FRESH – Part Two

The sensation came out of nowhere: the warmth of his breath on her skin, the tip of his nose against her cheek, the touch of his lips against her jaw, all in such rapid succession that he had retreated almost before she knew what he had done. Pulling back in surprise, she turned to face him. She felt her cheeks dimpling of their own accord as the blood rushed to them. "Charlie Muntz! Where did that come from?"

His eyes were gleaming, burning straight into hers, and for an instant, he had looked nearly as surprised as she felt, but now he bared his teeth in a hungry grin, and said, "Right here. Want another?" He wasn't waiting for an answer. The arm that had been lurking behind her now snared her in its grasp, and he went in for the kill, hitting his target cleanly on the first shot. If that kiss on the cheek had been a surprise, the heat of his lips against hers was a shock. Her first instinct was to freeze, her second instinct was to melt, and before she knew it, her lips were falling into step with his, like dance partners in a ballroom. Relaxing into his embrace, Dorothy allowed Charles to lead her in this intimate waltz. Gradually, the tempo of his kisses slowed, and his lips strayed to her cheek, her jaw, her neck…

"You've done this before," she murmured, regaining her breath.

He drew back just enough to look at her. The gleam was still in his eyes, but this time it was definitely infused with surprise as he marveled: "So have you!"

His declaration startled her back to reality, and in a sudden burst of resistance, she pushed him off. "I have no idea what just happened here," she scooted away from him, trying to regain some dignity, "but I do not want you thinking that I'm-"

"Magnificent?" he suggested, interrupting her. "Too late!" Lunging like the infamous Yucatan Jaguar, he caught her in both arms this time and pulled her against him. He was all muscle and hot breath, and when she turned her face away, he simply went for her neck, exploring the curve where it met her shoulder, which only made matters worse – and better, she sighed.

"Charlie, stop that…" She had a hand between them, and pressed her palm against his chest, but at this point of contact, her instincts betrayed her and her fingers curled inward as if to grapple him and hold him there. "I mean it, this is crazy," she insisted, as much to herself as to him. "We can't do this…" His only response was to growl softly and nuzzle her ear, which did nothing to strengthen her resolve. She was losing the battle, her senses were deserting her in surrender to him, when, in one final flash of inspiration, she snapped: "Charlie, down!"

The command stunned them both. She felt his arms relax and withdraw, and, when her vision cleared, she saw him sitting bolt upright, staring at her in amazement. Tidying herself with trembling hands, she scrambled to her feet, and immediately trod on something. "Oh, look what you made me do," she scolded, spotting his photos scattered on the grizzly bear rug.

Charles burst out in gales of laughter. "Dorothy, you really are magnificent…"

From the corner of her eye, she saw him reach out, and quickly stepped back, raising a hand toward him. "Stay!"

"Don't worry, I'm just collecting my photos." He knelt on the rug to gather them up. "You are brilliant," he was still chuckling as he shook a finger at her. "You know me too well."

She stood at the far edge of the rug, arms folded. "Charles, we need to talk about what just happened here."

He dismissed this idea with a wave of his hand. "Oh, now, don't get hysterical, nobody got hurt. A little excitement gets the blood flowing."

"I am not hysterical." It was true; she was surprisingly calm, all things considered. "I'm serious."

Charles rose and set the stack of photos on the table. "All right, I confess," he smiled, taking a careful step toward her. "I've never been able to resist a beautiful woman."

Dorothy gave him a wry look. "I said talk about it, not joke about it."

To her surprise, he looked genuinely hurt by this. "You think I'm joking?" He pointed at the spot where they had just been sitting. "You think that was joking?"

"I think maybe you've had too much champagne," she speculated. "Maybe we both have."

"Phah, that was nothing," he dismissed this excuse. "And it's a little late to play Innocent Iowa Farm Girl with me." He took another step toward her, but she held her ground. "I'm not the only one who enjoyed that."

"That's not the point-"

"A-ha!" Charles seized on this lack of argument from her. "You admit it!" He was smiling again, as he continued his advance on her – although, to his credit, he didn't attempt to touch her.

Dorothy looked him straight in the eyes and tried to sound firm as she said, "Charles, I have no idea what brought this on, but it needs to stop right now. Whatever it is you're thinking…"

"Do you have any idea what color your eyes are?" he interrupted her. He was practically standing on her toes.

"They're hazel," she stammered, thrown by the question.

"No, they're not," he gazed down at her in fascination, one hand hovering near, but not quite touching, her cheek. "They're green. Dark, jungle green, but only around the outside. Inside, they're golden brown, almost amber, and the colors run together, like this." He interlaced his fingers to illustrate.

"I know," she said, although she'd never thought of them in quite such poetic terms. "That's what 'hazel' means."

"Of course it does." Whether or not he had known this, or was covering for his ignorance, she couldn't guess. "But I've never seen anything like them. They're beautiful."

He was looking at her with such intensity, she felt her resolve melting again. She tried to regain herself by laughing him off. "You are a master of flattery, Mr. Muntz, I'll give you that."

"It's not flattery!" His hands flew to her shoulders and stopped her from turning away. "Dorothy, you are a remarkable woman. That's not flattery," he repeated. "And that," with a nod toward the bed, "was not joking. For either of us."

Dorothy sighed. It was too hard to argue when he was gazing at her like that. He held her by the arms; his grip was firm and insistent, but to her surprise, he didn't resist when she took him by the wrists and removed herself from his grasp. "Charlie… If we sit down again, can you keep your hands to yourself long enough to let me explain something to you?"

The devilish flash in his eyes was not at all helpful as he cracked, "If this is about the Birds and the Bees, don't bother. Why do you think I call this my Lair?"

The words knocked her back on her heels. "Is that what this is about?" she demanded, recoiling from him in a rush of hurt and embarrassment. "You lured me down here so you could add me to your trophy case?"

"No!" he appeared stunned by this accusation. "I wasn't even thinking about that. I've never thought about you that way at all, until tonight, but… well…" Flustered, he fumbled for words, and came up with: "You were sitting right there, and you smelled good."

This confession threw Dorothy for another loop. Gone was the confident Lothario, and Charles Muntz now seemed like nothing more than a clumsy puppy who had found himself at the wrong end of a rolled-up newspaper. She should have given him a good swat, but she didn't have the heart.

"Charlie…" This is a really bad idea, the much-too-small voice inside her warned, but she ignored it, and pointed at the edge of the bed. "Sit."

He started to obey, then paused and deferred to her. "After you."

Dorothy and Charles resettled themselves beside each other, but this time swapping places and leaving a couple of feet of space between them. Avoiding his eyes for her own good, she could still tell that he was watching her intently. She hoped she wasn't completely insane for trusting him.

"I'm going to tell you something," she began. "And you have to promise me that you will not repeat this to anyone. I'm serious," she allowed herself to meet his gaze. "It's nobody's business, and I don't want to talk about it. Can I trust you?"

He raised a hand and pledged, "To the ends of the earth."

Gathering her thoughts, she turned her face away again, and began, "When I was eighteen, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I got married."

She didn't see his immediate reaction, but she felt the bed shift as he sprang to his feet and backed away, and looked up to find him regarding her in shock. "Dorothy, I swear I had no idea," he blurted. "I never would have touched you if I'd known you were married. I do have some principles," he informed her, a bit defensively.

"It's all right," she hastened to reassure him, "I'm not married now." This wasn't going quite as she had intended, and with a deep breath, she finished her confession. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm divorced." From the corner of her eye, she awaited his next reaction.

To her surprise, he gave a great sigh of relief, and a smile spread across his face as he exhaled. "Oh, good."

"Good?" she challenged this response.

"I mean – that's too bad." He made an attempt to look sympathetic as he sat back down. "So, what happened?" She wasn't prepared for his blithely inquisitive tone, and her bafflement must have shown, because now he fumed a bit as he said, "Well, what am I supposed to say?"

"You're supposed to be appalled." She couldn't believe she was having to explain this to him. "I left my husband. I'm a scandalous divorcee."

Charlie sighed and grumbled. "It's the twentieth century, Dorothy. You're not the only one."

"Well, maybe not in California," she conceded this point to him. "But, in Iowa, it was a big deal. My mother still refuses to talk about it. Grandpa gave me the money for the lawyer," she told him. "If it weren't for him, I'd probably still be stuck with the rat."

"So, he was a rat?" Charles prodded.

"A big rat," Dorothy informed him. "As in, 'running around behind my back with another woman' rat. And that was just the last straw. We were married for nearly three years, and he couldn't – or wouldn't – hold a job for more than a few months at the most." She hadn't meant to spill the whole story, but now that she had an audience, it just came pouring out. "I worked, and paid the bills, and put food on the table, and he spent whatever I didn't hold on to. Oh, I know, it was my own stupid fault for marrying him in the first place, and it was my 'duty' to put up with it. But, once I found out about her, that was it. I was not going to put up with that."

"Good for you," said Charles, with a snap that said he meant it. "Showing him the door. He didn't deserve you."

Touched by this, she softened. "Thank you, Charles. It means a lot, to hear you say that."

"Want me to take care of him for you?" he suggested, with another display of hash-settling bravado. "Hunt him down, teach him a lesson."

"No, don't bother," she shook her head, amused by the offer. "He's not worth it. Besides, I don't even want to know where he is now. Do you want to know how glad I was to be rid of him? I had my name legally changed back from Wilson to Radebaugh. A name no one can spell or pronouce, but at least it's mine and I can be proud of it."

"So, is that the only problem?" he asked. "You're divorced, and you thought I'd be appalled? Because I'm not." Charlie slid a little closer to her. "If you want to know the truth, it makes you all the more fascinating."

He was using those eyes and that smile on her, and she stood up again, for her own good. "No, that's not the only problem!"

"What else, then?" he demanded in exasperation.

"For a start, I happen to like my job."

"What does that have to do with anything?" he challenged.

"I don't think necking in the basement with the boss's grandson is a smart career move," she explained. "Gus respects me, everyone here has been more than fair to me, there aren't a lot of companies that would even give me a chance at something like this, and I am not going to let you wreck this for me."

"Why would I wreck this for you?" This accusation brought him to his feet, as well. "I want you working here. I need your propeller hubs for the Spirit of Adventure. Darn it, Dorothy, I'm not out to get you fired."

"Charlie, that's not up to you."

"Of course it is!" he argued. "I'm Charles F. Muntz, and if anyone dares to say a word against you, he'll have me to deal with."

He declared this with chest and chin thrust out in heroic fashion, still determined to have it out with someone for her honor, and Dorothy had to struggle to supress a smile at this dramatic display. His earnest defiance reminded her of her other objection, though, and she said, "There's another problem, too, Charlie. You're nineteen."

"Oh, now you're just making up excuses," he waved this off. "Why should that be a problem?"

"Because I'm twenty-five. And I know, as a lady, I'm not supposed to admit to that, but it's the truth."

"Should I be appalled by that, too?"

"No, but I am. You're so young, I feel as if I'm leading you astray, or something."

Charles scoffed at this. "You can't lead a man where he's already gone. I know they still call me the Kid around here," he grumbled. "And I know that's how they've got you thinking of me. But I'm not a Kid, Dorothy. Certainly not when it comes to this."

Any lingering thought she had of resisting him melted away as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. She knew she should have done the ladylike thing, given him a good slap in the face and walked out, but where was the fun in that? Much nicer just to get a good grip on his shoulders and let him go at her until her head was spinning. When they parted, he gave a surprised laugh at the look on her face and caught her as she staggered against him. "Careful, there! Maybe you did have too much champagne. You'd better sit down." One arm around her, he led her back to the bed. At this point, she hesitated.

"No, Charlie, I like you, but this is all happening much too quickly…"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't take advantage," he promised. "Just sit down before you fall down." He got her turned around and seated, and parked himself beside her. "Want to hear something funny? I like you, too."

"And why is that funny?" she challenged, not knowing whether she should be amused or offended.

"Because I can count the number of people I genuinely like on my hands. Maybe even one hand. That's what makes this so interesting. I suppose I do have a 'Trophy Case,' as you put it," he conceded. "Figuratively, at least. But you're not going into it, because I like you too much. Not that you aren't welcome to stay," he hinted, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Don't think it's not tempting," she confessed. "But… no, Charlie. Not yet. I don't know if it's the champagne, or you, or my own stupidity, but I need to clear my head before this goes any farther. I think it's high time I said good night and went home."

"All right." His willingness to accept this surprised her, but he laid a finger on the tip of her nose and added, "I'm not giving up on you, though." Charles leaned in and kissed her cheek, just as he'd done to start all of this. "And I think you'll find I can be very persistent."

THE END

A/N – Anyone reading my Phineas & Ferb fics knows that they're mostly centered around Ferb and Vanessa – who happen to share about the same age difference as Charles and Dorothy. I don't have a history of writing "Young Guy with Older Woman," it's just a weird coincidence. Charles just struck me as the sort who might be drawn, in his youth, to someone a bit "older and wiser."