Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ross turned off his laptop, sat back in his chair, and rubbed a hand down his face.
He'd been at it—working on a beer label for a start up brewery based in Glasgow—for all of fifteen minutes.
Harper invaded his mind at every turn and made it impossible to focus.
He'd watched her run away, wanting to go after her, but forcing himself instead to close up the old distillery and go home.
He'd be damned if he'd chase her.
Leaning back in his desk chair, he let out a heavy breath. He wanted her. Every cell, every sense, every part of him wanted Harper Dean. Twelve years erased none of the heat, the need, the lust. In fact, it was stronger than before. Harder. More erotic. More. . . grown up.
He'd waited for her once upon a time. And damned if he'd go running after her now like some love sick fool. This time she had to come to him.
If she wanted him at all.
He let out a snort and pushed out of the chair, heading upstairs to his bedroom.
Stripping, he tossed his clothes into the corner, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the shower.
Once it ran hot, he stepped in, dunking his head under the spray and then moving his shoulders beneath the water.
He placed his palms on the wall and hung his head low, trying to calm the storm of emotions wanting to rage through him.
A bloody dobber was what he was. An idiot. A fool.
And the worse part about it was when Harper returned home, he'd feel the sting of rejection as clear and sharp as before.
He was ready to hit the tile with his fist when a loud thud stopped him. Odd, it sounded like it had come from his bedroom. He reached to turn off the shower, but froze when he heard a southern voice curse him for putting a lamp on the table by the door.
Harper.
Ross was debating on how to deal with her when the shower curtain pulled back.
Harper stood there, glassy-eyed, slightly swaying, a bottle of whisky dangling from her fingertips, and her eyes going wide at the sight of him.
He ran a hand over his wet head and arched an eyebrow as she ogled him, taking her time going from top to bottom and then back up again.
"Up here, Harper," he finally said.
"Hold on a sec. I'm not done."
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
She was completely hammered and obviously not shy at all, nor was she trying to hide the fact that the sight of him produced a rather dreamy, lustful look on her face.
When she sighed, and he started to grow hard under her worshipful gaze, he turned the water off, reached past her for a towel and wrapped it around his waist. "Breaking and entering again? "
She shrugged. "Details."
He stepped out of the shower, grabbed another towel and dried off his hair, keenly aware of her scrutiny. "What are you doing here? Notebook's been found. Would have guessed you'd be packing up and heading home." He rested his hip on the counter, curious to see what she'd say.
Her brows drew together as she pondered his words rather intensely.
The fact that she couldn't form an answer, or even appear like she might want to stay, left him with a sour taste in his mouth.
He left her, heading into his room to dress.
In front of his dresser, he dropped the towel.
In the mirror above the dresser, he glimpsed her moving to the bathroom doorway to watch.
He ignored her and pulled on boxer briefs, lounge pants, and a T-shirt.
Obviously, she had a thing for his body. Just not for him.
Weariness settled over him. "When are you leaving?" He might as well know now. But Harper didn't respond. "It's not a hard question."
"I'm booked until Sunday. Don't worry, you'll be rid of me soon, if that's what you're worried about," she muttered, rolling her eyes, and then parking her bottom on the edge of his mattress.
"I'm tired," she announced in such a defeated, honest tone that Ross found himself, once again, giving a damn.
He crossed the floor to stand in front of her. She lifted those big, sad, golden eyes, and he felt a punch right to his solar plexus. "Do you want to talk about today?" she asked.
"Not finding the notebook? Or the sex against the art table?"
She bit her lip, staring off at some point beyond him. The bottle in her fingers slipped. He took it before it could fall to the floor and placed it on the nightstand.
"I haven't done something like that in a long time, Ross. It was very nice."
He couldn't help letting out an ego driven snort. Harper smiled, amending her statement. "Okay. It was pretty stellar. I don't remember it being so, um, extreme the first time we were together."
He sat next to her on the bed. "I remember nerves. And fearing my heart would pound right out of my chest." She was so drunk, she'd probably never remember anything he said. "I remember all of it. Every detail. And it was stellar. Just in a different way."
"Well, yeah, because we loved each other," she echoed sadly. "What we did today was just blatant in-your-face sex. No love required for that."
The room went silent again, and Ross wasn't quite sure how to feel about her drunken admissions.
She was right. And yet he didn't like knowing that she could care less, that today meant nothing more to her than blatant sex.
Which meant, if it bothered him, today had meant something to him—something else he didn't like knowing.
"I should probably go." She went to stand, but then thought better of it, and instead fell back onto his bed. "Ugh. The ceiling is spinning."
Ross lifted her legs onto the mattress and then slipped his hands around her rib cage to move her up so her head could rest on his pillow.
Then, he pulled off her shoes, chuckling when he saw she wore only one sock.
He grabbed a blanket and spread it over her and then smoothed the wild hair from her face.
Her eyes opened and took a moment to focus on him.
When she did find him, a brilliant smile came over her.
Gone was the guarded aura that usually surrounded her, and she seemed completely and genuinely happy to see him. "Hi," she said.
Harper's expression addled his wits for a second, causing a light airy sensation to sweep through him.
He ignored the shot of longing that followed, telling himself it was no big deal.
What man wouldn't want a woman to look at him like that?
Like she cared, like the sight of him made everything better.
Of course, none of it was real. She was drunk and he was acting bloody pathetic fool.
"Hi," he answered back, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.
Harper cupped his cheek, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "You left me that beautiful note," she said in a strangled voice. "And I never met you."
"Why didn't you?" The question slid right out of his mouth before he could stop it. He bloody well knew why she hadn't, so there was no point in hearing her say it and making himself look even more pathetic. "I'll get you some water." Ross left the room, cursing himself as he went.
By the time he returned with a glass and a wastebasket, in case Harper fell ill during the night, she was out cold. He put the basket on the floor by her bedside, pulled up the leather chair from the corner, sat and rested his feet on the mattress.
For a long time he watched her sleep.
She'd shown up out of the blue, shocking him, and had systematically up-ended his calm—boring, as Liam would say—existence. But things would go back to being quiet and peaceful when she left. Just the way he liked it.
The first thing Harper noticed when she woke was the smell of her pillow.
The faint scent of Ross wafted over her, momentarily taking the edge off her pounding headache.
Unfortunately, a moment was all there was.
She felt like she'd been hit by a freaking tour bus.
As she moved to stretch, her foot hit something.
She rolled onto her back and lifted her head, looking down the length of her body through the narrow slits of her eyelids.
The lower part of Ross' legs rested on top of covers. He was in a chair pulled close to the bed, his big body slouched, his arms sprawled over the arms, one leg bent, his head turned away from her...
Slowly, she pushed to a sitting position. Pain throbbed through the blood vessels in her head. She reached for the glass of water by the bed and the bottle of aspirin that accompanied it. Two white pills sat next to it, just waiting for her.
She glanced at the sleeping Scottish hunk, her heart tripping at his thoughtfulness.
She took the aspirin, gulping the cool water and then wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as the mortification of what she'd done slowly seeped in.
Who the hell had let her leave the castle and walk all the way to Ross' house?
Oh, yeah. She sort of remembered, swiping the bottle, and telling everyone she was headed for bed.
But really all she'd been able to think about in her drunken haze was telling Ross the truth about the note and then maybe climbing up his big, hard body and doing a repeat of their time in the art studio.
"Ugh," she muttered in a scratchy voice.
Ross' head shifted from right to left. "Good morning," he said, opening his eyes, looking incredibly sexy and rugged. Apparently, he was one of those people who woke up looking beautiful.
"Morning."
Ross scooted up in the chair and removed his legs from the bed.
He sat forward, elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands through his hair and then scratched his face, the ever darkening stubble on his jaw giving him a wicked look.
He took in her appearance, and Harper knew she did not sport the morning sexy look like he did—not even close.
She was a hot mess and grumpy as hell, and that was on a good morning.
"How are you feeling?" He noticed the aspirins were gone from the table.
She shoved her hair from her face. "Not so good."
"Aye or nay on breakfast?"
"Aye. Definitely aye." Ross pushed to his feet and headed toward the door. "Ross?" She waited for him to stop and turn. "Thanks."
He gave her a slight nod. "Feel free to use the shower." He cleared his throat, obviously remembering. "I'm assuming you remember where it is," he said, glancing toward the bathroom door.
Heat filled her cheeks. Harper fell back and covered her face with her hands and let out a groan. The sound of Ross' chuckle made her throw a pillow at the door. But he dodged it easily as she fell back again, the motion making her head pound even worse.
"Here, put this on when you're done," he said, grabbing a hoodie off the doorknob and tossing it on the bed. "It's chilly in the mornings."
She grunted a response and lay very still, hoping her head would stop hurting.
Eventually, the smell of bacon wafted into the room, making her stomach growl. The motto in her family had always been to feed the ails of the body whether it be cold or hangover. Spurred by the thought of food, she slid out of bed, and shuffled to the shower.
As she went to remove her jeans, her memory kicked in and she pulled the note from the front pocket. She'd meant to give it to him last night, to explain. And then she'd seen him naked and completely lost her focus.
Now, fear curled around her. She tucked it back, unsure of what to do, and stepped into the shower.
In the cold light of day, she didn't possess half the drunken bravery as she'd had when she left Balmorie last night.