Miss Charlotte Surrenders. Cathy Thacker Gillen
the only efficient way to measure you.” Paige frowned and gave the strings on the corset another tug. “Can you still breathe?”
“No!”
“Good, then that’s probably tight enough,” Paige decided. She stepped back to admire her handiwork as Charlotte let go of the bedpost. “You know, I think we whittled a good two inches off your waist with that corset.”
“It feels like it, too,” Charlotte grumbled. “Now loosen those strings, Paige.”
Paige propped both her manicured hands on her hips. She was dressed in street clothes, since she had already had her fitting. “Do you want to look like an authentic antebellum Southern belle or not?” Paige demanded.
“I’d rather be comfortable,” Charlotte admitted matter-of-factly. When Paige refused to help her, she reached around and tried to get at the double-knotted laces herself.
Paige slapped her hand away. “Stop that, Charlotte, and quit your complaining! I went to a great deal of trouble to find and borrow these corsets for us.”
“Maybe it would help if the person you borrowed the corsets from had been a size or two larger.” And her chemise cut a little more modestly, Charlotte thought.
Paige went to the mirror and primped, needlessly adjusting her perfectly coiffed hair. “You look fine.”
Charlotte stepped up to the mirror, next to Paige. Layers of lacy petticoat fell from her waist to just above her ankles. Her corset was wrapped snugly around her midriff, to just below her breasts. The chemise was above that. She looked ridiculous, like Scarlett O’Hara getting ready for the barbecue and ball at Twelve Oaks.
“You look wonderful,” Paige said, smiling encouragement at Charlotte.
“Primed to seduce someone, you mean,” Charlotte corrected. And with that thought, the only person who came to mind was Brett Forrest.
Just because he had kissed her once, fed her strawberries drenched in whipped cream and went out of his way to annoy her did not mean Brett was interested in her, or vice versa. Sure, there was plenty of chemistry between them, but that did not change the fact that he wasn’t her type. She liked men who knew exactly what they wanted out of life and had no qualms about going after it. Not men who napped on sofas, played at writing a thesis on farming and skulked around eavesdropping on other people’s private conversations.
As for the way she had responded to his kiss, well, that had been due to the surprise of his embrace, Charlotte told herself firmly. And the fact she hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Actually, she had never been kissed quite like that, which was another reason to stay as far away from Brett as possible.
The sound of a car broke the silence of the spring afternoon. Paige rushed to the window. “There’s the seamstress now. I’ll go down and get her.” She pointed a finger at Charlotte. “Don’t you go anywhere. And don’t unlace those stays!”
* * *
BRETT STOPPED in the doorway of Charlotte’s bedroom, stunned by what he saw. She was standing in a chemise, corset and petticoats. Her dark hair tumbled down around her shoulders in wild, tousled curls. Her breasts spilled from the lacy top in very alluring fashion.
Green eyes flashing, she whirled to face him. Blushing, she reached for a stack of midnight-blue damask curtains on the bed and held one in front of her like a shield. “What are you doing in here?”
Pretending a nonchalance he couldn’t begin to feel, Brett smiled and sauntered closer. He didn’t know what it was about this place, but it was damn near magical. And so was Charlotte. “You know, you look like you stepped right out of another time,” he said softly. Having closed the distance between them, he twined a lock of her silky hair around his fingertip.
“It’s the clothes,” she said stubbornly as their eyes met and held.
“No,” Brett disagreed wickedly. “It’s not even the lack of them, Miss Charlotte. It’s you, plain and simple.”
Charlotte shook her head at him. Hand on his chest, she pushed him away. “You’re sinful, Brett Forrest.”
Her petticoat made soft swishing noises as she glided away from him. Brett followed. “Want to find out just how much?” he taunted playfully, only half kidding.
Charlotte whirled toward him in a drift of lilac perfume. “No, thank you,” she said haughtily.
Just as he had suspected. Brett grinned, not the least bit anxious to leave. He glanced at the four tall windows that illuminated the corner bedroom. “Why did you tear all the curtains down in here?” he asked. The only thing she’d left were the translucent white sheers.
Charlotte blushed. “That is none of your business!”
Uh-huh, Brett thought, taking in her increasingly guilty expression. She was definitely up to something. What exactly, he couldn’t quite imagine. Unless she was going to stand in front of those sheer white curtains at night and drive him crazy with the silhouette of her undressing piece by piece….
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Charlotte demanded, beginning to panic as she darted around the end of the four-poster bed.
“No reason,” Brett fibbed, making absolutely no effort to erase the mischievous grin from his face as he lazily traced her path. It had been a long time since he had chased a girl at recess. It pleased him to realize he hadn’t forgotten how, because Charlotte was one delectable Southern belle who absolutely begged to be chased, even if she didn’t know it!
“Well, then, why did you come up here?” Having gotten herself stuck in a corner next to the bureau, Charlotte turned and regarded him impatiently. Tapping one ballet-slippered foot all the while, she continued to glare at him and hold the blue damask curtain to her breasts. “What do you want?”
Oh, sweetheart, if you only knew. “Just one more thing,” Brett said lazily. Ignoring Charlotte’s soft gasp of dismay, he grabbed her around the waist and, with a determined tug, brought her close so only the curtains were between them. Then he yanked the curtains from her grasp and tossed them onto the bed, so that nothing was keeping him from feeling every inch of her against every inch of him. “You know,” he speculated in a way he knew would absolutely incense her, “I bet beneath that sweet porcelain skin of yours beats a heart of fire.”
Charlotte’s emerald green eyes widened with a mixture of temper and passion Brett found unbearably exciting. She splayed her hands across his chest as he slowly lowered his lips to hers. She exerted even more force with her hands; he ignored it. “I mean it, Brett Forrest. Don’t even think it!” she warned, her thick dark eyelashes already beginning to close.
“Then I won’t think it,” he said softly. “I’ll do it.”
Her lips were hot and soft, her kiss sensual. He knew she didn’t mean to kiss him back, any more than he could help himself kissing her, and somehow that made the culmination of their desire all the sweeter. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, sweeping her mouth with his tongue, leaving not a millimeter unexplored. He had never felt anything like this in his life. Never wanted any one woman so much, never been possessed so thoroughly and so swiftly. And that was when he knew it had to end, before they both suffered the consequences. With difficulty, Brett lifted his mouth from hers. Charlotte’s mouth was damp and pink. She was gasping for breath as she slowly opened her eyes. To Brett’s further astonishment, she looked dazed and completely besotted. She was still clinging to his neck, looking like she wanted very much for him to start up the kisses again.
It was all Brett could do not to groan again. He wanted more than anything to take her over to her big four-poster bed and lie down with her on it. He couldn’t think of anything sweeter or more exciting. He wanted to feel her against him, without all these damnable layers of petticoats and clothes. He wanted to have her against him, all soft and surrendering.
But it wasn’t going to be today, not with Paige and that seamstress due back in the room