24. Rules Were Made to Be Broken

Chapter 24

Rules Were Made to Be Broken

At least they were on solid ground now. Charlie had been dangerously close to leaving his logic in the back seat and letting his libido run roughshod over his good intentions back in the Silver Lode's parking lot, but the snaking car ride home had helped him subdue it. Now his libido was roaring to the fore, and he was letting it shout down all the reasons why this shouldn't happen.

Thoughts colliding, he fixed his eyes on that gorgeous ass swaying up to the front door, hope dancing in his jeans that he'd soon have those globes filling his hands after removing whatever scrap of clothing covered them.

He almost laughed out loud. She'd made him work to get this far, harder than he'd ever had to work before, but instead of annoying him, the challenge fired him up, sent a thrill cascading from his scalp to his swelling cock. She wasn't like any woman he'd been with before, and he liked that about her … probably because he was a masochist .

As she inserted the key into the lock, he stood back and let reason poke holes in his baser perspective. What they were about to do was a horrible idea.

A riot broke out inside him. The ongoing debate would have been more vigorous if his body wasn't shipping its entire blood supply to his crotch.

She offered him a drink once they were locked up inside the store, which he declined. Ambling into the apartment's living area, she didn't bother turning on lights, letting the moon do the illuminating through the windows. He followed, pulled by her scent. She lowered herself onto the couch, the only piece of furniture where they could sit side by side—except the hard kitchen chairs or the bed in the room beyond with its door slightly ajar. But he was getting ahead of himself.

He shifted his weight foot to foot, part of him preparing to bolt, while the other part of him—the stronger of the two—prepared to prowl toward her and pounce.

He stood by the couch but didn't sit, keeping a healthy distance between them. Despite his efforts, her fragrance floated toward him, its invisible fingers wrapping around him, luring him in. With his pulse kicking up a notch or six, he cleared his dry throat. "I've been thinking. I'm not sure this is a good idea."

She cocked an eyebrow in response.

"I don't mix business with pleasure. Ever," he spouted like an idiot. Never mind that he'd never had a client as alluring as Joy Holiday before.

Her other eyebrow rose to meet the first one. "What do you call what we were doing on the dance floor or in the back of the car if it wasn't mixing business with pleasure?"

"A mistake." He flinched, though her expression remained even. "I don't date my clients. I don't sleep with them. That's a hard-and-fast rule." And right now, a regrettable one. "I tiptoed over that line earlier, but I shouldn't have. I can't go any farther than that." Was he trying to convince her or himself?

She reclined on the couch and stretched like a cat, raising her hands over her head. When the hem of her shirt hiked up, the moonlight cast a silver glow on an enticing slice of smooth skin he ached to taste. He'd never seen a sexier sight, and his resolve faltered.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she purred, her whiskey gaze locking on his .

He ransacked his incapacitated brain for any way out of his predicament—preferably one that landed them both naked in her bed—but he kept running up against that same wall. She was a client.

Or was she?

It hit him like a sledgehammer on a nailhead. She wasn't a client. She was his partner . Didn't that mean a different set of rules applied? Except doing the dirty with your partner was probably a worse idea.

He stepped toward her, his knees bumping the edge of the couch. She stared up at him with naked desire, exposed and so damn vulnerable it made him want to scoop her up.

His body made up his mind for him.

"What the hell?" he rasped. "Rules were made to be broken." Heart slamming against his chest wall, heat rolling through his bloodstream, he leaned over her, bracketed her body with his arms, and searched those liquid-gold eyes he wanted to submerge himself in.

"Can I kiss you?" He'd never asked a woman for permission in his life. It had been there for the taking, and he'd taken. But with her, he was filled with a reverence he couldn't wrap his brain around, causing him to hover over her with a hesitancy completely foreign to him.

She rose up partway and wrapped her fists in his shirt. "I thought you'd never ask."

Her beautiful face filled his vision, and as he was about to take her mouth, the bedroom door banged open. A man's silhouette filled the doorway.

"Joy? What's going on?"

Joy's scream rang in Charlie's ears. He leaped to his feet, his hands clenched at his sides. In that same instant, Joy swung her legs to the floor.

Someone flipped a switch, and light flooded the room. The man came into sharp view. Charlie quickly took in slicked dark hair, smooth features, and a lean build. He was … pretty. There was no other word for it. Dressed in pajama pants and a T-shirt, he looked as though he belonged there. His mouth hung open, and his surprised eyes bounced between Joy and Charlie.

Joy pulled herself to her full height, legs apart, arms crossed in a warrior stance. Charlie's instincts zeroed in on putting himself between her and the stranger, but he wasn't sure what was going on. He also wasn't sure if him protecting her was what she wanted, so he waited for her cue, his muscles taut, coiled, ready to spring.

"What in God's name are you doing here, Sterling? And how did you get in?" Her voice was a menacing growl. Obviously, she wasn't happy to see him, whoever the fuck he was. Charlie stayed rooted where he stood.

The guy—Sterling—pointed a finger at her, but he made no other threatening moves. "Your back door was unlocked, so I let myself in. As for why I'm here, it's because I was worried. You've been impossible to get a hold of." His eyes shifted back to Charlie and hardened. "Now I know why."

Oh, okay. Not so pretty when you're pissed off at seeing another dude with your … Wait. What was this dickwad to Joy?

"I've returned every one of your texts, emails, and calls," she snapped. "And let me point out that you only called once." She held up her index finger. "Once! And you left a voicemail saying you were calling to say hello and I didn't need to call you back. So I didn't!"

"Well, you should have called me back." God, this guy sounded like a bratty five-year-old. How lame can you get?

"Are you checking up on me?" she shot back, her eyes hurling daggers that would have cut the guy to pieces if they'd been real. Charlie almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "Is this a personal thing, or are you worried I won't hold up my end of the business? Which, if you'd checked with Estelle, I'm holding up just fine. I don't recall chasing you down whenever you leave on one of your ‘vacations.'"

"Is that what this is now? A vacation ? I thought you were closing out your mother's estate."

"Seriously, Sterling?"

Fuck me! Had Charlie fallen into the middle of a couple's quarrel? He perched his hands on his hips. Fortunately, his hard-on was no longer … hard. "Joy, who is this asshat?"

Sterling reached across himself and scratched his shoulder. "Joy, can we take this somewhere private?" He gave Charlie a pointed look, and Charlie returned it—with a few extra points.

Joy's shoulders slumped. Weary-eyed, she turned to Charlie. "Um, this is my business partner, Sterling Calloway." To the asshat, she said, "Sterling, this is Charlie Hunnicutt, the contractor who's working on my mother's store for me. "

"Looks like that's not all he's working on for you," Sterling scoffed.

His movements deliberate, Charlie stepped away from the couch and pulled himself to his full height, which, even from this angle, he could tell was superior to Sterling's. As he rounded the armrest, he came face-to-face with the dickhead and confirmed that Sterling was, indeed, a few inches shorter. Charlie took full advantage of the difference, his entire being bent on intimidation.

Joy turned her glare on Charlie, and he wanted to say, "Why are you looking at me that way? I didn't start this."

Her features softened, the ghost of a smile on her pretty pink lips. "Maybe we'd better call it a night? What time were you planning to start work tomorrow?" Her eyes did this weird narrowing and widening thing while simultaneously sliding Sterling's way and back. If it was a signal, Charlie was missing it.

Confused, he looked at his watch. He normally didn't work Sundays, but then her eye acrobatics clicked. "It's Sunday, so eight? If you need me here earlier—"

"No, that's perfect. I should be done taking care of business by then." The word "business" came through her clenched teeth.

"You sure you don't need me to stick around?"

She shook her head. "I'll be all right. Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No. I could use the hike back."

"I'll walk you to the door."

All of him wanted to stay. He hated leaving her with this guy, but it was her show, and he had no part to play in it.

As he was pivoting toward the store's interior and the front door beyond, he glimpsed her bowing her head, her silky hair curtaining her face. He couldn't see her expression, but her body language broadcast her distress and was all he needed to know. The other bits of confusion he'd sort later. What mattered now was that she had neither invited her pansy-ass partner to Fall River, nor had she expected him, and she was upset.

When they reached the door, he took her wrist in his hand and drew her outside. The cool night air felt good against his flushed skin. After being squeezed inside Joy's place, his lungs could finally fill themselves.

Knuckle under her chin, he tipped her head up. "Hey. Let me stay. I don't feel right about leaving you— "

"I'll be fine." She cast her eyes down for several beats before raising them back to his. Gone was the fire that had danced in them all evening, and it nearly gutted him. This wasn't right.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For not having to drive me home?" He mustered a half-smile he didn't feel.

"No, for tonight … last night. For listening and caring and for the music and the dancing. That's the closest I've felt to anyone and the most fun I've had in a long, long time."

"Anytime, princess. Now are you absolutely sure you don't want me to stay?"

Her jaw firmed. "Yes. I have a pair of balls I need to shred, and it won't be pretty. I'd rather you weren't here to watch."

He rubbed his nose against hers. "All right. You're the boss. Now go get 'em."

A flame came to life in her orbs, and his shoulders eased. "You know I will. I got this."

Right. Joy Holiday is in control, folks. Get out of the way.

"If you need me, I'm here." He kissed her lips softly, unsure if he should, unsure if he had a right, but she didn't fight it.

Apparently, the asshat had followed them because Charlie could hear the guy's voice just inside the door when Joy went back inside.

"What in God's name are you wearing, Joy? A denim mini skirt? Cowboy boots? What are you, a cowgirl now, after just two weeks? And what happened to your nails? And your figure? You look like you've been piling on the pounds. Good thing I'm here to get you out of this one-horse town."

Charlie's blood rose to a rolling boil. He did not like this guy. He took one stalking step but stopped when he heard Joy snarl, "Shut up, Sterling." The door slammed behind her.

As Charlie took reluctant steps away from the shop, he reassured himself Joy could handle herself against a douche canoe like Sterling . Just like with Cully, Charlie's money was on her. She had this. She'd said so herself.

Right?

This had to be one of the weirdest, most fucking confusing evenings of Charlie's life. It had also been one of the most stimulating. He had been sleepwalking for months, but tonight he had come to life. Energy had coursed through him like a river running with snow melt in June. Spending time with a woman he could talk to, who challenged him, had been one hell of a good time. And the fact that he could relate to her had been a revelation. Two short weeks ago, none of this was true. Life really could turn on a dime.

Yeah, the night had been great except for the way it ended—cockblocked by dickwad Sterling 's untimely appearance. What had been an enjoyable evening had been cut off at the knees long before Charlie had been ready. Had they ended up in bed, that would have been fine by him. If they hadn't ended up in bed, that would've been fine too. He just liked being around her, listening to her, making her laugh, trying to figure out what leaps her mind would take next.

He also liked lending her his shoulder to cry on, being able to bolster her. Comfort her. Yeah, he liked that a lot.

Sterling didn't look dangerous, but what if the asshole got mad and hurt her? Charlie pulled out his phone and texted her as he hoofed it home.

Charlie: I still don't feel right leaving you there with him.

It only took a few seconds for her to respond.

Joy: I'm fine.

Charlie: Where's he sleeping tonight? None of his business, but he couldn't stop himself.

Joy: No idea. Not here.

"That's my girl!" He stopped smack in the middle of a yard he was cutting through. "Wait. She's not my girl." A few kisses—even scorchingly hot ones—did not make her his. He didn't even want a full-time anyone. Did he?

"Depends on the girl," he told the inky sky.

If he did want a woman in his life on a permanent basis, Joy ticked the boxes, and that admission shocked the hell out of him. Damn, she'd added new boxes he didn't even know mattered, like the way she tussled with him for control. God, what a rush! He was finding himself growing more addicted to her sass and fire. He loved seeing the way her eyes flared when she got excited or mad. And uncovering her vulnerable center? He loved that too. Loved that it tugged at him to safeguard. He found himself wanting to be that guy, a pull he'd only ever had for the women in his life like his mother, Hailey, Neve, Dixie .

When he reached home, he was a tightly coiled cable read to whip loose. Romping with the dogs did little to release the pressure building inside him.

He plopped onto his couch and turned on the TV. Nothing caught his attention. In his office, he picked up a pair of weights and did some curls before losing interest. Exhausted yet restless, he poured himself a glass of milk and made himself a snack. Took a shower, slipped into bed, and stared at the ceiling while he replayed the evening in his head. Had Joy accused him of strutting on stage? He laughed into the darkness. She wasn't wrong. He'd strutted like a damn rooster, but he'd done it strictly for her. It was as if he'd been performing for an audience of one. Working his ass off to impress the girl.

Shit. It was possible his heart was in a heap of trouble.

Or not. He told himself he was merely intrigued because getting her to let down her guard had taken a lot more effort than he was accustomed to.

Was she letting down that guard with Sterling at this very moment?

"Knock it off, dumbass," Charlie huffed at himself. He rolled over and punched his pillow, followed by tossing and turning as his imagination conjured what might be happening at Crystal Harmony Haven.

A couple of different scenarios might be unfolding: one) Sterling fucking Calloway was trying to convince Joy to sleep with him, two) Sterling fucking Calloway was sleeping with her, three) she had thrown him out before any sleeping occurred, or four) the slimeball wasn't taking no for an answer and was manhandling her. Joy might be a tough cookie, but could she physically fight off a guy with sixty pounds on her?

Shit! Maybe she really dug the guy and was riding him at this very moment. There was a picture Charlie needed to bleach from his brain. It took him several more minutes to convince himself that no way was she swapping spit with the guy.

He shut his eyes so he could turn back the clock and relive the sight of Joy at the bar tonight. She'd been smoking hot and a completely different woman than the one tapping her foot on the sidewalk a few weeks ago. The harsh lines and hard angles had been replaced by softened features and mouthwatering curves he wanted his hands on. Everything he loved about women, and then some, had been wrapped up in her form.

When he finally settled, dreams drifted through his mind like clouds across the night sky, tormenting him with images of her in the back seat of that dark car. In one frame, she was relaxing against the door, knees primly pressed together, much as she had been hours ago. A breathless moment later, she was straddling him, that denim skirt hiked past the tops of her thighs, and nothing on underneath. She rocked against him, getting herself off, but he was paralyzed and couldn't touch. She wore a puffy winter coat, but a beat later she was topless, pressing her breasts to his chest as she moaned someone else's name.

Charlie lurched upward, a sheen of sweat slicking his body. The time glowing on his phone screen told him it was 4:11 a.m. The dogs snored softly on their beds.

There were no texts from her, no missed calls, and his mind whirred. He hadn't expected either because it had been so late, but he couldn't keep his mind from wandering into dark places. Was she all right?

In Chicago, it was 5:11 a.m. If her body clock hadn't adjusted to mountain time yet, she'd be awake or getting up soon, wouldn't she? A go-getter like her? Okay, so his reasoning was lame, but he had to know if she was okay.

He tapped out a text and waited. And waited.

You are such a dumbass. The inner admonishment could have come from himself or either of his brothers, who would relish having this kind of ammo in their arsenals whenever they fired their next "baby brother" salvo at him.

His phone pinged, startling him in his keyed-up state.

Joy: Im K .

His thumbs flew over his phone screen. You're not making sense. Is everything all right?

Joy: Fine. Sleeping now.

Sleeping? Alone? Yeah, she had to be, judging by the vibe rolling off her in waves when he'd last seen her. Right?

He paced his kitchen and living room, trying not to awaken the dogs while his rational side played tug-of-war with the caveman inside him—a caveman he was wholly unfamiliar with. His pendulum of emotions swung from one extreme to another—cool and calm to completely out of control—until he thought he might explode.

Why exactly was he letting this consume him? Insanity. Joy Holiday made him insane. She had from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on her, but the brand of craziness she whipped up inside of him had shifted since then into something altogether more profound. Before, she merely pissed him off, which left him with the ability to compartmentalize his annoyance. But now she was all he could think about, dream about, and he didn't know how to reclaim his brain. He was struggling to keep his head above water in a monster wave that let him break the surface and glimpse sanity from time to time, only to crash back down and submerge him again. He had to do something before he drowned.

He fed the dogs early, topped off their water bowls, and let them out before throwing on a T-shirt, hoodie, and a pair of jeans.

"If I'm not back in two hours, call the cops," he instructed. Unfazed, they yawned and trotted back to their beds.

He stuffed his feet into sneakers and climbed into his truck, his gut churning like a concrete mixing drum. His emotions were ready to spring. He was going to storm the castle.