Mister O(52)

We head to the door, but when I glance back at him, he’s no longer eating. He trots to Harper, meowing loudly and rubbing his side against her.

“I’ll come back soon, handsome,” she tells him as he turns around and rubs his other side on her calf, his tail swishing high in the air.

My eyes pop out. That cat is marking her with his scent. “Back off,” I say to him. “She’s mine.”

Harper laughs. “You two having a swordfight?”

“Yeah, and I’m going to win.”

We leave, and once we’re in the elevator and safely away from the pervy cat, I press a kiss to her chest where his paw was.

“Are you actually jealous of a cat?” she asks.

Jealous of Simon. Jealous of a feline. Evidently, I’m the territorial one when it comes to this woman, and my possessiveness knows no bounds. “I would be if I wasn’t completely confident that I’ll be stripping you down to your bows and garters, and having my paws all over you tonight,” I say, low and husky.

A feathery gasp escapes her throat. “I like your paws.”

When we reach the street, I crane my neck to check out the sixth floor. Who’s there but Fido, in the window, staring at us.

Probably preparing a report for his master. I swear, I’ll quit when Spencer returns in a week. I will, I really will.





24





Harper spins around, walking backward on the sidewalk, mischief tap-dancing in her blue eyes. A bus rumbles by, spewing exhaust, and a cab honks its horn as it swerves into the next lane. We’re on the edge of the Village.

“Any idea where I’m taking you?” she asks, taunting, toying, playing.

I bring a finger to my lips. “Hmm. Did you plan a date at the drugstore?” I ask, gesturing to the Duane Reade on the corner. “Shopping for household goods, perhaps?”

She makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong. Guess again.”

I check out the options across the street. There’s a movie theater, so that’s a possibility. But Harper’s I’ve-got-something-up-my-sleeve attitude tells me she’s not going for conventional. I cross off the sushi restaurant on the corner for that reason, too.

Then I spot it. A few stores away. I can’t believe I missed it. Eden, a sex-toy shop. This is so very Harper.

“This might be my favorite date ever,” I say as we near the entrance. “I don’t know how I’m not going to buy one of everything.”

She grabs my hand and laces her fingers through mine. “It’s going to be impossible for you to resist.”

“I’m game to try though,” I say and turn into the doorway.

Like a dog on a leash, I’m jerked back. I nearly stumble into her. “What? Aren’t we going here?” I hook a thumb in the direction of the shop.

“Oh God,” she says, clasping her hand over her mouth. “I forgot that was here.”

“Then where are we going?” I ask, since two and two isn’t equaling four right now.

She points across the street to what looks like a huge bathroom store. “I didn’t want to take you to the movies, or dinner, or bowling, or trapeze lessons, or a museum, even though I know we’d have the best time doing any or all of those things. I wanted to take you someplace you’d never been. Someplace that’s very you,” she says as we cross the street and reach the entrance to the Whiteman showroom. “And since the only thing you love more than drawing is showers, I thought you might enjoy checking out some of the coolest showers in the world.”

For several seconds, I’m too surprised to react. This wasn’t on my radar screen at all. I wouldn’t even have guessed it, but as I gaze into the pristine windows at the displays of model bathtubs and showers with gleaming fixtures and earthy tiles, my heart thumps against my chest.

I don’t think it’s beating this hard because I love showers.

It’s because I’m floored by her. Her lips are parted slightly, and her eyes are full of anticipation, as if she’s waiting for my approval. I can tell she’s the tiniest bit worried that I might think this is silly, or strange, or too different.

I don’t. I think it’s awesome. “I’ve never been on a date to a shower showroom,” I say as I open the door for her, and we head into a paradise for the shower junkie.

“It’s like shower porn,” she says as we wander past the first setup with a waterfall theme and smooth stone tiles.

“I could spend a whole day in there,” I say, sighing happily as I take it in.

“You could start taking shower naps.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried that.”

She laughs and squeezes my arm. I look at her hand and flash back to all the times she’s touched my arm. She was always doing it before, a friendly little pat, or a punch now and then. Sometimes playful. Now, it’s sweetly affectionate. Funny how she has all these different ways of touching me.

The next one bills itself as a spa shower, and the display is complete with low lights, dark tiles, and mood music. “Is this where they hose you down after you’re all oiled up at the spa?”

“Just like this,” she says, and steps inside and pretends she’s soaping up under the showerhead.

“May I help you?”

Harper snaps to attention and meets the gaze of a sharp-dressed saleswoman in a navy pantsuit. Her sleek black hair is twisted in a bun.