Trouble With Harry Read Free

warehouse? Perhaps he was crazy. Maybe he was a sexually perverted lunatic out to deflower lonely virgins. Edie sank to the floor and gathered up a loose slat from the crate she’d dismembered.
    If he was going to rape her, she wasn’t going down without a fight. She stood, her hand gripping the splintered wood. “Who are you and what do you want?”
    The man rubbed his eyes and blinked, before he straightened and looked directly at her. “Who are you? And where the hell am I?”
     
    The woman standing before him brandished a wooden slat in his face. “I asked first.”
    Harry stepped back and, for the first time, realized he was completely naked. “Holy Jesus.” He leaned over to grab a board but the sharp corner of a board poked his chest. Reflexively, he crossed his hands over his groin.
    “Don’t move, or I’ll scream.” The woman poked him again. “What are you doing here? And more importantly, why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
    “Look, lady. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I do not have designs on your person.” He reached to push the point off his ribs, baring his groin, again. “If you’d quit jabbing me with that stick, I’ll cover myself.”
    Edie tried really hard to keep her gaze above his shoulders, but some things were just too noticeable to be ignored from the corner of her eye. “Oh.” Her cheeks burned and she stepped back. “Yes, of course.”
    He leaned down again to reach for a board.
    “Not with that!” The sharp edge caught him in the throat this time, puncturing the skin. Warm liquid oozed down his neck.
    He straightened, his hands rising to rest on his hips. “How am I supposed to cover myself with you trying to stab holes in me?”
    “Here, use this.” She struggled with one hand to untie the strap around her neck and waist while maintaining her grip on the board. Then she tossed her canvas apron at him.
    Harry deftly caught the apron in a single hand and held it like a fig leaf over the lower half of his torso. Had he drunk himself into a stupor last night? And where was he? Obviously, not in the desert. And why was this woman waving a stick at him. Had his performance in bed been that dismal?
    “Go ahead, put it on,” she said, her face flaming, her voice shaking like dry leaves rattling in the wind.
    “A lady would look away while a man dressed himself,” he grumbled.
    “Look, buster, I’m not turning away for a second, so don’t even think about jumping me.” Her words sounded tough but her hand shook.
    She was scared of him.
    Come to think of it, a naked man in the presence of a woman would be cause for alarm in anyone’s book—unless, of course, they’d already shared a passionate night together. Although by the look on her face, that probably wasn’t the case. “All right, but could you at least look at my face, instead of staring at my—” He cleared his throat and glanced down. Damned if he wasn’t hardening. Good Lord, and the woman wasn’t his usual long-stemmed blonde beauty.
    Will would have a good laugh over his reaction.
    Will. A lead weight settled in Harry’s gut. Where was his friend? Had he ended up in as peculiar a situation as he had? Or was he still back at the tomb, possibly buried in the sand?
    Feeling downright silly, Harry tied the apron around his waist, creating a distinctive tent in front while cool air continued to brush his naked backside. “Perhaps we could start over. I’m Harrington Taylor from America. I don’t really know what I’m doing here. And you are?”
    “Not buying it.”
    “Excuse me?” What the hell did she think he was selling? “I’m not selling anything, if that’s what’s got you worried.”
    “I may not be very worldly, but I know a con when I see it.” She shook her board at him. “No sane man shows up in the back of a warehouse in New York City naked unless he’s crazy or out to rape some unsuspecting female.”
    “New York City? Warehouse?” Harry staggered backward.