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.
…he’s also funny. He makes me laugh all the time. And he’s so generous. You don’t notice it at first, because Harris likes to clown around, but he’s really very sensitive to other people.
No shit? Harris blinked in disbelief. She thought he was sensitive?
He works hard and he’s proud and I love him.
Again, I’m sorry.
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?”
“Don’t sneer, Clair. It makes you look like a prude.” As he walked away, Harris heard Clair call him a choice name. He glanced around in time to witness her stomping toward her apartment. Too bad Clair didn’t understand about lust. If she ever turned all that emotion loose in the sack, she just might be magnificent.
Harris caught his train of thought and growled. He’d better find his mystery lady soon, because lack of nookie was making him crazed.
He needed a woman—his mystery woman. Sexy. Provocative. And she thought he was sensitive. What more could a guy ask for?
THANKS TO THE DUAL effects of worry and mortification, Clair suffered through an endlessly long, sleepless night and was dragging as she headed into work the next day.
Thank God Harris hadn’t recognized her.
Just thinking about his expression as he’d stared at her—Clair shuddered in agonizing horror. This was too unbelievable. If she ever found Kyle, the jerk she’d dated, the jerk who’d taken those pictures without her knowing, she’d strangle him.
During the darkest hours of the night, memories had flooded back on Clair, memories of Kyle begging her to let him photograph her, and the distinct recollection of her saying a firm, unequivocal no.
But she also recalled him showing off a teeny tiny camera, one he used to take photos without anyone knowing. At the time, he’d claimed it was to get candid, rather than posed shots of people for his gallery. And he had taken some, but to her knowledge, he’d never shown one without a signed permission slip and financial compensation.
At least he hadn’t put hers in the gallery. But to throw them away behind the building…had the idiot never heard of a paper shredder? And to include her notes with them! Clair pulled into the lot where she worked and took a moment to cover her face with her hands. The only saving grace was that she hadn’t signed any of the notes. If Harris had seen her signature at the end…Well, she honestly didn’t know what he’d do.
It had taken Clair a moment to realize she was the subject of the photos. Her hair had been longer then, and her face hidden. But she had recognized herself. Harris, however, had been utterly oblivious to that fact. He plain and simply didn’t see her as a sexual woman, which emphasized how little attention he paid to her femaleness.
That had been really frustrating over the