Page 16 of Charlie

The song playing over the speakers changes to something slow and sweet.

"Dance with me," he says, holding out his hand, letting me decide if I want to take it or not.

"I can't dance," I protest, flashbacks from junior high filling my head. I reach out anyway, and he pulls me in, tucking me against his chest. One hand holds mine, the other spans the entire width of my waist. I can feel him through my sweater – he burns my skin like a sip of whisky. I melt into him, following his lead. He spins me out, his hand grazing the side of my breast as he pulls me back in. My heart races as he folds me into his chest, his hand pressing against my lower back, tilting my pelvis. He moves his leg between mine, not missing a single beat. A couple more steps and the pressure from his leg sets me on fire. He dips me back, his body arching over me, his breath hot against my ear. He swings me into an upright position, his face inches from mine.

I jump at the loud clapping coming from the kitchen area and take a large step away from Jack. "I'm finished, boss. Just wanted to let you know before I left." I look over Jack's shoulder to see a middle-aged man with a twinkle in his eye. He winks at me as he pulls his apron off and heads back into the kitchen.

"He would do that, the jerk." Jack smiles ruefully. He flips our stools, sets them on the bar, and then props the broom in the corner. "As much as I would love to do this all night, I have to catch the early ferry. Can I give you a ride?" He takes my bag from me, slinging it over his shoulder.

"You don't have to do that," I protest, "I'm right up the road."

"Do you really think I would be okay with you walking home alone at two in the morning? I would be up all night worrying about you." His hand is warm on my back as he guides me out the door, turning to lock up. I look around the lot for his car, but the only thing in it is a vintage motorcycle.

"Oh no," I say, shaking my head as he tosses me a helmet.

"Oh, yes." He grins, holding out his jacket, encouraging me to slip my arms in. The smell of leather and rain envelope me. I never want to take it off.

He throws one leg over the bike, pushing down a pedal with his foot. He's entirely at ease and it's easily one of the hottest things I've ever seen. Barring the last night I had with Cameron, of course. I push the memory into a box and slam the lid closed before it can escape again. The engine roars to life. "Get on!" he yells, motioning to the tiny space behind him.

Not thrilled with the idea of walking home alone either, I straddle the bike, trying my best to keep some distance between us. He looks over his shoulder and laughs, wrapping his hands around each of my legs and pulling me snugly against his back. "Don't want you falling off, now do we?" I grab his middle and squeeze my eyes shut as he pulls out of the parking spot.

"Where to, Sassenach?"

"The bookstore," I choke out. This is turning into some Jamie Fraser-type shit and I am fucking here for it.

"Of course, where else could you possibly be staying," he yells, pulling to an elegant stop and cutting the engine.

I pull off the helmet and flip my head upside down to gather my hair into an unruly bun. He watches me, leaning against the bike, one boot resting on the curb. His arms are crossed over his chest, his muscles on full display. I shrug off his jacket and drape it over the bike, scared to meet his gaze. This man is trouble. I can feel it in my bones. I stand there for a second, unsure of what to say.

"Thank you for the ride, Jack." I stick out my hand, realizing how stupid I look a second too late. He grabs my fingers and pulls me into a gentle embrace. I close my eyes and melt into him, allowing myself to live in the moment. He rests his chin on my head for a couple of seconds before burying his face in my neck, hugging me tightly. He inhales, squeezing me between his expanding chest and vice-like arms.

"Are you smelling me?" I tease, pulling back to look at him.

His answering growl lodges low in my belly. Heat floods to my center making me squeeze my thighs together. His pupils blow out wide. My knees wobble. I watch emotion war over his face until one wins and he disentangles himself from me and deposits me back onto the sidewalk.

"It was very nice to meet you, Charlotte." He raises my palm to his mouth, his facial hair a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips.

"Call me Charlie," I correct softly, squeezing my hand tight when he releases it.

"You told me your friends call you Charlie." He cups my face, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. "I have no intention of being your friend, Charlotte."

Oh fuck.

He slips the helmet over his head, flipping up the visor to wink at me before peeling out.

I gaze at the stars, wishing he hadn't left, wishing I had pulled him off his bike and up to my flat. I don't know what this is, but it feels wild and out of control – feelings I had always guarded myself against. My nerve endings are firing a mile a minute: danger, lust, excitement, a bit of panic. Maybe this is what life is supposed to be like.

It wasn't until the next morning that I realize he didn't ask me for my number.

12

Ispend the next few days figuring out my plans for Harris, simultaneously trying not to obsess over Jack and keeping Cameron stuffed in a box. I'm not successful.

Harris is a tiny island off the western coast of Scotland in a chain of islands called the Outer Hebrides. I can only find one house available for a few weeks. It looks cute online but I'm worried it's going to turn out to be a complete shit hole. I plan to rent a car on the day of the ferry departure. The thought of having to drive on the left side of the road terrifies me, but I don't see what choice I have with how remote Harris is. Plus, I am starting to feel brave enough to explore.

The night before my departure, I head back to the pub one last time. There's a woman bartending who has no clue who Jack is. I leave my number anyway, my heart heavy as I push through the door one last time.

The ferry is enormous, closer to the size of a small cruise ship. The workers direct me to my parking spot, only inches from the car in front of me. Instead of fighting everyone else for a seat inside, I head directly to the top deck and position myself at the front of the boat. The wind is wild and unrelenting. I love it. I don't go inside until I'm so cold I can barely feel my fingers. I order a coffee from the little cafe on board and find an empty seat, using the downtime to read the book I've been hanging on to since my flight from home. Before I know it, there's an announcement for everyone to head back to their cars and listen for further instructions. I let the rush die for a couple of minutes before heading to the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell, in a crush of people, there's a man that stands over the rest – tawny hair, a rugged beard, a beat-up jacket covering broad shoulders. My heart flies to my throat.

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