Chapter 12
I can’t fall asleep.
The moment I turned off the lights and closed my eyes, the conversation we had earlier started replaying in my head.
The discussion over dinner. The easy chit-chat and her curious questions. She asked me things I can’t remember having ever been asked before. Did I like living in London? What do I miss most about New York? My favorite way to eat potatoes.
She’d asked the last question while stabbing her fork into an oven-roasted potato, and with the full intensity of someone who’s clearly given it a lot of thought.
But the talk about her vibrator that preceded it all… It had set off emotions I’d tried hard to keep under wraps.
So I’m lying on my back in this large bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking about her vibrator. The length. The breadth. The girth.
The damn vibrations.
And I’m wondering if she’s using it right now.
Just a floor below me, separated by a single flight of stairs, in the guest bedroom I passed a million times and a million mornings before she moved in.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but that doesn’t do a thing to dissolve a mental image. My imagination lingers on Harper, her messy curls spread across a pillow, her full lips parted on a soft sigh.
Naked.
Her knees bent, slightly splayed, and her hand working between her thighs. Maybe she’d warm herself up first without the vibrator. And then turn it on, slide the device over the soft skin of her stomach, and press it to her clit…
I blow out a frustrated breath and put an arm under my head. I shouldn’t imagine this.
Not that it’s the first time my mind has wandered in that direction.
I used to feel guilty. Guilty because I knew she wouldn’t want me to picture her that way, and guilty because it was the ultimate betrayal of Dean. That guilt was stronger than my anger, frustration, and the wasted fucking need for her.
The need I’ve always felt for her.
And now she’s in my house. Just downstairs. She cooked me dinner tonight, and she smiled and laughed with me. We’re friends now. Becoming friends, at any rate, outside of her relationship with Dean.
But my traitorous self can’t seem to be content with that.
I want her to like me. That’s the truth of it. I can admit it, at least.
So, I’m trying. Doing whatever I can to make it happen.
But I also know it’s not the right move. She’s not looking for anything. She’s been hurt by Dean, and they just broke up. Of course, she still has feelings for him. The thought makes my stomach turn.
She’s single. She’s not attached to him any longer. But that still doesn’t make her mine.
And yet, knowing that does nothing to make the vision in my mind go away, because it never does, does it? I’ve also never had to contend with her presence before like this.
Is she using the vibrator right now?
I can’t believe she never used a sex toy before. If I’d been her boyfriend, if I’d been Dean, I would’ve spoiled her with orgasms. Discovered every single way to make her come.
Make play essential in the bedroom.
But maybe Dean and Harper didn’t need to spice it up. Maybe they?—
I stomp out the thought and smother the familiar jealousy. It was always the ugliest of my emotions attached to Harper, and I knew it was entirely undeserved. I released most of it when I moved to London. Once I saw Dean far less often, and by extension, the two of them together.
My need for her won’t go away, however. Has been coursing through my body since I found that vibrator among her purchases, tempered only by our conversation and her food and the obligation to act normal around Harper. But now that I’m alone and in bed, the need is all I feel.
I’m hard.
Have been since she said goodnight at her landing, one hand on her bedroom door while the other held her large bag.
I knew what was in that bag.
The silence around me is absolute. I haven’t heard a sound from her room below, but I strain to listen anyway. As if I’d be able to hear her soft moans through wood and brick, and mortar.
I reach down with my right arm and surrender.
My cock has been resting against my stomach with angry urgency, but I don’t give it what it wants. I stroke it leisurely. Give in to the temptation and let my imagination run wild.
Harper’s familiar form blooms in front of my shuttered eyelids. How she might look beneath her clothes.
The soft swell of her tits, her rosy nipples. Her stomach. Her hand at the apex of her legs. The vibrator pressed against her clit, or inside her… I imagine her pushing it all the way in, the length disappearing into her pussy, and the little vibrating nub coming to rest on her throbbing bud.
Her breathing turns heavy. A moan escapes as the vibrator settles inside her heat.
I imagine her sweating. Skin flushed and glistening.
And I imagine her eyes on me, as my hand controls that vibrator.
She trusts me. Wants me. Begs me to let her come.
I tighten my hand around my shaft. Stop all movement for a few seconds to prolong what’s already been going on far too long.
For years.
Imagine myself turning the vibrator around, releasing her center from the constant onslaught of a throbbing pulse. She mewls in my mind, and I replace the vibrator with my fingers. Dance them lightly over her swollen clit.
I throw back the covers, and the air feels cool against my heated skin. Using my thumb, I trace light circles on the sensitive underside of my head, right where the vein connects. Mimicking the sensations I want to give Harper.
She’s arching, her eyes drifting shut… her mouth parting slightly. I wish to God the hard flesh my hand would be the soft, wet folds of her pussy instead. She’d say my name. Beg for release.
I grit my teeth and speed up my strokes. The pleasure builds until it’s almost painful, so strong it makes me hiss. My cock glides smoothly through my grip, and then I erupt, shooting across my stomach in spurts that leave me groaning.
Fuck.
I lie in stunned silence, broken only by the pounding of my heart, before I get up and clean up. Fatigue finally settles in my limbs, and I think sleep will come easier now.
But it doesn’t.
I’m left lying in the darkness, body sated but mind racing, wondering who Harper is thinking of while she uses her new vibrator.
I wake up to the blaring sound of my ringing phone. The familiar ringtone cuts through the fog of sleep.
My room is still pitch black.
But a quick glance at the screen of the still-buzzing phone shows the time.It’s an hour later than I normally get up. My assistant is calling, probably wondering where the hell I am. I’ve asked her to call if I ever deviate from the schedule.
I answer, barking out a short I’ll be in soon, and toss the covers off.Hit the controls to open the black-out curtains, and the room starts to fill with light. My shower is done in record time, and I pull on the first pair of slacks and a white button-down I find.
There’s a meeting in thirty minutes I can’t miss. The deal with our Japanese contractor is too crucial, and my brother has been working on it for almost a year. I need to be in the video conferencing room on time.
I’m racing down the stairs. Phone in the pocket of my pants. I’ll need to grab a jacket from the entryway…
… Someone walks out onto the second-floor landing.
I catch a glimpse of wet blonde curls cascading over bare shoulders and a lush towel wrapped around her body.
Harper.
She scrambles back with a shriek. The corner of the towel comes untucked and the edges part. Gravity takes over. Stars collide. I forget how to breathe.
An expanse of rosy, pale skin.
The swells of her tits. Pink, pert nipples.
Soft stomach, the curve of her waistline, and the beginning of her?—
She snatches the towel back up before it falls past her hips. “Nate?!”
My feet are glued to the last tread of the staircase. “Yes. Good morning.”
“Holy shit, you scared me.” Her eyes are wide, hands tight around the towel. “You’re never home at this time!”
“Overslept.” My voice comes out gruffer than I intended, and I run a hand over the back of my neck. Focus, Connovan. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She shakes her head. I’ve never seen her hair wet before. The curls are thoroughly damp, dark enough to make her appear to be brunette. Her face is flushed. “It’s your house. I shouldn’t have… I don’t usually walk around in a towel.”
“That’s okay,” I say woodenly.
“Yes, well, that was a lie. I usually do. See, I like to go downstairs and put the coffee on after my shower, that way it’s done by the time I’ve gotten dressed.”
“Smart.”
She nods quickly. Gives me a tentative smile. “I’m sorry about that. Didn’t mean to flash you, I promise.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“Forget you ever saw anything, all right?”
I clear my throat. “Already forgotten.”
It’s the second lie I’ve told her in the past two weeks. Because try as I may, try as I should, I won’t be able to forget the sight.
She smiles at me again. “Thanks. Um, there’s yogurt in the fridge if you want breakfast. Let me change… I’ll come down.”
I head down the stairs. “Take your time,” I say over my shoulder.
It isn’t until I’m alone in the kitchen, out of her presence, that I release the breath I’ve been holding. Grabbing a hold of the counter, my knuckles turn white.
I shouldn’t have seen that. Shouldn’t have scared her.
There are so many boundaries already crossed in my imagination, but now that I’ve actually seen her… it’s going to be impossible to stop traversing over more invisible lines.
I push the thought away. Bury it deep inside like I’ve done so many times before. Focus on Harper instead.
She’d been embarrassed.
Even though she had nothing to be embarrassed about. The woman is perfection. I’ve always known it, and seeing her now, well…
Perfection was too mild a word.
I head to the giant coffee machine in the corner. The elaborate, gleaming metal contraption that can make everything from a flat white to a latte to espresso. A purchase I made last summer and seldom use. It’s quicker to have coffee delivered to my office.
I don’t know what she likes.
But I turn it on and make both a cappuccino and espresso. Opening the fridge, I find a container of orange juice. After draining a full glass, I roll my neck. Reach for my phone.
I need to leave.
But I should say something first. Tell her that it’s okay. That I’m sorry. That she shouldn’t be embarrassed. But the words feel stilted, uncomfortable in my mind, and I’m halfway out of the kitchen when her hurried footsteps echo on the stairs.
She’s dressed now. An oversized printed dress, a tweed jacket, and a pair of ballet flats.
Her hair is pulled back in a low bun.
“Hey,” she says.
I smile back. It’s automatic. “Hi.”
“Smells like coffee. Did you…?”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Yeah.”
“Oooh, you’re using the cappuccino function. I haven’t tried that one, yet. Is that what you normally drink?”
“Yeah,” I say. A second lie of the morning, and it’s not even eight. I take a step closer and open my mouth to apologize.
“I’ve never even seen it being used.” She cuts me off before I could get the words out. “Do you make coffee in the morning? If so, you must clean it thoroughly once you’re done.”
“I rarely use it.” There. Some truth.
Her eyes widen. “You should! This is like… the Rolls-Royce of coffee machines.”
“I know. I bought it.”
She chuckles and reaches for the espresso. “Can I drink this?”
“I made it for you.”
I stand there in my bright kitchen, sunlight streaming in through the French doors that lead to the garden. Sipping on a cappuccino while silence stretches the minutes but the clock doesn’t stop ticking. I’m going to be late and…
I can’t leave.
She looks at me over the rim of her cup. “Sorry about what happened upstairs. Truly.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “Really. Don’t.”
She smiles a little. “Okay. I won’t.”
“Good.”
Her gaze drops to my shirt, and then she looks back at her coffee cup. “Slow day today?”
“No. Not really. I overslept, and I have back-to-back meetings most of the day. And tonight…” I blow out a sigh. “A charity event. I’m obligated to go.”
“Oh. What for?”
“I honestly have no idea. I’m sure my assistant will brief me beforehand so I can avoid making an ass out of myself.”
She giggles. It’s a soft, happy sound. “I hope she does.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m going out with two friends, actually. Aadhya, who works at my gallery. Remember her? And one of her flatmates. It should be fun.”
“Stay safe, all right?”
“Of course. I’m always safe.”
“I saw where you lived before. That wasn’t— Harper?” She’s put down her cup and is coming closer, much closer, her eyes locked on my shirt. I set aside my cappuccino.
“You’ve buttoned this all wrong.” Her hands find the fabric of my shirt and start undoing the tiny fasteners. Her fingers brush my chest once, twice, as she correctly does up the shirt.
“There,” she says softly.
My hand finds the edge of the counter. Caging her in on one side. I’ll be really late for this meeting, and Alec will be annoyed.
So be it. He often is.
“Thanks,” I say.
She dips her chin in a slight nod. We stand there for a few long seconds, neither of us saying a word. The only sound is the slow drip from the coffee machine.
My phone rings, breaking the moment. Harper blinks and looks down, and I take a step back to look at the device. Trish’s name flashes on the screen. I hit decline.
“The office?” she asks.
“Yeah. I have to go.”
“Have a good day at work,” she says, gripping her cup of espresso. She looks rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, her hair still damp, her face free of makeup.
“You too, Harper,” I say.
And just like that, I’m making morning coffees together our new routine.