She smiled at him as his lips covered hers…
*****
Charlotte blinked against the bright, stinging morning rays. Stiff and sore, she
rose up on her elbows. Her living room came into a fuzzy sort of focus, clear in the
middle but a bit blurred around the edges. Nothing out of place, the area didn’t seem to
be lived in. Hell, maybe she should just call it a front room.
Yeah, that fit.
She slowly slid her legs to the sofa’s edge, sitting up fully as she did so. Groaning
at the flare of agony in her back and shoulders, she gritted her teeth. Her neck burned
too, and her head throbbed in complaint. Maybe leaving the hospital early wasn’t the
best idea. She felt like she’d been in a car wreck.
Oh wait! She had.
Smirking at her own internal jokes, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on
her knees.
The only part of her that felt good rested between her legs. The throbbing there
felt fantastic. She savored the memory of her dream. Talk about a dream man. Easily
over six feet tall, almond shaped eyes, smooth ivory skin and above all that fall of jet
black, arrow straight hair. Yummy. There, on the coffee table next to her bottle of big
white pills was a card. She reached for the business card. Her business card, with a handwritten telephone number on the back—and a name. His name. That name. The
one that even now made her button ping.
Ichigo Isamu.
One of her hands wrapped around the hard plastic bottle, and the other around
the cardstock. Peering at the number, she took a deep, steadying breath. Why had he
given her his number? The only wording beneath his number were three words—Call
me, soon.
She picked up her cell phone. What the hell?
It was that kind of thinking that had landed her with a lifetime of losers.
Charlotte paused. The accident came after she and the last idiot ended things, like some
jacked up plot in a novel. Let the mistress get hers. She sighed, thinking back on the
horny dream she’d had of Ichigo. Wrecked, her body didn’t want to move from the
sofa, but she had to get mobile. The accident had to be karma’s boomerang. Her tally
would soon be measured and if her deeds of love were found wanting, then she’d be
hurt all over again—the boomerang’s return. The foolish found her incredibly hopeful.
But this guy, a paramedic.
A handsome, articulate, and damn fine paramedic. Would he be as demanding as
he’d been in her dream? Would he be as vocal? Would he smack her pussy and make
her world explode in ecstasy? Hell, would he smell as good as she remembered? Would
he eat her out as heartily as her fantasy version?
Hell, she had to know. The questioning only succeeded in making her clit throb
at the memory and her thighs to become glazed in anticipation of his cock. Her fingers flipped the card over and over again in her hands.
She was due some good luck. Maybe this one was it.
Her curiosity ate up her logic and her better judgment.
The phone rang and someone answered on the third ring.
“Hello?” the hint of an accent disappeared before she even was sure she heard it.
“May I speak to Mr. Isamu?” she asked, sitting up straighter as though he could
see her slouchy posture.
“Yes.”
The timbre raked heat all over her. If he were a salesman, she would buy 10 of
whatever he sold.
“This is Charlotte,” she breathed into the phone. The urge to purr tickled her
throat. She wiped her hands on her legs while the other hand held the pill bottle tight.
“Yes?” he repeated and she thought she heard the briefest chortle.
Frowning, Charlotte looked at the phone, read the number, and then put it back
to her ear. She didn’t know him, but he acted like he hadn’t expected her to call him.
“I, uh, got your number. You left it for me at the ER, so I wanted to know why
you wanted me to call you.” Well duh. Of course he knew he gave her the number.
How else would she be able to call him?
“I need you to meet with me.”
“Why?”
“I will be at Sushi Republic on Tate Street at two tomorrow afternoon. See you
there.” “But, wait, what do you--”
The call had ended.
She stared at the phone with a frown on her face, but a deep throb between her
thighs.
Chapter Four
The Next Day
At two in the afternoon, the absence of murmurs and the buzzing around the bar
and the slow lull of the post-lunch rush wrapped Ichigo and Charlotte in the soft hush
of the warm heated air. Dark ebony tables covered in ivory tablecloths sat coupled with
chocolate leather booths and chestnut wood chairs. Throughout the compacted space,
innocent ivories, bold scarlets, and vibrant verdant abound from framed art to napkins,
to chopsticks. Light music sounded strangely like the same one that played at the
Chinese place over on High Point Road, but still, the singer had a great voice. Not as
delightful as the woman in front of Ichigo.
Not even close.
“What do you want?” Charlotte asked, her voice betraying just a hint of irritation
mixed with curiosity. Her body conveyed more to him than her words. Her arms folded
defensively across the swell of the luscious curve of her breasts. The continued tapping
of her foot against the slick tile of the sushi restaurant, told Ichigo that he’d better start
talking before she bolted out the double doors.
“You called me,” he said, smirking outright at her little tantrum. He couldn’t
help but smile at her. Charlotte again, had begun to put on the spunk she’d shown at
the accident site. She wouldn’t just walk out, not right away. Once he told her what he
wanted, she might, but for now her curiosity held her fast to her seat. He had to admit it. Her being angry made his stomach tighten and stirred his hunger—not the eating
kind either.
To put it simply, she was stunning and stirring when angry. Those pools of
chocolate brown eyes intensified so much so he wanted to kiss each of her eyelids.
“Just tell me why you left your telephone number on one of my business cards,”
she quipped, re-crossing her legs and sighing loudly. “I’m here.”
Yes, as if her very presence meant that all had to kowtow to her will. Damn.
“I know, 王女.”
Her bangs brought attention to her eyes, and the slight pout of her mouth made
other parts of his body take notice. She wore jeans and a peach turtleneck sweater that
highlighted the gold undertones of her glowing skin, making him want to lick her,
nibble across her neck, her ears and her full, fabulous lips.
“What did you just call me?” she snapped.
“Princess.”
She glowered at him.
“What is it you want?”
“Are you currently employed?”
“Why?”
Her shoulders stiffened. She sat up straighter, and her eyes narrowed. With a
small groan, she closed her eyes and opened them slowly, as if her eyelids weighed two
tons. “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching for her hand across the table. A drop of
fear blossomed in his chest. “It’s been three days since the accident, I didn’t know…”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s too soon to
be 100%, Charlotte,” he said sternly. “Some injuries like
whiplash and hairline fractures don’t show up at first.”
“Everything hurts, all right?” she barked, her hand so casually lying on the dark
surface, balled into a fist. “You happy?”
“No,” he answered, a bit surprised she’d think he wanted her to be in pain. The
anger she directed at him wasn’t really meant for him, but at the pain. “I’m a
paramedic, remember? I don’t want you in pain.”
She rubbed her neck and winced.
“Didn’t they give you a pain reliever?”
“Yeah,” she confessed softly. With her eyes closed, she added, “But, they’re
prescription strength and I…” she trailed off.
“Don’t want to become addicted,” he finished for her. Brave soul because the
rear end collision to her car and the seatbelt whiplash probably left her in a great deal of
agony.
“Yeah,” she said, opening her eyes and sighing. “So, what do you want?”
“Are you employed? Yes or no?” he said, leaning back in the chair.
“No,” she said. “The economy is terrible.”
He figured as much. The business card in her purse had frayed edges and
seemed a bit worse for wear. Maybe she got that a year ago, or something, but still, the fact that she wasn’t working did surprise him. It fell in his favor because he needed her,
but it bothered him too. He didn’t like the image of her struggling or needing money or
anything. Not his princess.
Listen to him. His. Hell, she wasn’t even his employee and he was already way
ahead of himself.
Again that fierce urge to protect her shot through him and he had to make
himself unclench his fists beneath the table. Charlotte shouldn’t have to need for
anything. Ever.
She made things low in his body tighten and tingle.
“It is,” he agreed, trying to keep the heat out of his words. He flashed a smile,
and the wrinkle of worry across her face eased.
“What did you do for employment?” He already knew, but wanted to hear it
from her firsthand. He didn’t want to assume anything.
“Teach,” she said, and her face brightened like a full moon in an inky black sky.
“Elementary.”
“One of the safest jobs in this economy. They don’t fire teachers, cops, or
firefighters,” he said, and sipped his water. His throat had gone dry.
“Normally, yes, but the school district just cut about 200 jobs, mine included,”
she said.
No longer irritated or angry, she stared off in the direction of the sushi chef’s U
shaped heaven. There, he worked on the delight of uncooked fish. Ichigo had arrived at
one and had already eaten a spicy California roll, some eel, and few other items, before Charlotte arrived. Now, only his water with lemon remained in front of him. Charlotte
hadn’t ordered anything. Not even water.
“I want to offer you a job.”
Her arched eyebrow rose in question and she gave him an intense single up and
down sweep of her eyes. “What kinda job?”
The image popped into his head. Charlotte in a French maid uniform, dusting
his, uh, house, and then, he burst out laughing.
“Oh, what’s funny?” she snapped, her defenses back up, arms unfolded but now
leaning on the dark chestnut table. “Are you some kinda of freak stalker?”
“You called me, remember, princess?”
“Just tell me about the job.”
“Well, I need to ask you a few questions first.”
She shrugged. “Like an interview.”
He nodded, distracted by the flow of curls that fell to her shoulders. Even in the
low lights, the curls’ highlights reflected illumination in her strands.
“Fire away,” she said, and folded her hands together.
“What age group did you work with?”
“Elementary school age children from six to ten years old.”
Good. Kanon was right around the age she worked with.
“Which do you prefer?”
“Excuse me?” she balked. “Is that about my sexuality? What kind of job is this?” Shit! She still thought this was some strange sex recruitment. Where was her
head?
Probably right in the gutter with his.
“No, no,” he said, a chortle escaping. “I was referring to the age group of
children. Which do you prefer to teach?”
“The little ones are darlings, but I think probably six to eight are the most
precious to me,” she said, her warm eyes took on that faraway look but this time they
showed a joy. She liked teaching and she missed it. Whoever fired her had made a
grave error. Not that it mattered now. It was his gain.
Perfect.
“My daughter is five years old,” Ichigo explained. “I would like to--”
“You have a daughter?”
“Yes, she’s five, and I need a nanny,” he said, blowing out a puff-mixed sigh. “I
work nights, and I need someone to care for her while I’m working. I don’t just want
anyone.”
Charlotte swallowed.
“A nanny? Me?”
He could almost see her wheels turning.
“I want you.”
“Do you now?” she asked coyly, again a hint of a smile graced her sensual
mouth.
Yeah, he did. “Yes,” he croaked around the desire lodged in his throat. “I do.”
Manhandling her wouldn’t do. Charlotte deserved better and he’d give it to her. A regal
lady, a princess, he had to be a gentleman and stop thinking of how badly he wanted to
make love to her. He had to reign himself back in because scaring her off wouldn’t get
him any closer to either of his goals: finding a good nanny for Kanon, and making
Charlotte his—permanently.
He tried again to ease her nervousness, though her teasing conveyed he wasn’t
the only one struggling to keep it light and professional.
“You won’t have to live with me,” he began, fear making his belly burn. “I mean,
you are welcome to spend the night.”
She looked at him then, and gave him that arched eyebrow questioning
expression that meant she didn’t believe him, or worse, she did.
“Uh, so, are you interested?” he asked, and instantly groaned. That too sounded
like a pick up line. Fuck. He couldn’t get any of it right. Tongue-tied and perspiring like
some teenage boy at a nude beach, he couldn’t believe the fucking effect she had on
him.
“Ichigo,” she said, now laughing at him. “I believe you’re more handsome with
that soft blush on your cheeks.”
“Thank you.”
He cleared his throat and sipped more water. Damn, was it hot in here or what?
“So, uh, are you interested in the job?” She wrinkled her nose and he smiled instantly. The beautiful slope of her nose
crinkled in thought. She drummed her fingers on the table, her polished fingernails
clicking against the glossy surface.
“Let me hear the specifics,” she said shrewdly. “And after that, I’m going to ask
some questions of my own.”
“Fair,” he said. “The days are Sunday through Friday. It rotates on a five-day
basis. So, sometimes I work Sunday through Thursday, and other weeks, I work
Monday through Friday. You will arrive at my house at 5pm and stay
with Kanon until
I come back home around 2am. You are to fix her a dinner at or around 6pm. You are to
help her to bed, which is at 8pm.”
“Pay?”
“What do you make on a monthly basis as a teacher?”
“You can’t pay me what a school district pays,” she snorted in disbelief.
“You dont know what I can and cannot do, Miss Neal,” he replied, and let the
heat of his desire course through those words. Hell, he had to release some of it or
explode, and while climbing over the table and shoving his tongue into her curvy
mouth sounded like a good plan, it would probably land him in prison. So, he allowed
himself ten seconds of delight in thinking about what he’d do to her and with her. He’d
never wanted a woman as much as he wanted the one seated across from him.
And he had no idea why.
It reminded him of sharks. Her scent, her fury, her smile, her laugh, the way her
nose did that thing when she was thinking, and the way her chin jutted up when she was irritated or mad had seized his self control from his grasp and into her small hands.
He couldn’t think straight.
Sometimes, love just knocks you down, right on your ass, and Ichigo, it’s usually when
you’re not looking, as his sister’s husband had told him long ago when he married
Ichigo’s sister. Ichigo laughed at him because really, who would love his ice queen of a
sister?
“I don’t,” Charlotte said stiffly, and hitched up her chin. “I don’t think I’m a
good fit for you, mister, uh…”
“Isamu,” he finished for her, his eyes narrowing. What she said didn’t mean she
actually believed it. He could see her nipples like stone points peaking through her silk
blouse, begging for his mouth, his fingertips, his tongue. The thickness of her arousal
meshed with the odor of fresh fish, soy sauce, and Saki. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her
forehead, and they spoke to the fact that he wasn’t the only one feeling the heat
between them.
He leaned across the table, nearly close enough to kiss her. She reared back
further out of his reach, but he could see her lick her lips. She wanted his kiss, she just
fought it down. Sensible.
“I think you’re going to be perfect for the job,” he said slowly, letting his voice
rumble across her face. “I am willing to pay what you made as a teacher.”
“You, you don’t know how much that is,” she panted out, wiping her forehead.