnerable to attack again. She'd been through so much. She was the most giving person he knew. He had failed her and didn't protect her. How could she forgive him?
Charlie turned off the water and dried his skin. He had to make some sort of amends, explain why, if he could, to Christine. The first touches of dawn were breaking through the blinds, a new day, a new start, already scented with coffee. He'd make breakfast, those waffles she liked so much, and they would talk, return to the friends they once were. Always friends, if nothing else. Charlie tugged on a shirt and sighed.
"I can't promise to never disappoint you. I can't always protect you. But God help me, I'll always love you. So friendship is the only way." He tugged on jeans, smoothed back his wet hair, and chuckled. Yeah, right, friends. When he recalled the feel of her skin or the way she smiled, his damn dick rose, stiff and ready. "Who am I fooling? I don't want to just be friends. I want a life with you in my arms. Pure and simple and damned complicated." What the hell were they going to do?
Pasting a smile on his face, Charlie strolled into the kitchen. "So, how about some breakfast?" His words echoed in the empty room. He moved past the table where they'd made love, where he felt completion as their bodies joined. He wanted, needed, more memories if they could somehow find a way past the attack, his guilt, and their different worlds. He walked down the hall and knocked on her closed door. No answer. Christine would draw deep back inside like a turtle in a shell, but she would never sulk. Asleep, maybe? Charlie eased the door open and glanced around the empty room. "Where are you?" He searched the house and yard, his heart racing, until he opened the garage. She left her own house, drove with a sling, just to get away from him, yet she made coffee before she left. What the hell had he done?
His cell rang. Charlie grabbed it from his pocket and cursed as he saw the number. "Hello, Peg."
"What in hell are you doing?" Her voice harsh and angry, Peg wasted no time with greetings.
Charlie walked back to the kitchen and poured a deep mug of coffee. "I'm having coffee. Awful early for you there, isn't it?"
"Damn it, Charlie. I'm not in Hawaii anymore." Peg sighed, and he imagined her shoving at her black framed glasses. "It's all over the board and dozens of the offices. Do you realize what you've done?"