Bewitched: In Too Deep

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.

Harry sat on a corner of a colossal bed, head bent forward while he towel-dried his hair. He had on clean khaki slacks, and nothing else. His back was broad, muscled, lightly tanned. His feet were long, narrow, braced apart on the thick carpeting. Charlie stood there gawking, appreciating what a spectacular sight he made.

Oh yes, she definitely wanted to explore these unique feelings he inspired. She’d been around men all her life, but she’d never, not once, felt this much interest in one.

Her sigh caught his attention. He lifted his head, surveyed her tip to toes, then slowly stood. “You are an adorable sight, Charlie…” He paused, looking much struck. “I just realized I don’t know your last name.”

“Jones,” she squeaked, breathless over the way he watched her. She cleared her throat. “Charlie Jones.”

He held out his hand in the formal, time-honored tradition. “Harry Lonnigan.” Smiling, she stepped forward, shifted her wet jeans to one arm, and took his hand. With a mere glimpse of evil intent, Harry tugged her forward. He took her small bundle from her and dropped it to the floor. His hands lifted to cradle her face, she caught her breath, and then he kissed her.

HARRY COULDN’T believe the way she made him feel. It was a simple kiss, damm it, and heaven knew he’d kissed plenty of women in his time. And among those women, Charlie was likely the least proficient at it. So her lips were soft? So she smelled incredibly sweet?

She looked like a rumpled child in his shirt, the shoulders bagging almost to her elbows, the hem skimming her knees—very sexy knees actually, followed by shapely calves. He shook his head. She’d combed her hair straight back, evidently not the least interested in impressing him with her feminine attributes. She’d made no effort at all to make herself more appealing. Yet he already had an erection and he practically shook with lust. All because of a simple kiss.

It was so unexpected, he almost grinned.

That happened a lot with her; hell, he’d grinned more since first spotting her in that small grocery, all decked out like an adolescent thug, than he had in the past six months.

Beneath his palms, her skin warmed and she felt so incredibly silky, so vibrant, he wanted to devour her. He never devoured women! He was suave and controlled and applauded for his technique.

She had him so turned on, he couldn’t even remember his touted technique.

His thumbs stroked over her temple, her jaw. He kept the kiss easy, letting her lead, though he wanted badly to taste her, to slip his tongue into her mouth, to feel her tongue on his.

With a groan, he pulled back the tiniest bit and looked at her. Eyes almost closed, she swayed toward him, her pale, flushed skin in striking contrast to her glossy black hair and dark blue eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, and unable to help himself, he kissed her again, this time giving in to the urge to explore. He licked over her lips, and when she gasped, he slipped inside, coasting over her teeth, mating with her soft tongue.

He pulsed with need, he was so aroused.

Charlie’s hands opened on his naked shoulders. She moved against him, and he could feel her stiff little nipples, could feel the plumpness of her breasts, small, but very feminine and sweet. He started to lift a hand, to cup her, tease her and himself, and his honor came knocking, just barely nudging aside the need.

Unspoken invective filled his brain. He wanted so badly to feel her breasts, but…

Once he got started, he knew good and well it would be hours before he got his fill. He should be getting in touch with Dalton. He had no doubts the man would be worried, wondering what had transpired, whether or not Harry had been able to make any headway. He owed Dalton that much.

“Charlie.”

“Hmm…” She nuzzled his throat, took a small nip of his chin.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk.”

She blinked up at him, her look dreamy. “You called me sweetheart.”

Sighing, he said again, “We need to talk. Now.”

She stiffened, her gaze searching his. “Oh good grief. Please, don’t give me the old ‘you’re not that kind of guy’ routine.”

He took two steps back, and commended himself for accomplishing that much when he wanted so badly to feel her flush against him.

“I’m absolutely that kind of guy,” he assured her, staring down into her sweet face. “I’m the kind of guy who is nearly desperate to strip you to your very sexy naked hide. I’m the kind of guy that once I got started, especially on the unveiling on these stupendous breasts of yours, I wouldn’t want to stop until we were both insentient and without wit. I wouldn’t stop until you begged me to. Unfortunately, what happened tonight probably has several people worrying about us.”

The changing expressions on her face were almost comical. She went from openmouthed surprise, to blushing, to wide-eyed with realization. “My sister!”

“Yes. And I have a friend to contact. They deserve to know that we’re still alive and kicking.”

She rudely shoved him aside to snatch up the phone, and Harry admired the smooth rounded lines of her delectable backside. Nobility was surely a curse.

“I can’t believe I forgot about my sister.” She sent him a grave look of accusation and dialed the phone, muttering how it was his fault for distracting her, leaving off his shirt, showing his bare feet.

His bare feet? Harry shook his head. There was no accounting for her strange twists of reason. “I’ll finish dressing while you make your call.”

She’d barely finished dialing when Harry heard a shouted, frantic “hello” through the earpiece. Her sister had evidently been waiting for the call.

“Jill…I know, and I’m so sorry. I’m fine, really—Jill, I’m fine, I promise. Well, it’s a long story. I met a guy… No, Jill, it’s not that long.” Charlie glared at him, and Harry took the hint. He grabbed the rest of his clothes and left the room with a salute.

As he bounded down the stairs, he could hear the animated conversation, along with the occasional hushed, whispering tones, which he assumed meant the two women were discussing him. He entered the kitchen and because he was distracted, he almost tripped over his cat, Ted, now twisting around his bare ankles. It didn’t matter where Ted might be, if Harry entered the kitchen, Ted showed up.

He smiled down at the cat as he added some fresh food to his dish—always the first order of business. “I wonder how much Charlie will actually tell of our adventure.”

The dogs heard him talking and sauntered in. Harry reached for the back door which led to a tiny yard with a privacy fence. “Hey, why don’t you guys go out and run around a little, maybe give me some privacy?”

Doggy tails wagged, but actual bodies didn’t move.

The cat looked thoroughly indignant at such a suggestion and continued to eat.

“So it rained a little. Don’t you have to go?”

Sooner woofed an agreement and ran out. Grace took a little more coaxing, until she heard Sooner bark again and trotted out to investigate. Ted, with a look of disdain, licked his whiskers clean and leaped up to sit in one of the kitchen chairs.

Harry had the coffee ready, two cups poured, when Charlie came striding in. Harry handed her a cup and motioned for her to sit at the round table. Unfortunately, she tried to sit in Ted’s chair.

Ted could be very theatrical when it suited him. He made a horrid hissing sound, arched his back, fuzzed out his tail and made a general threatening display until Charlie had backed up a good five feet.

“What the hell’s wrong with your cat?”

Harry smiled fondly at his pet. “That’s Ted. He doesn’t like females.”

“Ted? How’d you come up with that name?”

Shrugging, he said, “He’s just Ted. Here, use this chair.”

Cautiously, keeping her gaze on the cat, Charlie circled to the chair Harry held out. “Is he always so mean?”

“With women, yes. He behaves well enough for me. Or maybe I behave well enough to suit him. Whatever, the arrangement works.” Harry smiled at her.

“The dogs don’t bother him?”

“Actually, they all get along fairly well. On his first day here, about a year or so ago, Ted explained things. We haven’t had a real ruckus since.”

“You’ve only had him a year? He looks older.”

“He is. I found him in an alley while I was on a job. He saved me by making a grand distraction when he objected to our invasion of his private space.”

“He threw a hissy like he just did to me?”

“Exactly, which effectively distracted the fellow who’d been holding a gun on me. I was able to…get the upper hand. So I brought Ted home. The vet treated him, despite Ted’s vicious complaints, and as long as I keep him well fed and his litter box clean, he doesn’t destroy my home.”

“A fair enough trade-off, I suppose.” She still eyed the cat warily, but Harry was pleased to see there was no dislike in her eyes. She understood, and he liked that.

“Cream or sugar?”

She snorted at such a suggestion, then took a healthy sip of her black coffee.

Harry scrutinized her as he liberally sweetened his own. “So you drink yours like a trucker, hmm? Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

After another sip, she asked, “For the same reason that seeing you turn yours into syrup doesn’t surprise me?”

“Your insults are getting sloppier. You must be tired.” He glanced at the clock, saw it was after midnight, and wondered if he should call Dalton after all. He hated to wake the older man if he’d already gone to bed. And Dalton did know Harry could take care of himself, so perhaps he hadn’t been worried at all. “Is your sister appeased by whatever story you told her?”

She frowned at that. “I told her the truth, and yeah, she’s appeased, but far from happy. She told me she’s going to wait up for me.”

Charlie offered that last small tidbit with a wince, which told Harry the night was going to get a whole lot shorter. “I assume this means you want to head home soon?”

“I’m afraid so. Jill is only eighteen, and she worries more than she should.”

That brought out a snort, which appalled him. Good God, he was beginning to pick up her less discriminating habits. Harry cleared his throat. “More than she should? With a sister who muddles into extortion and gets herself kidnapped, I’d say she’s justified.”

Charlie shrugged. “She wants me to give it up, my spying that is, but I’m determined.”

“Charlie—”

“No, before you start any lectures, I have a few questions for you.”

“Please, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I know you said you wouldn’t want to see me again—”

Before he could correct her, because at this point he had every intention of seeing her, all of her, as many times as was necessary to get the fever out of his system, she held up a hand and continued.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to get clingy. A little hanky-panky would have been…nice. But the night has gotten way too complicated, and I can see why you wouldn’t want to get involved with me beyond the night. I mean, we’re hardly two peas from the same pod.” She tried a smile that looked more like a grimace. “But… Well, I was hoping we could work out a different arrangement.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, positively prostrated. “You think a rendezvous with me would be merely nice?”

She looked startled by his tone. “Very nice,” she clarified, as if that made it better.

He felt smote to his masculine core. Here he’d been dredging up pagan images too erotic to bear, and she’d relegated the possibilities to merely nice. “I’ll have you know—”

“I’d like to hire you, Harry.”

That effectively put the brakes on his righteous diatribe. Hire him? Did she consider him a gigolo? Did she dare think she could afford him if he was for sale? The nerve.

But in a lusty sort of way the idea genuinely appealed to him. His body tensed until his muscles cramped. He was so hard, he could be considered a weapon.

Carefully, in case he misunderstood, he asked, “Hire me for what?”

“Detecting, of course. What else would I mean?”

Disappointment flowed through him. Nevertheless, he contrived to look merely curious. “Of course. And what would you need a P.I. for?”

“I told you.” she said with exaggerated patience. “To find out information on my father. He abandoned my sister and me ages ago, and that’s fine by me because from what I know of it, we were better off without him. Except now I think it’s time he accepted a few responsibilities. I figure since your friend has hired you to look into the extortion, and my father is one of the proprietors in that area, it shouldn’t really be too much trouble for you to find out a few things for me.”

A sick feeling of dread started to choke him. He remembered their most recent introduction, when she’d given him her last name. His belly churned, and he forced the question out. “Your father is?”

“Dalton Jones.”

CHAPTER FIVE

HARRY STARTED TO choke, picked up his coffee to take a large gulp, then choked some more. Coffee spewed out his nose and Charlie jumped up to pound on his back with surprising force. The cat hissed and loped out of the room. Harry fumbled for a napkin, and while Charlie tried to drive his ribs through his chest, he cleaned his face.

“You okay?”

Wheezing, he said, “If you’d quit bludgeoning me, it’s possible I’ll survive.”

She quit. In fact, her small hand opened, and rather than pounding, she smoothed her palm over his back. Harry stiffened. “What are you doing?” he asked carefully.

“You feel nice. Hard. And real warm.”

He started to choke again, and Charlie reseated herself. “That was the strangest damn thing, Harry. I’ve never seen coffee shoot out someone’s nose before. And it was still steaming.” She looked vaguely impressed when she added, “That had to hurt.”

“You frightened Ted, attacking me that way—”

“Yeah, right.” She gave a hearty snort. “Nothing would scare that beast.”

“—and you don’t sound the least bit sympathetic, so just be quiet.” His brain throbbed not only from her interested, caressing touch, but with ramifications of her admission. Dalton Jones, his best friend, the man who’d always been there for him, emotionally supported him, got him through his divorce-from-hell, was Charlie’s father? And she didn’t appear to have any fond feelings for the man. No, she literally sneered when she said his name, leading Harry to believe her feelings bordered more on contempt than anything else. Harry dropped his head to a fist and sighed.

“Sheesh. What’s got you so all-fired dejected, Harry?” She lounged back in the chair, at her leisure. “If you don’t want the job, just say so. It’s not like I was trying to coerce you or anything. I just thought since you’ll be checking things out there anyway, it’d be no big deal to let me know if you heard anything.”

Feeling himself duly cornered, Harry sighed again. “Let me get this straight. You want to get reacquainted with your father?” It was a shock, but Dalton would certainly be thrilled. Harry knew he’d spent a good portion of his life chasing after his ex-wife, doing his best to locate his children, to reclaim them, but the woman had always eluded him for reasons of her own.

Charlie bristled like an offended porcupine. “Hell no! I personally don’t want anything to do with him. And if I had any other choices, he could rot for all I cared. But…well, my mother passed away not too long ago and between her never-ending medical bills and the funeral, I’m flat broke. I need some cash to get my sister through college. The bar is mortgaged through the roof, and I can’t handle another personal loan.”

Harry started to tell her that Dalton would gladly help her in any way he could. But he held back. It wasn’t his place to make promises for Dalton, so he decided to talk to him first. Besides, Charlie’s attitude was less than promising, and explaining away the past was a chore Dalton could better handle.

Still, Harry felt he had to soften her just a bit, to perhaps suggest she modify her assumptions until the facts could be presented. “I’m sorry to hear about your financial difficulties, but—”

Her fist smacked the tabletop, causing him to jump. “Why should my sister have to settle for less than the college of her choice, just because my father was too low, too deceitful to own up to his responsibilities? Why should he get off leaving the entire burden to me…I mean, my mother?”

Harry heard the slip, of course, but he let it pass. All he knew about Charlie’s mother was what Dalton had shared, and he imagined from what he’d heard, Charlie’s life hadn’t been an easy one. That had been one of the biggest motivators for Dalton, the main reason why he’d refused to give up the search. He’d worried endlessly for the well-being of his daughters.

The dogs chose that propitious moment to want in, giving Harry a few minutes to think. He automatically went into his laundry room first to get an old towel, then opened the back door and knelt down. The dogs, well used to the routine, waited while Harry cleaned their muddy paws.

Charlie gawked at him. “Do you do that every time they go out?”

“When necessary, yes. I have fastidious dogs.”

“Gee, I wonder where they get it from?”

There was just enough sarcasm in her tone to tell Harry she was nettled. Very slowly, he looked up at her. “You’re not, perchance, making fun of my animals, are you?”

Her brows lifted.

“Because while I’ll accept aspersions thrown at me, I don’t take kindly to insults of my pets.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re defending an old collie, a mutt and an alley cat?”

His eyes narrowed and she muttered, “All right. Sorry.”

She didn’t look overly sincere. In fact, she still looked angry. Well, there was nothing he could do about it, not yet at least.

Harry reseated himself. Sooner lay on the floor, resting his head on Harry’s feet. Grace went to her dish to eat. “Perhaps your father has a legitimate excuse—”

“Ha! If he does, then he can damn well keep it to himself, because I’m not interested in hearing it. Years ago I might have…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. Sooner stared at her, picked up on her distress, and abandoned his master to go lick her hand. Charlie smiled and scratched his head.

After an audible swallow, she continued. “All I want to know is if he’s got any money, if I can count on him to do the right thing. He owes it to my sister to help her, to give her the opportunity to do her best in this world.”

Harry saw her stubborn pride, her visible struggle to keep herself together. Something inside him softened, and that tender feeling made him uneasy. “What about you? Doesn’t he owe you, too, Charlie?”

She stared him straight in the eye and said, “If it was just me, I’d gladly survive in the gutter with the moldy rats before giving him the time of day.”

Well. Harry leaned back in his seat, nonplussed. She certainly had a visual way of getting her point across. “Things aren’t always as they seem, you know.”