Getting Off Easy

by Erin Nicholas

  Two nights ago…

  Harper’s phone rang as she was leaving her classroom. She’d had a department meeting run late and then needed to finish up some paperwork and was now hurrying home. James had been off today, but he had plans with his friends tonight, and she didn’t want to leave Ami alone for too long tonight.

  Okay, truthfully, she would just always rather be at home with the dog… and James… than pretty much anywhere else.

  Her shaggy, devious, matchmaking dog.

  She smiled as she reached into her jacket pocket for her phone. It really seemed that James also enjoyed being at home more when she and the dog were there, too. The dog he called Fred even though she’d officially named him Ami, which meant friend in French. He insisted on saying it Amy and claiming it was a girl’s name. Harper knew damned well that he knew French and knew how to pronounce it. But he didn’t know she knew that he knew French. Because he didn’t know she’d overheard him speaking French, fluently, to one of the tourists in the praline shop one afternoon or that she’d heard him swearing in French one day through his open apartment window or that she’d heard him talking on the phone to someone fully in French on the balcony another day.

  Why he was pretending not to know the language, she wasn’t sure, but she was playing along for now. And rolling her eyes every time he called their dog Fred.

  Yes, the dog was officially theirs in spite of her best efforts to not get even closer to James. Her arguments that they were confusing the poor thing by using two names didn’t hold water either. The mutt responded, happily, to both. He was smart and very much preferred when James and Harper were both with him. If he knew one was home but was in the other apartment, he whined and paced and lay by the door looking completely forlorn. It was how, over the past month, Harper and James had started spending more time together whenever they were both home.

  It was all very domestic and, she knew, very dangerous. Because, while it seemed wholly platonic, she was constantly noticing things like how one of his middle fingers was crooked, as if it had been broken, and it made her aware of how much she wanted his fingers stroking her body. Or that he always started his slow, flirtatious smiles with the right side of his mouth, which made her aware of how much she wanted to feel those lips on hers. Or how the low, deep chuckle of affection he’d give for something Ami-Fred did made her stomach flip in a different way than the surprised, entertained chuckle he’d give when she one-upped him. Oh, her stomach flipped with that chuckle, too. It was just a different sensation. Strange she’d never noticed stomach flips could vary.

  She glanced at her screen as she headed for her car.

  It was James.

  She stopped in the middle of the grassy square she was crossing and shifted her bag to her other shoulder.

  He had plans with his friends tonight. Why would he be calling her? Was Ami-Fred okay? Was Henry okay? She couldn’t believe she was actually concerned about a lizard, but here she was.

  “James? What’s wrong?”

  “Hey, Professor. Nothing’s wrong.”

  She could hear the grin in his voice. Was he drunk dialing her? She frowned. “Then why are you calling me?”

  “I have a question.”

  There was music in the background along with the clinking of glassware and boisterous conversation. He was definitely still out somewhere with his friends.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Okay.”

  “If a guy ties a girl up in bed—”

  Immediately she realized he’d been talking to his friends about the conversation they’d had the other day. He’d noticed the books on the table next to her sofa and had asked about them. They’d had a mature conversation about romance fiction and erotic fiction and had even talked about some of the pieces of the BDSM lifestyle.

  But now he was either calling to tease her or calling to get more information that he could share with his friends. She was going to make him regret either of those. “Oh my God, James. Does she have a safe word?”

  He paused. “Who?”

  “The girl you’re tying up,” Harper said. She didn’t really think he was tying anyone up, she realized.

  Interesting.

  He’d, of course, noticed the stack of books was made up of five romances—two contemporaries, two erotic, and one suspense—and a book about female self-esteem. Because, at times, James was a thirteen-year-old boy in a twenty-seven-year-old man’s body, he’d made the mistake of sharing his perception of all that. Harper had taken the opportunity to educate him—for twenty minutes—on the genres of romance, erotic romance, and erotica, in addition to the topic of women’s sexual fantasies and empowerment and men’s erroneous assumptions about all of the above, including women’s self-esteem issues.

  She’d fully expected it to turn him off that topic, and possibly talking to her again about anything ever, but he’d been surprisingly interested and attentive.

  The man simply would not stop surprising her.

  Which was probably even more dangerous than owning a dog together.

  “You’re sure she wanted you to do that?” Harper went on, resuming her walk, intent on giving him a hard time. “You have to talk about this stuff.” She got to her car and unlocked the door. “I’m coming over.”

  “You’d come over if I have a girl tied up in bed?” He sounded a little baffled but also amused.

  That was often how he looked at her in person as well. For some reason, it always made her feel warm.

  In her real life, people looked at her as they would a well-respected professor and colleague, with admiration and respect and just enough intimidation to keep them from saying something inappropriate.

  James looked at her warmly. That was the best word to describe it. It was almost as if there was affection mixed in when he talked to her or listened to her. He was not inappropriate or disrespectful, but there was an underlying air to him that said he wanted to be. That he was waiting for a time or a circumstance when he could be. And that when that time came, she’d very much enjoy it.

  That all made her feel warm, too. But in a very different way.

  “Do I need to bring scissors?” Harper asked, slamming her door shut behind her.

  “You think I tied her up and can’t get it undone?” James asked. He was clearly enjoying this.

  “Zut! I don’t know where my scissors are,” Harper said. “I have a knife. That will work. But tell her not to freak out when I come in.”

  She had to admit, it often felt as if James had the upper hand when it came to flirting and teasing. For some reason, tonight she felt like turning the tables. Maybe because after their conversation about erotic romance, he’d seemed not only interested in the subject matter but very intrigued by the fact she read it extensively. Was there a side to her that he hadn’t expected? Good. Because there were many layers to this man and every one she discovered made her feel more and more out of her element.

  “Not to freak out that you’re carrying a knife when you come storming into my apartment where she’s tied to the bed and can’t get undone?”

  She heard the humor in his tone.

  “Wow, Professor. Take it down a notch.”

  “Open the door, James,” Harper said.

  “I’m not home.”

  “Where are you? I need to drive this knife over to you?” Harper realized she was grinning. She was teasing a very hot, young, fully-accomplished-and-very-experienced tease and seemed to be doing a good job at it.

  “Put the knife down, Harper,” James said firmly. “I’m not home. I don’t have a woman tied up. I was asking… for a friend.”

  “Did she know it would be two of you?” Harper asked, a surge of adrenaline pumping through her. Yeah, this teasing stuff was fun. Especially when it had to do with sex rather than ficus trees that weren’t really ficus trees and adorable dogs that made her feel warm and fuzzy rather than warm and… sexy. She loved Ami, of course. And sharing him with James had brought them a new level of intimacy that was de
finitely sexy. Seeing a man in love with a dog did something to a woman’s insides. No matter how much that woman wished that wasn’t the case. But it all felt like… foreplay. There was another word she didn’t use lightly. Yes, everything with Ami and even Henry, in spite of him being a lizard, and the olive tree, and even Courtney, had felt like foreplay. This felt like they were finally talking about sex. And she wanted him to come home. Right now. “You really have to talk this stuff out ahead of time,” she went on. “Avocado makes a good safe word.”

  James blew out a breath. “You aren’t standing outside my door, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re also not holding a knife, are you?”

  “I’m not even at my apartment,” she said. “But I’ll have you know that I know exactly where my scissors are.”

  There was a pause. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”

  She thought she knew this man better than she’d realized, actually. She liked that. “If you called to tell me that you had a woman tied up in your apartment and couldn’t get the knots undone, I’d call 9-1-1,” Harper said.

  “Because you couldn’t stand the thought of seeing another woman in my bed?” James asked. A sexy, teasing tone had slipped into his voice now.

  For the first time, Harper let the warm tickle of awareness trip down her spine and didn’t try to suppress it. “Because all of your firefighter and cop buddies would show up and would torture you over it forever,” she said.

  She heard the quick huff of laughter from him and felt her grin stretch.

  “I’m taking this outside,” he said to someone he was with.

  Harper found herself squeezing the steering wheel in what felt like anticipation.

  James was making their conversation more private. She didn’t doubt for one second that James flirted, outright and blatantly, more often than not. He was not a guy who hid a lot of emotion, period. There was no way people would keep dumping things on his doorstep for care if they didn’t know he was a loving, fun, warm person. So what did he need to say to her in private that his friends couldn’t hear? For some reason, that made her feel like something more was about to come.

  “Professor?”

  His voice was low and rough. Over the line, she could hear he must have moved outside. There was still noise—there was always noise in the Quarter—but this was traffic noise, and the conversation was more muted, as if the people were moving past him rather than gathered around.

  She swallowed, shocked to find her nipples beading just from that single word, his nickname for her. Of course, other people called her Professor. But there was something in the way James said it that made it sound sexy and affectionate at the same time. It made her think of him saying it, low and husky, against her ear, as their naked bodies slid against one another and on her cool linen sheets…

  “Harper?”

  She snapped out of that little fantasy. “Um, yes?”

  “You said you’re not at home.”

  “I’m not.”

  “When will you be?”

  Her breathing sped up. He hadn’t said anything like, meet me in bed, naked, in fifteen minutes, but somehow her body had heard something very much like that.

  “I’m on my way home from campus.”

  “You’re going directly there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too.”

  “You’re on your way home?” she asked. Could he hear that her voice was breathless now? Did she care?

  “Now I am.”

  She smiled in spite of the fact her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it thumping through her whole body. She’d seduced the playboy by teasing him over the phone. Yeah, she felt good about that. She wasn’t a seductress by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe the tree, lizard, drunk girl, and dog had been working on James, too.

  “I’ll… meet you there.”

  “Yeah, you will.”

  His voice was gruff, and a there was a touch of demand in the way he said that. Harper had never dated a man who was sexually dominant, but she’d read about a lot of them. Strangely, she’d always assumed she’d go for the scholarly, professor or scientist type herself. A little older than her. More mature. Confident. Not intimidated by her degrees or her own confidence.

  But a little-bit-demanding, kind-of-a-big-kid, heart-of-gold-under-the-super-hot-exterior firefighter-jazz-musician type was okay, too.

  “And Professor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make sure Fred’s fed and watered and walked and… not needing anything for a while.”

  Harper felt her whole body go hot. “Okay.”

  They disconnected without another word.

  Harper drove home, her mind on everything but the city streets and things like speed zones. Of course, living in the Quarter meant she couldn’t go fast even when she wanted to. There was far too much foot traffic. She finally made it to their building, parked, got upstairs, and was in the midst of taking care of Ami when her phone dinged with a text.

  Got called in. Warehouse fire. Don’t know when I’ll be home.

  Her disappointment was shockingly intense.

  Really fucking sorry, he added.

  She believed him. Me too. Please be safe.

  No worries. I’ve got a rain check with you to live for.

  In spite of the disappointment, that made her smile. He was pretty sure of himself. But yes, she was definitely giving him a rain check on tonight. Don’t let that distract you while you’re supposed to be working.

  It’ll be tough, but I’m a professional.

  Yes, a professional, badass, life-saving firefighter. As if she could ever forget.

  She was still smiling as she took a deep breath and looked around her apartment, realizing she didn’t have to worry about digging any lingerie out from the very back of her drawer tonight after all.

  Dammit.

  But she was fine. This was fine. She would do what she always did in the evenings after work. She’d make a little dinner, she’d hang out with Ami, and read for a while.

  But as she went through her evening routine, she avoided her stack of erotic romance like it was a pile of poisonous snakes.

  She hardly needed any further fodder for the heat that still coursed through her body just thinking about their conversation on the phone.

  2

  Now…

  * * *

  “It’s a baby boy?” Harper demanded, her gorgeous brown eyes wide.

  James tipped the baby so she could look at him. “I’m no expert, but… yeah.”

  She put her hand over her mouth in a kind of dramatic, but pretty adorable, gesture that definitely conveyed oh, shit, but in a classier way. That was Harper. Real, but classy.

  God, two nights ago, he’d been on his way over here to finally kiss her. Oh, yeah, he’d intended to kiss her. And she’d known it. They’d had this whole sexy, teasing, foreplay thing on the phone, and he’d known that finally, finally she was ready. They’d been flirting for six months. He’d never spent that long seducing a woman.

  Of course, he’d never used olive trees and crying drunk girls to seduce a woman before, either. But it had somehow felt like that’s what he was doing. Every time Harper answered her door, her demeanor was a little softer, she lingered a little longer, her smiles were quicker, her eyes warmer. Yeah, he’d been winning her over. Slowly, but surely. He’d been willing to take the time, too.

  Sure, some of that time it had seemed like she was trying to figure out how much of him was real and how much of him was just I-want-in-your-panties teasing bullshit. The answer to that with most women was fifty-fifty. But with Harper he’d felt less and less like he was teasing her to get her into bed and more like he was teasing her just to make her smile, because it made him smile. He hadn’t even kissed the woman, yet coming home and seeing her was the best part of his day.

  He knew that was a red flag for a confirmed bachelor who didn’t want to get involved. But he was st
arting to wonder what was so damned great about being a bachelor. He’d been watching his guy friends fall in love one by one, and when he hung out with them and the guys from down on the bayou—who were all still single and living the weekend-fling-with-hot-tourists-who-love-Southern-boys life—he had to admit the guys who were actually sharing their lives with one woman they were crazy about seemed happier and just better somehow.

  And hell, Harper Broussard was hardly just some girl. She was sassy, but in this very classy, almost elegant way. She was onto him. She didn’t fall for his lines. Yet she kept opening her door. That mattered. She could have told him to leave her alone. She could have told him to shove his olive tree. She could have killed his olive tree. He knew women who would have done that. But she’d kept the thing alive and made him olive tapenade with the olives.

  She liked him.

  And she hadn’t even seen him naked yet.

  Most women who’d seen him naked liked him.

  Most women who’d seen him naked hadn’t spent a lot of time talking to him about books and dogs and his job.

  None of the women who’d seen him naked had made him olive tapenade.

  Harper liked him in spite of the fact that he’d kept his clothes on, and she’d never heard him play the piano in the club.

  It was interesting. Not that he thought that was all he had to offer a woman. He wasn’t sad. He was just a little out of his element with her.

  That made him want to take her to bed even more. While the thought of it intimidated the hell out of him.

  And now, when he was finally here when she was, both able to take their clothes off and he could carry her into her frilly, mostly-white-with-touches-of-green-and-yellow bedroom and lay her down on the fluffy, white comforter that he’d wanted to mess up since the first time he’d seen it… he was holding a baby.

  A freaking baby.

  “How do you know it’s a boy?” she asked tentatively.

  “The note says I know you’ll take good care of him,” James said. Repeating those words made his heart thump as it all seemed even more real. He really was holding a baby that had been left on his doorstep.