Free Bewitched by Lori Foster Page A

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.
    â€œDon’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?”
    â€œActually no. They were a gift from a friend.”
    â€œAh.”
    He headed for the door. “Go ahead and wash up. You canhang 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.”
    â€œJones,” 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.
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    H ARRY COULDN’T believe the way she made him feel. It was a simple kiss, damm it, and heaven knew he’d