The Redemption (Charlotte Bloom Book 2) (12 page)

“How do you know where the fairy paths are?”

“You build the four posts of the house on an allotted section of land, and you leave them overnight. If the posts are still standing in the morning, you’re good to go.”

“And everyone believes this?”

“More or less. Also, if you find a four-leaf clover, you will have unlimited good luck for life, so long as you keep it hidden and you don’t tell anyone.”

“I see. So, have you ever found a fairy mound, or a four-leaf clover?”

“If I had, I wouldn’t tell you,” he said, smiling mischievously.

“I’ve heard of the four-leaf clover one, actually. My father is Irish. He always told me that if I ever found a four-leaf clover to keep it to myself.”

“You’re half-Irish?”

“Yeah. Why? Couldn’t you tell?” I pointed to my red hair and the freckles adorning my face.

“Nothing.” He smiled and looked away, thinking some unknown thought. “What are your parents like?”

I thought about that for a moment. How would others describe them?

“They’re perfectly nice people. If you met them at the grocery store, you’d think,
oh, these two are nice
. I just don’t think they should’ve been parents.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They were hippies in the late 60s and 70s, and they had me in their forties. I don’t have any siblings. I kind of took care of myself. They never really gave up the party lifestyle,” I explained. “Some of my earliest memories are of being at these parties that they would throw for their friends, and I’d be up until all hours of the night. I missed school a lot because I was tired. They were never neglectful. They were just the opposite of strict. I never had a bedtime or curfew. I wish I’d taken advantage of it,” I laughed. “Instead, I studied hard and went to college.”

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

“It’s OK. I turned out fine, right?” I gave him my biggest fake smile. We both laughed. “Like I said, they were loving parents, but they were selfish. I just hope they can be good grandparents one day. They’re finally starting to settle down.”

“So, you want kids?”

“Of course. I mean, almost a year ago, Harry and I were actively trying to get pregnant. But my situation changed. I’d be fine waiting a few years. What’s the rush?”

“I want kids. Lots of them. I want a whole litter of them.”

“Well, you are Irish.”

“What’s that have to do with having kids?” He laughed, nudging me.

“I dunno, my father and his father both had like seven siblings. Maybe it was because they were Catholic. That side of the family is from outside of Dublin though. Maybe it’s different in Northern Ireland.”

“We have Catholics here, too. My family and I aren’t. My parents were very progressive growing up. We learned about all different kinds of cultures and religions. I just want a lot of kids because I love children.”

I laughed, probably a little too loudly. Alec scowled at me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I just… if I’d known you were such a softy when I met you…” I started laughing again, thinking of brusque, booming Alec, the Alec I’d met on my first night, with messy hair and dirty clothes, wanting a litter of children… it was just ironic. “I guess I would’ve liked you more.” I shot him a defiant glare.

“Oh, you liked me just fine.” He was staring out towards the ocean now, reminiscing.

“Actually, I thought you were a jerk.” I matched his stare, looking down onto the rocks.

“You came around,” he purred, now looking at me with a tempting smolder. He was the king of smolder.

I leaned over and rested against Alec. He put an arm around me. This was so nice. The sun was high above us, and it felt amazing on my skin, especially surrounded by the cool ocean air. Alec took
Atonement
out of his jacket and began to read. This was pure bliss. I loved hearing Alec talk. He was a great storyteller.

“THE PLAY—for which Briony had designed the posters, programs and tickets, constructed the sales booth out of a folding screen tipped on its side, and lined the collection box in red crêpe paper—was written by her in a two-day tempest of composition, causing her to miss a breakfast and a lunch. When the preparations were complete, she had nothing to do but contemplate her finished draft and wait for the appearance of her cousins from the distant north. There would be time for only one day of rehearsal before her brother arrived. At some moments chilling, at others desperately sad, the play told a tale of the heart whose message, conveyed in a rhyming prologue, was that love which did not build a foundation on good sense was doomed. The reckless passion of the heroine, Arabella, for a wicked foreign count is punished by ill fortune when she contracts cholera during an impetuous dash toward a seaside town with her intended. Deserted by him and nearly everybody else, bed-bound in a garret, she discovers in herself a sense of humor. Fortune presents her a second chance in the form of an impoverished doctor—in fact, a prince in disguise who has elected to work among the needy. Healed by him, Arabella chooses judiciously this time, and is rewarded by reconciliation with her family and a wedding with the medical prince on 'a windy sunlit day in spring'.”

The sun passed above us as Alec kept reading, and eventually we laid out his jacket like a picnic blanket. It had gotten quite warm and sunny in the afternoon. I pulled my knees into my chest and faced him, resting my chin and watching him as he read. Around three, Alec stopped abruptly and looked over at me. He was about halfway through the book.

“I’m getting hungry. How about we stop at a pub somewhere on the way back home?”

“Sure! And Alec,” I said, moving towards him, “I love that you read to me. It means a lot. I just wanted you to know how much I’m enjoying this.”

“Well, I refuse to date an uneducated woman,” he joked, tossing the book at me flippantly.

“Oh, so you’re grooming me to be dating material?”

“Charlotte,” he said, moving closer. “You’re already dating material. You’re
more
than dating material, and—” he paused, his face a few inches from mine.

My heart leapt into my throat. I felt him surrendering. Being with Alec was both comforting and sensual, all at the same time. He brought me so much joy and yet, I felt my body come alive at his touch. We were friends, and we’d spent the last two days being just that.

But in those moments where he lost control for a minute, the burning inside of me would catch fire. He was simultaneously my best friend and the best lover I’d ever had. He understood me. I hardly ever had to explain anything—he just knew, instinctively. And it worked the other way around, too. Every gesture he made, every word he uttered, explained itself to me in detail. What others might’ve questioned, I understood. He was the ying to my yang. We were better together. And on top of everything he was so fucking sexy.

He moved closer, and I thought perhaps I was redeemed already. I had thought there would be many more torturous days and nights to come, but maybe he was ready to forgive me. The scenery before us lent a wonderful backdrop. It couldn’t get more romantic than this. Just as I closed my eyes and leaned forward, my body turning into mush, I felt him pull away. He was looking down. I opened my eyes and looked down, too, trying to hide my red cheeks.

“We should probably go,” Alec said, his voice husky and thick.

“Yeah.” I was looking away now, ashamed that I thought he’d forgiven me so soon. I was stupid. It was just a heated moment. I had to wait until he was ready. As I stood up, I caught Alec looking at me so intently that it startled me. Before I gave my sheer disappointment away, I turned away from him and walked back to the motorcycle.

“I’m sorry,” Alec muttered, so softly I’d hardly heard him. Turning, I faced him now.

“For what?”

“I want to kiss you, Charlotte. Every damn second of every damn day, I want to kiss you. I’m just having a hard time with it all. I still need time. I need to learn how to forgive,” he ended, digging his hands into his jean pockets and looking down. “We Irishmen are stubborn,” he said, an impish grin beginning to tug on the corners of his lips. “Besides, you know I’ll forgive you eventually, and this has been way too much fun torturing you.”

He walked over and stopped inches away from me, and my breathing halted.
Oh, fuck.

“Two can play this game, you know,” I said, my breathing starting to catch in my throat due to his proximity.

“Oh, I know. I remember your little act from yesterday when you dropped your clothes. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“Perhaps you need a little reminder?” I slowly took a step away from him, beginning to unbutton my parka. We were all alone out here. I could totally “drop trou”. Alec’s eyes were smoldering now, dark and lustful. He could have me here. And I knew he knew that.

“Charlotte, stop.” His voice was unsure.

I shook my parka off and flung it to the side.

“Charlotte,” he said brusquely, appraising me as I began to lift my sweater over my head, covering my eyes momentarily.

Before I lifted it completely off, I felt him next to me. He grabbed my wrists and my sweater fell down in place.

“I said stop. You can’t win with sex, Ms. Bloom, as tempting as it may be.”

“Fine,” I snapped, grabbing my parka and walking quickly away towards the motorcycle. All thoughts of Alec’s emotional well-being were forgotten. My libido was screaming at me and, at that moment, I felt rejected and hurt. As I waited next to the motorcycle for Alec to join me, my eyes downcast, I snuck a quick peek, and he was smiling. He was amused, laughing, and shaking his head.

Oh Alec… two can certainly play this game.

***

We stopped in at a pub for lunch, parking the motorcycle in the back. The pub was small and quaint, and I felt a stabbing in my chest thinking of Mary and Henry. I couldn’t wait until I saw them again. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them. Alec held the door open for me as we walked in, and a rush of warm air greeted us. I pulled out two stools at the bar, ordering a Guinness and a burger. Alec ordered the same, smiling at me as he handed the menu back to the bartender.

“Guinness is your favorite, huh? You order it a lot.”

“I have a thing for dark beer,” I said, flirtatiously. “What can I say?”

“Not a lot of women like Guinness,” he continued, eyeing me suspiciously.

“I’m not like other women,” I replied, suggestively.

“You need to stop doing that,” he said sternly.

“Doing what?”

“You know what you do to me,” he said, brusquely. “You know, there is such a thing as hate sex. Maybe I could punish you that way. Wham bam thank you, ma’am.”

My body exploded at his words. My mouth hung open. I could feel my heart racing, and I quickly cleared my throat, trying to think of a good comeback. I was so used to the tender-hearted, loving Alec that sometimes I forgot about the rough Alec, the one that said such crass things. I
liked
it.

“I know. Hate sex is sometimes more fun than real sex,” I purred, quietly. Alec shifted in his seat, and I could tell my words were affecting him. “It’s angry and hot, all at the same time. There’s no room for love during hate sex; just pure, animalistic fucking.”

“Maybe we should try it,” he suggested.

Before I could say anything, he got up and walked to the restroom, adjusting his pants as he went. I realized my whole body was numb with anticipation, and my nether region throbbed with longing. I uncrossed my legs just as the bartender handed me my beer. Perfect. I needed to get drunk to forget that last encounter. Either that, or go perform a solo act on myself in the bathtub later that night. That’s what Alec did to me—he brought me up so high that I would literally be shaking at the thought of having sex with him. Even if it was hate sex, the thought alone was enough to turn me into a horny, quivering fool. No one had ever had that kind of effect on me.

I sipped my beer quickly, trying to numb the growing fire in my belly.
I want him. I want him so bad.
I waited patiently, crossing and then uncrossing my legs.

He walked back to the bar briskly, avoiding my gaze. He stared at his hands, looking uncomfortable. I felt the beer starting to warm me, and I requested another. Alec looked at me, stunned.

“That was fast.”

“I was thirsty,” I answered, coldly.

“Are you OK?” He glanced up at me like the last hour hadn’t even happened. My eyes softened, and I realized I’d been acting ridiculous. I’d been acting like a teenager—sulky and irritable.
He still needs time, Charlotte.

I nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Just thinking about the book.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, since you never answered my question. Why did you come to L.A.?”

He stiffened, and I could tell it was still a sore subject.

“I wanted to see you,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. “You weren’t answering my texts or calls.”