Fallen Angels: Beguiled\Wanton\Uncovered (40 page)

Her hands slapped over her butt in shock. Before her gasp of outrage had a chance to fade away, Harris darted to his side of the street, barely muffling his chuckles. “Good night, Clair!”

He bounded up the steps to his apartment, but waited at the door, watching as he always did until Clair had time to get inside. She rubbed her bottom as she climbed her own steps, muttering and casting him dirty looks. Moments later, a light came on in her living room, then Clair was at the window, waving to him. Harris waved back.

At first, Clair had objected to his protectiveness. But he'd worn her down until now she did the routine by rote. While he waited, she went in and checked out her place, then waved to let him know she was safely inside. Alone.

One of these days she'd have a boyfriend to look after her. But until then, Harris didn't mind keeping watch. In fact, he insisted on it.

Within half an hour he was showered and stretched out in bed, his hands folded behind his head. He should have been relaxed, but instead his naked body hummed with tension. He listened to the drubbing of rain on the windows, the continual rumble of thunder, and he watched the strobe effect of the lightning on his ceiling.

Storms always made him horny.

Touching women's butts made him horny.

Was Clair making him…No. He scoffed at himself, even laughed out loud in the silence of his dark room. That was just nuts. He wouldn't think about her that way.

Determined to get to sleep, he closed his eyes, metered his breathing—and saw again that flash peek of Clair's belly and sports bra. He groaned, and gave up the fight, allowing himself to ease into a very vivid dream where he stripped Clair naked, kissed her from head to toe, and loved every minute of it. The dream was both disturbing in its intensity and comforting in the rightness of it.

Sometime during the night, the storm knocked out the electricity. His internal clock woke him to a dark house and street, and the continuation of the storm. Without being able to make coffee or catch the morning news, he headed into work early. And good thing, too, because not five minutes after he dashed through the pouring rain into the station, the fire alarm went off. Lightning had struck the back of an abandoned building and someone saw smoke.

When Harris caught the address of the building, his heart shot into his throat. It was his block—
right next door to Clair.
Not since his first year as a firefighter had he suffered the debilitating effects of fear, but damn it, he felt them now. Even with the drizzling rain, the high wind could spread a fire quickly. Without electricity, Clair might sleep late, unaware of the danger. Worry plagued Harris all the way to the location.

But the moment the fire engine blared onto the street, Harris saw the crowd. Umbrellas formed a large canopy around the area, as if everyone had crawled from their beds and braved the weather for a show. Clair still looked sleep-rumpled under her cheery red umbrella, but she was fully dressed and in charge of things. In typical Clair mode, she urged curious onlookers farther away from possible harm. Harris was so relieved to see her he nearly fell off the truck. But knowing she was safe, he put her from his mind to do the job he'd been trained to do.

The storm was a real bother. Even through his Bunker Gear of fire-retardant jacket and trousers, helmet, and pull-on boots, he got soaked. The fire hadn't done too much damage yet, mostly to the exterior rear wall where the lightning had hit.

The abandoned structure had been up for lease for over six weeks and wasn't in the best of shape anyway. There were already broken windows in back and debris everywhere. In the process of putting out the blaze, a forgotten metal Dumpster in the back alley got knocked over. It was packed full, but luckily, not with the type of trash that got more disgusting with time. Mostly papers, probably from the previous businessman. In less than an hour, they had everything taken care of. The rain had let up and the sun even struggled to shine through the gray clouds.

Harris pulled off his helmet, wiping soot and rain and sweat off his face. He was contemplating all the mess, both from the spilled trash and the damage of the fire, when Ethan, a fellow firefighter and one of his best friends, let out a whistle. Harris turned, saw Ethan riffling through a shoebox from the Dumpster, and raised a brow. Usually that absorbed expression on Ethan's face was reserved for his wife, Rosie. Harris went to investigate.

“Whatcha got?”

Without looking up, Ethan said, “Pictures of a naked woman.”

“No shit?” Harris forgot his fatigue for the moment and muscled his way next to Ethan. Yep, sure enough, that was an unclothed female. A very sexy, naked female. “Wow.”

Harris picked up one photo of her reclining facedown on a twin bed. Her mussed hair was long enough to hide her face, but who cared when she had a beautifully bare backside on display? Harris tried, but he couldn't look away.

“Check out this one.” Ethan handed him another.

The same woman, judging by the shape of her body, was stepping into the tub. Again, she had her face averted as she moved the shower curtain aside, but this shot showed her entire body in profile. Breasts, belly, long sleek thighs. Harris let out a slow breath. “
Hello
sweetheart.”

“Wonder if she lives around here,” Ethan commented. “Or maybe she was the last one to lease the building.”

“The last person here was a guy. I never met him, but I saw him occasionally.” Harris peered toward the shoebox Ethan held. “Any more pictures in there?”

“One more—of her pulling on her panties.” Ethan laughed. “You still can't see her face, but it's a damn fine rear shot.”

Feeling strangely territorial, though he didn't know why, Harris snatched the photo away from Ethan. “Let me have that.”

“Hey, I was going to keep it.”

“No way. You'd just show it to Buck and Riley.”

Ethan raised both brows. “So? How come you get to look and we don't?”

“You must've forgotten, but you and Riley are married now.”

“I'm still swimming in marital bliss, so how could I forget?” He grinned as he said that.

“Then think what Rosie will do,” Harris murmured while studying the photo with rising heat, “if she catches you ogling some strange naked woman.”

Looking much struck, Ethan said, “She'd probably kill me. Here.” He shoved the entire shoebox into Harris's arms. “There are notes and such, too. Maybe an address, since you're so interested. And so single.”

Wincing, Harris said, “Don't tell me you've taken up the campaign to get me hitched, too?”

“No, I like women too much for that.”

“Ha ha.”

“But Rosie wants you and Buck both married so I can't be around any of your single female friends.” With a lot of satisfaction, Ethan added, “She's a jealous little thing.”

“She trusts you.”

“Yeah, but she doesn't trust the women you two date.” Ethan strode away, giving orders as he went.

Harris didn't bother to reply to that jab. Buck might still be going strong, but Harris hadn't dated
anyone
lately. Rosie could rest easy on that score.

Now the woman in the picture…If he could look her up he just might be interested. Strolling over to lounge against the back wall of the alley, Harris held his helmet under his arm and rummaged through the shoebox. Unfortunately, he didn't find any addresses, but he pulled out one folded sheet of paper. Confusion reigned around him, but he gave all his attention to the feminine script on the note.

Harris's eyes widened. Talk about coincidences. How many guys could there be with that name? It wasn't like a Tom, Dick or Harry.

Harris nearly dropped the shoebox. Coincidence, hell! She was talking about
him.
Suddenly feeling on display, he glanced around the surrounding area, but no one paid him any attention. The crowd had dispersed. Those who'd stopped to watch the firefighters work were now scuffling back into their homes. The other firefighters were chatting, bitching about the weather, generally just hanging around.

Harris swallowed hard and went back to reading.

No shit? Harris blinked in disbelief. She thought he was sensitive?

She loved him. Wow. Harris looked, but there was no signature, damn it. He turned the note over, but no, it was blank. Who had written it? The idea of a secret admirer tantalized him, made him feel warm and full and anxious. He lifted another photo, the one of her stepping into her panties, and smiled. Sweet. Very sweet.

“Slug. Shouldn't you be helping out instead of snooping through the garbage?”

Startled by the verbal intrusion, Harris glanced up and got snared in Clair's disapproving green gaze. Her hair was loose, parted on the side and hanging in blunt lines to just skim the tops of her shoulders. She had her head tipped forward a bit to look at him over the rim of her glasses. Her eyes were twinkling at the pleasure of insulting him. Obviously,
she
didn't consider him sensitive.

“It's not garbage,” he grumbled.

“No?” She went on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder.

Harris held the photo out of reach. “You don't want to see this, Clair.”

“I do too.”

“I doubt that.” He grinned, imagining her reaction if he showed her. “They're photos.”

“That's private. You shouldn't be looking either.”

“Someone threw them away.” He shrugged. “Free for the pickings.”

Hands on her hips, she demanded, “Let me see, Harris.”

Prodded by the devil in him, Harris decided
why not?
With a flourish, he handed her the photo.

Her face went beet-red and she gasped so hard she nearly strangled. “Harris!”

“Hey, I'm not the photographer.” He winked. “I just found it.”

“That's…that's obscene.”

“You really think so?” He took it back from her and stared some more before murmuring with great sincerity, “Nice ass.”

“Pig.”

Laughing, Harris searched through the box. “Here's another.” He handed her the one of the woman getting into the shower. In that pose, she had one shapely leg bent, one arm raised. Gorgeous.

Clair narrowed her eyes and accepted the photo. After several moments scrutinizing it, a small frown pulled down her brows. But at least this time she didn't choke.

“And one more.” Harris gave her his favorite, the one of the woman reclined in bed. He thought she might be sleeping, she looked so boneless and relaxed. Her back was smooth and graceful, rising up to a plump rump, then tapering down again to long thighs and shapely calves.

Clair stared so long that Harris cleared his throat. “Anytime you're done with it…”

“Oh, sorry.” She looked bothered about something, then glared. “I can dispose of those for you if you want.”

“Not on your life.” Harris held the photos protectively out of her reach. “I'm keeping them.”

Clair's mouth fell open. “Keeping them? But that's…lecherous! You don't even know that woman.” And then in a smaller voice: “Do you?”

“Nope. But I know she has a major case for me.” He tapped the letter. “Says so right here.”

Clair went white. She tried to grab the note. “You just said you don't know her.”

“I don't. Yet. But she obviously knows me.” Harris opened the paper and pointed out his name. “Harris the firefighter. Gotta be me, right?” He folded it and put it back in the shoebox for safekeeping. “So actually, this pertains to me. I have a right to this stuff.”

“You're sick.”

“I'm in lust.” Harris touched her nose. “But then, you wouldn't know about that, would you, Clair?”

Her back snapped straight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I'm just saying that you don't date much. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta get to work.”

Smiling sweetly, Clair said, “Want me to hold that shoebox for you?”

“No.” Harris laughed at her fallen expression. “I'm going to run it over to my place and lock it inside, safe and sound.”

The way her jaw worked, Harris thought she might be grinding her teeth. “So you can stare at the photos and fantasize tonight?”