Trouble With Harry

by Myla Jackson

  Ohmigod! Edie’s face heated. She’d been staring at his privates. She’d never stared at a man’s privates before. What would he think? Then again, what was a naked man doing in her warehouse? Perhaps he was crazy. Maybe he was a sexually perverted lunatic out to deflower lonely virgins. Edie sank to the floor and gathered up a loose slat from the crate she’d dismembered.

  If he was going to rape her, she wasn’t going down without a fight. She stood, her hand gripping the splintered wood. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  The man rubbed his eyes and blinked, before he straightened and looked directly at her. “Who are you? And where the hell am I?”

  The woman standing before him brandished a wooden slat in his face. “I asked first.”

  Harry stepped back and, for the first time, realized he was completely naked. “Holy Jesus.” He leaned over to grab a board but the sharp corner of a board poked his chest. Reflexively, he crossed his hands over his groin.

  “Don’t move, or I’ll scream.” The woman poked him again. “What are you doing here? And more importantly, why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

  “Look, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I do not have designs on your person.” He reached to push the point off his ribs, baring his groin, again. “If you’d quit jabbing me with that stick, I’ll cover myself.”

  Edie tried really hard to keep her gaze above his shoulders, but some things were just too noticeable to be ignored from the corner of her eye. “Oh.” Her cheeks burned and she stepped back. “Yes, of course.”

  He leaned down again to reach for a board.

  “Not with that!” The sharp edge caught him in the throat this time, puncturing the skin. Warm liquid oozed down his neck.

  He straightened, his hands rising to rest on his hips. “How am I supposed to cover myself with you trying to stab holes in me?”

  “Here, use this.” She struggled with one hand to untie the strap around her neck and waist while maintaining her grip on the board. Then she tossed her canvas apron at him.

  Harry deftly caught the apron in a single hand and held it like a fig leaf over the lower half of his torso. Had he drunk himself into a stupor last night? And where was he? Obviously, not in the desert. And why was this woman waving a stick at him. Had his performance in bed been that dismal?

  “Go ahead, put it on,” she said, her face flaming, her voice shaking like dry leaves rattling in the wind.

  “A lady would look away while a man dressed himself,” he grumbled.

  “Look, buster, I’m not turning away for a second, so don’t even think about jumping me.” Her words sounded tough but her hand shook.

  She was scared of him.

  Come to think of it, a naked man in the presence of a woman would be cause for alarm in anyone’s book—unless, of course, they’d already shared a passionate night together. Although by the look on her face, that probably wasn’t the case. “All right, but could you at least look at my face, instead of staring at my—” He cleared his throat and glanced down. Damned if he wasn’t hardening. Good Lord, and the woman wasn’t his usual long-stemmed blonde beauty.

  Will would have a good laugh over his reaction.

  Will. A lead weight settled in Harry’s gut. Where was his friend? Had he ended up in as peculiar a situation as he had? Or was he still back at the tomb, possibly buried in the sand?

  Feeling downright silly, Harry tied the apron around his waist, creating a distinctive tent in front while cool air continued to brush his naked backside. “Perhaps we could start over. I’m Harrington Taylor from America. I don’t really know what I’m doing here. And you are?”

  “Not buying it.”

  “Excuse me?” What the hell did she think he was selling? “I’m not selling anything, if that’s what’s got you worried.”

  “I may not be very worldly, but I know a con when I see it.” She shook her board at him. “No sane man shows up in the back of a warehouse in New York City naked unless he’s crazy or out to rape some unsuspecting female.”

  “New York City? Warehouse?” Harry staggered backward. “What the hell are you talking about? And why would I want to rape you?”

  “Don’t play dumb. I’ve heard about your type. Preying on lone females. I have a good set of lungs on me. I’ll scream if you try anything.”

  Harry’s head spun, his mind grasping for answers. “Let me get this straight, I’m not in Iraq? I’m back in America?”

  The woman rolled her light green eyes. She’d almost be pretty if her hair wasn’t pulled back so severely. And her skin was translucent white sprinkled with a dusting of freckles, complimenting the amber tint of her eyebrows and the thin wisps curling around her ears. “No and yes.”

  “How the hell did I get here?”

  “That’s my question.”

  He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the fog. “One moment, Will and I were opening the sarcophagus—”

  “Who’s Will?” The woman darted a glance around her.

  “My assistant on the dig.” Harry looked around too. “And apparently not here.”

  “So you’re one of the men from the Iraq dig?” Her hand wavered for a moment, then she shifted the stick to the other. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here and without clothing.”

  “I told you, I don’t know.” His head ached, and the damp of the warehouse seeped through his bare skin into his bones. He shivered. “I don’t suppose you have something more substantial than this apron for me to wear?”

  “You’re the one running around without clothes in the middle of a cool snap.”

  “Nevertheless, I am a bit cold.” He reached behind him to try to close the edges of the apron to stop the breeze cooling his backside.

  She didn’t budge. “So you’re telling me you were at the archeological dig in Iraq, and you don’t know how you got here?”

  He scrubbed his hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. How strange he must look. “All I can remember is touching the stone of Azhi and the rest is a blur.”

  “Huh?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s the stone of Azhi?”

  How much should he tell a complete stranger? He’d spent so much time searching. “Does it matter?”

  “You really don’t know what happened?”

  “Honest.”

  “And you were at the dig in Iraq?” The stick bobbed and lowered an inch.

  “Yes.” How could he make her believe? “I’d been working on that site since nineteen.”

  Her head tilted to the side. “Nineteen what?”

  “Nineteen nineteen.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Nineteen what? Since you were nineteen?”

  “No.” What was her problem? Didn’t she understand English? He spoke in slow, deliberate words. “The year nineteen nineteen.”

  “You mean nineteen ninety-nine.”

  She’d accused him of being a lunatic only now, Harry could swear she was the crazy one. “No, I meant nineteen nineteen.”

  “The next thing you’ll tell me you’re, what…” Her eyes tipped toward the ceiling. “…one hundred years old.”

  “No, I just turned thirty.”

  The stick leveled off, chest high. “What year were you born?” She shot the question at him, her words brisk and clear.

  “1894,” he answered without hesitation.

  Her mouth dropped slightly, her eyes widening for a brief moment. Then she glanced around the warehouse. “Oh, I get it, this is a joke.” She laughed out loud, a smile curving her lips, softening the tight lines of her face. When she allowed her features to relax, she could almost be considered pretty.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You. This situation. Whoever put you up to this charade? Which one of my colleagues? Who was it?”

  “What charade?”

  “You either have a really bad memory, can’t add or are pulling the hell out of my leg.” She shook the fractured board at him. “Which one is it?” />
  Feeling more confused by the moment, he snapped, “I’ve always been very good with my numbers, and I have an exceptional memory.”

  “That leaves pulling my leg.” She poked his chest. “I’m calling the police.”

  “Why, what year were you born?”

  “Nineteen seventy-five. Which, I suspect is about when you were born, give or take a few years.”

  “Nineteen seventy-five.” Harry snorted. “This game has gone on long enough, woman. When I woke up this morning, it was the year of our lord nineteen hundred and twenty-four. I know I couldn’t have been out for very long. What is today’s date?”

  “March fourteenth, two thousand and five. Now, as you so eloquently put it, I’m tired of playing games. Who are you and why are you naked in the warehouse of the New York City Anthropological Museum?”

  Two thousand and five? Was she out of her mind? That would mean he’d been asleep for over eighty years. His vision blurred, and he staggered backward until the backs of his bare legs brushed against the cool stone of the sarcophagus. He turned to stare down at the mummified remains of the princess Vashti. Where was the stone? He reached down, digging alongside the petrified remains until his fingers connected with a cool smooth surface.

  “What are you doing?” The woman behind him asked.

  “I told you, the last thing I remember was touching the stone of Azhi. And this…” He lifted the stone out of the coffin and held it up for her to see. “This is the stone.” The last time Harry touched the stone, strange things happened. This time, nothing. He stared at the object in his hand turning it over. Why all the commotion the first time and not now?

  “Put it back.” She jabbed the stick into his side.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re trying to steal what belongs to the museum.” She poked him again. “Put it back.”

  “Edie!” A voice echoed off the exposed beams.

  The woman jerked back, her gaze darting from him to the end of the aisles.

  “Look, I’m not here to start trouble.” Until he knew exactly what had happened, Harry didn’t want anyone else to know about him or the stone. “You have to believe me.”

  “Why?” she whispered, her gaze darting toward the source of the voice.

  Why, indeed? “Because, you’re the only one who knows I’m here and apparently I need your help.”

  “Edie!” Mr. Baumgartner called out again.

  Edie jerked around. “That’s my boss. I should turn you over to him.”

  “But you won’t, will you?” he said, his voice soft and persuasive.

  He sounded sultry and dangerously sexy, very much like the pirate in her daydream. And his wickedly black hair hung down to his shoulders, just as she’d envisioned. Shoulders so broad, she longed to run her hands across them to see if they were as hard as they looked.

  “Edie!” The voice moved closer, blocked from view by several high rows of crates and boxes.

  Damn! What should she do? The proper employee would report the naked stranger to her boss. But the man’s deep brown eyes pleaded with her. She’d seen similar tactics used by puppies in the pet store window. Her stomach knotted. Should she or shouldn’t she? Her boss was only a few steps away, and Edie couldn’t decide. “Oh, I wish you’d just go back to wherever you came.”

  The floor beneath her trembled and a sudden gust of air lifted the hem of her skirt.

  “Uh-oh,” the naked man said. “It’s happening again.” His body shimmered and dissolved into a transparent image. The apron drifted to the floor and the stone slipped from his fingers to land among the apron’s folds.

  Before Edie’s unbelieving eyes, the man turned to smoke and was sucked into the blue-green bottle at the foot of the sarcophagus. Edie stared at the apron and back to the sarcophagus. What the hell? Had she been daydreaming again? Or had she slipped over the edge and gone into nutso lunatic land? She squeezed her eyelids closed, counted to four and opened them again. Still no man, only the apron on the floor.

  Chapter Two

  “Edie, where the hell are you?” Mr. Baumgartner’s voice was sharp and nasal. The nasal sound being more pronounced when he was highly irritated.

  For a very brief moment, Edie stood in stunned silence, unwilling and unable to digest what had just occurred. When she pinched her arm through the white cotton of her blouse, her nerve endings sent pain messages to her brain. She wasn’t asleep, nor was she dreaming. A naked man couldn’t have disappeared before her eyes, could he? Obviously, Edie Ragsdale, you’re suffering from terminal Virginitis. Why else would she imagine handsome pirates everywhere?

  “Hide the bottle and the stone,” the missing naked man called out.

  Edie jumped. She knew she wouldn’t find him, but she darted a glance around the sarcophagus. Nope, he wasn’t there.

  “Hide them, Edie,” a tiny voice called out.

  “Edie, is that you? There are too damn many rows in this warehouse.” Mr. Baumgartner groused, still out of sight, but his footsteps indicated he was nearing the end of the rows and would be within view momentarily.

  “Please, Edie,” the man hissed. “Hide the bottle and the stone.”

  Edie snatched the gold-banded bottle out of the sarcophagus, scooped the apron, stone and all, from the floor and shoved them behind another stand of boxes. Just as Mr. Baumgartner stepped around the end of the row, she brushed her skirt down and tried to appear natural. “Mr. Baumgartner, what can I do for you?”

  “Answer me when I call, for one.” Lyle Baumgartner strode straight for the sarcophagus. “Just got a call from a collector about this find.”

  “You did?” Edie’s stomach churned. As hot as her cheeks burned, she knew her face had to be a case study in guilt. Could Mr. Baumgartner tell she had something to hide?

  “She asked if there was a stone in the case. Have you seen anything resembling a stone?”

  If she said yes, she’d have to produce the stone. If she said no, she’d be lying. “What stone?”

  Mr. Baumgartner leaned over the ancient sarcophagus, his nose wrinkling. “Old dead bodies still smell like dead bodies. Disgusting. The woman said something about a stone in the shape of a two-headed dragon over the mummy’s head. Did you see anything like that?”

  “The lid to the sarcophagus had a carving in the shape of a two-headed dragon. Does that help?” She wasn’t lying, exactly. But she sure felt like it. The tips of her ears burned. Had her father been standing in front of her, he’d have known immediately. Thank goodness, Mr. Baumgartner wasn’t quite as observant.

  Edie shot a glance toward the stack of boxes concealing the stone and the talking bottle. Could this day get any more bizarre?

  “I’m certain the lady meant a jewel or stone of some kind, although she only said stone. I’ll have to call her back for clarification. She seemed quite excited.”

  The shipment hadn’t been in the warehouse more than a day, and someone was already inquiring on it. That stone must be more important than even Mr. Baumgartner knew. “What’s so special about the stone?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth researching. In the meantime, make sure you review this mummy with a fine-tooth comb and catalog everything, down to the length of her fingernails.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Baumgartner dusted his hands off. “Well, I don’t see anything to get excited about. Let me know if you find anything. You can reach me on my home phone.”

  With that, her boss left. No “See ya tomorrow” or “Have a nice night”, just the usual departure without pleasantries.

  She followed Mr. Baumgartner to the end of the row and watched him until he disappeared through the office door. With a sigh of relief, she turned back to fish the bottle and the stone out of the hiding place between boxes.

  “Hey, naked man. Where did you go?” She stared down at the items in her hand and then around the empty warehouse.

  “I’m in the bottle.”

  Edie almost dr
opped the beautiful blue-green bottle. She’d seen him transform to smoke and disappear into it, but she didn’t want to believe it. “No really, come out where I can see you.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  She stared down into the bottle, but really couldn’t see anything. “Good grief. I covered for you. Hell, I practically lied to my boss. I wish you’d come out before I get really mad and call the police.”

  The bottle shook in her hand, and a wisp of smoke grew into a six-foot high cloud. The naked man materialized next to her, no longer smoke, his body solid flesh and bone down to the musky male scent.

  “Yow!” he yelled, shaking back his hair. “I was inside that bottle.” He stared at the colored glass in her hand. “Did you see that?”

  “Yes, but I’m not believing it.” She touched his arm. The warmth of his flesh seeped through her fingertips, sending sparks along her nerve endings. Hell, she was standing within touching distance of a naked man. How often in her lifetime had she been this close to the opposite sex, in the flesh?

  Try never.

  With a shaking hand, she set the bottle back in the sarcophagus, afraid that if she didn’t, she’d drop the thing, shattering it into a million pieces. She clutched the apron and the stone to her chest like a shield.

  Apparently unconcerned that he was once again standing buck naked in front of her, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you let your boss talk to you that way?”

  “Huh?” The question startled Edie. She hadn’t expected it, considering all the issues she had about smoking bottles and his naked self. Edie shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  “You’re a smart woman. He should respect that.”

  His words stung. How often had she told herself the same thing? Yet, she did nothing to change the situation. “Assuming you really are from the past, that’s a surprisingly unchauvenistic comment.”

  “Unchauvenistic?”

  Edie allowed a little grin to curve her lips. He was good playing the part of a man from the early twentieth century.