Chapter 15 #2
"That's smart.” I kiss her again, slower this time. "I don't rush, Harper. Not with work. Not with acquisitions. And definitely not with you."
She's trembling slightly now, and I can feel it, can feel how much she wants this, how much she wants me.
"There's something I need to tell you," she says suddenly, pulling back slightly.
I tighten my grip on her waist. "What is it?"
"I've been—" She stops, her phone buzzing in her purse.
"Ignore it."
"It might be important."
“This is important, too.” But I release her enough that she can reach for her purse.
She pulls out her phone, glances at the screen, and her face goes pale.
"Everything okay?" I ask, my voice sharpening.
"It's my mom. She's—" Harper types something quickly, but her hands are shaking. "Sorry. She's asking about Thanksgiving plans."
I watch her carefully. There's something she's not telling me. Something that makes her hands shake and her expression close off.
"Harper," I say quietly. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just—" She tries to climb off my lap, but I don't let her.
"Don’t,” I snap, my voice still strangled with desire. “Don't shut me out."
"I'm not—"
"You are. I can see it." I cradle her jaw, forcing her to look at me. "What were you going to tell me before your phone rang?"
Her mouth parts softly before she shuts it again.
"Harper."
"I can't—" Her voice cracks. "Not yet. Please."
I search her face for a long moment. Every instinct I have is screaming that whatever she's hiding could hurt me. Could be another Isabelle situation. Another carefully constructed lie.
But then I see the genuine distress in her eyes. The way she's looking at me like she's terrified I'm going to walk away.
And I realize something.
I don't want to walk away from Harper, from whatever the two of us are starting to explore.
I nod slowly, then pull her back down for another kiss. This one is softer—a promise rather than a demand.
"Harper." I slide my hand higher up her thigh, watching her eyelids grow heavy. "Are you going to make me beg?"
"Would you?"
"For you? Yes."
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest. Harper stares at me for a long moment, then leans down and kisses me with enough heat to melt steel.
"Okay," she breathes against my mouth. "I'll come to Vegas."
"Good girl."
The words slip out before I can stop them, and her reaction is immediate. Her hips roll against me, her fingers tighten in my hair, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
"You like that," I say, not a question.
"I—" She's breathing hard now. "Maybe."
"Not maybe." I grip her hips, holding her still. "You do. And I'm going to remember that."
The car slows. We both notice at the same time.
"No," Harper whispers. "We can't be there already."
But we are. Through the rain-streaked windows, I can see my building. The doorman under the awning. The familiar entrance.
"Fuck," I mutter.
Harper starts to climb off my lap, but I stop her.
"Not yet." I kiss her once more—deep and possessive and full of promises. "One more."
She melts into me, and I take my time, memorizing the taste of her, the feel of her, the sound she makes when I bite her bottom lip gently.
When I finally let her go, she looks dazed.
"You're incorrigible, Kade,” she whispers.
"You have no idea."
The partition lowers, and James's voice comes through the speaker, carefully neutral. "We've arrived, sir."
"Thank you, James."
Harper tries to fix her hair, smooth her dress, make herself presentable. She fails, looking thoroughly kissed.
Good.
"Are you coming inside?" she asks, her voice still breathless.
Every fiber of my being screams yes. I want to take her upstairs, finish what we started, make her come apart in my hands.
But I don't.
“Can’t,” I force myself to say. "I have a conference call in an hour. The life of a CEO.”
Her face falls slightly. "Right. Of course. Work."
I catch her chin, making her look at me. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't think this is me choosing work over you.
This is me choosing not to rush this." I lean closer, my voice dropping.
"So yes, I'm going back to the office. And yes, I'm going to suffer through this call thinking about you.
And yes, we're both going to hate it." I kiss her once more, softer this time.
"But when we do this, we're going to do it right. "
James opens the door, and cold November air rushes in.
I step out first, then offer Harper my hand.
She takes it, and I pull her close as we walk toward the entrance.
Donovan, my doorman, tries very hard not to look surprised at seeing me with a woman. Probably because for the last three years, since Isabelle, at least, he hasn’t seen me smile.
"Evening, Mr. Kade. Mrs. Kade."
"Evening, Donovan.”
At the entrance, I turn Harper to face me. The rain is falling harder now, but we're protected by the overhang.
"Text me when you're inside," I command. “I want to know you made it safely."
"From the lobby to the penthouse?"
"Humor me."
She reaches up, straightening my collar that she absolutely destroyed. "Fine."
"Good." I lean down, kissing her once more—deep enough to leave her breathless, controlled enough to prove I still have some restraint. "And Harper?"
"Yes?"
"We leave for Vegas Wednesday morning. Seven AM sharp. Pack something nice for dinner. We're meeting with the board Thursday night."
"You're very bossy."
"You like it."
"I really shouldn't."
"But you do."
She bites her lip, fighting a smile. "Maybe."
I pull her against me one more time, my mouth against her ear. "Go inside, Harper. Before I change my mind about being a gentleman."
She nods, stepping back, but her eyes are still lust-glazed and glossy.
"Text me," I remind her.
"Yes, sir."
The words are a hit of adrenaline to my veins, and she knows it. Her eyes light up with satisfaction before she turns and walks into the building.
I watch her go, then get back in the car.
James very carefully doesn't comment on my disheveled appearance or the lipstick on my collar or the fact that I'm adjusting myself as I settle back into the seat.
"Back to the office, sir?"
"Yes. Thank you, James."
My phone buzzes before we've even pulled away from the curb.
HARPER: Made it inside. Safely. No incidents.
HARPER: Also you have lipstick on my collar. Might want to fix that before your conference call.
ME: I don’t mind.
HARPER: You're not going to fix it, are you?
ME: No.
HARPER: Why not?
ME: Because I want to remember how it got there.
Three dots appear, then disappear, then appear again.
HARPER: You're going to be the death of me.
ME: Good. Then we're even.
HARPER: Have fun with your conference call.
ME: Unlikely. But I'll have fun thinking about what I'm going to do to you in Vegas.
HARPER: That's not fair.
ME: Life rarely is. Get used to it.
She doesn't respond to that, which is answer enough, and I lean my head back against the seat, my body still thrumming with want, my mind already calculating logistics for Vegas.
Wednesday morning. Seven AM. Two days away.
Forty-eight hours until I have Harper Beaumont alone in Vegas.
This time, I'm not letting her slip away. And I'm not making the same mistakes.
This time, I'm taking what I want.
And what I want is her.
My phone buzzes again. Rachel.
RACHEL (PR): I heard from Dmitri about Vegas and Richard Francis. Please tell me you won’t do anything stupid when you get back to that city
I look at the lipstick on my collar, at the evidence of exactly how stupid I've been lately.
ME: Define stupid.
RACHEL (PR): VICTOR.
ME: I fly out Wednesday. Harper's coming with me.
RACHEL (PR): For the board meetings?
ME: Among other things.
RACHEL (PR): What other things?
ME: That's between me and my wife.
RACHEL (PR): Your FAKE wife.
ME: We'll see.
I put my phone on silent before she can respond, mentally prepping for tonight’s call and Vegas in forty-eight hours, ready to see if I can handle what happens when I stop holding back.
And definitely ready to see if my beautiful fake wife can handle the same very soon.