Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
E aston struggled to hold on to his control. With his blood still pumping through his veins from the fight, and the volcanic anger that Armand had tried to take Harlow—like she was a fucking commodity—and the fact that she was trembling in his arms, he was close to the edge.
He eyed Antoine. The man looked relaxed, his two guards hanging back. Easton wanted to plant his fist in the middle of the asshole’s face.
“I assure you, Norcross, this has nothing to do with me.”
Harlow turned, glaring at the man. “You said if I had dinner with you, that my dad would get forty-eight hours’ extra time.”
Easton ground his teeth together. Blackmailing her. Fucking scum.
“Those were not my men, Harlow,” Antoine insisted.
Easton frowned. From what he could tell, Armand wasn’t lying. Easton was sure the guy lied as easily as he breathed, but nothing he said now gave off a lying vibe.
In fact, the asshole looked concerned.
“Don’t worry,” Antoine continued. “I’ll find out who’s responsible and—”
“No,” Easton growled. “You aren’t coming near Harlow again.” He wrapped an arm around her and picked her up. She gasped, leaning against his chest, but didn’t fight him.
The shorter guard lunged forward. “Don’t fucking talk to him like that. He wants the bitch, I’ll get him the bitch.”
Armand threw an arm out, spewing out some French. The guard vibrated, scowled, then stepped back.
“I apologize for my cousin Hugo. He’s…spirited.”
Easton strode past Antoine. “She doesn’t exist for you anymore, Armand.” Easton stopped where he’d parked his Aston. He set her down and bleeped the locks.
“Easton—” Her voice wasn’t quite steady.
“Get in, baby.”
Her gaze met his, then she slid into the car.
He stomped around the other side and got in. He pulled onto the street, his hands tight on the wheel. He scanned their surroundings, looking for anyone watching them. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was following them.
He thumbed a button on the wheel.
“Yeah.” Vander’s deep voice.
“Armand blackmailed Harlow into dinner.”
Vander cursed and Harlow sank deeper into her seat.
“Afterward, two guys tried to snatch her off the street and shove her into a black Suburban.”
“Fuck. You know who they were?”
“No. Armand insisted it wasn’t his goons.”
“Who else wants her?” Vander asked.
“I don’t know,” Harlow said. “Before today, no one did. I’m nobody special.”
Easton glanced at her and she turned away to look out the window, her face pale.
“I got a partial plate off the SUV.” Easton said. “6WDG.”
“I’ll run it. You keeping her safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Easton, I’m sorry,” Harlow said. “I said I wouldn’t drag you into this—”
He reached out and rested a hand on her thigh. “You didn’t.”
She touched his hand, then gasped. “Your knuckles!”
He flexed his hands. His knuckles were torn and bloody. It’d been a while since he’d been in a fistfight. “They’ll be fine.”
“Where are we going?” she asked. “This isn’t the way to my apartment.”
“You can’t stay at your place, Harlow. Armand is interested, and now some unknown player is after you, as well. It’s too dangerous.”
“God.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “What else could possibly go wrong? An earthquake? A volcanic eruption? Maybe the entire West Coast will fall into the ocean.”
His lips twitched. She wasn’t beaten down. Harlow’s spirit was shining through. “Let’s hope those things don’t happen.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“My place.”
“Your place?” Her voice rose to a squeak.
“Yes. You’re staying with me.”
She turned in the seat. “I can’t stay with you, Easton. You’re my boss.”
“I don’t care. You’re in danger. I have a security system, guards who do drive-bys, and a brother who owns a security company.”
“This is crazy. I can’t stay the night at your place—”
He shook his head. “Not just a night. You’re moving in with me until this is all over.”
She sucked in a breath. “We can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because…” She fidgeted and plucked at her dress.
“Because we’re attracted to each other?” he prompted.
She made a sound. “I was going to say because we wanted to bang each other’s brains out, but sure, let’s go with attracted.”
Easton almost swerved into the oncoming lane. He muttered a curse, his cock pressing against the zipper of his pants. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Easton—”
“I’m a man who, when I see something I want, I go after it with everything I’ve got.” And he was finally accepting that he wanted Harlow Carlson.
He liked flirting with her, liked watching her work, liked fighting with her.
“I can’t process that right now.”
He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to. Right now, I’ll get you safe. That’s the most important thing.”
He drove into the Pacific Heights neighborhood, turning onto Broadway.
“Of course, you live on Billionaire’s Row,” she muttered.
“There are seven places in San Francisco claiming to be Billionaire’s Row.”
She snorted. “This is the main one. Everyone knows that.”
He slowed and turned. He thumbed the remote on the dash and his garage doors opened.
Harlow looked out the window.
“Oh my God, I knew you were rich, but—” She shook her head, taking in his four-story, cream stucco mansion. It took up a spacious corner block. “It looks like an apartment building and a Tuscan mansion had a love child.”
Shaking his head, he drove into the garage. Lights clicked on automatically, and the door closed behind them. He parked beside his black Audi R8 Spyder.
Harlow got out, spinning around and taking it all in. “You have a four-car garage. And a second sports car.”
“There’s a gym and wine cellar down here, too.” He pulled his coat off and slipped his keys into his pocket. “Come on.”
He led her to an elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. They ascended. When the doors opened, he waved her out.
“Oh, wow.” Her heels clicked on the wooden floor. She moved toward the central circular staircase, taking in the black iron railings as the staircase circled downward and upward to the top floor. “Wow.”
Easton gripped her elbow. “This way.” He led her into the kitchen and casual living area.
She paused, taking in the large island covered in white stone, the large, double Sub-Zero fridge, and the dark-metal range hood over the Viking stove.
“God, these appliances.” She stroked the island.
There was also an oval-shaped wooden table, and a comfortable living area with built-in shelves around a flatscreen TV. A sleek, gray couch faced it.
A wall of French doors opened onto a grassed area walled in by a tall, green hedge for privacy.
“How many bedrooms?” she asked.
“Six.”
“Bathrooms?”
“Nine. Two are half baths.”
She choked out a laugh. “Oh, well then.” She spun. “Just how rich are you?”
“Really rich.” His gut tightened. Would she look at him differently?
She shook her head. “You should totally chill out more. It’s not like you need more money.”
Easton leaned against the island. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how to slow down. He needed the challenge of his work, the purpose.
Her gaze went to his hand, her face changing. “Do you have a first aid kit in this giant house of yours?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She dumped her bag and coat on the stool. “We need to clean your knuckles.”
* * *
Harlow rifled through the large first aid kit, pretending not to notice Easton loosening and removing his tie, then unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt.
She really pretended not to notice his tattooed, strong forearms as he rolled up his sleeves.
It was so unfair. The man was good-looking in a masculine, rugged way, smart and rich, and he also had a hard, muscular body.
No doubt he spent time in the gym he’d mentioned.
She glanced around the living area and kitchen. It wasn’t so intimidating in here. It was gorgeous, but the fancy kitchen aside, it was clear that this was the heart of this home.
She noted the books on the coffee table in front of the big, gray couch. They weren’t for show—a crime thriller, and a true crime book.
He set something down on the counter.
She eyed the pills. “What are those?”
“Ibuprofen. That cheek and your ribs will start to throb.” He moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.
Harlow took the pills. “Sit,” she ordered, waving at the stools that stood beside the California-sized kitchen island. “Let me see those knuckles.”
“Have you always been this bossy?” he asked.
She snorted. “I’m organized, and I’m damn good at arranging things, not bossy.” She took his hand, ignoring the tingles that touching his skin generated. She just had to accept that touching this man lit a fuse inside her.
She rested his fingers on the marble and started dabbing antiseptic wipes over his torn knuckles. “You’re the one that has bossy down to an art form.”
Seeing his torn skin and blood made her remember just what he’d saved her from.
She shivered.
“Hey.” He pressed a finger under her chin and made her look at him. “You’re safe, Harlow.”
“Thanks to you. If those men had gotten me into that SUV…” She took a deep breath.
“I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
She met his blue gaze. It was intense, lit with an inner fire.
“There is no way I want to train a new assistant,” he added.
The dry comment surprised a laugh out of her.
His lips quirked. She set to work, cleaning his left hand. It wasn’t quite as bad as the right.
“Did one assistant really strip naked on your desk?”
He grimaced. “Yes. It was a bit of a shock after I came back from a meeting.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know her name. We’d never spoken. Yet she expected—” he shook his head again. “Some people only see the dollar signs, or the power, or what you can do for them.”
Oh, Harlow was sure the woman had seen Easton Norcross in all his handsome glory. But she understood what he was saying. The woman had been there solely for her own needs, not his.
“Poor Mrs. Henderson from HR had to come up and deal with it,” he said.
Harlow shivered. “That woman would do well in the Army.”