The Heath

Chapter 12

Charlotte waited patiently by the door just when a strong wind blew past her which caused her to wrap her coat a little more snugly around her; growing less patient by the second as the bitter cold was making her lips grey. What if Luke weren't home? she thought. Then her little rendezvous in the biting cold would be futile and she would have to make another unpleasant trip to Sam's in the cold, however short it might be. 

And dealing with a sulky and irritated Paul and arguing with him to let her go undisputed to Luke's, was something she wasn't willing to do all over again. Sometimes Paul's officious attitude really got to her. She could very well hold her own. Her father's death and her mother's illness had, aside of shaking her also instilled into her, a sense of worldliness that she had somehow lacked being a millionaire's pampered and sheltered daughter. 

Her thoughts were cut short by the falling of the Christmas wreath at her feet when the door, presumably jammed due to the snow, was jerked open followed by a waft of rich coffee fragrance. Lucas was standing in the doorway, wearing nothing spare a pair of grey coloured pyjamas faded at the knees that hung low on his thin hips, showing his happy trail.

"Like what you see princess?" said Lucas flashing her with a sexy grin.

Charlotte squirmed uncomfortably looking away. She'd been embarrassed the way she had eyeballed him so flagrantly. She mentally chastised herself for acting like a teenager and held her chin up defiantly and spoke:

" I don't think Sam will appreciate the prospect of me dying at his doorstep of a frostbite."

He let out a guffaw at that.

"Come on in honey."

"Thank you," she said stepping into the welcome warmth of the house while he closed the door behind her and to Charlotte's relief,  finally put on a sweater. The living room was spacious with a high ceiling, typical to a Victorian, with wooden flooring and the fire going in an electric fireplace. The mantelpiece was also made of filigreed wood upon which a candelabra was placed along with a few photo frames. The furniture was minimalistic but sophisticated with three leather sofas placed in a C shaped formation in front of the fireplace with a small brown ottoman kept beside the table in the centre of the room.

  Charlotte found a cosy looking bean bag just beside the fireplace; the warmest spot in the room and gladly sunk into its folds seeking some much-needed warmth. She once again looked around the house, absolutely loving the rustic feeling it gave her. She then spotted the several frames beside the window all of them having pictures of a beautiful black feline with blue eyes; some with Sam and a beautiful girl cuddling with it.

"That's Aslan," Lucas said, sensing her gaze. "Died six months back."

"Ohh. I'm sorry," said Charlotte, a little embarrassed as if she was caught trespassing. She wouldn't think of tall, burly Sam as a cat lover.

"So what brings you here princess?" That lopsided grin and mischievous tone were back.

"Luke" Charlotte said in a would be calm voice, restraining herself from snapping at him.

"Stop pursuing me Luke. Please" she implored with as much genuine angst as she had been feeling since Lucas had come to Hampstead.

"Why?" His voice low, he rose from the sofa and slowly prowled towards her never once blinking; like a leopard towards its prey.

She swallowed. Every step he took towards her made her nervous; she wasn't sure why.

"Do you not love me Lottie?" He was now crouched on his knees in front of her, grey eyes looking into brown, still not blinking.

"Tell me you don't feel for me Lottie. Tell me you don't want me." His index finger was now at her face, it's rough pad grazing her skin from her eyes down to her cheeks and then her lips.

Oh dear God

There was a time when his touch and the mere proximity to him did things to her. But now she just felt afraid. He was handsome. Oh so handsome with narrow grey eyes, tousled brown hair and the body of a quarterback. His finger was now at her throat, sliding slowly down to her chest. 

No.

This was wrong. She loved Paul. This had to stop. She got up abruptly and almost stumbled back. His hand shot out to steady her, but she took a step back holding out her palm. He looked wounded. That was the first time she had refused his advances. But he wasn't going to stop trying. He knew she loved him.

"You love me Charlotte." he said calmly, in spite of himself.

"No I don't Lucas!" it came out harsher than intended.

"I love Paul. And you cannot change my mind Lucas. Even if I didn't love Paul, you stood no chance after what you did to me. Your forceful manner scares me."

"Luke" she said a little more gently, "It makes me fear what you might do to me or Paul if I didn't comply to your whims. You've shown your knack at violence before."

Lucas just stood there, looking at Charlotte her eyebrows constricted and her eyes troubled. She rummaged through her purse for something before producing a crisp white business card with golden lettering and handed it to him. He held out his hand, not even glancing at it once as his fingers closed around the card. He was still looking at her; his expression unreadable. She had expected him to react, say something after looking at the business card. She sighed. She wanted him out of her skin, but more than that she had wanted to help him. She moved closer to him and touched his arm, in spite of herself:

"I really want to help you Luke. I'll be a friend to you if you need me." 

Still no response.

"Just think about it Luke. Talk to her. She is a family friend and the best you can get"

She waited. Waited for him to respond, and after what seemed like ages he broke the intense eye contact and glanced briefly at the business card. His expression changed from sombre to livid.

Oh no

She swallowed.

"Get out" he bellowed; the veins his neck showing.

Charlotte was scared but decided not to let it show on her face.

"Think about it Luke." 

And saying thus she opened the door and walked out into the snowy evening thinking back to whatever transpired a few minutes ago and whether it was a very bad idea to do what she had done.

Tomorrow will tell  she thought.