by L. R. W. Lee
Harpoc chuckles. “I take it this will do?”
I roll over, sit up, and grab a string of my hoodie. “It’ll do, I suppose.” I sigh dramatically. “If only the steward had poured us wine.”
Harpoc snorts. “That can be arranged, you know.”
My heart picks up pace as he sheds his duster, adding it to the chair, but I scrunch my nose when I spot the chalky streak, from me, that still mars the front of his vest. He ambles to the wall of sliding glass doors, oblivious to my horror, and eyes the illuminated, private terrace pool beyond.
I’ve only seen him once without his coat, back in Hal and Kaz’s tent. The light was dim at best. But with no impediment now, I appreciate his lithe body, his well-fitting vest, and firm butt.
Pell, get ahold of yourself.
“Why don’t we clean up and take a dip? It’s heated.”
My eyes go wide. “Take… take a dip?”
“That is what it’s there for.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and grins.
“There’s no swimsuits.” I glance about even as I say it, unsure whether I want to see said garments or not.
With that expression, I half expect him to ask why that’s a problem, but instead, he says, “I asked them to send some up for us.”
As if on cue the doorbell rings, and Harpoc goes to answer it.
“Shall I put these away for you?” A uniformed steward, who follows him in, asks. The white-gloved man holds seven gold boxes, stacked nearly to his chin.
“Please,” Harpoc replies.
“Very good, sir.”
“What’s…?” I ask.
Harpoc gives me a wink and holds up a finger, retreating to the glass doors.
My heart pounds as the steward heads into the bathroom. From my perch on the bed, I peer in to see him set the boxes on the counter, open the first, riffle through the tissue paper and pull out a man’s black boxer-style swimsuit.
He lays it out on the nearby dresser, then reaches back in and pulls out a hunter-green, one-piece ladies’ suit that looks to be my size, or close to it.
Harpoc knows my size? I glance at him, but he just keeps tapping a ringed finger against his lips showing no interest in watching the guy. No, he’s watching me, watch the guy.
“How’d you know my size?”
“The concierge guessed.”
“Is that the guy you were talking to?”
“It is.”
“Some man sized me up?” My voice rises.
Don’t pretend you haven’t looked a certain sexy someone over, Pell.
Shut up, I tell myself.
“You did have your jacket on, so we’ll see how accurate his guess is.” Harpoc chuckles.
The steward continues, unboxing a pair of men’s boxer briefs and a pair of red, lacey bikini underwear. My face warms as he lays them out beside the swimsuits.
Harpoc grins, still tapping his lips, enjoying watching my reactions.
Two pairs of socks, his and hers, two pairs of white sweatpants, a matching white hoodie, and two white T-shirts follow.
I start jiggling my foot as I realize… there’s only one bed.
The steward takes to cleaning up the wrappings.
I glance at Harpoc, and my stomach quivers.
The sneaky bastard “somehow” arranged for this particular room. How? I’ve no idea, but there can be no doubt. I’ve no comprehension of what all his secret magic can do, but it’s definitely behind this. He knew this room has only one bed.
I’m definitely attracted to him, but…
Butterflies start two-stepping in my gut.
You undid his coat and messed with his wings. What did you expect, Pell?
It’s not that I’m not open to, you know… but I’ve just been playing.
Pell, do you honestly believe men find playful women uninspiring?
How would I know? I’m inexperienced, and he, most assuredly, is not.
Harpoc tips the guy, then follows him out and locks the door behind him. “You want to clean up first or shall I?” he asks, moseying back, hands back in his pockets.
“You… you go ahead.” My mouth goes dry.
“Are you okay, Pell?” He furrows his brow. “You look… worried.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I paste on a smile that no doubt doesn’t reach my eyes.
Lines deepen his brow, but he heads into the bathroom, giving me a final look before shutting the door.
What should I tell him? Should I tell him anything?
I bite my lip as I gather my thoughts.
I can see it play out: Harpoc sits down in the matching armchair, the one that’s free of our coats, across from me, and leans back. He brings a hand up and starts tapping a finger against his lips, watching me.
My heart thuds at what I’m about to say. “Harpoc, I’ve never dated anyone, well at least not anything steady. Jimmy Palmer took me to the Space Cowboy Ball one time, and I went to my senior prom after which Alex Bates kissed me, but other than that…”
He tilts his head and purses his lips, waiting for me to go on.
It’s not the reaction I expect, not that I know what that is, and I start playing with the string on my hoodie.
“I was always so focused on my studies in college that I never made time for relationships, and since I’ve been out in the field…” Harpoc sits there, tapping his lips. I wish he’d do something, say something, but no. “… well, I wasn’t about to date a colleague.” I shake my head. “God, no.”
I’m rambling…
I bury my hands that have started sweating, under my legs.
“You see, I’ve never…”
I can’t bring myself to say it. I’m twenty-four and still a virgin. Not that I haven’t fantasized, mind you.
The imaginary scene stops. I can’t tell him. Nope. No way. He has his secrets, I definitely have mine.
My breathing calms with the decision. Who knows where this night might go; I’ll just go with the flow.
Because you’re so practiced at “going with the flow,” Pell. Sarcasm laces the words, and I roll my eyes.
I kick off my boots, then bounce my feet against the side of the bed as I wait for Harpoc to finish. My stomach picks up with the cha-cha the longer he takes.
He finally emerges dressed in a white-terry, hotel bathrobe and slippers I spotted in the closet and oh how my little heart does thump as I eye him up and down.
The hint of a tattoo peaks out from the V in the robe and onyx hair covers his legs, not a bear by any means, just a sexy-ass man.
Mmm, mmm, mmm.
He grins at my ogling. “You’re next.”
“On my way.” I hop off the bed and amble across to the bath. Boy, is it ever hot in here.
Several minutes later, the doorbell rings. I’m half cleaned up.
What tool of seduction has he ordered this time?
A goofy grin spreads across my face.
Pell, get ahold of yourself.
Shush, I’m going with the flow.
I towel off and brush out my hair, eyeing the swimsuit lying not-so-innocently on the dresser. My stomach gives up the cha-cha in favor of the tango, and I brush my teeth with the hotel toothbrush, clean out my ears with a swab, and remove the dirt from under my fingernails. What else can I do?
You’re stalling, Pell.
I know. I know.
I inhale sharply and take the bull by the horns, squeezing into the green one piece. That concierge’s eye was damn accurate. I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried.
I stand on my tiptoes trying to see all of me as I shift this way and that before the overlarge mirror, adjusting the lycra around my barely-out-of-a-training-bra size breasts.
Hope he’s not a boob guy or he’ll be sorely disappointed.
I jump up and down trying to see my legs in the mirror.
Pell, just look down.
Duh. I whack my brow with the heel of my hand.
You’re a scientist, Pell, stop being a do
rk.
Ugh. Both my hips bear colorful bruises, and my knee sports a scab from the spills I’ve taken. But there’s nothing to be done. I’ll have to keep covered and make a quick dash to the pool.
I slip into the remaining white-terry robe hanging in the closet and tie the belt. The thing falls to below my knees, just as well.
The rumba picks up in my gut as I slip on the overlarge white slippers, pull open the door and step out.
Harpoc smiles, stopping chewing, where he reclines in one of the armchairs and gives me a thorough looking over. “I ordered us a charcuterie platter since we missed lunch.”
My stomach rumbles on cue. I’ve been so preoccupied with “other things” that I haven’t noticed.
“I hope you like white wine.” Harpoc sits up, then wipes his hands on a cloth napkin, picks up the bottle and pours me a glass.
“Fulfilling my every desire, I see.”
Heat smolders in those beautiful eyes of his, making me more jittery.
But he doesn’t comment, just sets my glass down on the small table between the chairs, beside the tray brimming with sliced meats and cheeses, pickles, fresh strawberries, honey, and more.
Oh, boy.
He’s moved his coat to the sofa, and I plop down in the now-empty chair, fold my legs up under me, and eye the feast.
“Looks amazing.”
He uses his fingers to grab several walnuts and pops them in his mouth.
“I can get into fingers.”
Harpoc grins broadly, barely stifling a laugh.
I feel my cheeks flush. “That’s… that’s not what I meant…” Or maybe it is.
“I promised that we’d resume our previous conversation, but it seems you’ve beaten me to it.” He crows.
“No… I didn’t…” It’s pointless to defend when my face burns. I scrunch up my nose.
He reaches over and tweaks it. “I know what you meant. It’s just fun to watch you blush.”
I swat his hand, then grab a slice of salami and wash it down with a gulp of wine.
“Careful there, or you’ll be drunk in no time.”
I down two mozzarella balls.
Once we polish off the charcuterie board, Harpoc reveals a plate of baklava he stowed in the empty drawer of the nightstand, to great fanfare by me.
I promptly scarf down three of the six pieces, then eat a fourth at Harpoc’s insistence.
“Ready for that dip?” Harpoc asks.
Two glasses of wine have made me relax, and the dance floor in my stomach has emptied. I take Harpoc’s proffered hand and stand, then follow him to the sliding glass doors.
“The air’s a bit chilly, but the water’s warm.” Harpoc reaches for the belt of his robe, pulls it open, then tosses it on the sofa beside the door.
Oh lordy, but the dance floor in my stomach fills up fast. A quickstep this time.
His muscled chest is clean, not a hair in sight. The tattoo I saw peeking out from his robe is a rose with its stem in an infinity pattern. A swirl of shadow wraps around part.
“That’s beautiful.”
He looks down at his tattoo. “Thank you.”
“Does it mean anything or did you just like the design?”
“Some of both.” He smiles. Clearly there’s a story, but he isn’t going to share it. Surprise, surprise.
He slides the patio door open and a rush of cold air hits me, distracting me from probing.
I bite my lip. Shed my robe or not?
Like ripping off a Band-Aid, Pell.
I follow suit, tossing my robe on top of his, feeling like a snail without its shell.
His eyes travel from my face, down my pubescent chest and abdomen, down to my narrow hips. He frowns when he catches sight of my colorful thighs and slides the door closed again. “Pell…”
I want to hide from his scrutiny, but there’s no out, and my heart starts to race.
“Sit.” He points to the sofa.
I comply, watching his every twitch as he kneels before me in that not-much-there suit of his. My breath hitches.
“Sit back.”
My back brushes the overlarge pillows of the sofa we dumped our robes on, and I hug myself. I trust him. I do, but oh god, what’s he going to do?
“Easy there, Pell.” A corner of his mouth quirks up.
His focus drops to my bruises, and he leans forward, then reaches out and places a hand on my right thigh. I swear wherever he touches tingles.
Breathe, Pell.
Force of will alone keeps me still as I gaze at his wavy onyx hair atop his bent head. I inhale, and warmth spreads to my lady bits. I long to run my hands through those locks.
Don’t do it, Pell.
He moves to my left thigh, then on to my knee, and my heart practically beats out of my chest.
Calm down, Pell, before you have a coronary.
At length, he sits back on his haunches and catches my gaze. “All better.”
My brain is a bowl of Jell-O, and I can’t find words.
“Look.” He nods toward my legs.
I follow his gaze and my eyes go wide. “You… You can heal, too?”
My thighs and knee have returned to their normal pasty pale. “Thank… Thank you.”
He chuckles, extending a hand, and helps me up.
Does he know what he’s doing to me?
I wanted to go with the flow and be spontaneous for once. I hadn’t anticipated that Harpoc’s “flow’’ might just wash me out to sea because, in this moment, I’m adrift, in way over my head with a guy who’s making me feel things I’ve never felt before. I’ve no idea what to do, much less think.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I shriek as I emerge from the room, holding myself. Why, oh why, did I agree to take a dip?
Really, Pell? You love sap, you. I can practically see my alter ego rolling her eyes.
Shush.
Harpoc laughs, sliding the door shut, as I scuttle for the pool steps.
Please be warm, please be warm.
I reach the steps and dip a toe in to find the water bathwater temperature. Lack-of-Grace helps submerge me fully as I slip on a step in my haste and come up sputtering.
Harpoc is beside me in an instant. “Are you okay?”
I nod, coughing. Mortified.
He shakes his head, grinning.
What must he be thinking?
“Shall we?” He nods to the right, toward the side of the pool where underwater lights illuminate a blue and white tiled ledge that juts out below the surface.
Dipping to neck deep in the water, I make like a duck and waddle in the three-and-a-half-foot deep—at least according to the tile marker on the side—water, then scoot my behind onto the ledge and sit back.
“That’s very cute.” Harpoc sits down beside me, clearly amused.
“What? I hate freezing.”
“So I see.” He palms a handful of water at me.
I cup my hands and propel more back at him. All hell breaks loose between us after that until my stomach aches from laughing so hard it hurts. His, too, judging by the way he holds his gut.
“Truce?” he asks, holding up his hands.
“You started it.”
“That I did.” His smile tells me he doesn’t regret a thing.
I pant as we sit again, most of my nervous energy spent. I’m glad. Maybe now I can actually carry on a conversation with him.
The buoyancy of the water moves me forward, so I put my palms against the tile to stay in place, keeping only my head above water. Harpoc reclines with his arms spread along the side, bare chest above the waterline. To say it’s distracting is an understatement, but I want to get to know him, beyond his physical beauty.
“Is there nothing your magic can’t do?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You cleaned up my motel room, my clothes, and my boots with it, at least I’m assuming so. I was in the bathroom washing up so I don’t know for sure. It also protected us from the rain whil
e we walked to Atitamos’s Cafe, it blocked the wind while flying, it lets you speak unknown languages, perceive the contents of scrolls, rebuild that wall and the maze, healed my bruises...”
He’s smiling. “That’s quite a list you have there—”
I hold up a finger, interrupting. “And…”
“And?” He tilts his head.
I wrinkle my nose, embarrassed to say, but Harpoc’s intense gaze has me add, “It did a fine job getting us this room. Mighty convenient that it has only one bed.” I wag my brows.
He laughs. “You thought that was secret magic that got us this room?” He winks.
“Wasn’t it? I’m learning to just go with the flow around you because your magic seems capable of anything.”
A grin bursts onto his face, and he shakes his head. “Secret magic did not get us this room, I can assure you.”
“Really?” He didn’t rig it?
“Really. Is there anything we’re attempting to keep secret?”
“Well, no…” But I’d been so sure.
“Isn’t it possible someone really did just cancel before we arrived?”
“I suppose.” Still doubt nibbles at me.
“Secret magic does have many of those capabilities, you’re right, but it only works when there’s a secret to keep.” He clears his throat and looks away, like he’s accidently said too much.
Don’t let him off the hook, Pell.
No worry about that. I’m on his sexy ass like a… like a… Any simile just sounds gross, and I don’t finish the thought.
“What secret did cleaning up my spilled soup and worn stuff keep? It’s a well-known fact that I’m a dirt-poor slob.”
Harpoc grows unnaturally quiet.
Really? Again.
Keep after him, Pell.
“Okay, fine. What about keeping us dry with the rain shield?” I shift on the ledge.
He turns back toward me, a corner of his mouth hitching up. “I’m going to start calling you my little harpy.”
My stomach quivers at the endearment, but I furrow my brows, covering. “Why?”
“Between your shrieking at the cold and your probing—” He laughs. “—you’re ferocious, Pell.”
