"I know what you did, Harry."
Harry puts down her cup of tea and looks across the table at her partner. "I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."
He narrows his eyes at her. Like she is a perp and he is trying to crack her. "Yeah you do. You know exactly what I'm talking about. And you know you did it."
She sighs heavily. She'd thought they were done with this. "This again? Really?"
"Yes, this again. Admit it."
"I would happily admit it if I'd done it, but I didn't. I don't know how else to convince you. I. Didn't. Do. It."
Dempsey shakes his head like he's so very disappointed in her. She recognizes it for the tactic it is and stares glibly back.
"Liar liar, pants on fire, Harry."
"I'm done here," she says, and leaves the room.
XxX
The problem was, she had absolutely done it. She hadn't meant to; it had been an accident – of sorts – and while she doesn't think a jury will convict her once they understand the circumstances, she is guilty all the same. And Dempsey, damn him, knows it. And hasn't given her a moments peace since he decided she needed to confess.
XxX
"Are you seriously going to take it to your grave?"
"Hmmm?" Harry looks up from her book.
"Confession is good for the soul. Or so I've heard."
She rolls her eyes. "Must we go over this again?"
Dempsey is entirely too gleeful. "Oh, we must. We really must."
"Why are you still pushing this?" she asks with curiosity.
"Because I caught you. In the act. And you refuse to admit it."
"Because you caught nothing. I didn't do it."
"I know you, Harry. I know you. I'll get it out of you one day."
She shivers at his tone. At the promise. "No, you won't."
XxX
The second problem was, she didn't regret it at all. She remembers that she had been so angry at the time; perhaps the angriest she'd ever been in her life. She'd let a man get under her skin, to goad her to a fury so great that she couldn't even speak, and then it had just . . . happened. A moment in time that she couldn't take back even if she wanted to, and now it was haunting her years later thanks to a cocksure American and his self professed habit of always being right.
XxX
"Hey, Honey?"
She lifts her head and rests her chin on his chest. "Yes?"
"Remember the time you checked me out in all my naked glory and drooled into your coffee?"
Harry considers his question with a tiny frown. "It's not ringing any bells, no. Sorry."
"You sure?" Dempsey presses. "'Cause I remember it like it was yesterday."
"Perhaps you dreamed it," she offers with a smile. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"True," he admits. "But you looked. You know you did. I'm gonna crack you soon, Harry."
Harry kisses his cheek and rolls over. "If you say so, love."
XxX
Okay, so she'd looked. It was right there, how could she not? She hadn't drooled though; she hadn't been that impressed. But she had given him the once over without even moving her eyes, a nifty trick she'd picked up somewhere in her twenties. She'd scanned him, appreciated the view, and filed the mental picture away for further contemplation before he had even left the room. Then she'd spent the next year or so trying to figure out if he really was an arsehole, or if he just liked pushing her buttons to see her reaction. And sometimes while she puzzled over this, she would remember the blue towel flung over his shoulder and smile.
XxX
"I was such a dick."
"I'm going to need a little more clarification for that one, I'm afraid."
Dempsey concedes the point with a grin. "The day you devoured me with your eyes. All that misogynistic crap I touted. I imagine it was a confusing day for you; you would have been pissed off and horny."
Harry laughs and scoops some scented bubbles over them. "Pissed off, yes. Horny? Not exactly."
"C'mon, Harry. You peeked. Why won't you just admit it?"
"Because it drives you crazy," she says, tilting her head back to look at him. "And I like driving you crazy."
"You're an evil, evil woman," he says, as his arm sneaks under the water. "Why did I marry you again?"
"Because you love me," she says with satisfaction.
His hand dips between her thighs, and she moans. She can feel his satisfaction starting to rise as he nuzzles her neck and whispers, "My stubborn, degenerate wife," and she quivers even though the bath water is steaming.
"I didn't look," she protests weakly.
"Yeah, you did."
End
We all know she peeked, right? I mean, what was that little smirk about after Dempsey had flounced out of the room? She definitely ogled his back view!
