Noah and Charlotte's story comes to a conclusion with Endless Possibility, and I thought I'd actually dust off this blog and post a final snippet for those who care to read without having it in their face on Facebook.
Enjoy!
http://amzn.to/1LlfgMo
Sometime later that morning, we finally put our clothes back
on, and Charlotte made a call to Sabina Gessler, the director of the Vienna
Touring Orchestra.
“I don’t have to be back until later this
evening,” Charlotte told me. “I want you to come with me and meet everyone
before the concert. Sabina, and Herr Steckler, and—oh! Annalie! My best friend
here. She is lovely. I told her all about you. Except that you’re blind. Funny,
that never even occurred to me. I just don’t think of you that way first.”
“Neither do I,” I said. “Not anymore.”
Charlotte gasped. “Really? Oh, Noah...” I
heard the bed creak as she stood on it and wrapped her arms around my neck. I
breathed in the perfume of her skin. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
God, this woman. I pressed a kiss between
her breasts, over her heart. That sound, her heart quickening its pulse under
my touch…the best thing I’d ever heard.
“We have one problem,” Charlotte said,
slipping her arms down around my waist. “It’s nine a.m. and I’m wearing a fancy
black velvet dress. The Walk of Shame imagery I have going on here is pretty
epic.”
“Hey, I’m in the same boat. How many
buttons did you rip off my vest?”
“Maybe one or two.”
I arched a brow in her general direction.
“Or all of them.” She giggled. “So what
do we do?”
“Let’s go back to my hotel…” I cocked my
head. “Unless this is my hotel. Is
this my hotel? Where are we?”
Charlotte laughed again, a rich sound,
and cupped my cheek. “Oh, Noah. You sound so…happy. But tired. You look tired,
honey.”
I held her hand. “I’m fine, baby. Really.
Never better, now that I’m with you.”
“You promise you’ll tell me what happened?
I mean, all of it. Your whole trip?”
I kissed her hands. “I promise. Right
now, I need a shower. Or, more specifically, I need to get you in a shower. In my hotel room.”
“You’re insatiable,” she laughed. “That
doesn’t solve my current clothing predicament. You tore my underwear to shreds,
mister.”
“In my defense, a thong isn’t really
underwear. It’s more of a torture device to drive men insane. And it worked.”
“I love how it worked,” she purred, her
lips brushing mine. “You have something for me to wear at your hotel?”
“Leave
it to me. I’ll take care of you, baby."
“Mmm.” She rested her head against my
chest. “I like the sound of that.”
