Chapter 14 #2
I let out a frustrated groan. He pulls back to look at me, eyes searching. I’m flushed, breathless, and somewhere between turned on and humiliated.
“This isn’t how I want to do it with you.”
Wait, what?
“Let me get this straight,” I say. “I haven’t gotten laid in months. The guy I’m not interested in tries to get me into bed. And the guy that I actually want to be getting it on with doesn’t want to?”
“Oh, I want to,” he says huskily. “In fact, there’s nothing I want more than to rip your clothes off and not leave your bedroom for the rest of the day. But not right after last night. I like you, Julia. I don’t want it to be a rebound. I want it to mean something.”
“You’re not a rebound,” I say quickly. “The Noah thing has been over. Last night just made it…final. I promise.”
“I believe you,” he says softly. “But I only get one first time with you, and I want it to count.”
I blink. “I don’t know what you’re saying. Honestly, I don’t understand.”
He cups my cheek, thumb grazing my skin. “Do you trust me?”
Probably more than I’ve ever trusted any man. It’s a terrifying thought to admit after just a few weeks. I might be losing my sanity.
“Yes.”
He rewards me with the gentlest kiss—barely a brush of lips.
“Good.”
He looks at the pile of black mush sitting in the sink.
“How about I get dressed and pick up some pastries? I don’t think breakfast survived.”
“I was trying to make you something healthy,” I pout.
“I don’t follow a strict diet. Plus, I do love a good croissant.”
I trail my fingers slowly down his chest, stopping just before the towel. He closes his eyes and inhales sharply.
“And how are you going to keep this...” I drag my hand slightly slower, “...looking like this.”
“I’ll figure out a way to burn the calories.”
He winks, then takes a step back and helps me down. He’s holding the towel tight, but it’s not doing much to hide the very obvious situation happening underneath.
“How exactly are you going to get us breakfast if you don’t even have clean clothes?”
“I already took care of it. Arthur’s bringing some over. He should be here any minute.”
“You’re having clothes delivered?” I laugh.
“I didn’t think it would be very gentlemanly to leave right after you came to get me yesterday,” he says. “Figured I’d stick around as long as you’ll have me.”
“That’s actually… really sweet.”
I reach up and kiss him again. It comes so naturally it’s scary.
Thirty minutes later, we’re curled up on my sofa, enjoying buttery croissants, fresh strawberries, and steamy mugs of coffee.
Arthur came through, delivering a gym bag with a fresh set of clothes for Harrison. I dragged myself downstairs to get it, and despite my cheery mood, he stared at me with a completely blank expression.
According to Harrison, he’s a very proper English gentleman who takes his job seriously. Nothing personal. Smiling was just not in the job requirements.
I glance at him now—casual, gorgeous. There’s so much I still don’t know about how Joshua Harrison lives. It makes sense to have a driver in this big of a city if you’re trying to keep a low profile. But who put this bag of clothes together?
“You have someone at home casually putting together ‘next morning’ kits for you?” I ask, biting into a strawberry.
He laughs, shaking his head. “No. Lucky break on my end. I have someone who comes to clean on weekends. I try to mostly tidy up after myself, but it’s nice not having to allot any time to doing that. She’s the one that gave Arthur the clothes.”
“It’s wild to think that you’ve probably made enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”
He shrugs. “I’m not trying to become totally incompetent. I like normal things—cooking, having a space that feels like mine. Sure, I could have full-time help. It’s just not necessary.”
“That’s so humble of you,” I say. “You’re dangerously close to Prince Charming. But he doesn’t exist. Spill. I want to know the juicy details. You can’t be this good.”
“Juicy details?” He grins. “Okay. I always fly first class, no matter how short the flight is. I always wanted a Porsche, so I bought one. It’s been sitting for a year back in the house that I own in L.A., which has also been empty. I like big TVs with a good sound––”
“You own a house in L.A.?”
“I do.” His smile turns just a little cocky. This could change everything. He knows it. “We filmed there for six years. Got tired of hotels pretty fast.”
“And you didn’t think that might have been something worth mentioning?”
“I honestly hadn’t thought about it in a while,” he says. “Besides, owning property doesn’t grant me a visa.”
When he finishes his croissant, he sets his mug down and reaches for my feet, rubbing circles on the soles. It’s intimate. Domestic.
This morning already has my nerve endings at high alert, and now this? His touch is soft, almost reverent. It takes everything in me to reel it in and act unfazed.
“Does that mean you are back in London for good?”
“No,” he answers fast. “I want to get back to work, but nothing I’ve read feels right.”
“Have you thought about the other options?”
“I’ve been thinking about directing. Maybe producing,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I don’t know where to start. Peter’s been hounding me to take meetings…”
His shoulders tense.
“I’ve been enjoying the time off, honestly. Things got so intense, I couldn’t even go for a drive without people tailing me.”
“Look at us,” I say, with a crooked smile. “Experts in running away from our problems.”
“You didn’t run away yesterday when he showed up.”
It was about time, I think to myself.
“I think there’s a moment where you just snap,” I say. “Regain control. I haven’t felt anything for Noah for a long time, but I always had this nagging feeling that he still had the upper hand when it came to some things in my life.”
“But not anymore.”
“Not anymore,” I echo. “Not after yesterday.”
“Can I ask… what happened after I left? It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“It wasn’t a huge blowout. I mostly did all the talking. He came here with one goal—sex. Same unaware douchebag as always. But I got the closure I didn’t realize I needed.”
“What a bloody idiot,” he mutters, jaw tightening. “It wouldn’t have been ideal given my current media narrative, but I was ready to knock him out. I’ve met plenty of narcissists in Hollywood, but he’s in a league of his own.”
“I’m not worried about it. I said my piece. He’d taken control of everything for so long—it affected work, my confidence, and even my photography journey.”
“Wait,” he says, brows drawing together. “He messed with your photography?”
I nod. “We met at a student show. His dad owned a gallery, so at first I thought… maybe he believed in me. But it didn’t take long before he started picking at it. Telling me I wasn’t good enough. It was a cute hobby, nothing more.”
His fists clench. “Jesus.”
“I still entered a local competition. I made it to the semifinals. He found an email about it, called the organizers, and withdrew my submission behind my back.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope,” I laugh bitterly. “I was so frustrated. I almost left, but he managed to sweet-talk me into believing it was for my own good. I put my camera away after that.”
Harrison doesn’t speak right away. He stares at the floor like he’s trying to stay calm.
“That’s not okay,” he finally says. “He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“It’s fine,” I say, softer. “It happened. But I’ve decided to believe not all guys are like that. I just happened to pick the bad apple from the bunch.”
He looks up at me, gaze steady.
“Well, you don’t have to hope with me,” he says quietly. “I’ll prove it to you.”