Page 40 of Second Chances

Just as he lowered the needle to the record, a thud, followed by a yelp, alerted Henry’s attention to the back of the house. “Charlotte?”

“Damn!” Charlotte yelled, cursing her decision to make this first-floor bedroom her primary one, instead of one upstairs. Overlooking the small closet and lack of storage in the room, she’d allowed herself to be entranced by the patio on the other side of the sliding glass door, where flowering bushes—rose, hydrangea, lilac, and azalea—bloomed sporadically from spring to fall.

“Charlotte?” Henry called again, racing down the hallway before halting in the doorway of her bedroom, transfixed by this lovely woman draped in various pieces of clothing in her closet. “What on earth?” When Charlotte turned, both laughed, and her lilting chords were a siren song, drawing him in even further.

“The shelf fell,” she unnecessarily explained.

“Are you okay?” Trying to ignore the lingerie draped over the end of the bed, he made a beeline for the closet.

“Yes, just annoyed,” Charlotte moaned. “What am I going to do?”

Instinct made him reach for the shelf, but Henry hadn’t considered how the action would bring his body so close to Charlotte’s. The softness of her breasts teased his belly as he held the shelf up. He needed a diversion immediately, so he offered, “I can see that the screws just came out on this side. I have tools in my vehicle I can run out to get.”

“What do you need? I have a small toolbox in the kitchen.”

“A screwdriver for now-”

“I have one of those. I’ll go get it.” Darting under his arm, she escaped before her desire took over. Humming to the soft sounds of James Taylor, she retrieved the screwdriver and headed back to her bedroom.

As “Handy Man” played, his calloused fingertips grazed her softer ones when he took the tool from her, and he was powerless to stop a shiver. How did one touch from her, even a casual one, send him soaring?

Henry had pushed his long sleeves up, baring forearms lean with muscle and dusted with silvery hairs. As he arched to one side, stretching to align the shelf, Charlotte trembled, recalling his arm around her waist as they left the restaurant. “Can you just hold up this end?” She stepped into the closet again to help him. Reaching over her, he secured the shelf with the screws. “There, got it,” he grunted. She fanned herself with her hand. If they didn’t get out of the bedroom now, she would spontaneously combust. Whatever he was doing involved lots of screwing…and tightening; to save herself, she ducked under his elbow and out of the closet.

Henry worked quickly, still burning from the heat she emanated when she stood under him. He tried, he did his damndest, not to appreciate the curve of her hips or the full swell of her breasts, but he was a mere mortal, and Charlotte was a goddess. “Want to hand me the stuff on the floor? I can hang everything up again,” he croaked, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.

Even though keeping Henry in her bedroom for longer than necessary was a terrible idea, she picked up some coats at her feet. As she stepped forward to give them to him, she tripped, feet tangling in an oversized eternity scarf Amy had given her last year for Christmas. His heat scorched her through her dress when she collided with his firm body, and his hands grasped her shoulders. For the briefest moment, she sank against his broad chest. When was the last time a man’s touch lit her nerves on fire? His scent, like a forest after it rained, surrounded her, stirring her thirst for him. Above the top snap of his Western shirt, she glimpsed a tantalizing view of his chest, making her long to pull apart the shiny snaps lining the center, exposing the hot skin underneath in one motion. Her imagination was running wild, because ever since meeting Henry, she’d imagined the two of them, all too often, entwined on her bed. His sex appeal overwhelmed her, and she swallowed the moan making its way up her throat.

“Charlotte.” Pulling her voluptuous form closer, unable to bear another moment of not touching her, his hands trailed up her back, savoring her lush curves. Another rich brown tendril escaped from her topknot, and gently he tugged it; the mass of her hair flooding over his hands. Her hair clip thudded onto the carpet, unnoticed by either of them.

Charlotte dropped the coats in her hands so she could run them up his chest to his shirt collar, using it as leverage to bring his head down to hers. Her lips met his fiercely, savoring the minty tang from the candy they’d gotten on the way out of La Hacienda.

Henry gasped into her open mouth, stilling the back of her head with both hands to taste her more thoroughly. Quaking when she popped open his shirt snaps, he grew mindless as she dove her hands inside, stroking his chest. Calling upon every ounce of restraint he possessed, he raised his head, but Charlotte peered at him from underneath smoky eyelashes, her eyes glazed and lips moist from his, and he couldn’t move from her.

With his calloused hands holding her face, Charlotte brushed her lips over his, needing his mouth. “Charlotte, we-” he began, and she silenced him with her mouth, stroking her fingers down his chest to his stomach, where he couldn’t hide the shudder reverberating through his body.

“Henry,” she whispered. “Henry.”

His name was an incantation, but he hesitated, loath to cross a line with her, afraid she might regret anything that happened tonight. “Charlotte, you are extraordinary, and this night has been perfect.” His hands clutched her rocking hips as he fought to regain his breath. “But I’m not expecting-”

Plunging her hands into his sexy, silver-streaked hair, she stood on her tiptoes, her open mouth crashing into his until he matched her urgency with his own intensity. “Touch me,” she begged, yanking his shirt free from his jeans. Her scarlet nails scraped his back as he untied the belt of her dress. She maneuvered them to her bed, laying down as he kneeled above her.

Henry’s mouth traveled down the pale skin of her neck while his fingertips skimmed the tops of her breasts pushing over her neckline, and he groaned at her plump softness. Dipping his head, his mouth followed the same path, discovering the honeyed sweetness of her flesh. Drifting his hand lower, two fingers tangled in the hem of her dress as his thumb caressed the silky flesh of Charlotte’s inner thigh through her tights.

Her breath caught in her throat as she smoothed the line of hair from his chest to his waist. Working quickly, she unbuckled his belt, then unsnapped his jeans. “Are you sure about this, Charlotte?” She nodded furiously, certain she’d never wanted anything more in her life. Henry’s shirt hung down, curtaining them as he settled between her thighs. She shivered from his heat, his strength, his masculinity. Bracing himself on his elbows, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her before removing her glasses. “You’re so stunning.” Resting his palms on her hips, he tugged on the waistband of her tights.

Suddenly, her legs clamped together. “I’m…I’m sorry. This isn’t…I can’t…” she stuttered.

“Charlotte?” Henry pulled back. Had he unknowingly crossed a line with her?

Squeezing her eyes shut, she flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, I know I started this...”

“Whatever it is, just tell me,” he implored. “If I’ve upset you, I apologize⁠—”

“No,” she broke in, “it’s all me. It’s just…I’ve never…” Using every ounce of courage, she tried to explain. “I’ve never been with anyone but my ex, and I’m…” terrified, she silently confessed. Of everything: Henry regretting tonight, either of them waking with doubts in the morning, the town knowing about them. It was too much pressure, too soon. “I’m sorry, Henry.” Unable to bear the disappointment on his face, Charlotte shut her eyes and turned onto her side.

As he snapped his shirt, Henry knew she was right. Stopping was the only thing that made sense. They both needed time to figure everything out, and he breathed in deeply to clear his head. “It’s okay, Charlotte” Leaning down to her, Henry brushed an errant curl from her forehead, wishing her gorgeous brown eyes were open. “Good night,” he told her before making himself turn to leave. In the living room, he grabbed his coat from the sofa before looking back toward her room, hoping for one last glimpse of her.

Almost Forty Years Ago