He found his sweatpants just as Allie came out of the bathroom in a long blue cotton nightgown. She looked very virginal.
“Here are your sheets and things,” she said, putting them on the end of the couch. “Do you need anything else?”
Charlie clamped down on his wayward thoughts. “No. Thank you.”
“Good night.” She hesitated, and then she went into her room.
He took his sweatpants and his toothbrush into the bathroom. Don’t think about her, he told himself. He got ready for bed, concentrating on not thinking about Allie, and then he went out to the couch and made his bed, concentrating on not thinking about Allie, and then he got into his bed, concentrating on not thinking about Allie.
It wasn’t working.
ALLIE LAY IN bed and thought about Charlie.
God, he was beautiful, standing there in the living room with his shirt unbuttoned. She’d never been turned on just looking at a man before, but he was so broad and beautiful. And dangerous.
If they were on TV instead of radio, she’d make him leave his shirt unbuttoned. Women would be clawing at the set.
And then there was his mouth. Kissing like that should be illegal. Or at least licensed.
She put her hands over her face and groaned. Sleeping with Charlie would not be penicillin. Sleeping with Charlie would be cocaine. Of all the stupid ideas she’d had in her life, this was the stupidest.
Why didn’t she ever listen to Joe?
She turned over onto her side, concentrating on not thinking about Charlie.
God, he looked good. And he kissed better.
She buried her head under the pillow and tried to think about her career.
CHARLIE ROLLED OVER on the couch. Sleeping with Allie would be wrong. She was emotionally vulnerable right now. By tomorrow, she’d be relieved he hadn’t taken her up on her offer.
Of course, by tomorrow, he’d be insane with frustration.
It was that damn kiss. If she hadn’t asked for the kiss, he wouldn’t be thinking about how soft her mouth was, how soft she was all over…
He rolled over again, trying to think about the anonymous letter and how he didn’t have a clue about what a disc jockey did and how tomorrow night he’d have to do it, concentrating on everything and anything but Allie.
She was probably asleep by now, anyway.
It was thinking about her mouth that was the worst.
ALLIE SAT UP in bed and put her arms around her knees.
Not thinking about Charlie wasn’t working. She was breathless with not thinking about him. She wanted him. She physically itched for him. This wasn’t the gauzy need she’d always assumed women felt for the men they lusted after. This was unpleasant and uncomfortable and would require full body contact to satiate.
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