Forty-Two – Eliza
FORTY-TWO
ELIZA
“ M ight I just say—this is the most beautiful resort I’ve ever had the pleasure of staying in,” a woman gushes at the front desk.
I don’t even bother looking up. I’d recognize her accent anywhere—West Side, New York.
I stay tucked in the back office. The last thing I need is another reminder of Harrison. I’ve done enough crying over him.
Then I hear it.
The low purr of a luxury engine coming down the main lane—the one lined with no-driving signs every ten feet.
I glance through the window and spot a black Escalade rolling right over the gravel.
Of course.
You can take these city boy guests out of Manhattan, but they’ll still disrespect posted signs—and the landscaping.
Time and time again.
Frustrated, I yank off my gloves and storm outside, stepping directly into the car’s path.
It finally halts at the tenth sign, and I don’t even hesitate before throwing up my middle finger. “Can’t you read, asshole?!”
The driver’s door opens.
And out steps Harrison.
Crisp white button-down. Dark blue jeans. No tie. No shield. Just him.
He removes his sunglasses slowly and looks right at me—expression unreadable, but those eyes… they drag over my dress, then back to my face.
My heart stumbles.
Don’t you dare fall for that again.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you that easily,” he says, stepping toward me. “Week one lesson: don’t flip off strangers in polite company.”
“You mean in that crash course you gave me on how to get abandoned and humiliated?” I fold my arms. “Yeah, I aced that one.”
“My brother should be back soon,” I add coolly. “You can wait on the porch.”
“I didn’t come to see your brother.” He winces and I notice a slight bruise under his left eye.
“Do you have a reservation at this resort, then?” I raise a brow. “Because if not, I’m calling security?—”
“Go ahead.” He keeps walking. “I’ve called you for six days straight. Did you block me?”
“No.”
“Then why haven’t you answered?”
“Because I have better people to talk to,” I snap. “You got what you wanted, Harrison. You said the deal was done. So if you don’t mind?—”
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
He says it fast. Like he’s been holding it in.
“I should’ve never let you go like that. I should’ve been there for you after the conference, and every day since.”
My breath catches, but I steel myself.
“Come back when one of those ‘sorries’ erases all the nights I cried over you,” I say. “Apology unaccepted. Now get off my property.”
“I’m sorry for not calling sooner. I should’ve fought harder—for you, for us.” He inches closer. “I screwed up, and I know it. But I need a chance to make it right.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Jones,” I say coldly, “I have work to do.”
“I fucking miss you,” he says, voice fraying. “This past month has been the worst stretch of my life. I can’t stop thinking about you. And instead of wondering what you’re doing or who you’re with, I want to be with you.”
My throat tightens. I don’t want to cry in front of him again. But his voice is raw in a way I’ve never heard before.
“For what it’s worth,” he adds, “you never needed to change a damn thing. I did.”
I take a shaky breath. “Apology still unaccepted.” My voice cracks. “I will call security, Harrison. I’m not kidding.”
“I’m not done.” He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear—so soft, so gentle, I forget how to breathe.
“I can’t sleep without you.” His voice drops. “My bed’s too cold, my place too quiet. Everything reminds me of you, and I can’t take it anymore.”
I swallow hard.
“I want to be where you are, Eliza. I want to move here to Tennessee…Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.
And I would’ve come here a lot sooner to tell you this, but your brother beat my ass when he picked me up from the airport and…
I needed to recover for a few days before I came to see you. ”
My chest tightens, and a soft laugh escapes my lips.
“You’d leave the city?”
“I’d leave it all,” he says. “The penthouse, the skyline, the clients—I don’t care. None of it matters without you. I need you.”
“What about your penthouse? Your clients? Your city life?”
“I’ll rent it. Or sell it.”
“We don’t offer permanent residence here.”
“How rude of you to assume .” He grins faintly, then leans in and kisses me—quick and hot and completely infuriating. “I can afford to buy a house.”
“Well, I just?—”
“I love you.”
I blink. “What?”
“I love you.” His eyes don’t waver.
The air leaves my lungs. “I love you too.”
He exhales, relieved. “Are you really working right now, or just picking fights with weeds until you stop thinking about me?”
“Who’s assuming now?”
“I’ll take that as an answer.” He kisses me again, and this time, I kiss him back.
He wraps me in his arms, lifting me just enough to knock the air from my lungs. The kiss deepens—slow, searing, like Manhattan never ended. Then, with one last glance over his shoulder, he opens the town car door and guides me inside.
We don’t speak on the drive up to the main house.
He parks, circles around, and opens my door like we’re back in New York. Then he takes my hand and leads me straight to my bedroom.
“We have a month to make up for,” he says, shutting the door behind me. “Where do you want to start?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer.
His mouth crashes into mine with a kind of desperate reverence. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my hair, my hips—gripping me like he’s terrified I’ll vanish again.
I yank his shirt over his head and run my hands across his chest like I’m relearning every inch.
“Say it again,” I breathe.
“I love you.”
“Again.”
He kisses down my throat, across my collarbone. “I love you.”
“Then show me.”
My shirt is gone in seconds.
He doesn’t just drop to his knees—he sinks like it’s holy. His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, and his mouth finds me with slow, devastating precision.
“Missed this,” he murmurs. “Missed you.”
“You had no right to still be this good at that after ghosting me for a month.”
He chuckles darkly against my skin. “Practice makes perfect.”
“If you practiced on anyone else, I’ll kill you.”
“Didn’t need to.”
Then his tongue sweeps over my center—and I fall apart.
It’s not soft. Not rushed. It’s relentless. He eats like he’s starving, like he’s been dreaming of this every night we were apart. His grip tightens when my legs try to give out, and he hums against me when I cry out his name.
“Harrison—” I gasp, but I’m already shaking, already gone.
When I open my eyes, he’s naked. Hard. Watching me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense.
“You still sure you want this?” he asks.
“I want you. Always.”
He doesn’t just enter me. He presses inside like he belongs there. Like it’s the only place he wants to be. He starts slow—deep, unhurried strokes that make my whole body tighten.
One hand threads through mine. The other curls around the back of my neck, grounding me to him.
My name breaks from his lips in a ragged whisper. I match him stroke for stroke, heartbeat for heartbeat. Each thrust is a vow, a promise, a breaking point.
When he loses control, I do too.
I come again just from the sound of his voice in my ear—deep, low, ruined.
I don’t remember collapsing.
Just the way he catches me, gathers me close, and wraps both arms around my body like he’s never letting go again.
“I guess I can forgive you completely now,” I whisper, my cheek against his chest. “Under one condition, no contract.”
“I’m listening.” He kisses my shoulder, lips soft and certain.
“When you say you want to be with me, are you thinking—until our relationship runs its course and we’ll just be ‘happily together for now’ or?—”
“No.” He cuts me off with another searing kiss. “I mean forever, as in happily ever after…”