Harriet was doubled over laughing at my tirade, paint smeared shirt flapping in the night breeze. Through the cackle of her laughter, I heard a clanking sound coming from the iron gate. What the hell? I stumbled out of my chair toward the narrow corridor and saw a large form blocking the light from the street lamp.
“Who is it and what the hell do you want?” I yelled in the direction of the gate, still coming off my rant.
“It’s Simon. And I thought I’d made it pretty clear I wanted you. I’ll even put out, with or without the secrets.”
Fuck. My face heated. I hadn’t tried to keep my outburst quiet, but I had no idea that I’d been so loud. Maybe there was a chance… “I was that loud?” I asked Harriet, hoping I’d misheard him.
“I’m pretty sure they could hear you a block away, dear.”
“Shit.”
“Who’s out there?” Harriet asked me.
“A friend,” I replied as I stalked down the corridor to the gate, mumbling to myself. “The sneaky, manipulative guy who won’t put out.”
“I already said I would, babe.”
Fuck. He heard that too?
“Yeah,” Simon replied, smile spreading across his face. Dammit. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“I’m too drunk to deal with you,” I said.
“Let me in, Charlie. I missed you today.”
I melted against the wall of the narrow passageway, soaking up his words—the exact ones I’d needed to hear. I twisted the lock, and Simon swung the gate open and shut it behind him. He crowded me against the wall and cupped my face with both hands. I barely registered his intent before he bent to kiss me. Not a chaste peck this time. An all-consuming, devastating, soul-stealing kiss. I clung to his shoulders as he slid one hand down to cup my ass and pull me closer.
“Well now,” Harriet interrupted. “Seems you might have to retract your complaints, dear.”
Simon’s head jerked up, and I fell against him. He tucked me into his side and held out a hand to Harriet.
“Simon Duchesne, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Harriet clasped Simon’s hand with her paint-smudged one. “Likewise. I’m Harriet Sullivan. And I believe this is my cue to head back inside. Charlotte, darling, I’m happy to keep an eye on Huckleberry tonight if you decide to stay upstairs. I’ll even let him out in the morning.”
I sucked in a breath. I wasn’t drunk enough to miss the fact that Harriet had just called me by my real name. Simon stiffened. He hadn’t missed it either.
“Umm … thanks. Good night, Harriet.”
She shuffled away, and we didn’t speak until we heard the back door close.
“I like Charlotte, but I think Charlie suits you better.” In the dark corridor, I couldn’t make out Simon’s expression, but he didn’t sound angry. My drunken self needed to know conclusively.
“Are you mad?”
He pulled away, and I wondered if that was his answer. Maybe he’d leave and I’d never see him again. My heart clenched at the thought. If he couldn’t handle something small like this, then I guess it was better to know now. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he led me out of the narrow passageway into the garden oasis and swung me up in his arms.
“Do you have the keys for your place?”
“It’s unlocked.”
He grumbled at that and carried me up the spiral staircase. I buried my head in the crook of his neck and held on tight, praying he wouldn’t drop me. “I got you, babe. Don’t worry.”
He pushed open the door and flipped on the light before carrying me directly into my bedroom and setting me on the bed. He switched on my bedside lamp, and I finally saw his face clearly.
My head was fuzzy from the champagne, but he really didn’t look angry. He looked … thoughtful? Maybe? Dammit. Why did I drink so much?
He reached a hand back and tugged his shirt over his head. I drank in his tanned skin and rippling muscles. He truly was a beautiful man. He kicked off his shoes and knelt at my feet to pull off my Chucks without untying the laces. It was a staggering realization to my champagne-soaked brain that he might have noticed I never untied them. What other details about me had he noticed that no one else would? I was crazy to think he’d never find out the truth. I never should’ve let it get this far. But how could I stop myself? He was so … perfectly imperfect, and I wanted all of him. For every second I could steal.
He reached for his belt and paused. “I’m staying tonight.” It wasn’t a question.
“Okay.” I reached for the hem of my shirt and started to drag it upward. He reached out, covering my hand with his to stop me.
“But if you take that off, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from having you.”
“Good.” I yanked at his grip, trying to get the shirt off.
He squeezed my hand. “No. Not tonight. The first time we’re together, you’re going to be stone cold sober, because I want you to remember every single thing I do to you.”
My insides turned hot and liquid. A pulse thrummed between my legs. “You already told me you’d put out. No take backs. It’s not fair.”
He leaned down and brushed his five o’clock shadow against my cheek before saying into my ear, “Tough shit.”
He pulled back, and I stuck out my lip and pouted. Simon caught it between his teeth and tugged before releasing it. “So fucking tempting. You have no idea.” He spun and looked at my bureau. “Pajama pants? And I know you own them. I distinctly recall a striptease that involved a pair.”