“Is what possible?” Roman asked.
She shook her head, then swallowed hard. “Not a thing. Is this about the panty thief?”
Roman nodded. “It’s about your merchandise.” He leaned against the wall beside her.
“Which items?” Rick hadn’t given her specifics on his last visit.
Roman coughed once and flushed before answering. “Ladies’ panties.”
Charlotte grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned, there is a subject that can make a Chandler man blush.”
“This guy’s apparently got a fetish of some sort,” Roman said.
A fetish for panties. She shook her head wryly, then Roman’s words sank in. “You said this guy’s got a fetish. Why assume it’s a man? Do the police think it’s a man?”
“You’ll have to talk to Rick about that.”
She nodded, giving the matter more thought. “You do realize only a woman could wear the stolen property—without anyone noticing. Unless, of course, he’s a poorly endowed man.” She met his amused gaze and caught him laughing.
“Behave yourself, Charlotte.”
His grin filled her with warmth and her stomach churned with awareness. “So what brand of panties? I sell dozens.”
“Again, Rick’s got the details, but he mentioned the crocheted ones in the window. He said they’re handmade?”
By her. Her garments were exclusive, fashionable, personal, and not meant to become an object of obsession or ridicule for a perverted man. She had her reasons for pursuing the hobby that had become a staple in her business. But Charlotte couldn’t imagine divulging personal secrets with Roman when distance seemed the safest route. Not when the details connected to those garments would lead to an emotional minefield.
Crocheting provided a window to her soul and discussion would reveal her deepest pain and disappointment. Because along with knitting, Charlotte had learned to crochet from her mother. They were skills Annie had developed as a means of escape, after Charlotte’s fame-seeking father had abandoned them when Charlotte was nine. Hollywood was waiting, he’d said one morning, and walked out, only to return at disparate intervals. His revolving-door habit had become a pattern in her life. It was a pattern Charlotte had always feared falling into with Roman, so strong was the magnetic pull he exerted over her.
He cleared his throat and Charlotte blinked. “I know the brand,” she said at last. “What can I do to help the police?”
“For now Rick just wants you more informed. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with what he needs.”
She nodded. As silence reigned, she sought a neutral topic. “How’s your mother?”
His features softened. “Hanging in. She’s allowed one activity outside the house a day, then she comes home to rest and keep off her feet. I feel better having seen her myself. Chase’s phone call scared me to death.”
Her heart reached out to him, the desire to help him past his fear and pain strong and overwhelming. But she couldn’t afford to connect with him any deeper than she already had. “When did you get into town?” she asked.
“Early Saturday morning.”
And Raina had been rushed to Emergency late Friday night. Charlotte admired Roman’s fierce protective streak, one shared by all the brothers when it came to their beloved mother. Though a part of her longed for him to turn that caring her way, she knew even if he did, it couldn’t last.
He exhaled, then strode toward her. Powerful and sure, he came up beside her. Her heart beat more rapidly in her chest, her pulse picking up rhythm. His body heat encompassed her, along with a rush of warmth and emotion that surpassed mere desire. The man had hidden depths and an innate goodness that came with his family name. He could give her everything she desired except forever, she thought sadly.
He reached out and tipped up her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Be careful. Let’s face it, Rick can’t say for certain whether this is a freak incident or if a someone more unhinged is at large.”
A chill raced through her. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll make sure you are.” His husky voice was filled with the caring she’d desired and a lump rose to fill her throat.
“One last thing,” he said. “Rick wants to keep all this quiet. The cops don’t need a panicked town or rumors of a panty thief spreading like wildfire.”
“As if you can control gossip around here.” She pursed her lips. “But word won’t come from me.”
She escorted him to the door, torn by the desire to have him stay and the logical need to see him gone. He held her gaze one last time, then let the door shut behind him. Charlotte’s palms were damp, her pulse was racing—and the panty thief wasn’t the reason.
Heading back to the lavender panties she’d left on the counter, Charlotte recounted reality in her mind. There couldn’t be two more different people on the face of the planet than she and Roman. He thrived on transience and challenge, she needed permanence and the comfort of routine. Even her brief stint in New York, as exciting as it had been, had been necessitated by fashion school and apprenticeship. She’d returned to Yorkshire Falls as soon as possible. Roman made it his life’s goal to stay away.
She hadn’t let a relationship begin between them once before because his excitement at leaving Yorkshire Falls behind had convinced her he’d hurt her in the end. Nothing he’d done in his life since had convinced her he’d changed. She gripped the panties, wishing with all her heart things between them could be different but accepting reality as only someone who lived it could.
Then and now, her sole consolation lay in the fact that she had no choice. She’d done the right thing. She didn’t want to repeat her mother’s life, living in limbo until a man returned and deigned to give her attention on his terms, only to disappear again.
She couldn’t afford to admit to the sexual feelings Roman inspired inside her or acknowledge the truth hidden deep in her heart—that both his daring persona and impermanent lifestyle
