Chapter 33
HARPER
“Do you have any plans for the rest of the week? You’re on holiday, after all,” he asks after we’ve been driving for a while.
“I may do some sightseeing,” I lie.
“Anywhere in particular?”
“My favourite movie is Night at the Museum. Apparently, the museum they based it on does nighttime tours.”
“You do know it was shot in Canada, right?” he says with a smirk, his demeanour lightening.
“I know. That’s not the point. It was fiction, anyway. It’s not like I think the exhibits come to life for real. It’s the…”
“Romantic notion,” he fills in. “Oh, to be young again.”
“Don’t be a patronising arse,” I say. “You’re only two years older than my eldest sibling, and I call him out on his shit all the time.”
“I just bet you do,” he says, his eyes on the road, but his lips tilt at the edges.
“What’s your favourite movie? Rambo?”
“I’m not that old,” he says, turning to scowl at me, until he notices the twinkle I know is shining in my eyes.
I like this Alex. He’s more relaxed, carefree. It’s like the past hour with Aubrey never happened.
“Favourite movie?”
He twists his lips. “Die Hard.”
“One, two or three?”
He growls, making my stomach clench. “One, of course. Bruce Willis versus Alan Rickman…it’s a classic.”
“I concur,” I say. “But is it a Christmas movie?”
“Ah, the ongoing debate.” He chuckles.
“Well?” I press.
“To me, it is. I only watch it at Christmas. It’s set at Christmas and takes place during the holiday season.”
“But the story is about kidnapping and trying to blow up a building,” I counter.
“So, to you, it isn’t a Christmas movie?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just arguing the opposing view.”
“You’re being pedantic,” he moans.
“That as well,” I say, shooting him a grin that has him rolling his eyes.
We pull up outside my apartment building. It’s not run-down, but it’s nowhere near as salubrious as the one we dropped Aubrey off at.
“Thank you for the lift,” I say, unclasping my seatbelt. “And for allowing me to share in your family Christmas.”
“I’m not sure I was given much of a choice in the latter,” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“Sorry about that. Sophia is a force of nature.”
“Mother is definitely that,” he says. “But it was good having you there. Mother and Father were on their best behaviour. I’m not sure I’ve seen them sit together amicably for that long in years.”
“Yet they’re still together?”
“They love each other in their own sick and twisted way. They have quite different values, and it’s been a bone of contention between them for years. I think Dad was hoping by leaving, he’d force her hand to slow down.”
“Oh,” is all I can muster, surprised he’s sharing so much with me.
“Gabbi likes you. She’s had a hard time of it and has found herself caught in the middle. Not wanting to take sides.”
“I like her too,” I tell him truthfully.
“Just watch Enzo. He’s a flirt, but…”
“I have a brother exactly the same as Enzo. He’s still very much in love with Avril’s mother,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Beautiful and incredibly perceptive. You surprise me more and more every day.”
I drop my gaze, unsure he realises what he just said.
“The joy of being the youngest of five siblings. I grew up watching all their dramas unfold. No one notices the little sister in the corner.”
“Somehow I find it hard to believe you were happy to shrink into the background.”
It’s my turn to smirk. “My older brother had something to say when I turned up with purple hair.”
Alex lifts a hand and runs several strands through his fingers.
“Purple?”
I swallow.
Shit. A slip of the tongue.
Brooke is a quiet, mild-mannered woman, not the type to choose a wild dye job.
“It was a dare,” I lie, hating myself just a little bit more. “It didn’t last long.”
I lift my gaze, our eyes clashing. His pupils dilate, and I become aware of my quickening heartbeat.
Before I can think twice, I lean forward and brush my lips against his.
He doesn’t push me away. Instead, his hand slides up and around the back of my head, sinking into my hair, pulling me more tightly against him.
Our mouths move against one another. I inhale sharply as my stomach muscles contract.
The need to be closer, to demand more, floods my system.
For the first time, I want to go further, all the way.
I moan.
He takes that as an invitation, deepening our kiss, his tongue entering my mouth, duelling with mine. He lifts me until I’m half across his lap, his cock hard beneath my thigh.
I pull back sharply, my hands resting against his chest, his rapid heartbeat thundering in time with mine. But this is all kinds of wrong. He’s just broken up with his girlfriend in front of me.
He loosens his hold, enabling me to pull back, though not move away entirely. He closes his eyes, his forehead dropping against mine.
“Shit, Brooke, I’m sorry. That was…”
I laugh drily.
“You’re sorry? But I kissed you.”
His eyes open as he stares at me. “Did you?”
My brow furrows. I know I wanted to. I’ve been thinking about what it would feel like to be kissed by him since our brief encounter in Italy.
My hands fly to my cheeks, mortified. What was I thinking? What must he be thinking?
After Italy, I said this would never happen again.
Before my brain explodes, I slide across the car into my seat and grab the door handle, throwing myself out of the car.
He doesn’t stop me or follow as I hurry inside my building.
I look back through the glass door, my heart thundering, every nerve ending alive as I watch him sitting in his car.
Our gazes meet for a second before I turn away.
I race upstairs, throwing myself into the apartment, pressing my back against the now-closed front door.
Shit, shit, shit!