CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN – THE SUNDAY FESTIVAL

Suddenly his hand was covering hers on the bar top, his calloused fingers squeezing gently. Charlotte felt her pulse spike at the contact, at the sheer audacity of him soliciting her so boldly, so publicly. Part of her wanted to snatch her hand away, to rebuke him harshly for such unforgivable forwardness. But another part...another part was tempted. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself any sort of indulgence, any true revelry and freedoms. And with Richard's recent behavior, each of them needing space to cool their respective hot heads and bruised egos... Perhaps a single night of harmless diversion wouldn't be unwelcome after all. "Just this once," she heard herself saying in a tone of forced levity. "For old times' sake. But you'd best be on your most charming behavior, James Sinclair." His face split in a wolfish grin, eyes dancing with undisguised triumph. "When am I not?" He brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a kiss across them that made her shiver despite