Playing Her Cards Right. Jo Leigh
a swarm of locusts with cameras. They’d done their job, however, and kept her from leaping into Charlie’s arms.
It was the most diabolical torture. Give her all her dreams with one hand, steal her desire with the other. Rinse. Repeat.
“So, we discussed that you’ll be meeting Sveta on Thursday, right? That you’re off the hook for tomorrow?”
“Yep,” she said, switching gears.
“You should sleep. You’ll need it.”
“I have to go make frozen lunches tomorrow night. Rebecca’s going to be there.”
“If I know her, she’ll keep you up later than I have. The woman is a slave to details.”
Before she hit the sack, she’d go through the pictures she’d taken. Those images were what she needed to focus on, not Charlie. Not his scent, not the resonance of his voice, not this wanting to be close to him.
By the time the series was finished, she’d be over her silly crush. Dammit, she would be.
“TASTE THIS AND TELL ME if you think it needs more salt.” Rebecca stood back so that Lilly could try the soup.
She obliged and faked a cough.
“Funny.” After elbowing her aside, Rebecca saw her cousin standing at the door of the St. Mark’s basement kitchen. He wasn’t looking at her, or, she imagined, for her. His gaze was on Bree.
Laughter still clung to the steam that swirled over the industrial stove. Rebecca was making a giant pot of split pea soup, Lilly was cooking a Texas chili and even with those pots and the 350° oven, the basement remained chilly. It wouldn’t be for long, though, not if what she thought was going to happen happened.
It was difficult to look away from Charlie. He was as unguarded as she’d ever seen him. As an adult, at least. There was a keen awareness in his eyes, a concentration that spoke of a hunger that had nothing to do with pea soup.
One of his hands braced against the door frame, the other held papers. He looked elegant in his bespoke coat: dark navy, midcalf, styled perfectly. How Charlie it was.
The man knew what looked good on him, what he could get away with, and what would cause eyebrows to raise. Nothing was unintentional. Not online, in person, in a walk to the corner grocer. Seeing him blatantly wanting Bree was seeing him naked. Not that she had any personal experience with that, but she’d been with Charlie in family situations, private moments of grief, in trouble, in failure, in success, and this was new.
Rebecca grinned at her own brilliance. She was awesome. She’d known he would like Bree. And Bree would like him, but even Rebecca at her most conniving hadn’t guessed they would have come so far so fast.
She’d have high-fived herself if she could have, for being just that clever. No one in the family believed Charlie would ever fall. He’d always have women, but never one woman. Not Charlie. His merry-go-round hadn’t stopped spinning since puberty, and he got bored so quickly. Nothing could have suited her cousin quite as perfectly as this age of instant gratification. Charlie was born for it, breathed it, worked it. Everything lightning fast, and rest was for the weak and dull.
Bree wasn’t dull in the least.
Rebecca turned to her friend. They’d played phone tag all day, then arrived at the kitchen as Lilly had come in, so all Rebecca knew was that Bree had gone with Charlie to a big fancy party last night, a heck of a second date, and she’d written a firsthand account of the party that had been in this morning’s blog.
If that wasn’t testimony to Rebecca’s genius, she didn’t know what was.
Things got really interesting when Bree shifted and sighted the man standing in the doorway.
If only the door had been closer to the prep area. It was difficult to know where to look. Bree now was a living demonstration of Modern Woman In Full Lust Mode. Her back straightened, her breath caught, showing off her chest in the most positive light possible. The thrift-store cashmere sweater she wore cupped her boobs perfectly, and Rebecca knew Charlie was having a little heart attack at the view.
Then there was the flush that swept across Bree’s cheeks. Good lord, it couldn’t have been more artfully painted by Renoir. Her eyes got wide and her lips parted and her pheromones were positively dripping.
The only sounds were the slow gurgle of thick simmering from the stove, the hiss of the radiator. Even Lilly, who’d come tonight for the company and the after-cooking drinks, had caught on that Something Was Happening.
Rebecca turned to Charlie again, and he’d dropped his hand, taking a single step inside the kitchen. He seemed to be fighting a smile. It would start to form at the corners of his lips, then flatten, but a second later the grin would start again.
Back to Bree, and it was like the slowest tennis match ever, the invisible ball staying well within the boundaries, the lobs back and forth languid and electric at the same time.
Rebecca’s soup would burn in a minute if she didn’t stir the pot. “Charlie,” she said. “What’s up?”
Rebecca almost laughed at how he jerked at her voice. And when she glanced at Bree, the blush had spread over her cheeks and down her neck, and there was a great deal of blinking.
“I came to show Bree her blog.” He held up the papers as if proof had been required.
“Kind of hard for her to see it across the room.”
Charlie’s grin finally broke free as did his legs. He came inside, crossed the basement to Bree.
“That’s Charlie Winslow,” Lilly whispered, and Rebecca hadn’t heard her approach. Luckily, no one saw Rebecca jump because everybody’s gaze was on center stage. Even Lilly’s.
“Yes, it is.”
“Why is Charlie Winslow in the kitchen? With Bree?”
“Because she’s seeing him.”
“What?”
The word came out loud. Very loud. Loud enough that it halted the action.
Lilly smiled, gave a little wave. “Lilly Denton. Hey.”
“Charlie Winslow,” Charlie said. “Hey.”
The moment passed. Rebecca dragged Lilly to the stove, Charlie went back to mooning at Bree.
“She’s seeing him?” Lilly asked, her voice back down to a stage whisper. “Since when?”
“Not long.”
“How do you know this?”
“Obviously you don’t read his blog.”
“I do, but I’ve been too busy the past few days.” Lilly sneaked another peek. “That’ll teach me for putting work first.”
“Okay, it’s not because of his blog, I know because Charlie’s my cousin, and your chili is burning.”
Both of them took up spoons, the industrial-size ones, and stirred like the witches in Macbeth. “Seriously, what the hell?” Lilly said.
“I set them up.”
Lilly, who was something of a mystery to Rebecca, a friend in the making, but guarded, so very guarded, opened her mouth, then must have reconsidered. She did, however, step closer to Rebecca. “Explain. In detail, please. And remember, I have a large spoon in my hand, and I swear to God I’ll use it if you keep being cryptic.”
“I don’t usually set people up,” Rebecca replied. “Especially not Charlie because he’s got hot-and-cold running women in his life, but he and Bree … they fit.”
“Before the