Disclaimer: It does not belong to me; it belongs to J.K. Rowling. Everyone on knows the drill. :)

Hermione rested her head on the dilapidated porch swing at the Burrow and listened to the creaking of the rusty chains. Shouts and laughter from the impromptu Quidditch game nearby drifted on the midsummer breeze. Soon Molly would be calling them in for dinner: her post-war Sunday tradition required all of her children, both biological and otherwise acquired, to be present for the meal. Hermione and Ginny came from their flat in London, as did Harry and Ron. George came from Hogsmeade, where he lived above what used to be Zonko's. Bill's family was living in France, but Percy had moved back home. Charlie, too, had come home recently; the Romanian dragon reservation he had worked at had closed its gates.

The rowdy jostling and cheerful insults came closer, and Hermione found her quiet retreat invaded by noisy Quidditch players. George and Ginny went inside, letting the screen door slam behind them. Harry and Ron plopped on the steps, and Charlie plunked himself into the porch swing beside her, causing it to creak loudly in protest.

"Careful, Charlie!" she cautioned him good-naturedly. "I'm pretty sure it's just a little magic keeping this thing in place."

His eyes laughed at her. "It fell with Mum and Dad a few nights ago, about two o'clock in the morning. But maybe it just objected to what they were—"

"Shut up!" Ron interjected. "Why do you think I moved out? So I wouldn't have to know about those…those…incidents."

"Really, Ron?" Harry teased. "I thought it was so you could have Lavender over as often as you wanted."

"Lavender, hmm?" Charlie asked, then looked at Hermione. He lay his arm along the back of the swing, gently skimming her shoulders, and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his dusty boots at the ankles. Hermione eyed a rip several inches above the knee of his jeans. She could see freckles winking at her. Charlie was really rather fit. She lifted her gaze to meet his. He was still grinning at her; if it were anyone else, she'd have called it flirting—but this was simply Charlie. "I thought you were dating Ron."

"I'm afraid you're several years behind. That didn't last very long," she answered.

"Well, what happened, sugar?" he said, teasing, with a voice like warm honey.

Ron chortled. "'Sugar'? That's just it. Hermione's too much like one of the guys. I wanted someone sweeter and more girly."

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. "I just couldn't bring myself to call him 'Won-Won'," she joked. "Really, though, he's right. I'm just one of the boys."

Molly called out from inside that dinner was ready, and Harry and Ron disappeared so quickly they might as well have Apparated. Charlie, however, stayed right where he was, looking at Hermione contemplatively. So she thought she was one of the boys? Her hair was up in a messy bun, held in place with a pencil, with damp curls caressing the creamy skin of her neck. There was nothing boyish about the soft pink tilt of her lips, or the curves her clothes didn't manage to hide.

"He's not right, sugar," Charlie said, and the glint in those green eyes made Hermione's stomach tighten. "There's plenty of woman right there, waiting to come out and play." He pushed himself out of the swing, caught her hand, and pulled her up. As he reached for the screen door, he looked back at her and flashed a devilish grin. "And I'm going to prove it to you."

**********

Later that night, Charlie sprawled on the sofa, listening to his mother bustling around cleaning the kitchen, thinking about what he'd said to Hermione. It was a shame she didn't see herself as feminine. She was, for sure. Pretty, and sweet, and smart. She'd be a good catch for some guy. Not for Ron, though. Ron wanted someone to stay home and cook and have his babies—someone like Mum, really. Hermione didn't seem like the type for that. She was more the 'taking on the world' kind of woman. She just needed a boost of confidence. And Charlie didn't have anything going on. He wanted to find an apartment, have a little fun, but other than that he was just waiting on the dragon reservation in Scotland to open up. He had time to help out his kid sister's roommate.

"Dad?" he asked suddenly. Arthur looked up distractedly from the washing machine manual he was perusing.

"Hmm?"

"Hermione…is she dating anyone?"

"Not that I know of. Do you know what sort of plugs these washing machines have?"

"Nope, sorry. Is she not over Ron?"

Arthur looked surprised. "Ron? Oh, no, they're friends, is all. They don't use batteries at all then, do they?"

"No, no batteries, Dad."

That was interesting. Maybe Hermione didn't feel ladylike enough to date? Charlie had to help her. How did a guy go about making a girl feel sweet?

**********

Friday evening Hermione's phone rang. When she answered, a deep voice said, "Hello, sugar. I'm volunteering at the pound tomorrow. Want to come help me out?"

Only one man had ever called her sugar. "Charlie?"

"Mm-hmm. So what do you say?"

"Um, ok. What pound?"

"Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron and I'll show you were it is. Wear clothes you can get dirty. The critters can be messy."

Hermione hung up the phone a little confused…but, she realized with a smile, she was looking forward to seeing Charlie.

He was leaning against the wall, waiting for her. Hermione took in the view as she walked up to him. Again, his jeans were ripped, this time just at the knee. He wore a black t-shirt with two dragons flying in a circle over his left bicep, with his name inside. His left shirtsleeve was ripped, too.

She realized, with a start, that she was standing there staring at him and he was grinning and watching her. Damn him, he was always grinning. And it always made her smile back.

"Good morning," he said smugly.

"Hi. Um, is there a pound on Diagon Alley? I didn't know about it."

"No, it's a couple alleys over, on Eventu. But you can get there through tapping a different brick behind the building."

"Lead on," she said.

"No way," Charlie answered. "Ladies first." Then he planted his big hand at the small of her back to guide her. Suddenly Hermione's entire back blazed—not just where he touched her. She tried her best not to stumble and to make small talk as he escorted her to the pound.

"So…why did you decide to volunteer at the pound?" she asked.

"I miss working with animals. Mum let me de-gnome the garden, but it's not exactly the same."

Hermione laughed. "Gnomes aren't exactly cute and cuddly."

"No, but then, neither are dragons. More like fierce and standoffish. If you get to know them well, though, they can be affectionate."

"For example, they won't toast you?"

Charlie laughed. "Something like that." He opened the door for her, talked to the pound worker, and grabbed a large bag of dog food. Hermione watched—with open admiration—as he hefted it over his shoulder. She hadn't realized until that moment that his stockiness was one hundred percent muscle. As he balanced the bag, she caught a glimpse of green ink under his torn sleeve.

"Charlie!" she gasped. "Have you got a tattoo?"

"I do." Charlie smirked at her. "And, sugar, if you're a good girl, I'll let you see it sometime." He started off down the hall with the dog food.

She followed him, asking, "Does your mum know?"

"No."

Hermione snickered. "Are you scared of her?"

Charlie dropped the bag beside a door and turned to look at her. He raised an eyebrow. "Scared, no. But a guy's got to have a healthy respect for his mum. Plus I saw what she did to Bill when he got his earring." He picked the bag up again, bumped the door open with his hip, and they went into a room filled with puppies.

Charlie watched Hermione's eyes light up and those pretty pink lips part in an 'O' of surprise. She sank to her knees and scooped up a wriggling armful of fur. He smiled to himself as she talked to the puppies and wrestled with them. Quietly, he filled the food bowls, and then settled down on the floor himself. Only then did he reclaim Hermione's attention.

"So, what are we supposed to be doing?"

"We-ell, since you were busy, I've already fed them. Now we just play with them awhile. They get lonely."

"Oh, I'm sorry! I should have helped you!" she exclaimed, clearly embarrassed.

He reached over and tugged the end of her ponytail. "No worries, sugar. You just got started on the second part of the job first." He scooped up a little brown dog and rubbed it behind the ears. "Isn't that right, buddy?" Charlie and the puppy both looked at Hermione, and she couldn't help but succumb to the giggles threatening to overtake her.

About an hour later—an hour full of teasing, not to mention wet, sloppy kisses (from the puppies)—Charlie told Hermione, "We had better get going soon, or the man up front will ask us to take care of the pygmy puffs, and those little buggers make me sneeze."

Hermione sighed. "Ok, if we have to." She kissed the little yellow puppy who'd been by her side all morning on the head.

"One more thing," Charlie mentioned casually, "you need to pick which one you want to take home."

"What?" she exclaimed.

"Your puppy. I made all the arrangements when I called yesterday to offer to volunteer."

"Charlie! You adopted a puppy for me?" Hermione squealed, and Charlie found himself with both arms filled with warm woman.

"You're welcome, sugar," he murmured against her hair. "It's not that big a deal; I just thought you might like one. Mum mentioned that your cat had died a couple years ago."

"It is a big deal," Hermione answered, letting go, her face flushing. "Thank you!" She scooped the yellow puppy up against her chest. "We're ready."

"That didn't take long," Charlie teased.

"Well, I've been wishing he was going home with me all afternoon. I'm going to call him Fuzz."

"It suits him." Charlie scratched his head, feeling the fluffy fur.

With Fuzz safely in a basket, they ate lunch at an outdoor café. Charlie made sure to follow his manners, at least where Hermione was concerned—opening doors, pulling out her chair, offering to carry the basket. He thought today had been a successful step in his endeavor to show Hermione her feminine side. What brought it out better than baby animals? She was smiling, laughing, cheeks flushed and curls falling loose from her ponytail. Damn, she was pretty.

When the time came to part ways outside the Leaky Cauldron, Charlie really couldn't help himself. He handed Fuzz's basket to her and looked at her for a moment. "Come here, sugar."

Hermione's eyes were big as he leaned close to her and brushed a kiss on her cheek. She smelled like puppies and sunshine. Charlie poked a finger into the basket. "See you, pup." Fuzz nipped the finger. "Thanks for today, sugar. See you tomorrow at dinner?"

"I'll be there," she answered with a smile. Charlie grinned back, then walked away.

**********

Hermione sank into her usual place on the porch swing. Ginny, Harry, Ron, and George were all headed towards the broom shed. She wondered where Charlie was today; she hadn't seen him. She wondered why he had taken her out yesterday, gotten her the puppy? And that kiss—it wasn't a real kiss, more of a sisterly sort of kiss. And he'd called her 'sugar' all day long. Did he actually enjoy her company the way she enjoyed his, or was he just trying to make good on his promise to 'prove' she was more than one of the guys?

"Hey, sugar. You going to play with us?"

There he was. Did the man own a single pair of jeans without tears in them? A t-shirt that didn't show off how wide his shoulders were? And that smile: it made her think he knew her most secret thoughts—thoughts Hermione didn't even know what were yet—and that he liked them. Charlie Weasley had the most wicked grin a man had ever given her. Wait—what had he asked her? Hermione hastily clawed her way back to reality. The reality at present, not the wishful one involving the freckles peeking through that rip in his jeans.

"No, thank you. I don't fly."

"You can fly with me. I won't let you fall." Charlie almost bit his tongue at his words. What sort of invitation was that? Nestling her sweet little bum against him up in the air while she clung to him in terror…damn it. It was a terrible idea. It was a fantastic idea. What the hell was he thinking?

"Um. Ah, thank you, but I think I'll pass. I'd probably inhibit your playing terribly."

One look at her wide eyes made Charlie's decision for him. "You'll ride with me sometime, one way or another," he promised, voice teasing. "Maybe not today, sugar, but you will."

It wasn't until he was off the porch and in the air that Hermione managed to even up her breathing.

**********

Charlie plopped down at the kitchen table. Molly was humming and drying dishes. "I'm going to send a woman some flowers," he announced. "What kind do you think I should send?"

Molly stopped humming and looked at him, her eyes alight. "Oh, Charlie! That's wonderful. Who's the lucky girl?"

Charlie sighed; she had that 'matchmaker' glow all over her. "Hermione."

Molly dropped her dishtowel and her smile wilted. "Goodness, she's so much younger than you. I'm not sure that's a good idea. And she's such a serious girl, Charlie, not really your type at all."

Charlie bristled. Fine, so maybe he wasn't trying to pick Hermione up, but still—didn't his mother think he was capable of choose his own girls? "She's not that much younger than me. And she's smart, sweet, and pretty. Fantastic, now that I think about it."

"It's not that I don't adore her; I do. She's just…well, she's interested in a career, and you should be settling down soon. Now that you aren't playing with dragons anymore, and you've got all that money saved up…aren't you ready to start a family, Charlie? Find a nice woman who wants those things."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Mum. You've got Bill married off with a couple of kids. Skip me and work on Percy. That'll be a challenge. Maybe I just want to have a good time. And I like Hermione. So what sort of flowers should I send her? And where does she work?"

Molly glared at him. "She's a brewer at the apothecary. And what kind of flowers to send is based on what you mean." She tugged a book from the shelf above the stove and tossed it at him, then turned back to drying dishes. "I suggest yellow roses."

Charlie opened Gilderoy's Gardening Guide and found the list of flower meanings. Of course Mum wanted him to send yellow roses; they symbolized friendship. Hell, Charlie didn't know what he was feeling towards Hermione lately. He had wanted to show her how sweet she could be; instead, he seemed to be proving to himself that she was a hell of a woman. The more time he spent with her, the more he liked her. Damn.

**********

Hermione stared at the bouquet sitting on the desk in her office. It must be from Charlie. Who else would it be from? Anyone else she knew would send her books before they'd send her flowers. Such a strange mix, too: phlox, lilies-of-the-valley, honeysuckle, and several large pink roses. (A/N: phlox-sweet dreams, lilies-of-the-valley-sweetness, honeysuckle-sweetness of disposition, pink roses-love, grace, or 'you're so lovely'. Some have other meanings but these are relevant in this story.)

Hermione hadn't gotten flowers since her tenth birthday, when her daddy had white roses delivered to school.

She plucked the card from the vase and read the sloppy scrawl. Hey, sugar. I'll be seeing you soon.

No name. Charlie didn't need to write one. Hermione blinked back tears. She was falling for him, hard and fast. She only hoped it wasn't just a project for him.

**********

Charlie knew when he knocked on Hermione and Ginny's door that his sister was out with Harry. He wasn't sure what had made him decide to stop at Honeydukes tonight and then come over here. He was trying like hell to write it off as a step in Hermione's 'education', but really…he just wanted to see her.

When Hermione answered the door, her eyes lit up and a smile rocketed across her face. "Charlie! Come in! Thank you so much for the flowers."

He stepped inside. Fuzz yipped at his feet and he ruffled the pup's fur. "You aren't busy tonight, are you?"

She shook her head. "I was reading a book I've already read."

Charlie chuckled. "I have something better to do." He tugged a blue bandana out of his back pocket.

"What—"

"Hold still, sugar." He blindfolded her and led her over to the couch and sat his Honeydukes bag on the coffee table.

Charlie pulled a chocolate out of the bag and turned his attention back to Hermione. "Open up."

"What are you going to do?"

He leaned in close to her and breathed across her skin. "What, sugar, don't you trust me? You'll like it, I promise." Charlie reached up and cupped her face with his hand. "Now, open your mouth, please."

Hermione sighed and gently rubbed her face against the calluses on his palm. She might not know what he had planned, but damn, it was sexy, whatever it was. What girl wouldn't want to be blindfolded and teased by Charlie? And he was touching her skin. She'd settle for that. But, obediently, she parted her lips—because perhaps what he was planning to do would be even better.

Something cool, something chocolate, was pressed onto her tongue by a pair of fingers she thought she'd rather taste instead. Charlie's voice curled into her ear, soft and deep. "Sweets for my sweet."

"Charlie…"

She felt his fingertips against her lips again, this time shushing her. "Open up for me again."

This time the chocolate contained a succulent raspberry filling, Hermione's favorite—and one she didn't often indulge in. She groaned in pleasure.

Charlie bit his lip. This game was much more sensual then he'd expected, simply because he was playing it with Hermione. The pink circle of her lips as they parted for candy was driving him wild. He wished she were parting that mouth for his kisses, or maybe for other, much more intimate things. He hadn't been able to resist touching them—and they were as soft as he'd been imagining. As he watched, Honeydukes bag very nearly forgotten, they quirked into a smile.

"Charlie? What's next?"

He reached into the bag. "This one's hard, so suck on it, don't bite." A very explicit vision filled his mind as he fed the candy between her lips. Fuck. Charlie abandoned her on the couch and dropped down beside the coffee table to rub Fuzz's belly. He needed a breather. Charlie was used to being the one doing the teasing—not the one being teased. And, to make it worse, he was bringing it upon himself.

His gaze lit upon Hermione's cell phone on the table and a thought occurred to him. With a few button pushes on both his phone and hers, Charlie accomplished what he wanted.

"Are you making a phone call?"

"Nope, sugar. I'm trying to decide what to feed you next." Charlie selected another chocolate from the bag and slid it between those sexy, pink waiting lips.

Hermione groaned in pleasure again. "Dark chocolate truffle? You're fantastic, Charlie."

"Hmm, that happens to be my favorite." Charlie caught tugged the blindfold loose and tangled both hands in Hermione's hair. He captured her lips—that gorgeous taunting mouth—in a hot kiss. She tasted like torment and chocolate, like she wanted to devour him from the mouth down. He felt her palms running up his arms, wrapping around his shoulders. Charlie dipped his tongue in to brush hers, and Hermione let out another one of those moans—the man tasted much more exquisite than any of the chocolates from Honeydukes.

He released her mouth and stared at her, green eyes dark with intensity and desire. "Damn, you're beautiful, sugar. I've got to leave."

"What?" Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

Charlie brushed his lips against hers soft as butterfly wings, and smiled ruefully. "This doesn't need to go any further. Not tonight." He cupped her cheek again, pushing her disheveled hair out of her face. "I'll call you, ok?"

"Ok." Hermione smiled at him. "Goodnight, Charlie."

He grinned at her as he left, a shadow of that devilish smirk he usually flashed. This smile said they had unfinished business. Hermione shivered.

He hadn't been gone five minutes when her phone started playing a song she knew she hadn't programmed it to. She flipped it open. "Hello?"

"I said I'd call, sugar." Charlie's voice was warm. Hermione smiled to herself.

"Already?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad Ron dumped you. You're sweeter than he deserves, and more woman than my kid brother would ever know how to handle."

The phone beeped: Charlie had hung up. Hermione stared at it a moment, then started laughing.

Leave it to Charlie to program her phone to play "Pour Some Sugar On Me" every time he called.

**********

When the gift box was delivered to her at work a few days later, Hermione—once again—knew who it would be from. Charlie had left no doubts in her mind that he was as interested in her as she was in him. The perfume he'd sent was a rich, spicy scent—feminine but definitely not girly. When she called him to thank him, Charlie said it reminded him of her: sexy and womanly.

After that kiss, Hermione didn't feel anything at all like one of the boys.

**********

Early Sunday morning, Def Leppard came pouring out of her phone. "Hello?" Hermione answered breathlessly, wondering what could possibly be next.

"Sugar, you ever ridden a motorcycle?" Charlie's voice was teasing and very, very pleased with himself.

"What?" she gasped.

"Come outside. Put that wild mane of yours in a braid first. And bring a jacket; it's going to get cool."

Hermione's jaw dropped at the sight of Charlie leaning against the motorcycle. It was big and black, with lots of shiny chrome. And Charlie…Hermione thought if she was going to spend much time around him she'd need to start carrying a hankie to wipe up the drool. He was leaning against the bike, ankles crossed, boots dusty as usual. His pants were ripped—she was beginning to think he didn't own any that weren't—and his white shirt hugged his arms. She could make out the darker colors of the tattoo he still hadn't shown her curling up his arm. And Charlie was grinning, an utterly fiendish smile that would probably be her complete undoing.

He swung his leg over and kicked up the kickstand. "Climb on, sugar. I told you that you'd ride with me eventually; I just didn't specify that it would be on a broom."

Her eyes were huge. "Charlie…when did you get that?"

"Yesterday. You mean you didn't hear Mum's screeching all the way here?"

"Wow. No, I haven't ridden one. But, um, isn't there supposed to be a little seat thing back there?"

"There is; it's where my seat sticks back further right here." He indicated a very small area of leather behind him.

"I mean, like a little chair back?"

Charlie laughed. "Some have them. This one doesn't." His eyes glittered at her. "You'll just have to hold on tight."

Hermione climbed on behind him, strapped on the helmet he offered her, and wrapped her arms securely around his waist, trying not to caress his stomach the way she was tempted to do. Charlie kicked the bike into gear and they were off—practically flying. She let out a very girly "Eep!" and squeezed him tighter.

When they stopped at a traffic light, Charlie leaned back to murmur in her ear, "Relax, sugar. You know I won't let you get hurt."

And she did. They roared out towards the Burrow, up and down endless country roads. Hermione relaxed enough to enjoy the power in Charlie's thighs when he shifted gears, the play of his muscles under the arms she kept wrapped around him, and the way her breasts felt pressed against his back.

Charlie was just thankful his jeans were loose enough that Hermione couldn't tell how aroused he was when he pulled into yard at the Burrow for Sunday dinner.

"So, what do you think of her?" he asked as he helped her off the bike.

"The bike is a her?"

Charlie gave her a fake-condescending look. "Cars and bikes are always girls. Men don't like to think of things that turn them on as male."

Hermione laughed. "Ok. Anyway…wow, Charlie! That was amazing! I want to go again."

"Oh, we will, sugar, for sure. Now come here." He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her waist, and kissed her.

"I've been wanting to do that all morning," he mumbled into her neck.

"Good," she answered. "But your mum is watching us out the window."

He laughed and caught her hand. "C'mon, then, let's go hear what she has to say about me putting you on the back of that horrible, dangerous beast of a vehicle."

**********

When Charlie took Hermione home, she invited him in. "Ginny's staying at the Burrow awhile longer," she teased. Charlie pressed her back against the door and took her lips captive, nibbling and sucking, until she whimpered and fisted his t-shirt in her hands.

Hermione pulled away from him and ran her palms under the hem of the shirt, playing her fingers along the muscles of his belly. She nuzzled his neck, deposited a few kisses there. "Have I been good enough to see your tattoo yet?" she asked, voice low and almost shy. Charlie growled—not quite an answer—and his emerald eyes, full of desire, took her breath away. He grabbed him hem and tugged the shirt over his head, capturing Hermione for more deep kisses before she saw it. Her hands explored his back while his tongue plundered her mouth. He let her go and flashed her that grin—that wonderful devilish Charlie-grin.

Hermione's wide-eyed stare took in the artwork on the masterpiece of Charlie's body. The green dragon's tail curled around his left bicep from right above where a short sleeve would end. The dragon's body stretched across his upper back and its head curled over his right shoulder. The head was on the right side of his chest, with his nipple for an eye. A small silver hoop with a sparkling sapphire pierced the nipple, making the green dragon blue-eyed.

Hermione's mouth went dry at the sight of Charlie standing there shirtless—she wasn't sure if it was his arms…his stomach…his chest…the dragon…or maybe just the way his eyes were looking at her. He dropped onto the sofa and pulled her onto his lap, stealing her lips again. Charlie nipped at her neck, pressed his tongue against the hollow of her throat. His rough hands caressed her stomach and back under her shirt. Frustrated, she reached for her own hem. Charlie pulled back and smiled as she tugged it over her head.

"Fuck, Hermione," he breathed. "I knew you were beautiful, but damn it, sugar. You're more than that." His mouth left a damp trail down to her cleavage, and he bit her gently through her bra. "Somehow I knew you'd wear lace, too." He rubbed his cheek across her other breast and kissed her stomach, nipping at her navel, then pressed her back into the sofa cushions. Charlie flicked open the button of her jeans, kissed her above the matching blue lace of her panties, and muttered another curse word. He lifted his body over her, capturing her lips once again.

Hermione broke away and licked his collarbone, then caught the dragon's-eye piercing with her teeth and gently tugged. "Fuck, sugar, I want you so damn badly," Charlie gasped, and pressed his jeans-clad hips between hers.

"I want to kiss every single freckle you have," Hermione sighed.

"Sugar, do you know where all I have freckles?"

She giggled, and then Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him down close to her, and he stole another breathless kiss. When it ended, he lay his head against her chest. Hermione stroked one palm down his back and twined the other in his hair. He rolled his eyes up to look at her and grinned.

"Tell me something, sugar. Is it the motorcycle that got you turned on or just me?"

Hermione let out a surprised laugh. "I don't know, Charlie, what do you think? Maybe that much power between my legs just made me want more."

Charlie grew quiet, his eyes more serious. "Are we going to make love tonight?"

"I…" Hermione bit her lip. Yes was on the tip of her tongue…but maybe it was too soon? "I don't know. What do you think?"

Charlie kissed her, a soft sweet kiss this time, and sat up to pull on his shirt. "I think that if you aren't sure, then it's too soon. And if I don't leave now, I might not be able to. It's late, sugar. Get some sleep." He stroked her cheek, then gave her that bad-boy grin again. "Dream about me."

**********

"Have you seen her naked, Charlie?"

He glared into space, annoyed at Ginny's voice over the phone. "No, not completely. What does that have to do with anything?"

"'Not completely'? What exactly have you been up to with my best friend?"

"Aw, hell, Gin, just tell me what size underwear to get her and don't worry about what I have and haven't seen."

"Charlie," Ginny said, sounding exasperated. "If you haven't seen her naked you can't buy her lingerie."

"Why not?" Girls and their damned rules.

"Well, for one, it might be too intimate of a gift. Also—"

"It isn't."

"Like I was saying, it also might make her feel like you'd rather see her in lingerie than completely naked, which is not good for a girl's ego."

Hell, Charlie wanted to see her naked, in lingerie, and everything in between.

"Ok, then," he said, "I have another idea. Come by and get my credit card. Take her shopping. Talk her into buying something pretty, feminine. Something sweet. I want to take her out to dinner, somewhere really nice. Buy yourself something too and make Potter take you out the same night, somewhere else."

Ginny laughed. "You are so transparent. Fine, I'll take Hermione shopping. Will she know about this dinner date?"

"No, just have her ready by seven tomorrow night."

**********

Charlie was in deep and he knew it. When Hermione answered the door, he thought he'd drown in her eyes and would gladly suffocate in her body. The red dress she wore fit perfectly, highlighting everything that was perfect about her. And the shoes—Ginny must have picked out the shoes. Red heels that made her legs go on for ages, the kind that Ginny called 'fuck-me heels'. He was instantly hard.

"Damn it, sugar," he breathed, then let out a low whistle. "There isn't anything sweet about you tonight. You are absolutely on fire, smoking, one hundred percent sexy."

"Thank you," she whispered demurely. Her caramel eyes darted up to meet his staring gaze, and he couldn't help it. Charlie grasped her around the waist and kissed her passionately. When he turned her loose, she said, "You look wonderful. I don't think I've seen you in pants that weren't ripped before."

Charlie laughed and smoothed the front of his suit. "I can clean up ok. The jeans are more comfortable, though." He reached for her hand. "Shall we go?"

She smiled at him, red lipstick slightly mussed, and he wanted to imprison her in the apartment instead of take her out. Instead, he escorted her to the restaurant, pulled out her chair, even ordered for her—all the while completely entranced. When the last bite of cheesecake was gone, Charlie reached for her hand. "Hermione."

"Yes?"

"I need to tell you something important."

She gazed at him, waiting.

"I didn't plan…well, I started out trying to show you the woman underneath what you thought was just 'one of the guys'. Sugar, I think I showed myself what a hell of a woman you are instead of showing you."

"You taught me a thing or two about myself, too, Charlie," she answered softly.

"Hell, sugar, I'm trying to tell you that I'm in love with you." His eyes were smoldering, green fire.

"I love you too. I have for awhile. Can we go home now?"

**********

Charlie nipped the tender skin inside Hermione's thigh, then kissed deeper…and deeper. She grasped and gripped his shoulders as he tasted her essence, flicking his tongue in just the right places. "Sugar, I lied tonight," he growled, nibbling her other thigh.

"Hmm?"

"When I said there was nothing sweet about you tonight. You're sexy as hell, but I've never tasted anything sweeter than you."

Hermione laughed. "Come here, you devil." Charlie obeyed; Hermione tugged his dragon's eye.

He growled at her, nibbling down her neck. "You're going to pay for that!" With a gasp of pleasure, he buried himself deep inside her—inside her body, inside her heart, and she in his, for eternity.

Nothing could have been sweeter.