Page 24

“Alessandra.”

“Wrong again.” As if the Cheld would willingly sit in the same room, let alone confide in him.

“Good guess, then.” Both her eyes had popped open now, and she was gazing at him in a way that made him want to pull over and kiss her. Or maybe not bother pulling over.

“Something like that.”

In truth, Torr had spent plenty of time in South Carolina. Enough to be familiar with both the culture and the accent. He thought of one particularly pleasant stay in Charleston and wondered if the Cocktail Club was still there.

Likely not.

“Why are you being so nice?” she asked, still looking at him with open interest, as if he were a specimen she was at least willing to inspect.

“I’m always nice,” he quipped.

“No. You’re not.” She sat up straighter. “You’re always so quick with your smart-ass answers. But you don’t have to do that, you know. I like this Torr much better.”

He liked this Charlotte much better too, but Torr didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing that.

“I think you have me confused with Lawrence,” he said, returning his gaze to the road.

“The nice brother.”

“Exactly.”

“I see.”

Maybe she did, a bit too much. While Torr was used to getting attention, he wasn’t used to being seen in quite this way. And so he fell silent—a more comfortable, albeit lonelier, place that he retreated to when discomfited.

Still, the truth throbbed within him: if she didn’t want a pithy retort, he had nothing to offer.

They rode the rest of the way back without speaking until Torr realized he didn’t know where they were going.

“What’s your address?” he asked as they drove along the river that ran parallel to the train tracks that led downtown.

“Go to The Creamery and make a left. It’s two blocks off Main.”

On Saturday nights, Main Street in Stone Haven was usually packed with cars and pedestrians, but it was late, and most of the tourists had already gone back to Stone Haven Inn or whatever bed-and-breakfast they were staying at for the night. A few stragglers coming from Murphy’s Pub or one of the other local bars stumbled around, but otherwise, the streets were silent.

“There,” Charlotte said as she pointed to a brownstone. There was no place to park, typical even a few blocks off Main Street, so Torr double-parked instead. He walked her to the front steps, then handed off her purse.

“Oh, right. Thanks. I do that a lot.”

He tried not to smile. “Noir Nights?”

Cocking her head to the side, exasperated, she said, “No, leave my purse behind.”

“Pity.”

Her lips parted, an invitation.

One he longed to take, no matter how different they were. He knew without a doubt her lips would taste as sweet as they looked, and the memory of her body pressed against him . . . his hands itched thinking of the curves he’d explored.

But there would be hell to pay. Lawrence. Toni. Besides which, he wasn’t staying in Stone Haven—or anywhere, if he could help it—so it would lead nowhere good.

Well, maybe a little good.

It was one last consideration that stayed his lips. If he did kiss Charlotte Harris, he wanted to be sure she remembered every minute of it.

“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he said, ignoring the pull that nearly moved his feet in the wrong direction, back to her.

“Goodnight, Torr.”

He made it to the car before he turned to look at her.

She was gone.