Bewitched (14 page)

The ride home was made in painful silence. Several times Charlie glanced at him, wincing in sympathy over his swollen,
bruised eye. But the mulish set to his mouth, the hard glitter in his eyes, kept her from commenting on it.

After Harry had turned the car off in the parking garage he drew a deep breath and faced her. “Where's your truck?”

She shrugged, doing her best to look cavalier. “I parked on the street.”

“Charlie…”

That sympathetic tone of his made her spine stiffen. She didn't want his pity, especially when he refused to share anything else.

Various emotions seemed to bombard her, wearing her down, but she was made of pretty stern stuff, not one to wilt when things went sour. So she wanted him? It was in her nature to fight for what she wanted, but this situation was different, wanting a man. She knew he desired her, and that had strengthened her resolve, but it was also obvious he didn't want to desire her, and she could understand his reasonings very easily.

Pride forced her to give in graciously, to salvage what she could of her self-respect. She worked up an icy smile, then opened her car door before looking at him. “I've decided to let you off the hook.”

The swelling black eye seemed obscene on his handsome face. He didn't move, just sat there staring at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She lifted one shoulder. “I won't pester you anymore. I've decided to quit playing spy and get back to my own business. The bar doesn't run itself and I've neglected it these last few days. If you want to send me a bill for what I owe you—”

His good eye narrowed, giving her pause.

“—for the info on my father, I mean. I'll get the money to you right away.”

“I haven't finished telling you what I know of your father.”

Though she wasn't a coward, had never been a coward, she
wanted to leap out of the car and run away. She didn't want to continue sitting there, chatting like everything was fine when she'd just had the most astounding realization of her life. There were very few people she'd ever loved, and other than Jill, they'd all been mistakes. She hated to think of Harry that way.

“That's all right. You said he hadn't completely abandoned us, so I'm assuming he'll pay what he owes. That's all I really need to know. I can have a lawyer contact him. Or maybe I'll just send him a letter…”

Harry reached for her and she slid quickly out of the car, dodging him. If he touched her, she'd want to touch him back, and she was determined not to make a bigger fool of herself. “Thanks for the help, Harry. I can handle it from here.”

He, too, left the car and slowly stood to face her. The slamming of his door echoed around the empty garage. She closed hers more carefully. When Harry started around the car toward her, she began back-stepping to the entrance. She tried an airy wave. “It's been…fun.”

His growl reminded her of a rabid animal. He kept coming, his narrowed eyes looking more lethal than ever with the dark bruise and the swelling. He was large and imposing and somehow all his sophistication seemed to have melted away under his basic masculinity. “You're coming inside with me.”

Her spine stiffened. “No thanks. I need to get going.”

“I'm not asking, Charlie. I'm giving an explicit mandate. We have things to talk about, and I'm fed up with your unaccountable stubbornness and scurrility.”

“I don't even know what that word means, Harry.” He looked like he might lunge at her any minute, so she kept backing up. Unfortunately she didn't look behind her, and she fetched up against a concrete wall, clunking her head. “Ow.”

While she rubbed her head, he closed in on her, using his long muscled arms to cage her in, stepping so close she could
feel his warmth and breathe in his hot scent. He stared at her face, at her eyes and her mouth. She felt the gentle touch of his breath, and the blast of his temper, in sharp contrast.

“It means,” he said succinctly, “that cutting wit of yours which you dispense with no thought to consequences and without evident remorse.”

She forgot she wanted away from him, or even that her head hurt. Her own temper snapped and she leaned closer to taunt, “Oh, poor baby. Have I said something to hurt your feelings?”

His jaw worked. They were so close her nose bumped his chin. Then he took her arm in an unbreakable grip, stepped back, and headed for the town house. She got dragged in his wake. “No, but I do believe you prodded me into hurting yours. And for that, I'm sorry.”

“What nonsense! I don't need an apology from you. Really…
Harry,
let me go!”

“No.”

He tugged and pulled and coerced her along until they reached his door. Losing a fight really went against the grain, so she doubled her efforts. She didn't want to hurt him, so she was at a distinct disadvantage. She tried going limp, hoping her weight would throw him off-guard, but he managed to control her by the expedient method of wrapping one arm around her and lifting her off her feet. Mortified, Charlie went perfectly still.

He unlocked the door with his free hand and stepped inside to the sounds of excited barking. With a laugh, Harry released her to relock the door, and Charlie, seeing red, gave up on trying to get away from him. Instead, she launched her own attack. She took Harry off-guard and he stumbled and with the dogs flying around their feet and Ted screeching out a raucous complaint, they went down on the floor, hard.

Unfortunately, Charlie was on the bottom.

 

H
ARRY DODGED A
tight fist aimed for his bruised eye. He'd expected no less of Charlie, especially since he was well aware of her more bloodthirsty tendencies. But for a moment there, she'd seemed too withdrawn, almost sad, and the thought that he might have hurt her feelings with his temper had been a squeezing pain in his heart. When he'd seen that thug leaning on the Jag, talking to her… He never wanted to feel that possessive, that protective or enraged again.

She swung at him again, demanding his immediate attention. Laughing, he captured her hands and pinned them over her head. The dogs were going crazy, taking the struggle as a free-for-all game. Sooner jumped close enough to stick a wet snout in Harry's ear, then dodged away again, howling maniacally. Charlie got a gleeful lap across the temple from Grace, and she struggled even more, cursing Harry and trying to discourage the dogs.

Her wriggling body had a very basic effect on him. He looked down at her, seeing the way her short, glossy black hair tumbled around her head, the way her cheeks flushed with her efforts. She lurched up against him, her head thrown back, her teeth catching her bottom lip, and he nearly groaned. Damn, she looked like a woman in the throes of a climax.

Her legs were caught under his and she tried to kick one free. Harry used his knee to spread her thighs, then settled between them. This time when she lunged upward, there was no way she could mistake his state of arousal. He had a throbbing erection and she froze.

The dogs moved in, taking advantage of the inactivity, whining and barking and nudging the humans. Harry barely noticed. Charlie had opened her eyes and locked her gaze on his, and the emotional connection was so strong, so powerful compared to anything he'd ever felt, he couldn't move. It was like he was inside her already.

She gasped for breath and he raised himself slightly, not
enough to let her get away, but enough so she could breathe. She immediately lifted herself to press against him again. She could drive him crazy, he thought, even as he settled his hips against hers, giving in to her silent demand. His pulse raced, his muscles drawing tight. It felt so right to be with her like this.

Her knees bent, and she slowly moved her pelvis against his in an unpracticed, voluptuous sway. Mesmerized, he watched her face, saw the trembling in her lips as she drew in a shaky breath, saw her beautiful blue eyes darken, saw her skin heat.

Sooner howled again and without looking away, Harry commanded, “Go lie down.” The dogs complained, but they finally obeyed.

Charlie tried to pull her hands free, but he held tight. “No you don't. I like you like this,” he whispered. “You need just a little controlling, someone to keep you in line.”

Though her eyes were heavy lidded and filled with sensual need, she lifted her chin. “You have to let me up sometime.”

As far as threats went, it held no weight. Harry leaned down and nuzzled the soft skin beneath that raised chin. “Who says?”

Her eyes drifted shut and she hooked her feet behind his thighs. “You feel so good, Harry. Will you make love to me now?”

Everything righted itself in that instant and his brain cleared. With a vicious curse he released her and sat up. She didn't. She remained sprawled on the floor beside him, offering the most delectable temptation man could imagine. He tried not to look at her, but he couldn't help himself.

“Damn, I'm sorry.”

“I'm not,” she whispered.

He ran a hand through his hair. “How do you keep doing this to me?”

“I didn't do anything except try to let you off the hook. You're the one who dragged me in here.”

After a calming breath, he forced himself to say, “I don't want off the hook. And I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

“All things considered, I'd kinda forgotten all about that.”

He looked at her, lying there so sweet and submissive—surely a first for Charlie—and his muscles cramped in rebellion of what he knew he had to do. “Honey, this is all wrong. I brought you up here to talk about your father, not to…ravish you on the damn floor.”

“I rather liked being ravished on the floor.”

He couldn't help but laugh, she was so persistent and candid and honest. There wasn't a single ounce of guile in her expression, and the fact that she was as free, as unreservedly sexual as himself, made him crazy. She hadn't minded their rough play in the least, and wasn't offended at being debauched on a floor. She would be his sexual equal, and knowing it made his arousal even more keen.

But she was Dalton's daughter, and Dalton would be appalled to know just how low Harry had sunk.

He stood, caught her arms, and pulled her to her feet. She stared up at him and he cupped her face. “Tell me you'll at least give your father a chance, okay?”

To his surprise, she seemed to be considering it. “Why is it so important to you, Harry?”

With complete and utter honesty, he said, “Because I think he's a good man and he loves you. I think he deserves a chance to tell his side of the story. And because I was never able to connect with my own father. It's something that bothers me still, something that every so often vexes me because now the man is gone and more often than not I don't even mourn him. I don't want you to ever suffer that, to wonder if only you'd softened a bit you could have had a wonderful relationship.
For Jill's sake, for all it will mean to her, why don't you at least try?”

Harry held his breath, praying she'd relent. With any luck at all, Dalton would be getting out of the hospital today. Harry didn't want him under unnecessary stress, and he knew Dalton would stew endlessly about the situation until he was reunited with his daughters. If Charlie would agree, it could be taken care of within a week. That would give her time to prepare and give Dalton time to rebuild his strength.

Also, Harry's control was almost at an end. For his own sanity, he had to tie up loose ends so he could distance himself from her before he made a mistake he'd live to regret. Dalton deserved his loyalty, and Charlie deserved a man who would love her forever.

Unfortunately, the thought of her with another man made his system revolt, so he quickly shoved that thought aside.

Harry had no idea which part of his discourse convinced her, but after several moments of deep thought, she nodded. “All right.” She hesitated, then stepped close and embraced him. “Will you…go with me?”

Harry wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, too tight, judging by her laughing, mumbled complaint. He didn't understand the near desperate urge to hold her, but he knew her embrace hadn't been designed to seduce him this time. Rather, it was the need for emotional comfort, and it touched him to his very soul. She willingly showed him her vulnerable side, something she normally kept well hidden, and he'd never felt so gifted in his entire life.

Though he knew it would be incredibly awkward, he kissed her temple and nodded. “Of course I'll be there.”

She leaned back with a relieved smile. “When?”

He couldn't make her any promises until he found out how Dalton had fared. He'd called the hospital when he first got up, and the nurse had told him all seemed well. Dalton had been in high spirits, anxious to know what Harry had planned—a
tale Harry related with precise discretion, leaving out any reference that might upset Dalton. He hadn't spoken to him again since the doctor's visit, and now he was anxious to do so. He led Charlie to the door, though he was equally reluctant to let her go.

With a last kiss on her forehead, which was a habit he desperately needed to break, he said, “Try not to worry, honey. I'll arrange everything as soon as I can, and then I'll let you know.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes big and soft and filled with gratitude. “Thanks, Harry. I know it's stupid, and if you ever tell anyone I'll deny it, but it's kind of a relief that I don't have to do this alone. I owe you.”

As she left, his guilt doubled until it nearly consumed him. Damn it, what would she think when she found out he'd known Dalton all along? Would she understand? Or would she likely feel betrayed by the one person she'd started to trust? The worry gnawed at him, making him angry with regret, until the phone rang.

It was Dalton, and he was ready to come home.

T
HE SECOND
Harry stepped through the barroom doorway, he could tell Charlie was nervous. He'd spent the past week with her, and her mannerisms and mood were very familiar to him now. He picked up on the small frown, the way she repeatedly swallowed. She was behind the thick, scarred wooden bar, a clipboard clutched tightly in her hand, taking some kind of inventory. Beside him, Dalton looked around in horrified disbelief.

“My God. She can't actually work here?”

Pulling his gaze from Charlie, Harry said, “She does, and she manages quite credibly. I don't think it's been easy for her, but she's the type of woman who once she sets her mind on something, it gets accomplished one way or another.” Harry knew there was a wealth of pride in his tone, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He
was
proud, and he wanted Dalton to be, too.

The bar wasn't yet open. Charlie had insisted they meet there, partly, Harry assumed, because she felt it gave her an advantage to be on her own territory and in familiar surroundings. She wouldn't admit it, not even to herself, but she was very uncertain about meeting her father.

Her insecurity, and the need to hide it, endeared her to Harry all the more. He smiled toward her, though Charlie was still unaware of them. They were early, but keeping Dalton away any longer had proved impossible.

Harry had convinced Dalton to wait a week, to give himself
plenty of time to recover. He refused to let Harry tell Charlie about his heart attack, so there was no telling how Charlie would react during the meeting, but Harry thought it a safe bet she'd be antagonistic and stubborn. She had a lot of past grievances to get through before she'd be able to fully accept Dalton.

Harry found himself very ambiguous about the meeting. He worried for Dalton, though the doctor had said he was fine. Other than routine checkups and a warning to take life easier, Dalton was free to do as he pleased.

Harry also worried for Charlie. This wouldn't be easy for her, having the foundation of her resentment pulled out from under her. Today she would find out her mother had been a bitter, vindictive woman, and Harry would have done just about anything to shield her from that.

But he had another motive for putting the reunion off until today.

Over the past week he'd spent nearly every day with her, arguing, doing his best to protect her when she insisted on forcing her way into danger. Whenever he tried to accomplish something without her, she threatened to go off on her own. But despite her interference, he'd learned quite a bit about Carlyle, while keeping Charlie in the dark. She might suspect a few things, but thankfully, she had no solid evidence of his plans. If she had, she wouldn't have agreed to meet her father today.

Harry was counting on the meeting to keep her busy until everything was finally resolved.

Dalton was still looking around, his expression appalled. Harry had been in the bar many times, however, and the bar was empty with the lights turned up and no cigarette smoke to cloud the air. True, the lime green was almost blinding. But the place was tidy, and comforting in a lived in, relaxed sort of way. The wooden floor wasn't highly polished, but it was immaculately clean, and though some of the round,
mismatched tables looked less than elegant, they were sturdy and in good repair. The walls were bare except for the occasional unframed poster, curling at the edges.

She'd obviously done the best she could with the bar, and Harry hoped Dalton would see that. Charlie had been given too much responsibility and too few breaks in her young life, and Harry was more than a little relieved to introduce her to her father, knowing Dalton would offer her new opportunities.

“Damn it, I wish Jill was going to be here. Charlotte's just being stubborn.”

It was an unending refrain, and Harry sighed. They still hovered in the doorway, preferring to survey the bar and Charlie without notice. With a hand on Dalton's shoulder, Harry reminded him, “She doesn't yet know you, and she's fiercely protective of Jill. Until she's certain you won't disappoint or hurt her, I think you'll just have to be patient. In a way, that should reassure you, because you can tell Charlie's taken excellent care of her sister.”

Dalton's hands fisted. “Damn Rose. None of this was necessary. If only the woman hadn't tried to punish me by running off.”

“True, but go easy on what you say today,” Harry advised. “Rose is the only parent Charlie knows, and I have a feeling her stubbornness would force her to be defensive even about that. And remember, I'm just a P.I. I don't want her to have to deal with my deception today, on top of everything else.”

With that last reminder, Harry determined to get the whole thing going. He wanted to see Charlie and Dalton settled, so he could attend Carlyle's little surprise party.

He stepped forward and cleared his throat.

Charlie jerked her gaze up, then stilled. Harry could see the near panic in her beautiful eyes, and it smote him clear down to his masculine core. He wanted to hold her, but of course, he couldn't. “Hello, Charlie. I'm sorry we're early, but your father was a bit anxious.”

Very slowly, her gaze shifted from Harry to her father. She looked like a small animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, but only for a moment. Harry saw the resolve stiffen her spine, saw her summon that indomitable courage. He felt emotion expand inside him, and though it scared him spitless, he smiled.

Charlie plunked down the clipboard, skirted the bar, and started toward them with a swanky, confident walk. Her clothes were even more disreputable today, her jeans well worn and a tad frayed at the hem, her boots scuffed. She wore a T-shirt with a suggestive beer logo on the front. It was at least two sizes too big, tucked into her snug jeans, and Harry thought she looked adorable.

Judging by the expression on Dalton's face, he didn't.

All nervousness had disappeared from Charlie's mien. She stood within a few feet of them, hands on her slim hips, feet spaced apart. She could have been facing Floyd and Ralph again for all her arrogant bravado.

“So.” She glanced at each of them, then focused on Harry. “I had a delivery this morning I had to deal with. Usually I'm not even up till ten, given the hours I'm open, but the delivery guys always come early. I'd almost forgotten about them after the week we've had.”

Harry didn't even want to think about that and cast a quick glance at Dalton to see if he'd caught the insinuation. Dalton had no idea Charlie had involved herself with the embezzlers, and he'd be twice as upset if he found out. But Dalton still stared at Charlie, and thankfully, looked unaware of the conversation.

Harry had tried refusing to let her accompany him as he continued checking into things, partly because he'd feared for her safety, and partly because he didn't trust his dubious control around her. It boggled the mind the way she could push his buttons, but damn if she didn't manage it every time she got near. She laughed and he wanted her. She stuck her stubborn
chin in the air and he went hot with lust. And her eyes—when she looked at him with her sultry, bold expressions, it took all he had not to give in to the urge to have her.

Over the past week, he'd twice found her snooping on her own. The urge to put her over his knee had been overwhelming, and had dampened his carnal appetites. Yet when he'd offered that threat, she'd merely laughed, proving she knew he'd never hurt her. To his chagrin,
she
was the one who discovered Carlyle hadn't moved his operation at all. Evidently the man was so cocky he was totally without caution, disregarding Harry's interference as a threat.

After today, Carlyle would have to rethink that.

Harry looked at Dalton, who remained mute, and decided he'd have to get the ball rolling before Charlie disclosed things better left concealed. “Charlie, this is your father, Dalton Jones.”

She tilted her head at Dalton, studying him closely. “You don't look as old as I had you pictured.”

Dalton smiled nervously. “Did your mother show you any photographs of me?”

“Sure. But they were years ago. Eighteen years ago to be exact.”

Dalton's eyes closed briefly and he nodded. “Eighteen years that I regret more than I can ever tell you.”

His words and tone were so heartfelt, Charlie wavered. Harry could see her expression shift, the uncertainty come into her eyes. He took her arm and said gently, “Why don't we sit down? You two have a lot to talk about.”

Once they were at a round table toward the middle of the floor, Charlie looked at Harry with a slight smile. “Your eye is healing—the bruises are only green now instead of black. But you still look wiped out. If you can keep from strangling on it, I'll go get some coffee from the back and we'll see if that can revive you.”

He smiled, too, pleased to see the appearance of her
wit. “I promise to only sip, to cut back on the chances of strangulation.”

She glanced at Dalton and hesitated before asking, “Would you like some, too?”

He nodded. “Actually, Charlotte, I'd love some. Black, please.”

Harry winced at the name, but quickly forestalled the storm he saw brewing on Charlie's face by saying, “Isn't that just how you take yours, Charlie? Black?”

Her smile turned sickly sweet. “Just.” She walked away without another word.

When she was out of sight, Harry turned to frown at Dalton. It wasn't his place, but still he said, “She prefers to be called Charlie.”

Dalton pulled out a chair and sat down, prompting Harry to do the same. With his back to the kitchen doorway Charlie had gone through, Dalton whispered, “It's a horrid nickname, probably her mother's doing, which is a good reason for me not to follow suit.”

“God.” Harry rubbed his face, unsure how to convince Dalton he should back off. Charlie definitely wasn't a woman you wanted to push, and especially not when she felt cornered emotionally.

Dalton stared around the bar with a grimace. “Don't you see? She deserves better than this, and it's my duty to see to it. She's wearing grubby clothes and working in a dump, when I want her to be free to be a young lady. I'll worry myself into an early grave if I have to think about her being here every night. I can help her now. She can sell this place and get a respectable diner or something instead. Or she could work for me at the jewelry store.” His face brightened with the prospect. “You know I'd love to have her there.”

“You're jumping the gun, don't you think?”

“Ha! She deserves a lot better than working in a place like this.”

The sudden stillness in the air was palpable and Harry jerked around to see Charlie frozen behind them, a tray with coffee, mugs, cream and sugar in her hands. Her jaw was positively rigid, her face pale. There was such a wounded expression in her eyes, he knew he'd never forget it as long as he lived.

He and Dalton both stood. Dalton, fidgeting nervously, took the tray from her and put it on the table, then held out a chair. As she sat, Harry touched her arm, but she shook him off. Dalton poured coffee while she stared at him.

“You know, Jill looks a lot like you.”

Her calm, controlled tone reassured Dalton. But it didn't fool Harry for a single second. She was up to something, and he knew it wouldn't be pleasant. He cleared his throat. “You all have the same blue eyes.”

Dalton grinned. “I'm anxious to meet Jill. Though from what Harry has told me, she's lovely and doesn't look a thing like me.”

Charlie shook her head. “You've got the same color hair, the same smile. And you both look the same when you feel guilty.” She ignored Dalton's searching glance. “I look more like my mother.”

“Yes, you do. And she was beautiful.”

“Not toward the end she wasn't. She'd led a hard life, always drinking too much, smoking, never getting enough sleep. We found out she had emphysema and she had to go on oxygen. She hated it, because dragging the oxygen around made her feel old, but she was always tired, so she used it when she absolutely had to. One day she got pneumonia and just died.”

Charlie recited the facts as if it had been a play, something unreal that had happened to someone else. Without even realizing his intent, Harry took her hand. She clutched at him, but her gaze never left Dalton.

“This
dump
paid for her funeral. It's also kept my sister clothed and fed for the last few years when I had no idea
where you were.” Charlie tilted her head, and her grin was without an ounce of humor. “And of course, it's given me the opportunity to be free.”

Dalton, already looking stricken by what she'd said, asked cautiously, “Free?”

Charlie shrugged. “I'm my mother's daughter. Did you think she hadn't told me? I knew she'd cheated on you and I heard all her excuses for why you should have forgiven her. She blamed you completely, you know, because she said you weren't around often enough. Even if she hadn't told me, her character was pretty plain to see for anyone with eyes, much less a daughter who lived with her. So what makes you think I'm any different?”

Dalton blustered. “Well, I never thought… I mean, that wasn't the indication I was…”

Charlie pulled Harry's arm over and hugged it to her breasts. Harry, taken off-guard, gawked at her.

She laughed. “Harry didn't tell you that? Well, of course he didn't. Harry is a gentleman, and gentlemen never kiss and tell.”

She leaned over and lightly kissed Harry on the jaw, and he stiffened. When he got her alone, he planned to throttle her. “Charlie—”

“I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Harry. But whether Dalton likes it or not, the bar suits me. I'd go nuts in a nine-to-five atmosphere with rules and restrictions and you know it. Besides, the men here are always so complimentary—when they're not too tanked to get the compliments out.”