He grumbled against her hair. “If I’d climbed into bed with you last night, we wouldn’t have been sleepin’.”
Unsure if he understood the effect such talk had on her, Charlie blushed scarlet. “And to think, all this time, I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I like you just fine.” Voice turning molten, eyes hungry, Matthew said, “That’s the problem.”
Charlie’s face fell. “Why’s it a problem?”
Running a warm stroke down her back, he assured, “‘Cause I can’t keep my hands to myself.”
Her bashful grin sputtered back to life. Fingers toying with the fabric of his shirt, Charlie found Matthew’s regard for her virtue endearing, though ridiculous. “I never thought I’d like a man’s hands on me, but I like yours just fine.” Charlie edged closer, purring, “Are you hungry?”
Yes, he was. He was very, very hungry.
Low and husky, she added, “Maybe we should eat.”
Before he could pounce, she cooled him right down. “There’s a great café a few blocks down. Or, if you want something a bit swankier, we can take brunch downstairs. I brought your suitcase over from the Wayside and hung up a fresh shirt—”
Matthew stiffened, the scowl back with full force. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Excuse me?” Her voice darkened. “You want to repeat that?”
Rolling atop her, he trapped Charlie before she might scamper off. “Last night a man was sent to rape you, and you go wanderin’ around Chicago alone? So I ask you, have your lost your fool mind?”
Shoving at the man, she growled. “No, jackass, I haven’t lost
my mind. Whittaker is dead, his mangled corpse front-page news. Bugs looks a fool. Besides, you don’t know Chicago like I do. I understand this place and I am telling you, it is safer for me to move through the streets, dressed as a woman, than it is for a brawny out-of-towner like you.”
He caught her hands, pinning them beside her head, and made darn sure she was paying attention. “Knock that off and listen good. No matter the things you know, this ain’t no place for you.”
She’d heard the disgust in his voice and didn’t much like the way he was looking at her. “Things I know? What I know kept me and my mama alive. I’d rather know those things, have done those things, than be dead.”
Matthew was immobile both in body and expression until bravado begun to fade with each passing second he held her gaze. When all her pretense crumbled, he said what had to be said. “Charlotte, that life has done enough to you. You deserve better.”
“You say one thing, then you say another!” Charlie squirmed, wanting him off her, wanting to stand as she shouted so they would be on equal ground. But she could not budge him, growing frustrated, embarrassed and dangerously angry. “I can hardly tell if I’m coming or going with you. Half the time, you make me feel like I’ll never get it right. Then you come here... you confuse me, and kiss me. Make up your damn mind!”
There was no right thing he could say that would make her feel better, so the answer was simple. Matthew cupped her jaw, turning her red face to his, and kissed her pouty mouth.
Scared she misunderstood, she entreated, “You have to say it.”
That look, it was is if he hated and adored whatever he saw in her eyes. “You’re a fine woman, Charlotte.”
“Even though I can’t cook, or sew, or garden? Even though I have killed men? Lots of men...” There was more, Charlie spitting out her every flaw just so they were clear. “I swear, like to hunt, swim naked around Monroe. I can’t paint my fingernails for my life… and have a temper?”
Something about her tirade was just so damn cute, before he could stop himself Matthew cracked a smirk.
“Holy shit…” Eyes big as plates, Charlie, never believing in a million years she’d see the bastard smile, shut the hell up, and couldn’t help but smile back.
* * *
Pulling at Matthew’s arm, Charlie promised the world’s best tour of Chicago. Obediently, he followed where she led, and boy did she know how to tempt him. She popped his first taste of caramel corn between his lips, dragged him to a hotdog street vendor, all the while grinning like a fool. For an entire day, Charlie showed off her favorite places and some of the city’s most notorious—full of secrets only someone on the inside, someone who’d been there, might know. She whispered who’d really shot who, where, and why. Charlie knew it all.
Matthew maintained his customary silence, but listened intently. The only time he truly frowned was when they stood side by side and Charlie showed him the bridge she’d lived under when still very young. There had been such pride in her voice when she pointed, as if the mud spattered, rotting shanty had been the finest mansion.
When he’d lost his folks, it had been bad… they had starved, scrounged… but it had never been that bad. Not when they had their daddy’s old still to get them started; not when they had neighbors who’d spared what they could.
Charlie had had nothing but an infirm mother she’d only ever mentioned once—a mother she never brought up while they walked through her childhood stomping grounds.
It was there, at that bridge, he took her hand and entwined their fingers. The pretty grin on her face, it was perfect.