Chapter 6
Chapter Six
HARPER
Because boy, had things changed.
I hugged my project clipboard, the hard edges digging into my ribs. Plumbing. That was the mission. Settle the damn copper pipe issue with Chase because we hadn’t exactly gotten around to it the other night.
And there he was. Standing near the gutted bathroom entryway and appearing utterly composed while deep in conversation with Joe, the foreman. He gestured toward the exposed pipes, his movements precise, his voice calm but carrying authority even over the din.
My stomach did a complicated flip, a mix of lingering desire, residual frustration from our unresolved argument two days ago, and the sheer awkwardness of facing him after…
well, after. The memory of our night at his house was a persistent heat beneath my skin, a secret that felt too big to contain.
We hadn’t really spoken since that clumsy morning-after coffee.
He’d been at his office all day yesterday, while I had done all my usual juggling here.
Seeing him now, so focused and normal, made the intensity of our encounter almost surreal. Had that really been me, losing all control on his desk? Had it been him, his usual reserve shattering into raw passion? Because that night had been unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I took a steadying breath to remind myself of the stakes. This wasn’t just about navigating awkward personal territory. It was about the resort, the budget, the schedule. I needed to be General Manager Harper Coleridge right now, not… whoever that wild, reckless woman at his house had been.
As I approached, his hazel eyes lifted and met mine.
For a heartbeat, the professional mask slipped on his end too.
Awareness flickered there, a spark of shared memory, before it was quickly shuttered behind his usual calm focus.
But that brief moment was enough to send warmth flooding my cheeks, reminding me just how exposed I felt.
Joe nodded to me as he headed toward the other side of the room, leaving me alone with Chase.
“Morning,” Chase said, his voice even, betraying none of the turmoil that was roiling inside me. His gaze held mine for a fraction longer than necessary.
“Hello,” I replied, matching his professional tone, though my heart hammered against my ribs. I gestured toward the tangled mess of pipes revealed in the opened wall and dove in. “Seems we got, uh, sidetracked the other night before we actually solved anything.”
A ghost of a smile touched Chase’s lips, a shared acknowledgment of the colossal understatement. “Sidetracked is one word for it. My desk may never forgive us.”
I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me, tension easing a touch at his willingness to admit the absurdity.
“Yeah, not the expected thing, for sure. So”—I took a breath, forcing myself back to the issue at hand—“since we failed miserably at resolving the plumbing situation then, are you ready to make a call on the copper now?”
“Lead the way.” His expression turned serious again. “But I want to say that my recommendation hasn’t changed. The only responsible long-term solution is replacing the affected sections.”
I nodded. I’d spent hours yesterday distracting myself by agonizing over the cost estimates, the potential delays, the impact on guests in Block Two.
But after seeing the extent of the corrosion again in stark sunlight, Chase was right.
Patching it would be like putting a cheap bandage on a gaping wound.
“I know,” I conceded. “I reviewed the revised costs again this morning. You’re right. Patching it is too risky. We’ll replace the affected section.”
Relief flashed across Chase’s face, quickly masked by professional approval. “Good. It’s the right call, Harper. I know it stretches the budget—”
“But it’s necessary,” I finished. I met his gaze directly. “And I want to say I’m sorry about… the argument. Before. I shouldn’t have yelled or implied you weren’t considering the practicalities.”
His expression softened. “Hey, I wasn’t super diplomatic myself.” He rubbed the back of his neck in a familiar gesture that made my stomach flutter inappropriately. “I’m sorry too. Things got heated. Professional disagreements don’t have to get personal.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Things between us couldn’t have gotten more personal.
A wry smile touched my lips. “Right. Not personal at all.”
We shared another look, a silent understanding of the monumental line we’d crossed. Then we were both laughing. It was the kind of laughter that felt like a truce. Like clearing the air and getting past the awkwardness.
Chase leaned back against a stack of drywall, the shared laughter still warming the air between us. He picked up a stray wood shaving, turning it over in his fingers, his expression shifting from amusement to something more thoughtful.
“Speaking of budgets and things not going as planned.” His tone was casual but with an undercurrent I recognized as Architect Chase. “This pipe situation today…” He gestured vaguely toward the opened wall. “It’s a good reminder that Room Block One might be hoarding a few more surprises for us.”
I sobered a little, but the earlier ease lingered. “Let’s hope not. After these pipes, I was hoping we’d caught the worst of it for a while.”
He gave a short, wry laugh. “Remember our big debate about phasing the renovation in there? Doing the top floor first, leaving the ground floor to spread the cost?”
I remembered it well. “Vaguely.” A smile played on my lips. “Something about me being a budget-minded pragmatist and you being a purist who wanted to X-ray every stud before we even ordered drywall?”
“Something like that,” he conceded, a reluctant grin tugging at his own mouth. “My point is, that phased approach, while financially sensible, still makes the architect in me twitch.”
I nodded, aware he had a point. “So, on a scale of minor inconvenience to sell a kidney, where are we on your professional worry-meter for that?”
Chase met my eyes, and the humor faded, replaced by a familiar, steady seriousness.
“Let’s just say I’m glad we’re making good progress on the bungalows and the pool.
Keeping the contingency fund healthy helps me sleep at night.
” His face took on a speculative, slightly wolfish expression that made something squirm deep inside me.
Then he flashed a small, reassuring smile, the kind that recognized the risk but didn’t dwell on the fear.
“But there’s no point in borrowing trouble. We’ll handle whatever comes up.”
The casual way he said “we’ll handle whatever comes up” relaxed something in me, a quiet confidence that mirrored the easy understanding that had just bloomed between us after the pipe argument.
“We will,” I stated confidently. “With you overseeing everything, how can we not?”
“So…” Chase cleared his throat, that earlier shared humor returning to his eyes along with a new, more searching intensity. “Where do we go from here?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Was he talking about the pipes? Or us? My breath caught. “Professionally? We replace the pipes,” I said carefully, focusing on the immediate task.
“What about… personally?” he pressed gently, his gaze holding mine.
I glanced around the chaotic room, at the exposed studs and dangling wires, feeling utterly exposed myself. “I don’t know, Chase.” The honesty felt raw, vulnerable. “Maybe we can get together later this week? Talk things through properly? Somewhere that isn’t… here.”
Hope flared in his eyes, bright and unmistakable. “Yeah. Okay.” He sounded relieved, almost boyish. “Whenever works for you. Just let me know.”
“I will,” I promised, though my mind was already racing with the logistics and potential pitfalls of such a conversation.
I focused back on the plumbing disaster, needing a distraction, and my arm brushed against his.
The contact was brief, accidental, but it sent an electric jolt through my system.
I inhaled sharply. It was absurd how a touch could obliterate all the distance I was trying to maintain, crumbling my resolve in an instant.
Did he feel it too? The air between us was thick enough to slice, filled with so much leftover tension it was difficult to breathe.
I lifted my gaze to his, where the same surprise, the same flare of heat, was reflected in his eyes. Professionalism felt like tissue paper against this magnetic force. I wanted to step away, reestablish distance, but my feet were rooted to the floor.
Every rational thought battled with a desperate urge to close the gap between us.
Chase rocked slightly on his feet as if he wasn’t sure whether to rebuild his cool detachment or give in to whatever was happening.
This pull between us was as impossible to ignore as it had been at his house.
My heart pounded in my ears, each beat a reminder that I was in dangerous territory.
It was impossible not to remember the way we’d come together so fiercely, so unexpectedly, the desk digging into my back, his hands on my waist, pulling me impossibly closer.
He swallowed hard, a quick flicker of intention in his eyes, like he was about to say something important. But no words came. His gaze dropped to where we’d touched, his expression one of unguarded desire.
Had I really thought we could shove everything that had happened into a neat little drawer and forget about it?
Now, standing this close, I couldn’t even pretend to be unaffected.
Heat pulsed in my cheeks again, mirroring the flush on Chase’s face.
Whatever was happening between us was dangerous, unpredictable. Like standing in a lightning storm.
“Harper…” My name sounded almost like a question. Hearing him say it sent another thrill through me. He looked as thrown off balance as I felt.
I tried to think straight, to focus on the practical. My gaze drifted over the raw edges of the drywall, anything but him. But it refused to focus, instead drawn straight back to his face. “Yes?”
Chase watched me for another long moment, his eyes searching. I tried to steady my heartbeat, but his presence was like gravity. Instead of pushing him away, I felt myself leaning toward him.
His eyes darted toward a newly drywalled closet near the bathroom entrance, a small space offering the only semblance of privacy amidst the demolition.
He cleared his throat. “Need to check the framing in here real quick. Come take a look?” His words came out deeper, huskier, and sent a molten throb through my core.
Even as my logical brain screamed No! Bad idea!, my body overruled it. I jerked a nod, unable to trust my voice.
He stepped into the confined space, the sharp scent of raw pine filling the air.
After making sure no one was looking our way, I followed with my heart threatening to burst from my chest. He reached back and pulled the temporary plastic sheeting partially across the opening, cocooning us in dim, dusty intimacy.
The roar of the construction site faded to a muffled hum.
We stood inches apart. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to see the slight tremor in his hand as he pretended to inspect the wall.
“Chase, what are—”
He didn’t answer with words. His hand came up, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dust. His touch was electric, grounding, and unsettling all at once. I leaned into it instinctively, my eyes fluttering closed for a dizzying moment.
That was all it took.
His warm, firm mouth covered mine and silenced any further questions. This kiss wasn’t fueled by anger like the first. It held a different kind of urgency. A seeking, a questioning, a desperate need to affirm that the connection we’d forged in the heat of the night wasn’t an anomaly.
I responded without hesitation, my own need overriding caution.
My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down, my body molding against his strong frame.
This felt dangerous, reckless, and utterly right.
His mouth was insistent, exploring mine with a confidence that tore straight through me.
He parted my lips, and our tongues met in a deep, searching kiss that tasted of coffee and desperation and something undeniably right.
I deepened the kiss, my hands sliding up into his silky dark hair.
He felt solid, real, anchoring me even as my world tilted on its axis.
His hands slid down my back, finding the curve of my waist, pulling me flush against his hardening arousal. And I sure remembered that. A whimper escaped my throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated want. He shifted, pressing me gently against the rough, chalky drywall of the closet.
This is a terrible idea, a tiny voice screamed in the back of my mind. In a construction zone. During work hours.
But the feel of his body against mine, the intoxicating taste of his mouth, drowned out all reason. I arched against him, needing more, needing—
BZZZZT. BZZZZT.
The insistent vibration against my hip startled us both. We sprang apart as if electrocuted, breathing heavily, eyes wide and locked. His phone. Reality crashed back in, harsh and unwelcome.
I smoothed my hair. “You’d better check that.”
“I…” He started, then grabbed his phone and frowned at the screen. “It’s a text from Marilyn. Confirming the meeting we have shortly with a new client.”
I nodded as I tried not to focus on his swollen lips. “Right. Work.”
He looked down at me, his eyes still dark with lingering desire, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Later this week, then?”
“Yes,” I promised, my voice steadier this time. “We’ll talk.” My own professional responsibilities beckoned—invoices to approve, staff schedules to finalize, a resort to run. Anything normal. Anything that didn’t make me feel like the earth itself was askew.
He gave me one last intense look, a silent promise hanging in the air, then pushed aside the plastic sheeting and stepped back into the noisy reality of the construction site.
I leaned back against the closet for a moment after he was gone, my legs shaky, my lips tingling. What in God’s name had just happened? I’d come here to settle the plumbing issue, and somehow we’d nearly combusted in a dusty closet.
Taking several deep, centering breaths, I smoothed down my polo shirt, tucked stray hairs back into my ponytail, and forced myself to walk back out into the controlled chaos.
Thank God none of the workers were paying any attention.
Professionalism was my armor, and I needed it now more than ever.
As I hurried toward the main lobby, one thought echoed in my mind.
Later this week.