Fallen Angels: Beguiled\Wanton\Uncovered (42 page)

Unfortunately, Harris followed on her heels. “You feeling better?”

No, never. “I keep telling you, I'm fine.”

“You're sure?”

She stared at him, adjusted her glasses, and said with succinct finality, “I'm. Fine.”

Harris held up both hands. “All right, all right. Don't get in a temper. I have to get to work and I wanted to make sure you're up to jogging tonight, that's all. If you're not, then I don't want you to push it.”

She didn't want to. She wanted to hide. But any variance in their routine right now might tip him off. She forced another fake smile. “I wouldn't miss it.”

He nodded, still watching her curiously. “Great.” He started backing toward the door. “I'll see you then.”

Once the door closed behind him, Clair started to relax, but Alec didn't give her time. He came out of the office with the pictures in hand.

Straightening in her chair, Clair said, “He left them with you?” Maybe she could swipe them after all. Or spill coffee on them. Or…

“Not a chance. These are copies we ran off when he first got here. Your friend Harris is carrying the originals in his front pocket like a lovesick swain.” Alec smiled. “Funny guy.”

“He's an idiot.”

“He has a secret admirer and he's hooked. It's understandable. Not only is the woman attractive and sexy as hell—”

“Being naked does not necessarily make her sexy.”

Alec's slow smile looked positively wicked. “Yeah, it does.”

Well, hell. Clair slumped under another wave of embarrassment. So all it took was a little nudity for a guy to find a woman sexy? How stupid was that? What about her personality? What about her interests?

Alec seemed to read her mind. “She said some pretty profound things about him in her notes, too. Any guy would be intrigued.”

Profound? She'd only spoken the truth.

“I'm going to enlarge and enhance these,” Alec said, tapping the copies against his thigh, “to see if I can pick up any details.”

Details—like her identity? He disappeared into the backroom. Heart in her throat, her stomach in knots, Clair kept her eyes on that door for a full five minutes until Alec returned—carrying a stack of 8 x 10 photos.

The one on top was of her right shoulder, boob, and ribs.

Clair gulped. He'd taken each photo and divided it into fours, then enlarged each piece. When put together, her buck-naked body would be poster size.

Worse and worse and worse. But Alec didn't so much as glance at her on his way back to talk to Dane, so he still hadn't recognized her.

It took her a few more minutes of slowly dying inside before she realized Dane must not have recognized her either. No one budged from the office. There were no outbursts of hilarity, no accusing stares. They were probably too engrossed with ogling the oversize photos.

And here she'd always considered Dane and Alec astute. What was she, invisible? Clair pulled off her tortoiseshell glasses and looked at them. Like Clark Kent's specs, were her glasses an ingenious disguise that instantly afforded her anonymity?

The door opened and Clair hastened to shove her glasses back on, almost poking herself in the eye. Her face burned. Much more blushing and she'd be permanently scalded.

Both men looked at her with expectant expressions. Clair shriveled inside, until Dane prompted, “Make any headway?”

She hadn't even started. “Oh. Um, no. Not yet. I'll keep looking.”

“Thanks.” Dane and Alec headed for the door.

“Where are you two going?” In a panic, Clair left her seat and rushed after them. Surely, they weren't going to show those pictures around
now.

Alec barely slowed. “I have to appear in court, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

Dane paused. “I'm working on a missing person.” He stopped and faced her with concern. “Are you sure you're okay, Clair?”

Did they have to keep asking her that? “Of course. I just forgot, that's all.” Reluctantly, she asked, “What about the photos?”

“Harris is impatient, but we'll spend a week or two exploring alternatives before we show them to anyone.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“I think that's best.” She couldn't help adding, “Can you imagine how embarrassed she'll be if she finds out that you showed them?”

On his way out the door, Dane laughed and pointed at her. “A good reason to never pose nude, huh?”

Or date photographers with sneaky streaks and lack of moral fiber. Clair groaned. With everyone gone, she ran into Dane's office—and stumbled to a horrified halt. She pressed a fist to her mouth. They had the photos up on a pegboard. Pieced together.

Adrenaline carried her to the board in a flash. It took Clair all of thirty seconds to snatch them down and hide them under a stack of files, but she didn't dare destroy them. That'd look too suspicious, and what was the point? They'd only make more.

She dragged herself back to her desk and collapsed in her chair, her face in her hands, her stomach roiling. Sooner or later, they'd know it was her—and then she'd have to quit and move to Outer Mongolia.

Unless…She swallowed hard and tried to think beyond her embarrassment. It wasn't easy, but she tried to take an objective view of the situation.

First, Alec claimed Harris was smitten. And Harris had acted obsessed with the “mystery woman.” Heaven knew she'd been obsessed with him forever. But he hadn't shown any sexual interest, and she was too proud to throw herself at him. So they were friends. Clair knew he liked her as a person, but she'd assumed he didn't find her attractive in “that” way.

But judging by his rapt expression when he'd looked at the photos, he definitely liked what he saw.

So, secondly, what did she have to lose now? Not her modesty. After today, she had no modesty to protect.

And as to her pride…well, pride didn't help much when you saw your own behind in an 8 x 10 glossy, held on a presentation board with a thumbtack.

Maybe, just maybe, if she worked this right, she could use her newfound knowledge of Harris's interest to make him fall in love with her—before he found out she was his secret admirer.

It was either that or tell him straight up that he'd seen her naked and that she'd written those notes. He'd know all of her secrets then, leaving her soul as bare as her body. But if he felt the same, it wouldn't be nearly as embarrassing.

She'd probably have to seduce him, and that wouldn't be easy because she couldn't take off her glasses and she definitely couldn't take off her clothes. If she did, he might make the connection too soon. It'd be a tricky bit of business, but she'd figure something out. Maybe she'd just ensure they only got romantic in the dark. That might work.

Given Alec and Dane's expertise, there wouldn't be any time to waste. She'd jump-start Harris on their new relationship tonight. If she was good enough, maybe he'd even give up on the mystery woman and she'd never have to tell him anything at all.

 

H
ARRIS WAITED IMPATIENTLY
for Clair to present herself. The storms had left the night air fresh and clean. It felt good, but it was warm. Deciding against a shirt, he wore only black jogging shorts with socks and running shoes. The shorts had a single back pocket to hold his apartment key—and the photo of his secret admirer reclining on the bed. He hadn't wanted to leave her behind.

Not that he intended to show it to anyone. He appreciated Dane and Alec's efforts to uncover the woman's identity, but already he felt protective and possessive of her. He didn't want anyone else, especially anyone male, to see her.

Something about her, some vague intangible thing, seemed familiar to Harris. He wished he could pin it down. Maybe she reminded him of someone. But who? While he stretched, preparing to run, his mind churned.

Work had been uneventful, which was a relief after the fire the day before. Unfortunately, that had given Harris too much time to think—about the notes, the sexy photos. And about Clair's old boyfriend.

Neither Dane nor Alec would give him any details on the guy. They claimed not to have any. They said they knew Clair had dated, because she'd gotten a few calls at work. Period. Nothing more. They didn't understand why he cared. Hell, he didn't understand either.

But why hadn't she told him? They were friends. Close friends. Didn't friends share that kind of info?

Harris's internal grumbling got interrupted when the entrance door to Clair's building pushed open and she stepped out. The streetlight reflected off the lenses of her glasses. She, too, had trimmed down to the barest covering. Dressed in snowy white cotton shorts and a tank top, she looked…good. Real good.

She smiled at him, adjusted the white band holding her glasses in place and joined him at the street. “Ready?”

Harris studied her. He figured it was the combined effects of sleeping alone, his mystery woman, and hearing about Clair's boyfriend that had him seeing her with a new perspective. “How come you've never gotten contacts?”

Bending this way and that, stretching her arms high, Clair asked, “Why? You don't like my glasses?”

“I didn't say that.” Watching her flex was getting to Harris. She was a supple little thing. Funny how he'd never noticed that before.

Clair straightened, then stared up at him with her big green eyes, magnified behind the lenses of her glasses. “I tried contacts once, but they bugged me. I think my eyes are just too sensitive. Besides, I like wearing different frames.”

“I noticed that.” Tonight her frames were red, a stark contrast to the white shorts and tank. What she lacked in jewelry she made up for in eyewear.

“I have as many pairs of glasses as I do bras.”

Harris did a double take. Bras? Why the hell did she have to mention her unmentionables? His besieged brain launched into a series of visuals: Clair in something white and lacy. Clair in something black and slinky. Clair in something barely there.

Clair in his bed.

She said again, “Ready?”

Oh yeah, he was ready all right. For all kinds of things. His gaze dipped to her breasts, but he didn't see any telltale signs of lace through her tee. “How many bras do you have?”

Laughing, Clair shook her head and started walking at a pre-run clip, leaving him two paces behind her. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

“It just occurs to me that I don't know you that well.” He tried, but he couldn't seem to get his gaze off her ass. Was she sashaying just a bit? Putting a little extra swing in the swing and sway?

Turning to walk backward, depriving him of his preoccupation with her behind, Clair frowned. “You know me better than most people.”

“I didn't know you had a boyfriend.” Harris took satisfaction in pointing that out.

She turned her back again and started moving a little faster. “What'd you think, Harris? That I was a virgin? A nun? A misanthrope?”

“A misan-what?” Harris trotted to keep up.

“Misanthrope. You know, a hater of men.”

“No.” He was sure of one thing. “You like me and I'm a man.”

Over her shoulder, she smiled at him, a smile unlike any he'd ever seen from Clair before. “That you are.”

Harris's eyes widened. Was she flirting? Did Clair even know how to flirt? But her voice was different, too, sort of soft and playful. He caught up to her. “So who was the boyfriend?”

“No one important.” They began jogging in earnest, gliding along smoothly. “Just a guy I knew who seemed nice enough and interesting enough to pass the time.”

“You weren't serious about him?”

She snorted, giving Harris all the answer he needed—though why he needed an answer, he couldn't say.

They loped on in silence, past the dark, quiet park, along deserted streets where older homes sat back in majestic splendor, along the levy where a concrete path had been poured.

Their movements were fluid, well timed to match. They had a great rhythm together. Harris groaned. He could just imagine setting the pace in bed, and how easily Clair could keep up.

“So how many bras do you have?”

Her laugh got carried away on the evening wind. “At least one for every day of the week.”

He thought about that. “A special one for each day?”

“No, just variety. Different colors, different fabrics.”

Like French lace or slinky nylon or maybe…“What are you wearing tonight?”

“We're jogging, sweating. So it's plain old comfortable white cotton.”

Somehow, when he pictured it on Clair, cotton didn't seem the least plain. He was wondering about her panties, whether they matched the bra or not, when Clair slowed, veered off the pavement to mosey into the grass, then leaned her shoulders against a thick maple tree.