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“Who taught you how to say all the right things?”
“My mother raised seven children. Four sons.” He pulled her in close again and rested his chin on her head. “She’s a compassionate woman, and my father was the perfect example of a man who loved his woman.”
“This won’t work,” she argued.
Another car started, but it was a few moments before Charlie realized it was creeping by them now an inch at a time.
“Everything okay?”
Charlie met his father’s eyes over the top of Tatum’s head. He nodded and said a silent prayer that his parents would mind their own business and go home. He breathed a small sigh of relief when his dad goosed the gas a bit and drove off.
“Can we talk about this?” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Will you tell me why you’re afraid to let me love you?”
“Where?” She tipped her head back to meet his eyes.
“My place.”
“You don’t want me at your place.” She shook her head. “It’ll be awkward when it’s over.”
“Come home with me, Tatum.”
22
Getting in a vehicle with him would give her way too much time to think. The rush of emotion she’d felt smother her in the alley would be long gone by the time they got to his place, wherever that might be. So, when Charlie took her hand, she tugged back to lead him down the alley.
Somehow, he seemed to understand what she needed. The same as he had when they’d been together. Rather than slamming her up against the wall, he’d taken a few minutes to concentrate solely on her pleasure. Tatum knew he’d wanted to do it, but still, he’d given her that, and now, without question, he walked with her toward her apartment.
The quiet between them was heavy but comfortable. A summer breeze tousled her hair, and music played from somewhere down the block. Tatum was torn between needing to run, to drag him to her apartment before the moment got away from her and she put up her walls again, and sending him home now.
In the elevator, he looped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close to his side. If she’d worried that he would maul her the second the door closed and they were alone, she would have been wrong. Charlie was the perfect gentleman as they rode the car up to her floor. At her door, he waited patiently for her to unlock the door.
Once inside, he caught her hand as she reached to turn the light on.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly. “You won’t talk to me if I can see you clearly.”
Again, she was surprised by how well he knew her. But she shouldn’t have been.
“You scare me,” she said again and wished immediately she could take it back. Hadn’t things with Shaun started out the same way?
Not really.
Shaun was a good guy; she didn’t hate or blame him for the way things ended. But no, things hadn’t started out this way between them. There was something different about Charlie Murphy; she’d known that from the start. Watching him interact with his brothers, with his mom, had been so telling. He was a goodhearted man.
Obviously. He made her feel safe. Or she wouldn’t have given herself, her ugly, scarred self to him the way she had that first time.
“Why do I scare you? Did I hurt you?”
Before she knew what was happening, she was in his arms again. He held her pressed to his chest, her ear to his heart.
“You see me.”
He wound his arms around her back and rested his cheek on her head.
“Who’s Sutton?”
She thought he would start with Shaun. Wouldn’t any red-blooded American male want to know who the other man was that she’d mentioned? But somehow, Charlie knew Shaun wasn’t the important part of all those words that had come gushing out of her mouth a few minutes ago in the alley.
“My little sister.”
