Charlie's Angel Read Free Page A

never again be incarcerated by the trappings of wealth and greed.
    * * * *
    Boldly, Charlie watched Roxie as she set the iced tea on the table at his right hand.
    “There you go,” she said brightly, averting her gaze. “Have you decided what you’ll eat?”
    He heard the cultured tone in her words, and wondered who she really was. She had the graceful bearing of a woman who’d been raised in society. Unlike himself, he thought morosely. He’d had to scrounge for every penny in his youth. Nothing had been handed to him for free. He’d had to work hard for it. Familiar resentment built up again, and he quelled it with some difficulty.
    And who was to say that Roxie came from a wealthy background?
    All the signs are there, Charlie. The elegant bearing, the straight face, the curvaceous, man-killer body—Wait a minute. Her body isn’t a product of wealth and prestige. I have Roxie pegged all wrong. That’s all.
    However, the uneasy feeling in his gut remained.
    He pondered the subject of food while Roxie waited and he sipped at his iced tea, which was sweet, the way he liked it—delectable like Roxie. Should he ask her out, on a whim? What if he was wrong, and she was one of those gold diggers who ripped off rich men’s bank accounts and whitewashed their self-esteem? His gaze traveled to her waist, up her chest then to her face and the much too innocent eyes.
    This time, there was a hint of distrust in their blue depths. His mind had detoured from her question. What did he want to eat? Charlie caught sight of the ‘Wildcat’ burger. He hadn’t a clue if he’d like it or even what it was, but he barked, “The Wildcat. With fries.”
    A wildcat in bed, please.
    He imagined what it would be like to fit his cock between the warmth of her thighs, and impossibly, his hard-on became larger, more rigid and more painful. If only the buzzing in his head would stop and his heart would quit pounding so loudly that he swore Roxie could hear it slamming against his chest.
    The wariness in her eyes was abruptly replaced by amusement. “Is that really what you want? A wildcat?” Her lips, so smooth and utterly kissable, curled in a thin smile.
    She had him there. Roxie probably guessed that, if he could have, he’d have given a much different order. One for hot, sweaty sex, and plenty of it.
    He blinked and, uncharacteristically, faltered. What would he reply? His hands, now clenched together in his lap, were clammy. The toughest trial had never left his thoughts frozen, his mind helplessly and searching for the right thing to say. He wanted to raise his hand, to slowly pull out the pins from her honey blonde hair and watch as it cascaded over her shoulders in a silky mass. He’d bury his nose in her fragrant, heady scent.
    Charlie sucked in a deep breath. Man, but he was in bad shape.
    “Table twenty up!” the cook yelled out.
    “That’s my order,” Roxie said, throwing a nervous glance toward the counter where food steamed on a plate. “Should I put the wildcat down for you?”
    Charlie had never been a man to run, but today, faced by a woman who shouldn’t have appealed to him the way she did, with her sexy lips and curvaceous body, his self-control ebbed to about minus seven on the Richter scale. He had to flee, and that wasn’t his normal mode of operation either. “Wrap that up for takeout.”
    “Sure,” she replied in a husky whisper.
    Before she turned and raced for the plate, he caught the flicker of wry gaiety in her eyes. Her rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the floor.
    He bent to search for his cell phone and the messages that would distract him from a candy pink uniform and the gorgeous looker wearing it to sexy perfection.
    * * * *
    At table twenty was the heavyset guy a few booths down from Charles Vernon. Roxie cringed at the mere thought of going near the nondescript, pasty man again. He hadn’t touched her, even when he boarded the same bus as she had back in Maine. There was something about