had slipped some and she had a modest amountâall she possessed reallyâof 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.
âDonât move. Iâll play ladyâs maid and get you a towel and dry clothes and you can clean up just a bit before we progress any further.â
Progress to what, she wondered? Another part of his home, or another level of intimacy? She knew where her vote would be, but she didnât 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. âThe thing is, youâre something of a squirt, so nothing I have would be small enough to fit you. However, I wear a âtallâ so my shirt should make do for a dress, only I couldnât 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.â He lifted his hands. âIâm fresh out of ladiesâ panties.â
She drew a blank, except to ask, âYou wear silk boxers?â
âActually no. They were a gift from a friend.â
âAh.â
He headed for the door. âGo ahead and wash up. You canhang the coat on the back of the door and Iâll take care of it later. Thereâs a hamper under the cabinet where you can stick your muddy jeans. Iâll be in the kitchen making coffee after Iâve changed.â
The second he was out the door, Charlie rushed through her bath. She stripped off the coat, praying it wasnât ruined, and then spent several minutes working her wet, worn jeans down her legs. She didnât know what to do with her pantiesâno 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 sheâd pulled on the dry clothes Harryâd 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 heâd predicted, like a dress. It adequately covered her, but the silky boxers tickled. Rather than toss her dirty jeans in the hamper as heâd 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. Sheâd been around men all her life, but sheâd 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. âYou are an adorable sight, Charlieâ¦â He paused, looking much struck. âI just realized I donât know your last name.â
âJones,â she squeaked, breathless over the way he watched her. She cleared her throat. âCharlie Jones.â
He held out his hand in the formal, time-honored tradition. âHarry Lonnigan.â 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.
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H ARRY COULDNâT believe the way she made him feel. It was a simple kiss, damm it, and heaven knew heâd