Chapter 15
15
HARPER
M y eyes flutter open, adjusting to the morning glow of sunrise. For a moment, I lie still, savoring the peaceful silence, and a smile touches my lips. Memories of yesterday by the pond flood back—the closeness we shared, the way Brody looked at me, the almost kiss that still tingles on my lips, even though it never happened.
My pulse races, and a warm, restless ache spreads through me. I’ve thought about kissing Brody Calloway more times than I care to admit. I have years of fantasies of us being together. But yesterday was different. Yesterday was real.
“You’re my purpose, Harp.”
I release a slow, shaky breath as my need becomes impossible to ignore. Glancing toward the closed bedroom door, I listen carefully to the sounds in the cabin. Silence answers back, and I know Brody’s probably already awake, sitting somewhere quiet, sipping his coffee, and staring thoughtfully into the sunrise. A thrill slides beneath my skin at the thought of him waiting for me.
Unable to resist the restlessness simmering inside me, I slip silently from beneath the sheets and move toward the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind me as I step into the shower, turning the water to a comforting warmth. Steam fills the room quickly, surrounding me, and I undress, stepping under the stream. The water eases the tightness in my shoulders, but does nothing to calm the fire building between my legs.
Closing my eyes, I lean back against the cool tiled wall, water cascading down my skin in hot streams.
I let myself drift into the fantasy I’ve had for years—Brody’s broad, strong hands exploring my body; his fingers tracing my ribs, gripping my hips, pulling me against him with the possessive urgency I’ve always craved from him.
A soft gasp slips from my lips as my palms begin to move, mimicking the path I want Brody’s hands to take. My fingertips brush the curve of my breasts before teasing the sensitive peaks as I think about his hungry mouth capturing me.
Pleasure rises slowly, my breathing turning shallow as I picture his blue eyes locked on mine, his expression full of desire and need, which matches my own.
My hand trails lower, slipping between my thighs, finding slick, aching heat as I imagine Brody’s deep voice whispering against my skin, telling me how beautiful I am, how I’m his purpose.
Intense pleasure sparks through me, my breath hitching as my fingers circle my clit. I can barely stand as I fantasize about taking the kiss we nearly shared yesterday. I slide a finger inside, feeling my walls clench tight. I need him. It’s a need so damn deep and raw and passionate.
Intensity builds quickly now, and the impending orgasm tightens low in my stomach as my breathing quickens.
I whisper his name, desperate beneath the rushing water, imagining Brody’s muscular body pinning mine firmly against the wall. His strength is protective, possessive, and perfect. My hips arch instinctively toward my hand, and my pleasure rises higher, deeper, brighter as I return to my clit, giving myself everything I want from him.
My body trembles, and I can’t hold on much longer. As my eyes slam shut, the orgasm rips through me. I let out a soft cry, shuddering as I fall over the edge. Powerful waves wash over me, leaving me trembling, my knees weak and chest heaving beneath the steaming spray.
I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath, not remembering the last time I came so hard.
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the bathroom door, jolting me from the lingering haze. My heart leaps into my throat, eyes flying wide.
“Harper?” Brody’s voice calls through the door, concerned. “Everything okay in there?”
Flushed and panicked, I press a hand to my racing heart, quickly gathering my voice. “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” I manage, squeezing my thighs tightly together, as if to hide the truth, even from myself. “Just dropped the soap. Sorry.”
There’s a slight pause, and then I hear the unmistakable smile in his voice when he asks, “You sure about that?”
Embarrassment mingles with a fresh thrill of excitement.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, trying to sound more convincing. “I’m fine! Really.”
He chuckles through the door, his voice dropping into something warmer, sexier. “Well, if you ever need any help next time … just let me know.”
My breath catches again—for entirely different reasons—and I bite my lip, wishing he would. I cover my face with my hands, wondering if he heard my desperate whimpers.
“I’ll remember that,” I tease. I envision the sparkle in his eyes and the smirk I’m sure he’s wearing right now.
His footsteps fade down the hallway, and I turn off the water and step out, wrapping myself in a soft towel. The reflection in the mirror shows flushed cheeks and eyes bright with desire, longing, and uncertainty. I stare at myself for a long moment, acknowledging the truth I’ve avoided for years—Brody Calloway has always been the man I wanted. But after yesterday and everything that’s happened between us, I realize that fantasies aren’t enough anymore. I want the real him more than ever.
I dress quickly, slipping into soft leggings and an oversize T-shirt, my skin still tingling from my shower.
As I make my way to the back porch, where he is, anticipation dances within me, as I’m unsure of what to expect. Will he tease me or pretend our exchange yesterday never happened?
When we returned to the cabin, both drunk, neither of us discussed it. We fell asleep in each other’s arms, and that was it. Completely platonic.
Stepping outside, I’m met with cool air and the sight of Brody leaning casually against the railing with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. His gaze shifts toward me, and a slow, knowing smile lifts the corner of his mouth. I try to hide the butterflies that swarm me when our eyes meet.
“Good shower?” he drawls, eyes glinting playfully as he lifts the mug to his perfect lips.
“Would’ve been better with an extra pair of hands,” I say teasingly, surprising myself with my boldness, cheeks burning even hotter.
Brody says nothing, but his gaze locks on to mine, eyes blazing with an inferno simmering beneath his hard exterior. He must’ve heard me.
My breath catches in my throat, heart racing wildly under the intensity of his stare. The air between us buzzes with unspoken words and possibilities, so charged and overwhelming that I have to look away.
I lean against the railing beside him, crossing my arms over my chest, letting our comfortable silence settle.
The forest hums around us, morning sunlight filtering through the trees, painting the wooden porch in soft patches of gold. Brody’s presence beside me makes my heart race faster with every passing second.
Awareness of just how close we are buzzes through me when his tattooed arm brushes against mine.
“Did I just hear your stomach growl?” Brody asks.
I laugh. “Yes. I’m super hungry,” I say, nudging his arm with my elbow to hide the hitch in my voice.
He tilts his head slightly, eyes still locked on mine. “Want pancakes?”
“That would be awesome,” I say, grateful for the shift into something easier.
He raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever made them before?”
“No.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m just here to look cute.”
“You’re doing a good job,” he offers.
The sound is music to my ears. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so much, which makes my heart skip.
“You can handle the cooking, and I’ll handle the syrup.”
Brody’s smile widens, his eyes dancing with mischief. “How about I teach you how? We’ll go nice and slow.” His voice carries a touch of intimacy that’s not lost on me.
I smile with a racing pulse. “Careful, Calloway. I can read between the lines.”
“Counting on it,” he says warmly, shooting me a flirty wink as he hooks his finger with mine and leads me into the cabin.
My heart lifts at the simple touch as I follow him inside. I’m grateful for his ability to ease awkwardness and how effortlessly Brody makes me feel wanted and undeniably alive.
Warm sunlight streams through the cabin windows, bathing the kitchen as he pulls ingredients from the pantry. I lean against the counter, watching him. The grace of his movements and how comfortable he is around me makes me smile.
“Come here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at me, wearing a playful smirk.
I raise my brows. “I’m only here for moral support.”
Brody sets down a bowl, and I look at all the ingredients on the counter—baking powder, flour, eggs, salt, milk, vanilla, oil, and sugar.
“Teach me your ways, pancake king.”
A pleased smile spreads across his face, and his eyes meet mine briefly. It’s too intense, and I force myself to glance away.
“First, we need to mix the dry ingredients.” Brody grabs a measuring cup from the cabinet and a spoon from the drawer, placing them in front of me.
“Great. Let’s do it,” I say as he gives me the measurements for each item.
Brody leans his back against the counter and watches me, but he’s super patient.
“You’re a natural,” he offers. “These are gonna be the best damn pancakes we’ve ever eaten.”
“I find it impressive you have the recipe memorized,” I say, but then I remember him mentioning that his mother loved breakfast.
“When I was a kid, there was an entire summer where I wanted pancakes for every meal,” he admits.
“ Every meal?” I ask as he pours the oil, vanilla, and milk into the bowl.
He hands me an egg, giving me a chance to crack it.
“Oh, yeah. Loved them,” he says.
He watches me as I smack it on the flat counter, then press my thumbs in, opening the shell. The egg plops out with no shell. Brody holds up his hand, and I give him a high five.
“Look at you. Gonna be a chef by the time we leave here.”
Laughter rolls out of me. “Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I can crack an egg and skip a rock. Changing the world.”
He chuckles. “Both great skills to have.”
Once everything is in the bowl, he hands me a mixing spoon. “Now, there is a trick to this. You cannot overmix the batter. You stop when everything is incorporated. Got it?”
I nod, doing exactly what he instructed. When I stop, he glances in the bowl with a nod, then turns on the skillet. While it heats, we steal glances at one another.
“How big do you like them?” He waggles his brows.
I smirk. “Minimum six inches. But I think size matters.”
Brody clears his throat.
“Oh my God, are you blushing?” I ask.
“No. Pfft,” he says. “Are you kidding?”
“You are!” I tease him, reaching over and poking his side, making him squirm away. “Brody Calloway! Are you ticklish? Damn. It’s soooo over for you.”
I chase him around the kitchen.
He holds up a spatula and points it at me. “Harp! We have pancakes to make. The skillet is hot!”
I scrunch my nose. “You’ve only been saved because I’m starving. We might have to revisit this soon though.”
“Harper Alexander! Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit,” he says, moving toward the stove.
I stand beside him and my eyes trail over the tattoos on his forearm. I notice the Calloway Diamonds logo and a beautiful clock.
“This tattoo—it’s an homage to your family.”
“Yes. Easton drew it,” he shares as he pours batter in palm-sized circles in the iron skillet.
The kitchen immediately smells like cake, and my mouth waters in anticipation.
I can’t help but slide over the tattoos that peek out from the top of his shirt and go up his neck.
He notices me staring and lifts a brow. “This is a very important step. Keep your focus.” He winks.
I shake my head as he continues, “Pancakes need patience and the right amount of heat. Watch for them to bubble.”
I tilt my head thoughtfully, biting back a grin. “So, you’re saying you like to take things slow?”
Damn, I’m brave today.
His gaze flickers to mine, heat flashing briefly in his eyes before he reins it in. A smile spreads across his lips. “Good things come to those who wait.”
A soft blush rises up my neck, and I zero in on the bubbling batter. “That’s why I’m letting you handle the timing. I wouldn’t want to mess things up.”
He can also read between the lines.
Carefully, he slides the spatula under a pancake and flips it. The side that’s facing up is a golden brown.
He places his hand on the small of my back. “Grab some plates?”
“Sure,” I say, placing them on the counter.
After another minute, he starts piling pancakes, then repeats the process until we each have a fat stack.
Brody removes the butter from the fridge, and I grab the syrup. We move to the table, and I watch as he puts little pads of butter between each layer. I follow his lead.
“All right, syrup queen, show me your skills.”
Laughing, I drizzle syrup generously over both stacks, aware of his gorgeous eyes on me. Feeling bold, I swipe a fingertip through the sweet syrup pooling on my plate and slowly bring it to my lips, tasting it. His eyes darken slightly, watching me carefully.
“You’re trouble,” he says, amusement and something deeper coloring his voice.
I grin, my heart fluttering under his gaze. “But you like trouble, don’t you?”
“Mmm. Fucking love it.” Brody’s eyes soften.
For a moment, we hold each other’s gaze. Butterflies swarm inside me as his words sink in.
“Then I guess you’re in luck,” I whisper teasingly as we sit across from one another at the small table for two. “Because I’m the best kind.”
“No one is denying that.”
We each cut a sliver, and I lift my fork, the syrup dripping onto my plate. At the same time, we pop them into our mouths, and I moan. Not that I could help it. They’re incredible. My eyes widen, and he swallows hard.
“Sorry, they’re orgasmic,” I admit. “Basically, these are the best pancakes I’ve had in my entire life. Now I understand why you wanted them for every meal.”
He smiles, almost like he’s remembering an old memory.
Breakfast passes in easy conversation, the gentle hum of our voices filling the cozy kitchen. We linger at the table, plates empty, mugs half filled with coffee. I lean back in my chair, feeling more relaxed and carefree than I have in years, as the warm morning sunlight washes over us.
Glancing down, I remember my lack of a phone and clothes—everything I left behind at Micah’s. A small frown tugs at my lips as I consider my reality. I look up slowly, meeting Brody’s concerned gaze across the table.
“You okay?” he asks, reading me perfectly.
“Yeah,” I sigh, fiddling with my fork. “I left my phone, clothes, and favorite weekend bag at Micah’s. I feel a little … lost and out of touch with the outside world.”
He reaches across the table, his hand covering mine.
“Things are replaceable. You aren’t,” he says, thumb brushing reassuringly over my knuckles. “We’ll need to go into town to get more groceries soon, and we can get whatever else you need.”
“Really?”
“Of course.” Brody’s mouth lifts into a reassuring smile. “Buy the whole fucking town if you want. We’ll do whatever makes you comfortable. Anything you need.”
The intensity of his words sinks deep into my chest, easing the anxious flutter.
“Can we go in a few days? I think I need to mentally prepare to leave.”
“Whenever you’re ready, Harp. No pressure.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Brody gives my hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly pulling back, his eyes still warm. “You don’t have to find out.”
I offer him a light, playful smile. “So, shopping spree?”
He pushes his chair back as he stands, grabbing our plates. “As long as you promise not to bankrupt me with your wardrobe demands.”
Laughing, I rise, too, nudging him with my shoulder as we move toward the door. “Impossible, Calloway. You have more money than either of us could spend.”
“I’ve given a lot of it away,” he admits.
“And somehow, you still have hundreds of billions,” I say.
He smirks. “It’s damn good to be a Calloway.”
I watch him rinse our dishes and realize with certainty that no matter what happens from this point on, as long as Brody is by my side, I’ll be okay.