Charlotte drains half of her glass and bends over to put it on the coffee table and then, both hands free, turns to me. “Jill knows her stuff, Ruby. You can trust her.”
I look into Charlotte’s dark brown eyes. Did she instigate this? Did she start the conversation with her partner that led to this moment? Do they do this often? I have many questions, but they all get pushed to the back of my mind as soon as Charlotte slants her torso toward me and finds that delicate patch of skin just below my earlobe with her lips. Between them, they have a century of experience. The possibility that my mind is about to be blown increases the pulse between my legs.
“Let’s take this into the bedroom,” Jill says. “Much more comfortable.”
“Best do what she says,” Charlotte whispers in my ear. Perhaps it
