Chapter 38 Free at Last #3
Sebastian’s laugh was rough and delighted. “I do appreciate your attention to detail.”
And they did—twice more through the night, each time with an urgency that suggested they both knew this might be their only chance. All that frustration and tension and want poured out between them until they were both completely wrung out.
Later, with Harper curled against his side, Sebastian traced patterns on her bare shoulder and tried to process what had just happened. She looked different like this—softer, more vulnerable, though no less beautiful. Her guard was down, and Sebastian felt privileged to see this side of her.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Harper murmured, but Sebastian could hear the uncertainty beneath the bravado.
He laughed as his fingers combed through her hair. “Of course not.”
But as Harper’s breathing evened out and sleep claimed her, Sebastian stared at the ceiling, acutely aware of every inch of her pressed against him—bare skin, tangled limbs, the quiet rhythm of her breath matching his.
The sex had been intense, yes. But this—this quiet, unconscious closeness—felt more intimate than anything.
That’s when it hit him.
He was in serious trouble.
And judging by the way she kept nestling closer against him, sighing contentedly in her sleep, maybe she was too.
Sebastian woke to sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the immediate, disorienting awareness that he wasn’t alone.
Harper was still there, her blonde hair spilled across his pillow like silk, one arm flung across his chest like she belonged there.
For one ridiculous second, he let himself pretend she did.
He just watched her—the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the soft rise and fall of her breathing, the way she looked almost peaceful without that sharp edge she wore like armor.
Then reality crashed back.
This was Harper Sinclair. The woman who’d been systematically dismantling his life for months. The woman who knew exactly which buttons to push to make him lose his carefully maintained composure. And the woman who was now naked in his bed.
Sebastian was frozen in place trying to decide how to handle this. In his experience, morning-afters were usually straightforward affairs—coffee, polite conversation, a graceful exit. But nothing about Harper had ever been straightforward.
As if sensing his scrutiny, Harper’s eyes fluttered open. For just a moment, she looked soft and sleepy and utterly beautiful. Then awareness crept in, and Sebastian watched her face transform as she remembered where she was.
Sebastian smiled, wry and tentative. “Morning.”
Harper sat up, the sheet falling to her waist, and Sebastian had to concentrate very hard on not staring.
Her hair was a glorious mess, and there were marks on her throat that he distinctly remembered making.
The sight sent a fresh wave of want through him that was entirely inconvenient given that he was trying to play it cool.
“Morning,” Harper echoed, her voice rough with sleep. Her eyes started to sweep the room like she was mentally cataloging her exit strategy. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to,” Sebastian said, propping himself up on one elbow. “Unless you really want to.”
Harper hesitated—just a beat too long.
Then she slid out of bed, all confidence and cool detachment, entirely unbothered by her lack of clothes. He admired that about her—how she could look like she belonged anywhere, even now. Except when she was pretending this meant nothing.
“Look,” she said, tugging on her jumper. “Last night was… unexpected.”
Sebastian couldn’t help but smile as he watched her hunt for the rest of her clothes with single-minded determination. Even flustered and half-dressed, Harper Sinclair was a force to be reckoned with.
“Is that what we’re calling it?” He stretched languidly, enjoying the way her eyes flickered over his bare chest and down to where the sheets were slung dangerously low across his hips before she caught herself. “Unexpected?”
“Yes.” Harper found her blouse and slipped it on. “Emotions were running high. It was a lapse in judgment. A mistake.”
“Well,” Sebastian said, standing and padding over to her. Harper froze as he approached. “Technically it was a series of mistakes.”
He was close enough now to see the pulse hammering at her throat, close enough to catch that subtle intake of breath when he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Sebastian.” His name was half warning, half plea.
“Relax, Sinclair. I’m not going to pounce on you.” Though the thought was tempting, especially with the way she was looking at him—like she wanted to run and stay in equal measure. “Coffee?”
Harper blinked, clearly thrown by the mundane offer. “What?”
“Coffee. It’s a beverage. Some people drink it in the morning.” Sebastian’s smile was pure mischief. “I hear it’s particularly good after unexpected lapses in judgement.”
For a moment, Harper looked like she might smack him. Then something changed in her expression—a decision being made.
“Coffee,” she said carefully, “would be good actually.”
“Excellent.” Sebastian grabbed his boxers from the floor and pulled them on, then headed toward the kitchen. “Fair warning though—I only have the good stuff. None of that swill that you probably drink at the office.”
Harper’s laugh was sharp. “There’s the arrogant bastard I know and despise.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Sebastian called over his shoulder as he started the espresso machine.
When he turned back, Harper was perched on one of the bar stools, fully dressed now but still beautifully disheveled.
“Besides, we both know you don’t despise me half as much as you pretend to. ”
“Don’t we?” Harper’s smile was teasing. “You seem awfully confident for someone who had to wait until I was naked to get the upper hand.”
Sebastian felt that dangerous flicker if desire at the reminder. “If I recall correctly, you were fairly… enthusiastic about the arrangement.”
A flush crept up Harper’s neck, but she held his gaze steadily. “Ancient history.”
“It was maybe four hours ago.”
“Like I said. Ancient.”
They stared at each other across the kitchen island, and Sebastian realized with surprise that he didn’t want her to leave. Not yet.
He slid a perfect cappuccino across the marble surface.
“Sebastian,” she sighed, picking up the coffee. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” he asked, though his voice lacked conviction. “I mean, we could just… keep this private. No one has to know.”
Harper shot him a look. “Yeah, right. We’re in the middle of a political fallout zone. A royal wedding is weeks away. If anyone even suspects there’s something going on between us, it nukes everything—your credibility, my career, the story.”
Sebastian watched her, his expression unreadable. “I know all that.”
“Good,” she said, zipping her jeans with practiced precision. “Because we can’t do it again. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
There was a silence. A long one.
They looked at each other across the marble countertop, the weight of everything unspoken settling between them.
Sebastian set down his mug. “So, now what?”
Harper hesitated, then said more quietly, “Now we pretend none of this happened. Until we can afford for it to matter.”
“And if we never can?”
Harper looked at him then—really looked. “Then we’ll both regret it. Quietly. Like responsible adults.”
Sebastian smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fantastic. Love that for us.”
Harper’s smile tilted. “We’ll get through the wedding. After that… we’ll see.”
“And until then?” he asked.
She moved toward the door, finishing her coffee in one long sip. Then she turned back, just before leaving.
“Try not to look at me like that in public.”
“Like what?”
“Like you remember this.”
“Ugh,” Sebastian groaned. He leaned forward and put his head down on the countertop, forehead resting on the cool marble.
“I just realized that I’m going to have to make it through an entire royal wedding, standing next to you, without thinking about last night.
” He lifted his head, meeting her eyes. “You really do hate me, don’t you? ”
Harper paused at the door, looking back at him one last time—rumpled and beautiful and dangerous to her peace of mind. It should have been easy to walk away. Instead, she looked back. “No,” she said softly. “I really don’t.”
She hesitated, then added, almost like a confession, “Besides… do you have any idea how good you look in a tux?”
Harper caught herself, shaking her head with a wry smile. “This is such a disaster.”
“It really is,” Sebastian said, and for the first time that morning, his smile was genuine.