The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

Two minutes later, his phone dinged.

Felicia: It’s noon, and I’m at the ant lab working on my article for the premiere journal in my specialty.

Hudson: That’s not an answer.

After five minutes with no response, he poked her again.

Hudson: I have a mission for you.

This time, he got an immediate response.

Felicia: ?

Hudson: You need to get three date dresses.

Felicia: Payday’s next week.

Hudson: I’ll talk to my personal shopper at Dylan’s Department Store. She’ll be expecting you after work today. Sixth floor. Ask for Jacqui. Everything’s my treat.

Felicia: You have a personal shopper?

Hudson: Focus, Matches.

Felicia: Does your mom still cut your food, too?

He let out a bark of a laugh and smiled. There was his sassy girl.

Hudson: I’ll let you do it for me if you wear that T-shirt from the other night and nothing else.

Felicia: I threw out the shirt.

He wasn’t above going through her trash to get it back. Honeypot would stand guard.

Hudson: That’s just mean.

There was a pause, and then a photo popped into the text stream. In it, Felicia was at work, her hair in a ponytail, wearing her glasses and a blue crewneck sweater. He assumed there were pants to her outfit, but he couldn’t get visual confirmation, so his imagination at least got that much of a treat. Her very kissable pink lips were smooshed into an exaggerated pout, and she was tracing an imaginary tear down her cheek. She was mocking him. His dick didn’t care. The sight of those lips and the big guy was ready for action.

Felicia: Life is pain.

And near constant hard-ons. He needed to get back to Harbor City. Now.

Chapter Ten

Felicia trudged across the street, one block from her house, clutching half a month’s rent in the form of three dresses in a garment bag close to her chest. There was no way in hell Felicia could actually wear the dresses Jacqui had talked her into buying.

She’d take them back after work tomorrow. They were too expensive. Sure, Hudson could afford it, but her pride couldn’t. They were too short, too clingy, and too far out of her comfort zone. Worst of all? Patterns. Every petite girl knew that patterns did nothing but engulf small body types until there was nothing left of the person. Of course, she’d been totally on board with every purchase right up until she hit Forty-Ninth Street. That’s when she crossed the street behind a beautiful, tall, model-type woman and watched as every man she passed did a double—and sometimes triple—look. When Felicia had gotten there? Not even a glance. That woman was the kind who could get away with short, clingy, pattern dresses. By the time Felicia had gotten three blocks from home, she’d mentally listed every reason why she wasn’t that type of woman. That is why she had to work harder—and a little sneakier, if she was going to be honest with herself—to make Tyler notice her. And to do that she didn’t need dresses, she needed Hudson, but he was AWOL. The big jerk.

Honeypot’s yowling sounded as soon as Felicia turned the corner. She was too far away for the cat to have spotted her. Excitement thrummed through her even before she spotted her own Henry Higgins lounging against the banister around the entrance to her walk-down apartment. The October wind had rearranged his longish hair, but instead of looking a mess, it just made him look like a woman had just ran her fingers through it after he’d given her the best orgasm of her life.

Projecting? Maybe a little bit.

His long legs ate up the half a block between them in two heartbeats, and he took the garment bag from her, slinging it over one shoulder. Grinning down at her, his other hand came to rest on the small of her back. The heat from his touch seared through her fall jacket and through the lightweight sweater she’d pulled on this morning, sending a jolt of awareness that made it feel like she had too many layers on.

“Glad to see the shopping trip was a success,” he said as they started walking toward her apartment.

Ha. Was that what people called it? “They’re going back.”

“Why?”