Rachel gasped with humiliation—there was no way he couldn’t smell her now. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” she cried, and tried to move, but managed to impale herself once more on the phone box. “Ow,” she whimpered. “Ow, ow, ow.”
“Mind the box,” James Bond said, and blithely continued reaching around her, to the phone itself. “Before you go all barmy on me,” he said, his voice pleasantly soft as his gaze flicked from her face to her appallingly red bosom, “I promise you may have the quarters. I won’t demand interest or the like,” he said, his nose as yet unwrinkled, as he deposited one quarter. “But I wouldn’t mind a bit if you feel so indebted to me that you might buy me a cup of tea with the five you dropped on the floor.” He deposited the second quarter.
Rachel blinked, stole a glimpse at the floor without actually moving. There it was, a crumpled five-dollar bill at her feet. “Thanks,” she said, and slid down to her haunches to pick it up, then stood so quickly that she banged the top of her head into his arm, which was now holding the receiver out to her. Sorry,” she said, wincing again.
“Quite all right. So then, I’ve only just arrived and it’s rather dreary out, isn’t it? I could use a coffee, how about you? Here you are . . . your call?”
She was mortified to the tips of her toes—why was he asking her to have coffee? And what in the hell was he doing in Providence, anyway? He should be in London, stepping off the tube with some dish, walking to some posh and trendy pub.
Rachel snatched the phone from his hand, punched Dagne’s numbers into the phone, and silently begged her to pick up the damn phone. On the fourth ring, Rachel had had decided that God was indeed smiting her and was not going to help her in the least because she had played around with witchcraft, Dagne picked up. “Hello?” she said sleepily.
“Dagne!” Rachel hissed, whirling around so that her back was to Prince Charming. “Come and get me!”
“Why? Where are you?” she asked through a yawn.
“At the gym—”
“Hey! You didn’t waste any time—”
“Come and get me!” Rachel said frantically. “If you’re not here in five minutes—”
“Why? Where’s your car? Wait a minute—does Myron have it? Because if Myron took your car—”
“No, no, it’s here! But I’m blocked in and I really, really need to go.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“Dagne!” Rachel hissed.
“All right,” Dagne said, obviously irritated. “I’ll be there in a few. But this better be good!” She hung up.
Rachel put the receiver in the cradle, turned slowly toward the Brit, and pulled her gym bag around in front of her stomach. She flashed a self-conscious smile. “Thanks,” she said. “That was really decent of you. I appreciate the help.”
“You’re quite welcome. And now that you’ve successfully completed your ringing operation, what do you say to that coffee?”
If Dagne had put some sort of spell on her that made her attract handsome men, Rachel was going to kill her. “I’m sorry, I really can’t,” she said, stepping around him. “I’ve got a . . . a really important appointment I’ve got to get to. Shower, you know,” she said, gesturing to her head. “After the gym.”
He smiled.
“But, ah . . . thanks. Thanks so much.” She flashed him another quick smile, clutched her bag closely to her body, and mowed her way out of the coffeehouse.
She got one last look at the to-die-for Brit as she pushed through the glass doors. He was standing at the phone, staring after her, a sort of bemused look on his face.
Seriously, she was going to kill Dagne.
Chapter Four
Dagne was, predictably, very excited about Rachel’s brush with royalty in a trench coat. “See? Witchcraft does work.”
“Did you put some sort of spell on me?” Rachel demanded as she emerged from Dagne’s shower, wrapped in a towel.
“No! And why didn’t you have coffee with him?” Dagne cried, punching Rachel in the arm.
“Are you nuts?” Rachel rubbed her arm where Dagne had punched her. “Did you see me? I was sweaty and red-faced and I must have stunk to high heaven!”
“Yeah . . . I see what you mean,” Dagne said, wrinkling her nose.
“Oh thanks,” Rachel muttered miserably. “Don’t you have a spell for that? Here’s a drink so you won’t stink, something along those lines?”
“That’s not nice,” Dagne said, which prompted another argument about witchcraft that continued until Trading Spaces came on, at which point it was abruptly halted, as both couples hated their new rooms.