Chapter 19 – Wes
NINETEEN
WES
“Have you seen—” I start, staring at my phone as I walk into the ensuite bathroom in my room—our room—but the words die on my lips when I catch sight of my wife. She’s in a short dress, the darker green, which makes her hair and her fair skin stand out beautifully, makeup full out, all dark and sexy with something that makes the freckles across the bridge of her nose more prominent. Her hair is long and loose, with soft curls at the ends, and she’s wearing a pair of heels high enough to bring her to my chin. The only jewelry she wears is her wedding rings and the W necklace, making me feel the sudden urge to buy her more, to see her dripping in things I bought for her.
She looks breathtaking. A fucking wet dream.
“Jesus, Harper,” I murmur, stepping closer and reaching for her, whatever I walked in here to show her long forgotten.
She laughs and steps back with a shake of her head, putting a hand between us. “No, no. I worked too long on this, and I’m not having you fuck it up.”
Fuck it up because we’ve been in the position to fuck up her makeup quite a bit as of late.
After giving her the design room and making her come, kisses have been far from off the table. I kiss her good morning and good night, and we usually get to some form of second base at least once a day, making out and feeling each other up like teenagers, but we haven’t gone further than that except for yesterday in my music room.
It’s killing me, the wait, but it’s also been well worth it. We’ve talked more in the past week than we have the entire time I’ve known her, and she hasn’t avoided me once . Gone is her hesitation in tiptoeing toward more with me, and even though every day she makes it her mission to test my restraint, I refuse to go any further with her until she’s sure she’s ready to be mine.
“Look at you,” I whisper, grabbing her hand and lifting it above her head as she twirls in a circle for me, her lilting giggles filling the bathroom and echoing around in the most gorgeous melody known to man. “You made this?”
She gives me a devious grin and nods. “I made it so you’d want to take it off.”
“Mission fucking accomplished,” I murmur, taking in how it clings to her curves perfectly. “You know, if we didn’t have somewhere to go…”
“Don’t you tease me, Wes Holden, because I’ll strip down right now if you actually make good on that promise,” she says, glaring at me with hands on her hips.
I close my eyes, groaning at the mere idea of that. “Harper…”
“No, don’t you Harper me. You’re the one who stops things every time they get hot and heavy.”
I open my eyes, forcing myself not to smile at her angry face because she would hate that. Instead, I pull her in close. “If things go my way very soon, I’ll have all the time in the world to fuck you exactly the way you want, little wife.”
“Tonight?” she asks, hopefully.
I smile at her, lifting a hand, pushing her soft silk hair behind her shoulder. “We’ll see.”
She glares at my non-answer. “Maybe tonight after the concert, I’ll take care of myself if you won’t.”
I stare at her and smile. She thinks that’s a threat, but it would actually be a prize.
“Harper, baby, you want to play with your pretty pussy while I watch, I’m more than happy to be an observer.” She scrunches up her nose, her blush growing deep as she rolls her eyes. But I see it there: intrigue.
Maybe tonight will be a fun night after all.
“What did you want to show me?” she asks, turning back to the mirror and using a finger to swipe at the corner of her perfect, full pink lips, trying to find some imperfection that isn’t there. Tonight, we’re going to Willa Stone’s concert and then a wrap party afterward, both because it’s a great press opportunity and because I want to show my wife off to all of the industry friends I’ve made over the years.
“Oh, yeah. Have you seen this yet?” I ask, bringing my phone over to her, the video queued up already.
“Seen what?”
I don’t answer, instead hitting play once my front is to her back, my phone before both of us. I watch over her shoulder, though I’ve seen it countless times already: it’s that entertaining.
It’s a social media post, taken by an intern at Astor Fashion. Jeremy is smiling as he rips an envelope open, a silly cat with the word Congratulations! big and bold on the front. When he opens the card, it instantly starts moaning, some mechanism inside triggered to let out loud, aggressive sex noises. The room goes quiet in the video, and Jeremy’s face goes beet red as he closes the card.
Unfortunately for him, the card I found doesn’t stop, instead it just gets louder. Jeremy frantically opens and closes the card, trying to figure out how to stop it, and sniggers around him in the office start up. Angry that it won’t stop and clearly embarrassed, he tries to rip it in half to stop the noise. Unfortunately for him, it triggers the glitter bomb inside that explodes all over his face.
The video ends, and I step back to take in Harper, who is in near tears, laughing so hard, waving her hands at her face so as not to mess up her makeup.
“I think this covers number three,” I say, and Harper looks at me confused as she catches her breath. “On your Destroy Jeremy list. Convince his coworkers he’s the worst? I don’t know if it makes them think he’s bad , but it definitely doesn’t put him in a good light.”
Her jaw drops with shock. When she showed me that list the first night in this house, I read over it, taking notes of which I might be able to quietly take over for her. She might not be willing to get back at her ex after last time, but I’m more than willing and capable of not leaving a trace.
“Did you do that?” she asks, a bit incredulous. I shrug.
“Just another little fuck you. It’s the least he deserves.”
A small smile plays on her lips as I slip my phone in my back pocket.
“You’re absolutely diabolical. Can you send that to me? I need to send it to Jules and Ava,” she says, and I nod, tugging my phone out again. Unfortunately, it pulls my wallet out with it, and I watch as it tumbles to the ground, a worn piece of paper falling out as it does.
Harper leans down at the same time I do to grab it, me in panic, her just to be the sweet woman she is, and we knock heads as we do. “Fuck,” I grumble, ignoring my own discomfort, and my hands move to her face to inspect as we stand. “Sorry, are you okay?” My thumb runs over the spot feeling for a bump, but there isn’t one, thankfully.
“Yeah, it was barely anything,” she says.
There’s a faint mark on her forehead, but nothing crazy. Still, because she’s close and I can’t pass up the opportunity, I press my lips to the spot where we met.
“All better,” I whisper. Her eyes go hazy the way they seem to do when I kiss her before they go confused, her brows furrowing. “What?”
“What is that?” she asks, leaning down, this time ducking to avoid my head. It’s then I remember why I knelt to grab my wallet so quickly: because something fell out. Before I can stop her, her fingers are holding onto a photo, lifting and inspecting it, the worn edges and the spots where my wallet has worn the image almost to the backing paper.
“Is this…?” she starts but doesn’t finish.
I don’t answer because it’s obvious.
It’s a photo from over two years ago in a night club in South Jersey, all the guys and Stella in the shot, plus Ava and Jules.
And, of course, Harper right next to me, a shit-eating grin on her lips, red hair lit with the nightclub lights. It’s folded so Harper and I are on one side, the rest of the group on the other.
I told myself I printed it because it was the first shot we had with the whole band and Stella since we were kids, but even I knew that was a lie. We have photos from Stella and Riggs’s wedding, all of us dressed up, the setting more idyllic, and the lighting perfect.
But those didn’t have Harper in them.
“Why do you have this?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Ava sent it to Stella, Stella sent it to all of us.” She looks at me, a look of don’t be an idiot on her face. I sigh, then give her another lie, biting my lip. “It was the first picture I had of the whole band and Stella in a long time.”
“I’m not a moron, Wes,” she says.
I stare at her, trying to decide what to do, what to say next, before finally, I give in with a sigh.
“No, you’re not.”
“So you kept this photo…”
“I’ve had that photo in my wallet since Stella printed it out for me.” She stares at me, and I hope she’ll drop it there, but this is my Harper, my Harper, who, even though she thinks she’s predictable and a pushover, the only thing predictable about her is how stubborn she is.
“Which was?”
I roll my lips into my mouth, biting down before confessing.
“I don’t know, a year ago? It was a joke because I kept asking about the pretty redhead she was friends with, the bridesmaid at Jamie’s wedding.” Her breathing goes short and quick, and I feel the need to continue and explain. “It wasn’t weird, I swear.”
It feels like a lie because obviously, having a photo of a relative stranger in your wallet is a bit weird, even if you did end up marrying her. “It was a joke. She gave it to me for Christmas and said it was for my wallet, so I slid it in there.”
Harper plays with the worn corners, then looks at me again.
“But…”
“But…but then I left it here. I like it. I like everyone in it, figured...figured it was a good photo.” God, why am I so embarrassed by this? I try to be cool for Harper, to keep things easy and not overwhelm her, and this is absolutely going to overwhelm her.
“So you’ve had a photo of me in your wallet for over a year?”
I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid and weird, then move to step back. I’m surprised when she doesn’t let me, when an arm goes around my neck, holding me close, the photo between us lost. For a moment, I want to argue, to tell her the photo is precious and I don’t want it to get hurt, but then she smiles, and I can’t think of anything but the woman in my arms.
I can’t focus on anything but the all-consuming need to kiss her.
So I do.
Eventually, the kiss breaks, and her eyes ease open, head tipping back as she looks at me with a wide smile.
“Oh, my god. You like me,” she whispers, awe in the word, and I pull her in close again.
“I thought I made that clear when I put a ring on your finger,” I say with a smile.
“No, like you like me , Wes . Outside of being friends and conveniently married.”
“I thought I made that clear when I fingered you in your design room.” Harper’s face scrunches up in the most adorable way, and I press a kiss to the tip of her scrunched-up nose.
“You haven’t done it since,” she says begrudgingly.
“That’s because I’ve been into you for a long time, Harper. I’ve just been waiting for you to pull your head out of the sand and realize you want someone who is completely and utterly obsessed with you, and I don’t want sex to complicate that.”
“Oh,” she whispers.
“So, are you ready to admit there’s something between us?” I ask with a smile.
“I thought I made that clear when I married you,” she echoes, and I give her a look, moving us until her ass is pressed against the counter of the bathroom.
“You’ve made a lot of things clear since then, Harper, but one of them has not been that you’re ready to make this something more.”
“I thought I made that clear when I came on your fingers in my design room,” she whispers, white teeth biting into her plump, pink-painted bottom lip, and I groan, pressing my growing erection into her stomach.
“I must have been distracted,” I whisper, dropping my face to hers, ready to throw everything to the wind and finally consummate this marriage the way I’ve been dying to for a month.
For years, if we’re being honest.
“Tell me, Harper. Tell me you’re ready to be more,” I say, my lips brushing hers as I speak there. “Not as friends, not as friends with benefits. As my wife. As mine . As something that’s going to last a fuck of a lot longer than twelve months.”
I pray to whoever will listen that she’s ready.
I’ll wait.
I’ll wait a month, a year, a lifetime if it means I get Harper Holden in a real way, if it means she did it on her terms, if it means she came to me willing and open.
But I’d much rather spend that lifetime loving her.
“Yeah, Wes,” she says, looking up at me, nothing between us. “I’m ready.”
“Fuck,” I groan, dropping my mouth to hers and devouring her. I expect her to argue about messing up her lipstick or her hair, but instead, her arms loop around my neck, pulling me closer like she, too, can’t resist having anything between us.
Her phone buzzes with an alarm, something I’ve learned she sets to keep herself on track and not lose time. I groan, leaning my forehead to hers.
“We gotta go,” she whispers.
“Why?” Her lips tip up with a smile.
“Because we have to be seen at Willa’s show.”
“Why?” I whisper again, because I’m ready to ditch this whole plan and run.
She looks at me like there's a genuine battle in her face before she answers truthfully.
“Because I want to go out with you. I want to be seen out with my husband. And I made this pretty dress.” Her lips tip up. “And because you’ve been torturing me for the past month. I figure it’s time I repay the favor.”
I groan again but press my lips to hers gently, casually, careful not to take it any further, before I step back and grab her hand.
“What my wife wants, my wife gets.”
And then we’re off. But I leave content knowing everything has changed for Harper and me.