Flushed by Sally Felt Page A

a near-stranger in
the midst of her violated home? In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t been
crazy. But she’d since seen it through Charlie’s eyes—Charlie, whose fantasies
seemed to include sex in the store’s bedding department to hear Gina tell it.
If it could give Charlie pause, it must be shocking indeed.
    Which brought Isabelle around to wondering. “Charlie? Why
are you here?” she asked against his collar.
    He chuckled, rubbing her shoulder. “Why are any of us here?”
    “You have your backpack,” she said.
    “Oh, that.”
    “Something happen with Gina?” She pushed away from him to
sit up, and her folded-back legs told her they were going to need stretching
soon.
    “We had a fight,” Charlie said. “I was hoping to bunk here
for a little while.”
    “Of course. Well, if you still want to.” She indicated the
mess around them.
    “I called earlier,” he said. “I guess you were out. Your
cell was off. I finally just came over.”
    “Date.”
    His eyebrows went up. “With another guy?”
    “No,” she said, then realized what he’d meant. “It’s
complicated.”
    He grinned. “Didn’t look complicated from where I was
standing.”
    She smacked him again. “And where were you today when I was
calling and calling and calling?”
    “Let’s see. That would be fighting and begging and packing.”
    “Ouch. Sorry, Charlie.”
    He shrugged. “I’ll hang here, give Gina time to chill. It’ll
be fine.”
    She gave his hand a squeeze.
    Maybe tomorrow she’d have the energy to ask what he and Gina
were fighting about. But not now. Being interrupted by Charlie—being shaken
from the intense hunger Kim Martin inspired—was a rude return to the
overwhelming chaos of her evening. Every hat on the floor, every photo in a
shattered frame, accused her for forgetting.
    She felt flattened by the weight of it.
    Though now that she looked, Kim seemed to have picked up the
stuff on the floor in the dining room. She wondered where he went.
    “Kim?” she called.
    “Yes?” He leaned so his head appeared in the kitchen
doorway. The blue shirt, the blue eyes—even two rooms away, Isabelle caught her
breath at the sight of him. She’d called him drool-worthy. He was, but he’d
also been waiting in the kitchen while she had a moment with her brother.
Drool-worthy sold him short. Unfortunately, her vocabulary wasn’t up to
anything better tonight.
    While she was momentarily paralyzed by his wonderfulness, he
came into the living room, standing beside the sofa rather than make a crowd on
it.
    She turned to her brother. “Charlie? Would you please bring
me some shoes so I can see Kim out?”
    Both men looked surprised, but Charlie got up. “Fetching
your slippers, Mum,” he said and goose-stepped into her bedroom.
    Crunch, crunch, crunch.
    Isabelle winced.
    “I didn’t get this part of the house swept,” Kim said.
    Because he hadn’t wanted to spy on her, she mentally
finished for him. She reached for his hand and took just his fingers. “Thank
you,” she said. “I’m glad you were here.”
    “As am I.” He brushed her cheek with the hand she wasn’t
holding. The touch of his calloused fingertips made her shiver.
    “If y’all need a moment, can you at least let me get to the
kitchen first?” Seeing Charlie triggered a fresh rash of embarrassment that she
had been seeking comfort from Kim, the man she’d made such a point of pushing
away—but only, it seemed, until she’d needed the shelter of his arms.
    Any port in a storm.
    Liar.
    They were exceptional arms, attached to the first man ever
to weather a full-out demonstration of temper without flinching. Even her
college boyfriend would have fled as soon as she raised her voice, and she’d
once thought Daniel the love of her life.
    Charlie offered her a pair of pink terrycloth scuffs she’d
bought at a drug store on vacation years ago when desperate for something to
wear to the hotel pool. He couldn’t have made a frumpier choice if