by Lori Foster
Charlie made a face at him, though he didn’t see it So calm, so sure of what he planned to do. She wanted to know what was going on, who he was and what he’d been up to, why Floyd and Ralph had taken money from the store owner and what a private investigator had to do with it. Her curiosity was pricked, even though she had no room for other mysteries, other ventures. And now definitely wasn’t the time. First she had to get back to Corsville. All her plans, shot through.
“You’d truly have let them shoot me?”
She lifted her face to see Harry studying her. He was so sure of himself, so arrogant. So damn good-looking. “Of course,” she lied, disconcerted with his stare and just annoyed enough to goad him. She evidently used enough sincerity because his fierce frown reappeared.
Despite his obvious polish, he looked almost demonic with that evil glare. His incredible light brown eyes seemed scorching hot and far too probing, as if he could see inside her. She shivered, then shook off the fanciful thoughts. He was just a man like all the others, bigger, definitely stronger and more eloquent, but still fairly basic and ruled by simple motivations. She could, and would, control him.
His gaze lowered to her chest. “I can’t imagine why. You don’t appear to have anything all that spectacular to conceal.”
He was going for the jugular, but Charlie, having worked in a bar for the past seven years, wasn’t even tempted by the familiar baiting. At least her disguise had worked well. She was wearing enough layers to keep her warm and conceal any feminine curves at the same time.
Harry squeezed her hand to regain her attention and his expression was still too intent. “It’s not that I haven’t been shot before, you understand, but—”
“You should be more careful with your gun.”
His eyes darkened, grew hotter. “Not with my gun, you little—”
“Listen. Isn’t he shifting now? And if I’m not mistaken, the truck is slowing.”
Harry gave her a long look of promised retribution. “Yes.” He pulled his long legs up against the bed of the truck, bracing himself. “Time for us to go.”
Charlie gulped. She looked down at the passing roadway beneath her and winced. True enough the truck had slowed, but the road still flew by them.
“One… ”
“Ah, maybe—”
“Two… ”
“Wait a second!”
“… three.”
“Harry!”
“Go.” And with that, he gave her a shove while using his muscular bulk to propel them out. They landed together, their hands still linked, and somehow Harry managed to get beneath her so that he cushioned much of her fall, not that his hard body felt much more giving than the roadway. They tumbled before coming to a dead stop, her on top, their legs tangled together. But just as quickly he rolled to the left, putting her beneath him—and into a very large icy puddle. She sucked in her breath with the shock of it.
His enormous body covered her completely, unmoving, heavy and hard. For the moment she was unable to think with any clarity. It felt as though her teeth had been jarred loose and with his great hulking weight on her, she couldn’t draw a deep breath. Rain struck her face, icy cold and stinging against her flesh.
After a moment he lifted his head and looked behind them. Rain ran in rivulets from his hair to her chest. “The truck lights are going around the bend. I do believe Ralph is totally unaware that he’s lost his guests.”
When she didn’t respond, he looked down at her. Charlie stared at his shadowed features in the darkness, struck again by his perfect handsomeness. He seemed such a contradiction. A fancy-pants, but with a lumberjack’s body. A gallant hero, but still a bit earthy. She couldn’t help but be awed by him, and she hated it.
His head lowered until he blocked the worst of the rain from her face, until she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Her chest constricted the tiniest bit more.
It was absurd! She’d long ago learned the truth about men and their deceptions. But now, at the most unlikely of times, her mind had gone wandering along wayward paths.
Still, she could feel him from breasts to knees, and he was firm and muscled and big. The wet ground and the danger seemed to fade for just a moment.
“Are you all right?”
His voice was low and deep and she wondered at it, even as she felt her belly curl in response to his tone. “I can’t breathe.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered for long moments. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “My apologies.” Gingerly, he removed himself, groaning every so often. He offered her a hand and together they sat there in the middle of the road. “I lingered in the hopes of feeling something worthy of my life, but you seem to be all pointy bones.”
“What are you whining about?” As she stood, forcing her wobbly legs to support her, she squished. The puddle had seeped beneath her leather jacket to the layers of padding beneath. She was soggy as an old dishrag and probably holding about a gallon of water.
“Your breasts, sweetheart, those magnificent assets that are worth my life.”
Oh for pity’s sake. “Are you still harking on about that?” She looked around and saw nothing but darkness and endless stretching highway. The rain continued to fall, but luckily there was no traffic. None at all. “Where are we?”
“Yes, I’m still harking. It is my life, after all, though it obviously means little enough to you. And I’d say we’re in the middle of the damn road, somewhere between Corsville and oblivion, getting more sodden by the second.”
She started walking, leaving him behind. With every step, her boots, two sizes two large and now slick with the rain from the inside out, rubbed against her heels. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and she knew before long she’d have horrible blisters. But what else could she do? Stand around and wait for Ralph to return? Miss the grand performance she’d waited a lifetime to witness?
Probably, her thinking continued, she’d already missed it. That prospect angered her so much, she ignored Harry when he called to her.
“Hold up.” His large hand closed on her arm and pulled her to a halt. “We can’t just traipse down the middle of the road. In case it’s escaped your notice, Floyd and Ralph are not nice men. They could double back looking for us. We need to get out of sight.”
True enough, she thought, and nodded. “Yeah, and I suppose that means the woods.” She glanced down at his dress shoes. “And with this downpour, it’ll be a swamp.” Her smile wasn’t entirely nice. She started in that direction, and Harry followed. Both sides of the highway were lined with thick trees and little else.
“I can see by your snide expression you expect me to have a certain aversion to mud?”
She kept walking. “I hope not, ‘cause big and heavy as you are, you’ll sink up to your knees.”
Harry turned up his collar and swiped the rain from his face, then shaded his eyes. “With all those trees acting as an umbrella, the ground might not be as saturated as you think.”
“You hope.”
He ignored her. “And likely the woods abut a farm or some sort of residential dwelling. We could get access to a phone.”
She turned to face him. “All right, have you convinced yourself?”
His look of condescension had her grinning again. “I was attempting to reassure you, but I see the effort was wasted. Allow me to lead.”
“Sure thing, Harry.” At least his big body would block some of the rain. She stumbled along behind him in her heavy, soaked clothes, more miserable than she’d ever been in her life—not that she’d let him know it.
Harry took her arm. “You surprise me. I didn’t expect you to be so agreeable.”
She hunched both shoulders against the rain and trod onward, pulled along by his hand on her arm. “I’m easy.”
His chuckle could be heard even over the rainstorm. “No grand confessions here, if you please. Not when I can’t do anything about them.”
She tried to stare at him, lost at his words, but h
e more or less dragged her behind him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He grinned again; she couldn’t see it, but she could hear it. “I appreciate an easy woman as much as the next man. But these conditions aren’t exactly conducive to seduction.”
Appalled, she forgot to watch her step and tripped over a tree root. Harry pulled her upright before her face hit the mud. Of all the outrageous!… “I wasn’t talking about sex, you idiot!”
They continued a few more feet, and luckily, though the mud did suck at her too-big boots, it was drier, the rain not so blinding, filtered by the many trees.
“That’s for the best, I suppose, since I don’t as yet know what you have to offer. All I know is that you apparently think it’s worth a man’s life.”
She rolled her eyes and decided to ignore him. Several minutes later, she was wincing in pain.
Harry stopped and turned to frown down on her. Without the rain lashing her face, her eyes were able to adjust to the darkness, and once again she found herself scrutinizing him.
He was by far the biggest man she’d ever seen, tall and thickly muscled, but with grace, if such a thing was possible. And he had the strangest eyes, a shade lighter than his medium brown hair, almost a whiskey color, but bright and thick lashed. Intense, bordering on wicked. When he looked at her, she actually felt it; she’d felt it even back in the store. That’s how she’d known he was creeping up on her, intent on telling her something. She hadn’t wanted his attention or anyone else’s. She’d wanted to be able to concentrate on her first small victory in her private war.
But the plan had fallen through. Damn Dalton Jones.
Harry touched her chin, his fingers gentle. “What’s the matter? I expected a tenacious little mug like you to keep up, not lag behind.”
She sighed. Showing a weakness to this man, any weakness, went against the grain. He was the one out of his element, yet he hadn’t offered a single complaint. But there was no hope for it. “My feet are killing me.”
“Ah, I see. Well, since I may want to retain that pleasure for myself—killing you, that is—why don’t you explain to me exactly what the problem is?”
The threat didn’t alarm her. She was already used to his wry sense of humor and didn’t fear him at all. “My boots are too big and now that they’re wet they’re sliding up and down and I can feel the blisters on my heels. It hurts.”
He stared down at her, those eyes of his bright in the darkness, like a wild animal surveying prey, making her shiver with a strange and exciting feeling. But his voice, in comparison, was soft, inquiring. “Why are your boots too large?”
She scowled, attempting to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. “Because I hadn’t exactly planned on trudging through the woods in them.”
Coming down on his haunches in front of her, he said, “Give me your foot.”
“The bottom is covered in mud.”
“I’ll survive.”
He lifted her foot and wiggled her boot, judging the size while ignoring her cry of pain—the jerk.
“I have some knit gloves in my pocket. Do you think you could stuff them into the heels as a little padding?”
Her sore feet loved the idea. “Yeah, thanks.”
To her surprise, he picked her up.
To her further surprise, he cursed and hastily set her back down again when streams of rainwater squished out of her clothing to run down his chest. “What in the world are you wearing? You feel like a sodden mop and weigh a ton.”
She flushed, both from his initiated gallantry and his censure. She wasn’t used to either. No man tried to schmooze her, and they sure as hell didn’t try to boss her around. Through gritted teeth, she explained, “I have a few… layers on.”
Though she tried to duck away, one large hand reached beneath her jacket and clutched at the material over her rib cage. He squeezed, and it was like wringing out a rag. “Ah. I assume this is why your precious breasts are invisible?”
Overcome with embarrassment, ready to drown him in the nearest available mud puddle, she nodded. “And you can shut your mouth on any more questions because it’s none of your damn business anyway!”
“My curiosity grows in leaps and bounds.”
“I hope you choke on your blasted curiosity.”
He laughed. “Come on, and no, I won’t carry you regardless of how your feet hurt.”
“I wasn’t going to ask!”
He assisted her to a fallen log amidst tons of greenery. Charlie prayed it wasn’t poison ivy vines twining everywhere. Harry crouched in front of her again and tugged off the boots.
“I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” He pulled the gloves from his pockets, folded one in half and put it inside her sock. “Let’s try this and see how it works.” After both feet were repaired and her boots back on, she stood.
“How does it feel?”
The gloves were soft and thankfully dry. She took a few careful steps, then smiled. “Much better. Thanks. You’re a handy man to have around, Harry.”
He opened his mouth and she said, “If ever again I find myself kidnapped and then abandoned in a rainstorm on an empty highway bordering the woods while wearing boots that are too big, why then, you’re just the man I’d want to… ”
A beep sounded, interrupting her teasing, and they both jumped. Harry started to shove her behind him and she laughed. “I appreciate your efforts to save me from my pager, but I think I can handle it.”
He muttered a low curse.
Charlie looked at the lit dial and added her own, more heated and descriptive curses to his.
He tsked her language, then asked, “An important call?”
“My sister.”
“Will she worry about you and send someone to find you? Did she know where you were today?”
“Yes and no and no.”
“I forgot the order of my questions. Care to clarify?”
Charlie felt like crying. Her poor sister. She hadn’t wanted Charlie to go through with her scheme. She’d said it didn’t matter. And now she’d be sick with worry.
“Charlie?”
It was the first time he’d called her by name and she liked the way his cultured tones made it sound. Everyone she knew called her Charlotte, despite her protestations. Her mother had set the example, and everyone had followed it. Except for her sister, but then her sister loved her.
“I hate to say it, Harry, but no, no one will look for us. My sister will worry when I don’t call her back, but she won’t know what to do, or where to check.”
She fell silent for a long time, her thoughts dark and troubled, when Harry touched her arm. “Are you all right?”
That particular tone was new coming from him, and it surprised her. No one worried about her. “Of course.”
“You’re quiet and I don’t like it.” His hand touched her cheek, her ear. “I don’t want you to turn too brooding on me. It unnerves me and won’t help anything.”
“So distract me.”
She saw the flash of his grin before he tried to hide it. “I’d be glad to oblige you, even though you’re too short and your assets are still rather questionable, regardless of the high value you’ve put upon them—”
“Harry.”
“—but again, it’s just too messy out here. Too much mud and too many weeds I don’t recognize and don’t want my more private body parts to come into contact with. Plus, I don’t know anything about you, why you’re dressed as a male, if you’re possibly gay—”
“I’m not gay.”
“Well, being that we’re alone for who knows how long, that’s a comfort of sorts I suppose.”
Charlie stopped. She turned to face him, her hands fisted. “Will you stop blathering on. And what possible difference could it make to you if I’m gay or not?”
“We may never find civilization again. Or at least, it could take more hours than I’m willing to ponder. Feminine company might come in handy. Think about it. It’s almost romantic. All alone in a dark wo
ods, silence all around us. Only my body to keep you warm and protect you.”
Though she knew he was being sarcastic, her stomach tingled at his words. She could almost feel his heat.
Men never flirted with her, if indeed that’s what he was doing. Men threw lewd comments her way on occasion, but she doubted Harry could sound lewd if he tried.
She dredged up her own sarcasm to mask her response. “All we need is candlelight and wine?”
His voice lowered to a sexy rumble. “I never imbibe when with a woman. It dulls the senses, you know, and I prefer to feel everything as it’s supposed to be felt.”
Despite herself, she drew in a long breath of surprise.
He laughed, then flicked her nose. “Also a flashlight is more economical. Candlelight is far too vague.” He pulled a small penlight from his pocket, dangling with his keys from a key chain. “I think I’d like a nice sharp beam of light so I can fully explore things. Especially these mysterious breasts of yours.” A skinny beam of light flashed over her shoulders and she jerked around, giving him her back. She saw the light coast lower.
“Harry,” she warned.
“Hmm?”
“You’re being outrageous.” She started walking again, no better reply forthcoming.
“Thank you.” When she snorted, he said, “I did manage to distract you, didn’t I?”
She paused in her stride, but just for a moment. “I suppose. Now tell me why you were in that store, what a private investigator has to do with Floyd and Ralph. And, oh yeah, who’s Carlyle?”
“If I tell will you tell?”
“Kind of like, show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”
“I’m willing if you are. Of course, I don’t have the added pressure of having to produce something worth a man’s life.”
Charlie laughed, she couldn’t help herself. For several years now, she’d disdained men, her supposed father especially, though she didn’t remember the man all that well anymore, the long ago memories and her mother’s words mixing together in confusion. Today might have been the day to end the confusion, but everything had gone worse than wrong.
As to the others, the men who sat in her saloon night after night, drinking themselves into a stupor, claiming their wives were responsible or irresponsible or dull. And her mother’s old boyfriends, no accounts without a future or the urge to motivate. They were all jerks and users and she had nothing but contempt for them all.
