on negatives, though. Maybe what Charlotte wanted from him was reconciliation, and maybe, just maybe she’d finally come to terms with the agreement she’d have to make in order to have that happen.
The alcohol buzzing through Sean’s system had eased somewhat the initial tumble of emotions he’d experienced upon first seeing his wife outside his door. But the sudden thought that Charlotte might want to give their marriage another chance made his heart pound and his gut clench all over again.
Such an offer from her would go a long way toward dispelling the anger and disappointment that still lingered, haunting him—
“Either my senses are deceiving me, or you have a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven.”
The sound of Charlotte’s voice, just a little too cheerful, startled Sean from his reverie. He had been standing at the counter, head bent, contemplating the whiskey and ice in the glass he held, and so hadn’t seen her approach through the doorway that connected the long living/dining room and the kitchen.
Now eyeing her as she hesitated uncertainly a few steps away from him, he wished that he’d focused more fully on the moment at hand. Remembering the past had been all good and well, but his introspection had left him far more vulnerable than he wanted to be to his wife’s considerable charms.
Gazing at Charlotte for a long, steady moment, Sean experienced the same stirring of physical desire that had caught him unawares when he’d first swept her into his arms on the front doorstep. Even dressed in baggy sweats and floppy socks, with her dark hair curling damply against her much-too-pale face, she looked sexy as hell to him.
He’d like to blame the six months of celibacy he’d endured for his response to her allure, but Sean knew there was much more to it than raging testosterone. No other woman he had ever met—no matter how poised, polished, glamorous or willing—had ever appealed to him in quite the same way that his wife did, even when she was barely pulled together.
This wasn’t the time to let her know it, though. Until he found out what she wanted from him, Sean deemed it better to mask his intimate thoughts and desires behind a cool and businesslike facade than risk being hurt by her yet again.
“Yes, there’s a muffuletta sandwich warming in the oven,” he confirmed in a polite tone of voice. “I bought it at Central Market on my way home from work.”
Having gathered his wits about him, he resisted the urge to return her slight smile. There was no sense encouraging the kind of camaraderie they would have once shared. Not if she was about to ask him for a divorce, he thought, eyeing the brown envelope she held so tightly, clutched to her chest.
“I haven’t had one of those since…since the last time we were here together,” Charlotte said, her smile turning wistful.
“Lately I’ve been buying only a half sandwich,” Sean admitted. “Otherwise I’m too tempted to eat the whole thing myself, usually in one sitting. I asked for a whole one tonight, although I’m not sure why.”
“Lucky for me you did, or you’d probably be serving me peanut butter and jelly.”
“Oh, I would have been able to produce a fairly good grilled-cheese sandwich for you,” Sean advised her, finally allowing himself the barest hint of a smile.
“Well, that’s good to know.”
Charlotte walked to the island that took the place of a kitchen table, slid onto one of the tall black enamel stools and carefully set the envelope facedown in front of her.
“The sandwich should be ready in a few minutes.” Sean turned to the counter, set aside his glass and took the carafe off the stand of the coffeemaker. “I’ll make some coffee for you, too.”
“Actually what I’d really like right now, Sean, is a little whiskey on ice,” she said, surprising him not only with her brusque tone, but also with her unapologetic air.
While Charlotte had never been a teetotaler, she had always preferred a modest glass of wine to hard liquor. Since she’d given up even wine during the two years she’d been trying to conceive, Sean hadn’t seen her drink anything stronger than club soda in quite a while.
“I have some wine—” he began, glancing back at her.
“Thanks, but I’d prefer the whiskey tonight. It will take away the chill in my bones a little faster.”
“I can turn up the thermostat if you’re cold.”
“Just give me the whiskey, Sean,” she said, suddenly sounding exasperated. “I promise I won’t get all goofy on you. One bout of hysterical laughing and crying is enough for one night, even for me.”
Sean was about to state that he hadn’t been concerned about a repeat of her earlier behavior, but he knew that he’d be lying. The more relaxed Charlotte became, the more likely she’d be ruled by her emotions.
As he’d discovered more than once already, that would then make it almost impossible for him to deal with her in a rational manner.
Trying not to appear too obvious, he took a glass from the cabinet, filled it with ice, wordlessly poured the smallest measure of whiskey possible into it, then set it in front of her.
She met his gaze with a slight arch of her eyebrows, just enough to let him know she wasn’t stupid. Then she lifted the glass to her lips and took a healthy sip without the least hint of a grimace.
For just an instant, Sean wanted to reach across the island counter, put his hands on her shoulders and—what? Shake her senseless or pull her into his arms and kiss the smirk off her lips?
He’d be damned if he knew for sure.
“Do you think our sandwich is ready yet?” she asked as he turned to fill the coffeemaker with water, a spark of humor evident in her softly teasing tone.
Our sandwich? It was his sandwich, and he damn well didn’t appreciate her proprietary air. But to say so would only reveal to her the emotional turmoil roiling in his belly.
“Why don’t you set out some plates and napkins for us while I put the coffee on?”
“Okay….”
Charlotte slipped off her stool and next thing Sean knew she was standing mere inches away from him, her arm brushing against his as she reached up to open a cabinet door. Had he realized ahead of time that asking her for a little help would put her in such close proximity to him, he would have never done it.
His intention had been to keep relative peace between them, and he’d succeeded…to a point. Busy with dishes and napkins, Charlotte was neither guzzling whiskey nor ragging his butt. Moving around the narrow confines of the kitchen, though, she arrested his senses completely, making him just as crazy, only in another kind of way.
The scent of her favorite soap and shampoo drifted all around him, a pleasant counterpart to the spicy aroma of the sandwich coming from the oven. The subtle waft of flowery fragrance had an equal ability to stir up memories of better days…and nights, as well.
And the nudge of her hip—surely accidental—reminded him of how lithe and firm her body was beneath the sweats she wore. Fragile, too, he added to himself
