The circles beneath her eyes had become more pronounced, and her jeans hung loosely on her hips. Never in her life had Charlotte had to worry about being too thin—until now.
Wanting to be with Hawk, she hung the towel on the bar, flipped off all the switches, and headed toward the kitchen.
She heard the distinctive sound of a cork popping and made her way across the great room. Her steps slowed, and she enjoyed the view of him moving about his kitchen. His muscles bunched and flexed beneath his shirt as he reached up to open a cabinet. He was tall—a few inches over six feet—and she would be willing to bet his perfectly honed physique had not been achieved solely by going to a gym. Yet, despite his size, he moved in near-silence with an incredible fluidity, and his weight always seemed to be perfectly balanced.
Watching him move was like watching art in motion.
He grabbed a couple of stemless wineglasses, closed the cabinet, turned and caught her staring at him.
“All settled in?” He smiled and set the glasses on the peninsula.
“I am.” She moved over to join him. “That bathroom is incredible. It’s like being at a spa.”
“That was the idea.” He reached for the open bottle of wine and read the label. “I decided on Darby Red Mountain cabernet. Beck gave it to me when I accepted the job with OSI.” He filled one wineglass halfway, set the bottle down, and filled the other glass with water from the fridge door. He held her glass out to her. “Here ya go.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the glass. “You’re not joining me?”
“Normally, I would, but—”
“You have to be alert in case something happens.” Charlotte tried not to dwell too deeply on how many bad things could happen.
“Something like that, yeah.” He held her elbow and guided her across the room. “Why don’t we sit down?”
Charlotte settled in at the end of the sofa, crossed her legs on the cushion, and swirled the wine gently around in the glass. She lifted it to her nose and drew in a deep breath. Her mouth watered at the aromas of cherry, currant, cedar, and a few other things she couldn’t identify.
“I know this may seem like a strange time for this, but I’d like to make a toast.” He sat next to her, and they both raised their glasses. “I want to toast you, Charlotte, and the bravery you exhibited by coming forward.”
“Bravery?” She lowered her glass and shook her head.Not hardly.“I think you’re forgetting that my original plan was to run away and hide.”
“Andyou’reforgetting that when you discovered that list, you didn’t just ignore it and pretend like you never saw it. You cared enough to risk your own personal safety by going back to that office to dig up more information. Something I’d prefer you not do ever again, by the way.” He set his water on a coaster on the large coffee table, shifted to face her with one leg bent on the couch, and cupped his hand over her knee. “And then you gathered everything you found and brought it to Dulce, knowing she could help.” He smoothed his hand up and down her thigh. “In my book, that makes you a brave, honorable, caring person.” He grabbed his glass again and held it up. “So, my toast stands.”
She’d been living moment to moment, caught up in what she was doing. Having him spell it out that way made her realize what she’d done actually had taken courage.
“Thank you.” She clinked her glass with his, took a sip of the wine.
He lifted his water to his lips for a long swallow.
The silky flavors of the garnet wine glided over her tongue and warmed a path to her belly.
“Oh, wow. That’s really good.” Charlotte wasn’t a wine connoisseur by any means, but she’d heard how amazing the grapes from the Red Mountain region of eastern Washington were and what incredible wines they created.
“I’m glad you like it.” He set his glass on a coaster. “I’ve been waiting for just the right time to open it, and being here with you seemed perfect.”
Finally.Hawk had an amazing gift for making her feel special.
“Hawk, I’d like to explain my cryptic comment in the car—the one about not knowing who my dad is.” She took a big, bracing gulp from her glass and set it on the table next to his.
“Charlotte, you know I would love to know everything about you, but if you’d rather not—”
“No, no, I want to tell. Ineedto tell you. It’s just that … well, it’s a pretty dark story, and the one time I shared it with someone, it didn’t go well.” In hindsight, the guy she’d told had been much too immature and self-absorbed to handle such a heavy topic. “But I trust you completely.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” His thumb brushed over her thigh, making it very difficult to concentrate. “When my mom was thirteen, her stepfather, Franklin Stewart, began trafficking her to his buddies at their exclusive country club.”
There—she blew out a long breath—she’d broken the ice.
“Jesus. Charlotte.” Hawk took her hand and cradled it between his own warmer hands.
“About a year after it first started, a concerned guidance counselor called my grandmother, Evelyn Stewart.” Formerly Cavanaugh. “Apparently, a couple of my mom’s teachers noticed a dramatic change in her personality and were worried about her enough to report it. They said she went from being a bubbly, outgoing girl with a ton of friends to quiet and withdrawn, and her grades had also begun to suffer. Evelyn acted all concerned and worried, told the counselor she’d talk with my mom, and thanked her for calling.” What a phony she was.
