скачать книгу бесплатно
Flashbulbs had been popping all night, but suddenly they were in her face, blinding her. Only for a moment, though, then they were gone, like a swarm of locusts with cameras. They’d done their job, however, and kept her from leaping into Charlie’s arms.
It was the most diabolical torture. Give her all her dreams with one hand, steal her desire with the other. Rinse. Repeat.
“So, we discussed that you’ll be meeting Sveta on Thursday, right? That you’re off the hook for tomorrow?”
“Yep,” she said, switching gears.
“You should sleep. You’ll need it.”
“I have to go make frozen lunches tomorrow night. Rebecca’s going to be there.”
“If I know her, she’ll keep you up later than I have. The woman is a slave to details.”
Before she hit the sack, she’d go through the pictures she’d taken. Those images were what she needed to focus on, not Charlie. Not his scent, not the resonance of his voice, not this wanting to be close to him.
By the time the series was finished, she’d be over her silly crush. Dammit, she would be.
9 (#ulink_4717fb7c-7132-54ce-a4ee-a96ba959d4f1)
“TASTE THIS AND TELL ME if you think it needs more salt.” Rebecca stood back so that Lilly could try the soup.
She obliged and faked a cough.
“Funny.” After elbowing her aside, Rebecca saw her cousin standing at the door of the St. Mark’s basement kitchen. He wasn’t looking at her, or, she imagined, for her. His gaze was on Bree.
Laughter still clung to the steam that swirled over the industrial stove. Rebecca was making a giant pot of split pea soup, Lilly was cooking a Texas chili and even with those pots and the 350° oven, the basement remained chilly. It wouldn’t be for long, though, not if what she thought was going to happen happened.
It was difficult to look away from Charlie. He was as unguarded as she’d ever seen him. As an adult, at least. There was a keen awareness in his eyes, a concentration that spoke of a hunger that had nothing to do with pea soup.
One of his hands braced against the door frame, the other held papers. He looked elegant in his bespoke coat: dark navy, midcalf, styled perfectly. How Charlie it was.
The man knew what looked good on him, what he could get away with, and what would cause eyebrows to raise. Nothing was unintentional. Not online, in person, in a walk to the corner grocer. Seeing him blatantly wanting Bree was seeing him naked. Not that she had any personal experience with that, but she’d been with Charlie in family situations, private moments of grief, in trouble, in failure, in success, and this was new.
Rebecca grinned at her own brilliance. She was awesome. She’d known he would like Bree. And Bree would like him, but even Rebecca at her most conniving hadn’t guessed they would have come so far so fast.
She’d have high-fived herself if she could have, for being just that clever. No one in the family believed Charlie would ever fall. He’d always have women, but never one woman. Not Charlie. His merry-go-round hadn’t stopped spinning since puberty, and he got bored so quickly. Nothing could have suited her cousin quite as perfectly as this age of instant gratification. Charlie was born for it, breathed it, worked it. Everything lightning fast, and rest was for the weak and dull.
Bree wasn’t dull in the least.
Rebecca turned to her friend. They’d played phone tag all day, then arrived at the kitchen as Lilly had come in, so all Rebecca knew was that Bree had gone with Charlie to a big fancy party last night, a heck of a second date, and she’d written a firsthand account of the party that had been in this morning’s blog.
If that wasn’t testimony to Rebecca’s genius, she didn’t know what was.
Things got really interesting when Bree shifted and sighted the man standing in the doorway.
If only the door had been closer to the prep area. It was difficult to know where to look. Bree now was a living demonstration of Modern Woman In Full Lust Mode. Her back straightened, her breath caught, showing off her chest in the most positive light possible. The thrift-store cashmere sweater she wore cupped her boobs perfectly, and Rebecca knew Charlie was having a little heart attack at the view.
Then there was the flush that swept across Bree’s cheeks. Good lord, it couldn’t have been more artfully painted by Renoir. Her eyes got wide and her lips parted and her pheromones were positively dripping.
The only sounds were the slow gurgle of thick simmering from the stove, the hiss of the radiator. Even Lilly, who’d come tonight for the company and the after-cooking drinks, had caught on that Something Was Happening.
Rebecca turned to Charlie again, and he’d dropped his hand, taking a single step inside the kitchen. He seemed to be fighting a smile. It would start to form at the corners of his lips, then flatten, but a second later the grin would start again.
Back to Bree, and it was like the slowest tennis match ever, the invisible ball staying well within the boundaries, the lobs back and forth languid and electric at the same time.
Rebecca’s soup would burn in a minute if she didn’t stir the pot. “Charlie,” she said. “What’s up?”
Rebecca almost laughed at how he jerked at her voice. And when she glanced at Bree, the blush had spread over her cheeks and down her neck, and there was a great deal of blinking.
“I came to show Bree her blog.” He held up the papers as if proof had been required.
“Kind of hard for her to see it across the room.”
Charlie’s grin finally broke free as did his legs. He came inside, crossed the basement to Bree.
“That’s Charlie Winslow,” Lilly whispered, and Rebecca hadn’t heard her approach. Luckily, no one saw Rebecca jump because everybody’s gaze was on center stage. Even Lilly’s.
“Yes, it is.”
“Why is Charlie Winslow in the kitchen? With Bree?”
“Because she’s seeing him.”
“What?”
The word came out loud. Very loud. Loud enough that it halted the action.
Lilly smiled, gave a little wave. “Lilly Denton. Hey.”
“Charlie Winslow,” Charlie said. “Hey.”
The moment passed. Rebecca dragged Lilly to the stove, Charlie went back to mooning at Bree.
“She’s seeing him?” Lilly asked, her voice back down to a stage whisper. “Since when?”
“Not long.”
“How do you know this?”
“Obviously you don’t read his blog.”
“I do, but I’ve been too busy the past few days.” Lilly sneaked another peek. “That’ll teach me for putting work first.”
“Okay, it’s not because of his blog, I know because Charlie’s my cousin, and your chili is burning.”
Both of them took up spoons, the industrial-size ones, and stirred like the witches in Macbeth. “Seriously, what the hell?” Lilly said.
“I set them up.”
Lilly, who was something of a mystery to Rebecca, a friend in the making, but guarded, so very guarded, opened her mouth, then must have reconsidered. She did, however, step closer to Rebecca. “Explain. In detail, please. And remember, I have a large spoon in my hand, and I swear to God I’ll use it if you keep being cryptic.”
“I don’t usually set people up,” Rebecca replied. “Especially not Charlie because he’s got hot-and-cold running women in his life, but he and Bree … they fit.”
“Before the trading cards? During? Because if Charlie Winslow was a trading card then I want my money back.”
“You didn’t pay for anything.”
“Rebecca.”
“Right. He wasn’t a card. Technically.”
“I’ve been out with two trading cards. The first one was a wonderful guy, as long as you were willing to put up with his ardent love for his mother. The second guy’s card said he wanted a relationship, but his actions were completely one-night stand.”
“I know. My dates haven’t been life shattering, either, although I hear Paulie met someone fantastic, and that Tess’s one-night stand has turned into three.”
“Which still doesn’t explain Charlie Winslow,” Lilly said, frowning.
“It’s complicated, and we’ll discuss it more when we go for drinks, but if I’m talking to you, my eavesdropping sucks, so let’s keep stirring and shut the hell up.”
CHARLIE SWALLOWED, WONDERING for the fiftieth time what he was doing in the basement of a church kitchen fumbling around like a teenager on his first date. Bree was reading the blog pages he’d printed out, and she was kind enough not to mention that he hadn’t needed to come see her or print out the pages as the blog would be online first thing in the morning.
He’d asked her to do a little bio piece and tomorrow morning it would run. She’d already given a tease—her first sidebar about the Chelsea Piers party—and it could have ended right there. But blog hits had been up, and she’d gotten more than seven hundred comments on her column. Very encouraging.
So he’d moved forward. Tomorrow morning there would be more pictures of Bree, some from college days, one from here in New York in casual wear. He hoped it would start a dialogue.
His gaze went to Rebecca, whom he caught in mid-smirk, and he touched Bree’s arm, interrupting her reading. “I’ll be back in a few.”
She nodded, and he went over to Rebecca. He smiled at her friend, then turned to his cousin. “A minute? Outside?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she put down her spoon and walked with him to the door. Once they were outside, she shivered at the cold, but didn’t go back for her coat. “You can thank me now,” she said. “And later. I accept gifts, too. The more expensive the better.”
“We’re not dating.”
“I read NNY, you dope,” she said.
“You read what I write on NNY. And evidently you haven’t spoken to your friend since yesterday before lunch.”
“That’s true. We’re going out after the meals are in the freezer.”
As Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets, she grimaced. The bastard should have given her his coat. “Why did you set me up with her?” he asked.
“Why did you bring me out here to freeze to death?”
He rolled his eyes dramatically and took off his coat with a sigh that would have done a Broadway diva proud.
She curled herself into the heavy wool coat, the lining as luxurious as the tailoring. “Because she’s your type.”
“No, she’s not. She’s not vaguely my type. Do you even know me?”
“Yeah. I do. And those skeletons you go out with every night are a joke. I imagine you can count the ones you actually like on one hand.”
“It doesn’t matter if I like them.”
“You happen to be one of the only relatives I can stomach,” she said, “but Charlie, it’s time for you to move on. You’re what, thirty-two?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Over thirty. You’ve spent your entire working life giving your parents and our family the finger. It’s enough. You need to start living for you, and stop giving them all the power.”
He stared at her with his great big eyes, mouth open, as if the cold itself couldn’t penetrate his shock. “What the fuck are you talking about, Rebecca?”
“Naked New York. Your blog. Not the others, not the legit blogs. Yours. The one that runs every aspect of your life. If you want to call it a life.”
“I’m raking in millions.”
“You already had millions. Look, I have to get back to the cooking. Do what you have to do, but think about it, okay? What it would be like if your evenings were full of things you actually wanted to do? If you went out with people you actually liked?”
“You’re insane. The Winslow foundation has driven you around the bend.”
“Yeah, well, maybe. Oh, and remember. Don’t screw with Bree, Charlie. She may want to play in the fashion big league, but she’s a really decent person. She’s not used to people like us. Tread lightly.”
“I told you. We’re not dating.”
“The way you two look at each other? I give it three days. Four at the most.”
“It’s freezing, and I’m not listening to you anymore.” He brushed past her, and she followed, wondering how such a smart, smart man could be such an idiot.
BREE LOOKED UP FROM the blog page as Charlie came toward her. He looked cold, and she saw why as Rebecca followed him. He’d offered his cousin his coat. Another nice thing, but not in the same league as what she had been reading. “You hardly changed anything,” Bree said, when he stood in front of her.
“I didn’t need to. You wrote a great piece.”
“Wow.” She flipped through the few pages, stopped at her New York picture. “Why didn’t you say anything about my hair?”
“What?”
“It’s all … wrong.”
“You look gorgeous,” he said. “It was difficult to choose which picture to use. Each one was great.”
Okay, there was nice, and too nice.
Her suspicion must have shown because he touched her arm, making her look into his eyes. “I’m telling the truth.”
She didn’t speak for a while. Not that she didn’t have a lot to say, but it sounded mushy in her head, inappropriate for what they were now. There were questions, too, about why he’d come in person, what it meant, and why on earth did she keep imagining longing in his gaze when longing couldn’t be possible? “I have food in the oven,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, staring at her, waiting for …?
“After we put everything in containers and in the freezer, we’re going for drinks.”
