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She also didn’t like the butterflies that had suddenly appeared inside her, because the thing was, Charlie Samuels had no time for damn butterflies, especially when the reason for them wouldn’t be sticking around.
That little bit of lightness inside her faded just as fast at it had come because there was no way in hell this man was staying in Fisherman’s Landing. Not for long. She thought of her mother. She thought of her father’s broken heart.
No one ever did.
Chapter Three
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nbsp; About halfway through Friday night, Maverick knew that it was going to take him a hell of a lot longer to figure out Charlie Samuels than he’d first thought. The woman’s middle name could have been contradiction. Nothing about her was as it seemed. Nothing.
She was hot and then cold. In your face and then reflective.
She was quiet and then a barrel laugh would come out of nowhere. The kind that made heads turn.
She was quick to argue (he wasn’t going to lie, he kind of liked that) but conceded when she was wrong. Sure it took a bit of coaxing, but her friends Davis and Ava knew all the right buttons to push.
She was beautiful in a way he wasn’t used to. There were a lot of gorgeous women in California, especially in LA. But a lot of that beauty was manufactured and plastic. The women who moved in his circle wore the latest designer threads and only went to the ‘it’ places so that they could be seen. They came to the west coast looking for a dream that sadly turned many of them into women they no longer recognized.
He’d seen it time and time again.
But Charlie, out for a Friday night dressed in old jeans and boots and flannel, with her fresh scrubbed face, sexy-as-hell mouth, arresting eyes and hair the color of old apple cider spilling around her shoulders—well, she piqued his interest in a way he’d not felt since….
Since he’d first laid eyes on Donovan James.
And that was saying something because Donnie was one hell of a woman. The fact that they’d never gone past being friends was a good thing. Sex usually complicated relationships and working with Donovan had been complicated enough. They wrote great songs together and had learned early on that being there for each other was what they were good at. What they needed to be.
But Charlie, or rather Charlotte as he’d found out, now she made him think that things in Fisherman’s Landing could get interesting. And maybe he shouldn’t be thinking along those lines—it’s not as if he was sticking around or anything—but they were adults and if he was right, there was something between them. And for the first time in a long time he was excited at the thought of pursuing a woman.
Being a Simon alone made him interesting to most of the women that he met, but this one here, she had no idea who he was. There was something refreshing about that.
Damn straight, Maverick thought as he scrubbed at the foggy mirror in the bathroom, he was looking forward to figuring out what exactly it was that made Charlie Samuels tick.
It’s why he’d invited her to his brother’s place to take a look at the rusted out Shelby Mustang in the barn. The idea had come to him, somewhere between the basket of chicken wings they’d devoured (he also liked a woman who had an appetite and wasn’t afraid to show it) and the jug of beer they’d ordered up.
He glanced up at the clock set precariously on the shelf above the toilet. He had about twenty minutes until she was due to arrive and if he didn’t get a move on---
It was just then that the doorbell sounded, and with a curse he tossed the towel aside and strode into his bedroom. He grabbed a pair of jeans from the edge of his bed.
“Give me a minute,” he shouted down the stairs.
He pulled them on and the doorbell went off again. Maverick zipped up and snatched a faded blue Henley out of his suitcase. Barefoot, he made his way down the stairs and across the foyer. It took more than a few seconds—the house was large and had been built in an era when big meant everything.
“Damn,” he muttered, tugging on the Henley sleeves as he yanked open the door. The darn thing was inside out.
Cold air slammed against him and he gazed down at blue eyes that were not focused on him per say—they were glued to his naked chest. Bemused, he took a moment to take in the pink cheeks and smattering of freckles across a nose that was equally pink from the cold.
“Sorry,” he said slowly. “I just got out of the shower.”
Startled eyes shot up to his and damn if something inside him didn’t tighten. He hadn’t been wrong at all. There was a connection here. His heart began to beat a little faster.
A strong connection.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, eyes dropping from his. “I’m early. I think. And I…well I wasn’t going to come but realized that I had no way of getting in touch with you.”
Another gust of wind blew snow at him and Maverick took a step back, finally winning the war with his blasted shirt. He tugged it over his head and smiled. “I’ve got to find some clean socks and grab my boots. Come on in.”
“I’ve got Connor with me if that’s all right,” she said in a rush, those clear eyes once more on him. “This was last minute and I couldn’t get hold of Mrs. Kratz and she’s the only person besides Davis who can watch him.”
