was awakening things in her that she had forgotten and repressed for years. She had put her heart and soul into her work, and had forgotten all else. But in Charlie's arms, she remembered now how sweet it was to be kissed, and how much sweeter still to be cherished by a man.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he held her close. She had been so frightened to do that with him, to be close to him, and to let herself take the risk of falling in love again. He had gently led her over the threshold into his private world, and she felt safe with him. Just as he did with her.
He walked her around the apartment then, showed her some of his treasures, and the things he loved most. Photographs of his parents and sister, paintings he had bought in Europe, including a remarkable Degas that hung over his bed. And after she had looked at it for a moment, he led her from the room. It still felt too soon for them to linger in his bedroom, but seeing his Degas led them to talk about the ballet. She told him she used to dance.
“I was very serious about it until I was sixteen, and then I quit,” she said with regret, but he understood her posture better now, and the graceful way she moved.
“Why did you quit?”
She smiled sheepishly as she answered. “I got too tall. I would have been condemned to the back row of the corps de ballet forever. Primas are always small, or they used to be. I think they're taller now, but not as tall as I am.” There were occasional disadvantages to her height, though not many as far as Charlie was concerned, he loved how tall and lithe she was. She managed to remain both elegant and feminine at the same time, and he was considerably taller than she was, so he didn't mind at all.
“Would you like to go to the ballet sometime?” Her eyes lit up as he asked her, and he promised her they'd go. There were so many things he wanted to do with her. The fun had only just begun.
She stayed till nearly midnight, and he kissed her again several times. They wound up in the kitchen finally, where they had a snack before she left. They'd never eaten a proper dinner that night, just a lot of cupcakes and candy, until they made sandwiches and sat at the kitchen table, chatting.
“I know this sounds ridiculous, Charlie.” She was trying to explain to him how she felt. “All my life I've hated extravagance, and the snobbishness and arrogance of rich people. I never wanted to be special, unless I'd earned it. Not because someone I was related to had. I wanted to help poor people, and people who never had any luck. I feel guilty when I do things other people can't, or spend more money than they, so I don't. Not that I can anyway. But if I could, I wouldn't. It's just who I am.” He already knew that about her, so he wasn't surprised. She never spoke of her family, so he had no idea if they had money. Given the way she lived and the life she had devoted herself to, he suspected they didn't. Maybe some, but not much. There was nothing about her, other than her aristocratic good looks, that suggested she came from money. Maybe a good solid family of modest means, and sending her to Princeton had probably been a stretch.
“I understand,” he said quietly as they both finished their snack. “Are you horrified that I have a boat?”
“No,” she said thoughtfully. “It's just not something I would do even if I could. But you have a perfect right to spend your money any way you like. You do a lot of good for people through the foundation. I just always feel I should be living in abject poverty, and giving whatever I have to someone else.”
“Sometimes you have to keep a little and enjoy it yourself.”
“I do. But I'd rather give mine back. I feel guilty for taking a salary at the center. I just figure other people need it more than I do.”
“You have to eat,” he pointed out to her. He felt far less guilty than she. He had inherited an enormous fortune at an early age, and had lived up to the responsibility of it fully over the course of many years. He enjoyed