Chapter 6

“I think you need to recover first,” his host said as he placed a bowl of stew and a plate of bread on the table at the side of Harry’s chair and gestured for him to remain seated. He took a bowl himself and sat opposite. “I hope you don’t mind the informality; the dining room is freezing.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

His angel put the bowl down and looked a little sheepish. “Forgive me, I haven’t introduced myself. Charles Farrington.” He stood and held out his hand. Harry ignored the lure of the food, stood up, too, and took the proffered hand. “Harry Valentine.” Only a small white lie. “Please, call me Harry.”

“Harry,” Farrington smiled and shook, lingering over the handshake a little, so Harry squeezed the hand nestled in his.

“You should call me Charles.” Those blue eyes burned now and Harry felt his resistance slip as he stared back and felt heat burn through him at the contact. He felt Farrington’s breath catch.