7. Cian
Chapter 7
Cian
Women do a lot of things around me, but no one’s ever fainted before. If I were a different kind of asshole and watching terror render a woman unconscious wasn’t triggering as fuck, the act might have flattered me.
Instead, Harper’s collapse petrifies me for a good ninety seconds. I spend the entire time fighting off the onslaught of unwanted memories.
I’m standing with her slumped over my arm in the open doorway of some beat-up old rust bucket that’s still idling and might roll right back into the road, because Harper didn’t put the thing in park after she tried to run me over.
Guess I must’ve scared the hell out of her.
When she fainted, I thought she was faking a diversion. Then I thought she was dead. Goes to show how shot my nerves are. I’ve been stressing about this woman for months. She faints one time and sends my whole system into overdrive.
Me surprising her at night, on foot, like in a horror movie jump scare, was not how I pictured our eventual reunion.
I aspired to keep things efficient and professional. Find Harper. Get to the airport. Go home before any of my lust or anger seized the reins and took control. I never imagined me seeing her would scare her to the point of fainting, for fuck’s sake.
Guilt and uncertainty slice between my ribs.
Her chest lifts and falls, gentle and serene, like she’s at peace. She blows air between her lips, burbling like… Wait. Is she asleep? Harper’s head rolls from one side to the other. A little snore escapes when she inhales.
It takes every ounce of strength I have not to burst out laughing. First she faints, and now she’s asleep in my arms? I enjoy the ridiculousness of it for a few seconds more, before the humor dies a quick, sharp death.
Watching Harper sleeping, breathing…brings me back to that night in the hospital, after the last time my mother collapsed. The memory slams into me, and a giant clog forms in my throat. I try to swallow but can’t.
That’s the last time I ever saw my mother’s green eyes.
I’d do anything to never feel that helpless again.
The truck’s still idling, Harper’s out cold, and I’m probably giving off major criminal vibes. I pull the rest of her body into my arms, lean into the truck’s cab, and deposit her on the passenger seat before hopping behind the wheel. Three more trucks sit around the back of this house, so that’s where I plan to park this one.
The first thing I did after I lost sight of Harper in Waikiki was look up the restaurant where she worked.
That’s how I discovered Fukuoka Farms. After several minutes of googling the business and prowling around their social media feeds, I found what I needed—a photo of the company owners and a group of farmhands gathered around them, everyone happily holding fat, golden pineapples.
I spotted her unmistakable face on the far right. The captioned text beneath Harper’s image read Elena Dane .
Called it. A new identity.
Harper used her middle name as her surname.
Once I found the farm, I drove straight here, thinking I’d break into the farm’s office and hunt for her job application that I figure they keep on file. That form would contain a local address.
When I arrived, it seemed like the family was headed out for the evening. I was just about to make my move when Harper wheeled this truck into the driveway and nearly killed us both.
The gearshift clunks into park, loud enough to wake Harper. My eyes snap to where her head reclines against the rest.
She doesn’t stir.
When I pull it open, the passenger-side door squeals. Harper mumbles something inaudible but doesn’t open her eyes. I gather her off the seat and into my arms once again.
I must look like a tool, walking down a back road at night, carrying an unconscious woman in my arms like the fucking princess she is. I just hope we can get back to my car without incident.
This would be a horrible time for Enzo’s men to ambush me. That’s what I should be focused on, staying hyperalert and aware of our surroundings.
Instead, all I seem capable of focusing on is Harper.
The weight of her head thumping against my chest. The way the line of her shoulders bends perfectly into my arm. The cool underside of her knees, my fingers pressed into her soft skin, her jasmine scent tickling my nose.
She’s got my heart jumping, wondering if she’s going to wake up to me carrying her.
Would she struggle out of my grasp or let it happen, nestling deeper into me?
Just the thought of that springs my dick up. Is this what I’ve been reduced to? I’m so sex deprived that half a hug gets me going? Super glad Harper’s unconscious.
If the guys back home knew, they’d have a field day. I’d never hear the end of it.
Up ahead, the trunk of my rental car comes into view, its paint glinting in the light of a lonely half-dead streetlight. I wanted an Audi, but the best the place could do was a Porsche Macan in white, the worst of all car colors.
So conspicuous. Worse than red, in my opinion.
Tension between my shoulder blades makes my posture even more rigid as I approach the passenger-side door. I glimpse my reflection in the window.
I appear every bit as intense and dangerous as the sexual obsession I harbor for her. It’s absurd, I know. She’s the daughter of my boss. The one-time fiancée of my best friend.
Right now, she’s also a traitor and a disgrace to the family.
And still, seeing Harper Brennan in the passenger seat of my car—even though she’s asleep and we’re a million miles from home—is a miracle.
I always wanted a chance to spend more time with this woman.
And now she’s all mine until further notice.
The idea shoots straight to my dick.
After I settle into the driver’s seat, I steal a glance at her angelic face.
Like my gaze itches, Harper’s eyelids scrunch and flutter a few times. Her lips roll together and pull apart as she slowly returns to consciousness.
She blinks, gazing out the passenger window, at the dashboard, and then, as anticipation vibrates in my chest, her attention shifts to me.
Our eyes lock in the soft glow of the console lights.
Her sleepy expression sharpens. The soft gasp of her breath shifts the air between us. And then tears well up and spill down her cheeks.
The sight is so unexpected, it tosses me straight into an emotional free fall. I hate seeing tears on a woman. Worst of all, I can’t stand the idea that I’m the reason for those tears.
My chest locks up tight, constricting my insides.
Harper’s painful little sobs claw at my ears.
“It’s you…” She pulls her knees to her chest and drops her head on top, shoulders shaking. “Oh, god.”
This is her reaction to being alone with me?
My heart hits the deck. And I’d be lying if I said my pride wasn’t hurt.
“Back at you, Brennan.” I put the car in drive and rev off the shoulder onto the dark, lonely road.
One of Harper’s hands grabs the dashboard, the other the armrest on the door. The tension in her muscles telegraphs fear , loud and clear.
“What are you doing?”
She’s teary-eyed and frantic, almost cowering into the door.
“Stop sniveling.”
Voice trembling, she snaps at me. “Where are you taking me?”
My mood plummets fast.
I tighten my grip on the wheel, knuckles straining. “Home.”
Harper releases a helpless cry so small and heartrending, I lose my composure a second.
And inside me… Is my heart on roller skates? What the fuck is going on in there?
I fight the urge to stare at her while tears waterfall from her blue eyes. She whimpers once like a cornered little animal.
I hate the sound of a woman in distress. Drives me fucking nuts.
My right temple pulses with ghosts of the past. I’m getting worked up.
When I glance over, Harper’s on her phone.
I lunge for the device, and she lurches to avoid me, batting my arm back with more force than I expect.
“Who the fuck are you calling?—”
“No one.” Her voice, still warped with tear-induced congestion, holds a surprising sharpness. “I’m letting my landlords know I’ll be…away for a while.”
She says landlords like she means friends .
A drop of guilt slips through me.
Fuck.
This is not how I wanted things to go.