Twenty-Nine – Harrison
TWENTY-NINE
HARRISON
T he only reason I brought Eliza to my family’s hotel garden party was because I thought she’d enjoy being surrounded by nature—and I was willing to tuck in my disdain for my relatives for a few hours.
Unfortunately, I may have overestimated myself. I’m already at my limit and it hasn’t even been fifteen minutes.
“There’s my son!” my mom rushes over, motioning for a photo. “Come, come, smile.”
I force one, and she presses a kiss against my chest.
“Oh… Days like this make me miss your brother. Don’t they for you, too?”
“I need a drink,” I say. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll join you.”
Fuck.
She loops her arm in mine, smiling and stopping to greet everyone we pass.
When we reach the bar, she orders another gin and tonic. I get a whiskey.
“I’m glad we didn’t invite Kristin to this,” she whispers. “I was this close, but I didn’t know you’d upgraded.”
“Come again?”
“Your plus one.” She gestures toward Eliza, and I take in her outfit for what must be the millionth time.
A short, fitted green Gucci dress hugs every curve, giving the perfect glimpse of her cleavage.
The vintage Chanel bag on her shoulder has already sparked whispers, and those nude stilettos?
They’d look even better wrapped around my waist.
“Is she from the Vanderbilt family?” my mother asks, leaning in. “I hear a hint of Southern in her voice.”
“I’d put my money on Biltmore,” my father says, joining us. “She comes off far more sophisticated. I’m glad you’re hard-launching her here, son.”
“I can’t believe you chose today of all days for this party.” I grit my teeth. “It’s like you two are the king and queen of being tone-deaf.”
“Harrison Jones…” My mother narrows her eyes. “I can’t help that our annual charity dinner fell on this date, just like I can’t control the weather.”
I walk away from both of them and glance at my watch.
Eliza is smiling, admiring a trellis of wisteria with a group of women, and I decide to calm down from afar instead of dragging her into my mood.
“So?” Sloan Beckham—an old business associate—sets down his glass. “You gonna spill the details?”
“Do I have a ‘come talk to me’ sign on my forehead?” I ask. “Tell me now because I’m confused.”
“You don’t, but I just want to know who your new friend is…” He nods toward Eliza. “You gonna introduce me or should I take my chances?”
“She’s off fucking limits.”
“Is her name off limits, too?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re into her?”
I don’t have to answer that.
He rolls his eyes and sets down his beer. Then, as if “off limits” meant nothing, he strolls over and extends his hand to her.
She blushes as she takes it, and he leans in—offering to show her around.
She’s just a client, Harrison. Just a client…
“Hey there, stranger.” A manicured hand glides across my chest, forcing me to spin around.
I keep my “hello” to myself the moment I see who it belongs to.
“Oh, it’s like that now?” Sarah Auderman—my brother’s former best friend—smiles. “We can’t be friends?”
“We can’t be anything.” I push her hand off. “Who the hell invited you here?”
“Your parents,” she huffs. “Unlike you, they’re trying to move on and make the best of things.”
“I need you to get the hell out of my way and never speak to me again.” I try to step past her, but she blocks me.
“Please talk to me,” she says. “I feel like I never got to explain my side.”
“I’ll do something even better.” I lean in. “I’ll walk away without telling everyone at this party that it should’ve been you who died instead of my brother that night.”
Her face pales. “I’ve told you I’m sorry—so many times?—”
“Let me know when one of those ‘sorries’ brings him back.” I shrug. “Talk to me then.”
Unable to stomach another second of her, I weave through the crowd and out onto the balcony.
I grab two glasses off a tray and down them both before grabbing a third.
My phone buzzes. Jackson.
“Yeah, Jackson?”
“Good to hear from you, too.” He laughs. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Not at all.” I exhale. “What’s going on?”
“I need your advice on a proposition.”
“For free?”
“I’ll give you a penny an hour if you insist.”
I smile for the first time tonight. “I’m listening.”
“What do you expect from a six-star resort? Janey thinks she’s cracked the code, and I need a second opinion.”
“Does Eliza know you’re into her best friend?”
“ Six-star resort, Harrison .” The denial in his tone says it all.
“Turn-down service. Spa on-site. Private dinner rooms…” I list them with ease, but as I speak, I catch Sloan out of the corner of my eye.
He’s still with Eliza. Still charming her like he’s a celebrity. Still placing his damn hand on the small of her back.
“Sheesh, would you really remove a place from the six-star list just because they don’t offer a welcome drink?” Jackson asks.
“I didn’t make the rules,” I say, eyes fixed on Sloan. “I’ve never stayed at one that didn’t.”
“Fair. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He hangs up just as Sloan leans in to press his forehead to hers.
Fuck this.
I stride over, wrap my arm around her waist, and pull her back.
“We need to talk,” I mutter.
“What the hell, dude?” Sloan scowls. “We were talking.”
“Yes. Were. ” I glare at him. “Glad you understand past tense.”
“You’re being fucking rude,” Eliza snaps. “What do you want?”
“To talk.” I narrow my eyes. “Now.”
“Don’t make me make a scene in front of your friends.”
“I thought you said they were leeches.”
“Let go of me.”
“After we talk.” I lead her through the crowd and into the library, locking the door behind us.
“Harrison, what the hell is going on?—”
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl, crowding her back against the bookshelves.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m speaking your language, sweetheart.” I plant my hands beside her head. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?”
“I was having a good time—until now.”
“Do you even know who you were talking to?”
“Someone who doesn’t act like he owns me.”
“Wrong answer. That was Sloan Beckham.”
“Can I go back to him now?”
“He’s the exact type of guy you hate. He’ll sweet talk you, fuck you, then brag about it to his friends and podcast listeners by tomorrow night.”
“So… just like you?”
“I’ve never bragged about a woman I’ve slept with.”
“I’m sure they haven’t bragged either.” She shrugs. “Maybe I want to fuck him—especially since it’s the only way I’ll get laid in this city.”
“You just learned how to come, sweetheart,” I hiss. “And it was with me. So stop pretending otherwise.”
“We’re leaving this party,” I say. “This isn’t a debate.”
“I’ll leave when I’m ready.”
“I’m not asking.” My voice drops. “You don’t have a choice.”
“How much do you want to bet?”
“Try me.”
Without thinking, I crash my mouth to hers—hard, punishing, possessive. The kiss steals whatever protest she had left and replaces it with a desperate moan.
Her palms slam against my chest, but when I crowd her body and deepen the kiss, she grabs my shirt instead—pulling me in with fingers that tremble with rage and want.
She tastes like champagne and fury, and I’m drunk on both.
She bites my lip. I bite hers harder.
I spin her around and press her into the shelves, making the wood creak. Books tumble beside her shoulders, some crashing to the floor in heavy thuds, but neither of us flinches. I’m already hiking up the hem of her dress.
She wraps her arms around my neck and yanks me back into her mouth, panting between kisses.
“This what you want?” I growl against her throat. “You want to act like you’re mine and then flirt with anyone who fucking breathes near you?”
She doesn’t answer with words.
She digs her nails into my scalp and grinds her hips into mine.
I hook one of her legs around my waist and slide my hand under her dress. Her panties are already soaked.
I shove them to the side and undo my belt with one hand. She fumbles with the button of my pants, cursing when it doesn’t move fast enough.
I yank the foil packet from my pocket and tear it open, my breath ragged as I slide the condom on. My wallet slips out after and hits the floor with a soft thud, but I don’t take my eyes off her.
“Still sure?” I murmur, even though we’re both already past the point of return.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers.
I thrust into her in one deep, ruthless stroke—and her gasp splits the air.
The noise of us—skin on skin, the slick sounds of bodies colliding, our groans and curses—echoes off the shelves. More books fall with every shift of weight. A lamp topples and rolls onto the rug. Something delicate shatters behind us, glass crackling under my shoes, but I don’t slow down.
I fuck her hard.
Faster. Deeper.
Her heels dig into my back. Her moans rise with every thrust. She’s clinging to me like I’m the only thing holding her together—and maybe I am.
“You were mine the moment I saw you,” I rasp, my forehead pressed to hers. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Harrison…” she whimpers, tightening around me, unraveling from the inside out. She comes apart with a cry she tries to bite back into my shoulder.
I follow with a harsh groan seconds later, thrusting once, twice more before I empty into the condom, my body trembling against hers.
Silence falls.
Except for our ragged breathing. The soft creak of the shelves behind her. The subtle rustling of leaves brushing against the balcony just outside the glass.
And then?—
Laughter. Clinking glasses. A voice beyond the door.
“Has anyone seen Harrison?”
We both freeze, breathless, tangled.
I gently pull out and discard the condom in the trash beneath the bookshelf. She lets her head rest against my shoulder, her body still quaking slightly.
I press kisses down her neck, slower now. Less punishment. More reverence.
“I hate you,” she mumbles into my shirt.
I smile.
“You’ll hate me more if you don’t let me take you back to my penthouse now,” I murmur, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Can we leave and finish this properly?”
She nods, dazed. “Yes… please.”