Three Weddings and a Murder Page 23

  Tonight, Simone’s naturally pale skin appeared all but translucent against her flaming red hair, and her full lips were colorless beneath a sparkled gloss. An emerald-green silk tunic hung loosely over prominent collarbones and scary-skinny arms. “Like any good hostess, I consulted with Drex about the guest list.”

  Anna touched her palm to her cheek and held in a sigh. Simone could’ve doubled for any of a number of pre-rehab celebrities. “And?”

  “And you’re it.” Simone’s delicate fingers jangled a charm bracelet as she spoke. Glancing at her wrist, a sentimental smile played across her lips and then faded. “You don’t truly mind our little deception do you, Anna? I’d hate to think you’re cross with me.” Worry lines emerged around Simone’s bleary eyes.

  Throwing her arms around her friend, she squeezed and noted again how thin Simone had become since Bobby was born. “Me cross? Not likely, considering you’ve got cinnamon rolls in the oven.”

  “Smells like my wife’s keeping a secret.” Nate’s good-natured baritone bellowed down the hall, growing louder and closer with every sentence. “I only get baked goods when a very expensive bomb’s about to drop on me. You been to Neiman Marcus again, babe?”

  Accompanied by the boisterous energy of an old friendship renewed, Nate and Charlie joined Anna and Simone in the open-style kitchen and family room. Although Nate was, in reality, a giant softy who adored his wife and indulged her every chance he got, he liked to toss around the clichés of an ornery, wears-the-pants husband when they were in public, because after all (as he’d once eloquently explained it to Anna), nobody wants to get his sorry ass kicked out of the man club.

  In her opinion, Nate’s worries were unfounded. It seemed quite unlikely either big Nate, a six-foot-four tower of former linebacker muscle, or Charlie, the gifted quarterback who’d led the Titans to a state championship his senior year in high school, would ever be kicked out of the Tangleheart man club. In Tangleheart, if a guy could play football, it didn’t matter if his daddy was a rich SOB like Nate’s, or a poor SOB like Charlie’s. In Tangleheart, if a guy could play football, nobody cared about the rest of his résumé.

  With a slight limp, a remnant of the blown-out knee that had ended his brief but glorious career in the pros, Nate crossed to his wife and lifted her hand to his lips. “You look beautiful tonight, babe.”

  Charlie caught Anna’s glance. “You both look beautiful tonight,” he said, causing her to place her hand on her solar plexus.

  Breathe, why don’t you, Anna?

  With just the sound of his voice, Charlie had melted her into a warm, mushy puddle—she felt like the last remaining bit of wax giving up the ghost beneath a flickering candlewick. It wasn’t fair that after more than a decade, he could just show up out of nowhere and, with merely a twirl, a corny librarian joke, and a deep-voiced compliment, stir up all her old yearnings again.

  It was like high school all over again.

  Only it wasn’t.

  Straightening her spine, she waited for her breathing to return to normal. She was no longer a lonely kid, and Charlie was no longer her older, wiser advisor. She no longer needed him to protect her, comfort her, or keep her secrets. She’d learned quite a while back to rely on herself and herself alone, and to put the truth about her mother out front and let the gossips do their worst.

  So no, it was not just like high school all over again. She no longer needed to lean upon Charlie’s broad shoulders.

  But then her gaze squared with his, and her traitorous heart thumped harder. Charlie looked as devastating as ever with his blazing blue eyes, jet-black hair…and that twice-broken nose that always made her want to reach out her hand to him—just in case he needed one to hold on to, but was too proud to ask. Noticing her hand extending now, she whipped it behind her back. “Thanks. You men look good, too…not as good as Simone and me, but good.”

  Charlie smiled, turned to Simone, and began scrutinizing her with a clinical eye that was none too polite. “I want to amend my former statement regarding how you look.”

  “You don’t think the ladies look lovely?” With a chuckle, Nate clapped Charlie on the back.

  “No. I do think they both look more than lovely. It’s only that Simone, I gotta tell you, your lips are pale and you’ve got reddish circles under your eyes. I think you may be anemic. When was the last time you saw your doctor?”

  “Well, thank you, Dr. Drexler, for your concern. As it happens, I saw my primary care physician a few days ago, and you must be a very clever doctor indeed, because I am, in fact, anemic, which is why we’re having spinach as a side dish.”

  Nate let out a groan. “But that makes three nights in a row.”

  “It won’t hurt you to get a little extra iron in your diet, too, Nate.” Simone dusted her hands as if ending the argument neatly.

  Turning to Anna and Charlie, Nate played to his audience. “I’ve had so much damned spinach lately, last night I called out ‘Oh, Olive Oyl’ when Simone and I were—”

  Simone’s eyes widened. “Nathan Henry Carlisle Junior, don’t you dare embarrass me.”

  Nate looked at Simone with a mix of adoration and fun in his eyes. “Sorry, honey. But Charlie and Anna both know where babies come from, and well, you see, we’ve got one sleeping soundly upstairs right this minute, so I think our secret’s out.” He grinned widely. “That’s right, Drex. I’m a happily married man, and I don’t care who knows it.” He turned back to Simone and stepped close. “Which is why I want to present you with a small token of my affection. Go ahead honey, reach right in my pocket and see what I’ve got for you.”

  Simone eagerly dipped her hand in her husband’s pants pocket.

  “Whoa. Not that far in my pocket.”

  Blushing, she pulled her hand out and along with it a flat black box imprinted with the Haltom’s Jewelers logo. She smoothed back her hair, smiled happily, and opened the box with a gasp, revealing a square-cut emerald surrounded by a border of pave diamonds on a gold chain.

  “Oh my goodness, Nate, you really shouldn’t have.”

  “I certainly should have. You’re the mother of my little Bobby and the love of my life aren’t you?”

  Simone’s face blanched even whiter than before.

  “What’s the matter, babe? You wear that phony emerald all the time, and I wanted you to have the real thing. But if it’s not to your taste I can always take it back.”

  “No, I…I adore it, Nate.” She reached for Nate’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re so thoughtful. I…I don’t deserve you.”

  “Are you trembling from happiness then?”

  Simone shook her head and pointed to the flat screen television, which was turned on in the family room and set to mute with captions. Anna turned her head to follow Simone’s stare and caught sight of Charlie in her peripheral vision. He’d gone as white as the anemic Simone.

  The room grew hushed as all eyes followed the caption scrolling across the television screen beneath a smiling photograph of a beautiful young woman.

  TCU student found hanged in her dorm room, an apparent suicide. Details at ten.

  Anna’s head felt fuzzy for a moment, but cleared quickly. It wasn’t her.

  Nate put his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I’ll get you a Jack on the rocks, buddy.”

  Without a word, Charlie folded down onto the family-room couch.

  Seconds ticked by.

  “Well good lord, am I the only one with balls enough to call out the elephant in the room?” Nate asked. “That woman looks a whole damn lot like Megan O’Neal. It’s like I just saw a ghost.”

  Saturday Night

  ANNA WANTED TO SHAKE Charlie. She tossed her purse onto the couch next to him and then picked it up again and slung it over her shoulder. She wasn’t staying here in his apartment—not one minute longer than the time it took to make sure he was okay. Digging her heels into the carpet, she steeled her heart and willed her feet to stay rooted to that spot, lest she give in to the nearly ov
erwhelming urge to sit beside him, stroke his cheek—comfort him. She narrowed her eyes and made her tone brisk. “So that’s it then, every time you hear about a suicide on the news you get drunk.”

  Cradling his face in his palms, he shook his head. “Of course not. It’s just tonight, you know, being home, seeing you again, and then her.”

  “Her? Who are we talking about, Charlie, because you didn’t know that girl on the television.”

  He lay back on the couch and kicked off his shoes. “I’m talking about Megan. The girl on the news reminded me of Megan.”

  Anna could hardly believe the turn the evening had taken. Upon seeing Charlie again after all these years, she’d vowed to keep her composure, and at first she’d done well, but remaining indifferent was becoming increasingly difficult. Seeing Charlie in pain made her chest ache and her throat tighten. “So you got good and drunk. That’s a super mature way to handle your emotions.”

  Right, just like lashing out at Charlie was a super mature way to handle her own .

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Then why did you ask me to drive you home?”

  “Because I’m buzzed, and I can’t afford to drink and drive, even if I’m not wasted. I won’t get behind the wheel if I’m not one hundred percent and you know that.”

  She relaxed her stance and swallowed hard. Charlie’s parents had been killed by a drunk driver—Charlie’s dad. Charlie rarely drank, so when he did it was a big deal.

  “And besides…” He aimed a sloppy version of his famous lady-killer grin at her. “…It made a good excuse to get you over here. Will you stay?”

  Wishing she’d kept her keys in hand, she started digging through her purse for them. Way too much junk in there, receipts, candy, pennies. Her hands were shaking. Charlie Drexler had just asked her to stay. How many of her teenage fantasies had revolved around that scenario? But his reaction to the evening news tonight had made it gut-wrenchingly clear that Megan’s ghost still stood between them. And if her ghost still stood between them after all this time, no doubt it always would. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach served as an anchor to reality. “Hell no.”

  “Not just no? Hell no? You were all smiles and manners earlier, and now for no apparent reason, you’ve got smoke coming out your ears. What gives?”

  She took a deep breath. It was a fair question. Without having located her keys, she allowed her purse to slide off her shoulder, nudged Charlie’s feet forward to make room for herself on the couch and sat down. “I’m not mad.”

  “That’s a flat-out lie.”

  True. “You hurt me.”

  He sat up and scooted to within inches of her. “Tonight?”

  Yes. “No.” Apparently, she was jealous of a dead woman. Nuts. That was too crackers to admit. “No, only… I can’t believe you’re still not over Megan.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that. Megan killed herself precisely because I was over her. It was my fault. At least that’s how it felt at the time.”

  She gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. All she wanted was to go home, back to the safety of not thinking about ancient history. She’d managed to slip free of the noose Charlie’d lassoed around her heart once—next time she might not be so lucky. Charlie’s eyes were downcast; his hands were fisted. Her hand burned with the need to reach out to him. She turned it palm down on her knee. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It’s taken me a lot of years and a lot of therapy to realize Megan must’ve had deeper problems. High-school sweethearts break up all the time without anyone winding up six feet under. But at the time, I didn’t understand that, and it hurt like hell to think I’d done that to Megan. I had to get away from everything—from Tangleheart—before I came apart too.”

  Well, there you had it. The explanation she’d needed from him all those years ago.

  Closure.

  Highly overrated.

  Charlie left town because he couldn’t deal with his feelings about Megan’s suicide. Perfectly understandable and what she’d figured all along. He ran away from his whole falling-down world, not from her specifically. His words should have made all the pain go away, and yet they didn’t.

  “So you understand why I had to leave?”

  She did—she always had. But it hurt like hell anyway. She said nothing.

  “Eight hours after my girlfriend is found dead, I come home to find my best friend—to find you—waiting to tell me you love me. Surely you can see how overwhelming that was for me.”

  Nodding, she reached for her purse, started rummaging again. “I never would have told you if I had known about Megan.”

  “I didn’t want to wind up hurting you, too. I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

  “You always had a choice. You just made the wrong one.”

  “You expected me to fall down on my knees and declare my undying love for you in a situation like that?”

  Ah, there was the rub. She hadn’t expected anything at all from him except to hear her. She certainly hadn’t expected to lose her best friend. “I see your side of things, Charlie. I honestly do. But try to see mine. I opened up my heart to you. I put everything on the line, and you never said a solitary word. You just turned your back and walked away without any explanation. You should have told me about Megan. I had to find out from the papers, and by then you were gone.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt anyone else. I didn’t want to hurt you, Anna.”

  “Mission so not accomplished. Tragedy strikes, and you don’t talk to me about it.” Twelve years of radio silence. “Tragedy strikes, and your response is to never speak to your best friend again.”

  “I’m speaking to her now.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. We’re not best friends anymore. Maybe we never were.”

  Placing his palms on her shoulders, he turned her body until she faced him. “If we’re not best friends, why are you the only person who knows that it was my dad who broke my nose—twice? Even Nate thinks it was a football injury.”

  Twelve years of radio silence.

  Lifting one hand from her shoulder, he traced her lips with his finger, softening her heart but not the pain. The blue blaze in his eyes smoldered into a deep pewter. The liquor, no doubt.

  She, on the other hand, hadn’t had a drop to drink, and yet her temperature had been set to slow smolder ever since they’d walked through the front door of Charlie’s apartment.

  “Please, Peaches…” As his finger continued to scald a path across her lips, he opened his knees until his thigh touched hers. Palpable heat radiated between their bodies, incinerating her fear into the white-hot ashes of unfulfilled longing.

  She’d wanted this man since the day she’d been old enough to recognize physical desire, and now, at least in this particular moment, he wanted her too. Like that faraway night when she’d told him she loved him, a blast of courage overtook reason. But whatever happened between them tonight was going to be on her terms.

  “Shut up, Charlie.” She slipped her hand under his T-shirt, and the muscles in his abdomen tightened reflexively. His skin was hot and slick, and she curled her fingers into the abundance of springy hairs beneath her palms, testing herself, unsure how far she wanted to take this.

  He groaned and then lifted his arms for her, clearly wanting more. She wanted more, too. Grasping the hem of his shirt, she yanked it over his head, tossed it aside, and let her eyes linger on the cut muscles of his chest, then drift to his jeans where his burgeoning arousal was evident.

  “I want you, Anna.”

  As her eyes lifted to meet his, her heart rose in her throat, and her pulse began to pound in her ears. Watching his face darken with need, she raised her hands from where they’d fallen on her lap and reached out to touch him, sketch the outline of his erection with her fingertips. His sharp intake of air, the long hard shape of him made her even more reckless, and she squeezed her hand around him, crossing her legs to ease the pressure buil
ding between her thighs.

  “That’s so nice.” He half spoke, half groaned. “When you first raised your hand, I thought you might slap me. But this, this is such a nice surprise.”

  Covering her hand with his, he pressed it harder over him, and then he whipped his other arm behind her back. She caught the lingering scent of whiskey on his breath as he drew her close. When he bent his head and brushed rough, wet lips over the nape of her neck, thick pleasure poured through her like honey through a comb, filling her hollow places, replacing what was empty with what was sweet.

  Instinctively, her eyes closed, and her body arched up to meet him, her control dissolving, their desire infusing the air with an unmistakable musk. Massaging his fingers into her hair, he tugged until her neck tilted back, giving him more access to her body, which was already straining to meet him. He flicked his tongue in and out of the tight space between her breasts. “I’ve missed you, Anna,” he whispered, warming her skin with his moist breath.

  A tightness in her chest warned her it was time to call a halt to this hedonistic game they were playing, lest she be drawn in to those old, powerful feelings again—but there was something she still wanted from him. Something she still needed from him.

  As he nipped his way back up her neck, her skin buzzed with delight. Speaking soft and low in her ear, he repeated those wonderful words, “I want you,” and then pressed his cheek against hers. Their noses bumped, but neither one laughed. And that’s when it happened.

  At last.

  Tenderly brushing her lips with his, he licked her mouth. Ravenous for his kiss, she opened for him, and he drove his tongue inside her mouth, stroking over hers rhythmically, with mounting urgency—showing her exactly what he wanted to do to her. His breath became her breath. His need became her need. His heartbeat became her heartbeat—as if their bodies had already joined, and yet, they were only kissing.

  Only kissing.

  She'd waited for this kiss for twelve long years.

  Twelve long years of radio silence.

  Radio silence. The phrase circled her brain like a relentless lyric she couldn’t get out of her head. Mustering all her will and all her reason, she slipped out of his grasp and rose from the couch. By the time she took a stumble-step backward, he was on his feet, coming after her.