Lori Foster - Bewitched - In Too Deep

Harry held her hand all the way to his apartment, which wasn’t all that far, taking a mere fifteen minutes. But it was long enough to make her edgy, to make her ponder several different things, mostly how enticing the thought of having an affair with him seemed.

He paid the cabbie, refusing to let her dig money from her own pocket to pay half. In fact, he seemed insulted by the very idea. Charlie shrugged. She needed her money, and if he wanted to play the gallant, that was fine by her.

Harry led her to the first floor of an exclusive complex, and Charlie wasn’t at all surprised to see, once he’d gotten the door unlocked, that his apartment wasn’t an apartment at all, but rather an expensively decorated, immaculate and beautiful town house. She couldn’t help herself, she felt intimidated.

Then the barking began, startling her half out of her skin.

Harry relocked the door and switched on more lights. A miniature collie and a small, stocky, mixed-breed mutt darted out around a large, beige leather sofa. The collie’s entire body quivered with happiness at the sight of Harry and he laughed as the dog jumped up and down in near berserk joy. The mutt, a little more subdued, ran circles around Harry and howled. Harry immediately knelt to rub the dog’s scruff. He glanced up at Charlie. “Meet Grace and Sooner. Grace has been with me a long time, but Sooner has only been in the family a couple of years.”

She stared at the dogs, who stared back, one sitting on each side of Harry, heads tilted, expressions alert, like sentinels guarding the king from a scourge. She grinned, and the dogs seemed to grin back.

“I can understand the name Grace, since she looks so refined. But Sooner?”

Harry shrugged. “He’d ‘sooner’ be one breed as another.”

“Ah.”

Harry patted the dogs. “She’s entirely acceptable, guys, so you may as well present her with the royal treatment.”

Once he said it, both dogs trotted over to sniff her, lick her hand, bark a few times in a doggy greeting. Then they each gave Harry a quizzical look, as if her presence made no sense at all, and retreated. Grace leaped up to lie on the sofa, resting her head on a black and beige motif throw folded over one end. Sooner went over to flop onto the floor in front of a white stone electric fireplace. He gave a loud groan and closed his eyes.

The town house was very sleek, and as Charlie looked around, she saw marble-topped oak end tables, bare wood floors with thick area rugs, and windows with streamlined blinds rather than curtains. All in all, she thought the room was gorgeous and suited Harry to a T.

She was afraid to move. Her bare feet were muddy, grime from the garage between her white toes. Water still dripped from her hair, her nose, Harry’s coat. She felt like a flea-ridden squirrel turned loose in a palace.

No wonder the dogs thought her curious.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll locate us some dry clothes. Would you like something to drink?”

All the social niceties. Charlie shook her head, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’d really like to call and check in with my sister, if you don’t mind.”

He went to a desk situated in front of a long window that looked out over the backyard. It was partially separated from the living room by a wide arched doorway. Charlie could see oak file cabinets and office equipment. She heard Harry curse.

“What’s wrong?”

“The electricity evidently went out with the storm. My answering machine is dead, meaning I’ve missed any calls that may have come in.”

“Were you expecting an important call?”

“Several, actually.” He walked back to her. “You’ll have to use the phone in my bedroom. The portable is out.”

His bedroom?

Harry crossed his arms over his wet chest and frowned at her. “Surely that look doesn’t mean you’re afraid of me? Not the woman who challenged Floyd and Ralph, the woman who did her best to bait two miscreants. I assure you, you’re safe enough with me.”

“Me, fear you? Ha!” She was more afraid of herself at the moment. She felt like tossing his gorgeous self to the floor and having her way with him. But she would never do such a thing in front of the innocent dogs. “It’s just that my feet are dirty. The dogs are cleaner than I am. I don’t want to track mud all over the place.”

Harry looked down, took in her bare feet and growled. “I forgot you’d removed those hideous boots. You could have cut yourself on something when we ran for the truck. I can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner. Well, actually I can, given my attention was somewhat fractured by other things, but not so much so, I shouldn’t have noticed naked feet. I am a P.I. after all, usually very alert to small details.”

“Uh, Harry?”

He still stared at her feet. “Hmm?”

“The phone?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Okay, no help for it. I suppose I’ll have to play the martyr.”

“No! Don’t you dare… Harry, put me down.”

“You’re really very slight, now that we’ve rid you of your ridiculous waterlogged costume.” As he made his way up a flight of carpeted stairs, he looked down at her, their noses almost touching, and the smile he gave her made her catch her breath. His gaze dipped lower, and Charlie glanced down to see the coat had slipped some and she had a modest amount—all she possessed really—of cleavage showing. She tried to make a grab for the coat, but then Harry lowered her, and she realized she was in a taupe and black tiled bathroom, more specifically, he stood her in the black tub.

“Don’t move. I’ll play lady’s maid and get you a towel and dry clothes and you can clean up just a bit before we progress any further.”

Progress to what, she wondered? Another part of his home, or another level of intimacy? She knew where her vote would be, but she didn’t say so. She did need to clean up, and dry clothes sounded heavenly.

Harry reappeared with two plush white towels, a long polo shirt, and silky boxer shorts. He grinned as he laid the items on the marble vanity. “The thing is, you’re something of a squirt, so nothing I have would be small enough to fit you. However, I wear a “tall” so my shirt should make do for a dress, only I couldn’t bear the thought of you being naked beneath it, not if you expect me to exhibit my more civilized tendencies, so I determined the boxers would serve as well as anything.” He lifted his hands. “I’m fresh out of ladies’ panties.”

She drew a blank, except to ask, “You wear silk boxers?”

“Actually no. They were a gift from a friend.”

“Ah.”

He headed for the door. “Go ahead and wash up. You can hang the coat on the back of the door and I’ll take care of it later. There’s a hamper under the cabinet where you can stick your muddy jeans. I’ll be in the kitchen making coffee after I’ve changed.”

The second he was out the door, Charlie rushed through her bath. She stripped off the coat, praying it wasn’t ruined, and then spent several minutes working her wet, worn jeans down her legs. She didn’t know what to do with her panties—no way would she put them in his hamper for him to find later. After giving it some thought, she washed them out and hung them on the side of the tub.

She disdained a full shower for simply cleaning herself off. Calling her sister was a priority.

Once she’d pulled on the dry clothes Harry’d brought her, she found his comb and worked the tangles out of her short hair. The polo shirt hung almost to her knees, looking, as he’d predicted, like a dress. It adequately covered her, but the silky boxers tickled. Rather than toss her dirty jeans in the hamper as he’d suggested, she folded them, put her panties in the pocket along with her money, and left the bathroom.