When Harry Met Molly

He secured the flap so that a block of moonlight found its way inside.

“I’ll bet it’s even prettier when the lamp is lit,” he said. “I’ll do that now, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She smiled at him and knelt by him at the wooden chest, his nearness reassuring, even though his clothes were, of course, still cold and damp.

“How to light it,” he muttered.

“Are there no matches?”

“None that I can see or feel. Perhaps in the chest. To keep them dry.”

“That makes sense.”

Together they removed the items on the chest, and Harry lifted the lid. “Aha!” he said, and withdrew a leather pouch. “I feel them in here.”

“Very good.” She felt quite cozy and happy.

He lit the oil lamp and held it up. The makeshift room took on a warm glow. “It’s very attractive, this place. And you”—his voice was warm—“you look more beautiful—and alluring—than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, feeling shy again. She was about to shut the lid of the chest when she saw a bundle in the bottom. “Oh! Perhaps these are clothes!”

She pulled the bundle out and shut the lid. Harry put the lamp back on top of it and crouched next to her. It was a drawstring bag, and not very light.

“Too lumpy and heavy to be clothes,” she said, disappointed.

He smiled at her reassuringly. “I can wear a blanket.”

She sighed. “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

“I suppose,” he said with an awkward laugh.

Too late, she realized her gaffe. She reddened and busied herself opening the drawstring bag. “What’s this?” She pulled out a small, primitive-appearing statue.

Harry studied it. “Prinny, you dog,” he muttered, his eyes alight with amusement.

Molly swallowed. “It’s…it’s two people.”

Harry traced the entwined limbs with his index finger. “They’re rather involved with each other.”

Molly’s heart raced. “You mean they’re—”

“Yes,” said Harry. “They are.” His eyes snapped with mischief. And heat.

She shoved the bag at him. “Perhaps you should look. There’s more.”

“All right.” He reached in with a grin and pulled out a book with gorgeously rendered script on the front in an unfamiliar language.

“Oh!” sighed Molly, her hand on Harry’s arm. “It’s beautiful! And old, I think.”

“I think you’re right.” Gently, he opened the book to a random page.

An illustration of two people, um, doing the same thing as the people on the statue stared up at them!

“Shut it, Harry!” Molly cried.

Harry shut the book, but not before staring at the picture a few more seconds. “Are you sure you don’t want to see more?”

“No.”

“No?” His eyes flickered with a challenge.

She stuck her chin in the air. “Absolutely not. You need to get warm and dry, and we need sleep. I, for one, am perfectly exhausted.” She made herself yawn, and then scrambled onto some pillows, and pulled an emerald green woven blanket about her head. “I’ll wait beneath this until you’re dressed.”

“Very well,” he said. “No peeking.”

“As if I would!”

He laughed, and she heard him pull off his breeches. Her breath grew a bit short—no doubt because of the blanket smothering her. “Are you wrapped up yet?” she called impatiently.

“Yes. You can come out now. I’m perfectly respectable.”

Feeling a tiny bit afraid, she let the blanket slide off her head.

He was lying on his side, facing her, his head propped on his elbow, his own bold yellow and black blanket not sufficient to cover his chest nor his strong, shapely calves. His hair was a wet mess, but somehow on him it looked charming, particularly that curl pressed to his forehead. She had a desire to touch it, to straighten it, to play with it, but she wouldn’t.

“I won’t bite, you know.” His tone was serious, but he had a twinkle in his eye.

She narrowed her gaze. “Harry, this is a serious breach of etiquette. But under the circumstances—”

“Oh, you don’t have to be all prim and proper. I know you wouldn’t have called me in except for the rain. And I wouldn’t have come, but you’re stubborn. You would have yelled all night and had no voice left for tomorrow. We can’t have that.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’re not stubborn?”

“No.” She lowered her eyes, afraid to meet his. “It wasn’t only because of the rain I called you in. Although that was part of it.”

“Really?” His voice was warm.

She would be brave. After all, she didn’t have much more time with him. “I wanted you here.”

“I wanted to be here,” he said rather hoarsely.

She liked that kind of voice in Harry. It usually promised kisses.

He leaned closer. “I understand why you’d assume the worst of me concerning this army incident. I’ve earned my bad reputation. Which makes your trust in me that much more…meaningful. No one else, save a few close friends and my brother, believes I am any more than a wastrel. Including my father.”

He gave her a heartrending smile.

She couldn’t bear to see him so sad!

“Harry—”

He put a finger to her lips. “I’m sorry if I’ve pressed myself on you this week. It was not well done of me. In fact, I regret every moment I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s not that I was uncomfortable exactly—” She stopped speaking. “And you didn’t exactly press yourself —”

Actually, he had. He’d pressed himself on her in the most delicious ways. She felt her whole body warming up at the memory of the most recent time he had, in the kissing closet.

His mouth curved in a small smile. And her knees melted. Everything in her melted.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered. She so wanted him to kiss her. But he was so bad for her.

Wasn’t he?

“I know,” he said, a world of understanding in his voice. And reached over to lay a gentle kiss on her lips.

She closed her eyes. It truly was the sweetest kiss he had ever bestowed on her. He knew. He knew that she knew that he was—

Oh, bother. He simply knew. And that was all that mattered.

She opened her eyes.

“Now, Molly,” he said firmly, “as you’ve already pointed out, we should sleep.” He rolled onto his back, folded his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

She felt the beginnings of a childish tantrum build within her chest. She didn’t want to sleep. Especially now that they understood each other so much better.

And there was that book. She was a bit curious, and she was with Harry, after all. He wouldn’t tell anyone if they took another peek.

She sighed loudly and shut her eyes.

The rain still fell steadily, but not as strongly as five minutes before.

“Are you sleepy?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Harry said pleasantly. “But you’re exhausted, of course.”