Charlie's Angels. Cheryl St.John

bathroom.

      “Holler if you need anything.” He backed out of the room and pulled the door shut, then leaned his forehead against the wood for a full minute. When water splashed, he backed away as if the door had jolted him with a high-voltage current. Sheets. He was changing the sheets now. He tucked and smoothed, found an extra clean blanket.

      Charlie saw the room as she would view it. A man’s room. Practical. Simple. He imagined her pale hair against the plain navy-blue sheets and pillowcases, her ivory skin touching the cotton… He didn’t even know her. He’d never seen her before today, but her presence was the most disturbing experience he’d had in…forever.

      He was obsessed. Enchanted. Horny, he wanted to rationalize, but that word corrupted the beauty of what he really felt when he was around her. No, she didn’t inspire lust. She inspired awe. A purity of admiration he should be laughing at himself for feeling.

      “Charlie?”

      He would change his name after she’d gone.

      Charlie stepped to the door. “Yes?”

      “I’m feeling pretty dizzy. From the hot water probably. Would you mind terribly…helping me, I mean?”

      He opened the door enough to speak to her. “You want me to come i-in there?” His voice cracked like a seventeen-year-old’s.

      “I’m afraid I’ll fall and bump my head or something. I don’t want to be any more trouble.”

      Forcing one foot in front of the other, he crossed the room. He was an adult, after all. This was his bathroom, and he could assist a person in need without slobbering all over himself.

      Good God in heaven, there was a pale pink bra dangling from the back of the chair he’d placed there for her; her jeans were folded on the seat, his sweatshirt tossed over those and a minuscule scrap of satin that might have been her underwear was on top of the whole pile….

      There were bubbles up to her midchest, thank goodness, but her pale shoulders were sleekly wet and slender. With her hair gathered on her head, her neck looked slim and vulnerable…like the rest of her.

      What exactly did cardiac arrest feel like?

      No, his heart was beating because blood throbbed in the most conspicuous place, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. He picked up one of the towels he’d left and managed to look at her.

      Her cheeks were bright pink with embarrassment. She hadn’t wanted to call on him for help. He was a complete stranger—and a man besides, and she probably felt awkward and vulnerable. Everything slipped into perspective in that second and somehow he was back in control again.

      “Can you stand by yourself? I’ll face the other way and hand you back the towel. You just hold on to my shoulder or my arm or wherever you need to keep your balance.”

      He turned around then, and behind him water sloshed. She took the towel, and then her hot moist fingers clamped on to his shoulder in a firm hold. “Okay. I’m going to sit here for a minute and dry off.”

      She used the chair behind him. Charlie stared straight ahead at the foggy mirror. Here and there a watery streak revealed a glimpse of flesh and white towel. He got light-headed, too.

      “I can’t tell you how good that felt,” she said.

      “Yeah?”

      “But now I’m so tired again.”

      “You can go to sleep. The bed’s ready.”

      “That sounds wonderful. I didn’t let the water out.”

      “I’ll do it. Do you have the robe on?” Please God, let her have the robe on.

      “Almost.”

      He’d left the door open, and the cool air was drying reflective spaces on the mirror. One of them revealed a length of spine and a swell of hip. Charlie honorably looked the other way. Then back.

      The robe fluttered the hot air of the room as she pulled it around her. “Okay. I’m ready. Just let me get my clothes.”

      Charlie turned as she was gathering her clothing, discreetly tucking the bra and panties between layers of denim. He offered his arm and she took it, leaning heavily on him for balance as he led her to his bedroom and the king-size bed with the covers turned back.

      Starla placed her things on a chair, sat on the edge of the bed and tugged the band from her hair. The platinum mass fell over the shoulders of the robe. “Thanks,” she said.

      “You’re welcome. I’ll clean up in there and leave you to your rest.”

      After he’d drained the tub and hung the towels, he passed through to find her fast asleep…the robe tossed to the foot of the bed. He’d have to buy a new one because he’d never be able to wear that one without seeing her in it.

      After he changed his name, he would buy new sheets, too—and a different bed. He would never be able to fall asleep in this one again. Not after the most beautiful woman in the universe had slept in it…bare-assed naked.

      Chapter Four

      Charlie was horny. All right? No shame in that. He might as well admit it to himself and move on. About two in the morning, he argued that lack of physical release had never been a problem before. At three-eighteen he acknowledged that, okay, Starla, the trucker from heaven, had never been in his bed—or in his head before.

      It was no wonder that when Meredith made her way to where he finally slept on the sofa, it was already almost eight o’clock.

      “Daddy, SpongeBob is on and I usually eat breakfast during Rugrats.”

      He opened his eyes and blinked. “Already?”

      She nodded. “I’m very, very hungry.”

      Charlie sat up and rubbed his scratchy jaw. “All right. Give me a minute.”

      His daughter moved up to lean against his knee. “Did the angel sleep in your bed?”

      A vision of his robe tossed to the foot of the bed flashed in his mind, and he forgot to argue the angel tag. “Uh-huh.”

      “And you sleep-ded out here in your sweatpants?”

      “Sort of.”

      “Can we have panacakes?”

      “Sure.” He got up and made a trip to the bathroom, looked out the front windows at the falling snow still piling up, then started preparations for breakfast.

      Coffee was brewing and he had mixed pancake batter from a box when Starla came out of the bedroom and approached the bar dividing the rooms. Meredith turned from where she sat perched on a stool and smiled at their visitor.

      Starla had dressed in her jeans and his sweatshirt—he’d have to get rid of it after she was gone, or he’d forever picture her slim shoulders and the fullness of her breasts beneath the worn cotton. Her feet were bare and her hair was pulled into a loose knot with Meredith’s band. “Good morning.”

      “’Morning,” Charlie and Meredith chorused.

      Her aquamarine gaze dropped to his chest.

      He hadn’t pulled on his T-shirt. “Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

      She averted her attention and took the stool beside Meredith. “I did, but I woke with a headache.”

      Immediately, he shook out a couple of capsules and placed them on the counter in front of her, then went to grab a T-shirt and pull it on.

      Meredith had the refrigerator door open when he returned. She withdrew a colorful pouch and proceeded to strip away the slim straw and pierce the juice box with it. She set the drink before Starla. “You can have one of my Mickey Mouse coolers. It’s juice and it tastes like strawberry.”

      “Why, thank you.” Starla picked up the capsules