Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Seeing Harlow’s Jeep pull up the drive to my house brings the biggest smile of the day to my face.
I’m selfishly hoping we can spend the entire weekend as just the two of us, and I made sure to stock up on anything and everything we could possibly need, so there’s no reason we have to leave this house unless we want to.
Brunch supplies? In the fridge.
Dinner ingredients? Prepped and ready to go.
Random sweet treat craving? I have three kinds of ice cream, two bags of her favorite M&Ms—plain, never with peanuts—and a box of cookies from Sprinkles on my counter.
A few nights ago, during one of our now-nightly phone calls, we had an honest conversation about our expectations of this weekend, as well as our personal histories, so I was optimistic in buying the fresh box of condoms that are also upstairs in my ensuite.
Harlow doesn’t react well to hormonal birth control, so she asked that we use condoms. At that point, I would have agreed to anything if it meant getting—and keeping—her in my bed.
She gets out of her vehicle while on the phone with someone, and I quickly surmise it must be Aisha.
I raise my hand in greeting as I lean against one of the pillars on my deck, just watching her laugh with her friend.
Something Aisha says makes Harlow blush and nearly squeaks something about losing her, which makes me laugh.
I can tell she’s saying goodbye, though, so I take the few steps down to meet her by her Jeep.
“Hey, gorgeous girl. How are you?” I ask and open my arms for her, feeling my blood pressure lower as she wraps her arms around me.
“Hi! I’m good now, great, even.” She looks up at me, and her chocolate brown eyes are so pretty, especially framed by her long dark eyelashes. Harlow smiles before standing on her tiptoes, but I don’t make her close the entire distance as I lower my face to properly greet my girl with a kiss.
This week has been filled with bullshit budget meetings that wasted even more of my team’s time as other board members cave to the chairman’s strongly worded suggestions. More than once, it felt like Calvin was seeing if he could get me to jump just to prove that he was in control.
We aren’t debating about patient experience, or recruiting the best talent for the hospital, no, it’s all show-boating moves to look big and fancy, and to what end? To be squished by a major healthcare system out of Nashville?
What a waste.
Mentally slamming that filing cabinet shut, I bring all my focus and energy to this woman and this moment.
Her embrace and kiss are more soothing than even the stiffest drink, and I would know, because I’ve had a few this week.
Harlow tells me about her day as I grab her bag from the backseat, extending my hand to her as we walk into my house. I put her bag in my room—no guest rooms this weekend—and meet her in the kitchen where she’s grinning at the bag of supplies on the counter.
“And what do we have here?” she asks, pulling out a bag of chocolate chips.
“Well, apparently, I’m not very patient at letting my dough chill for cookies, so I thought you could show me a thing or two, then while it chills, I could return the favor,” I say over my shoulder as I grab the mixer from my butler’s pantry.
Her eyes dance with glee. “Sounds like an excellent plan to me.”
I’m a pretty good student and keep the flour spillage to a minimum while Harlow walks me through one of her favorite chocolate chip cookie recipes. She looks so domestic in my kitchen. In fact, she looks like she belongs.
“Now, the recipe calls for letting the dough chill for at least an hour, so…” Harlow looks at me and bites her lower lip.
“I have just the thing, but first…” I pause to reach over to my phone and bring up the playlist I made for this moment. As the guitar’s opening notes start playing from the built-in speakers, Harlow looks up to the ceiling before turning back to me as I walk toward her.
“What are you doing?”
“Something I’ve wanted to do since I saw you at Vivian and Walker’s wedding. What do you say, Lo? Do you want to dance with me?” I extend my hand to her as she lights up.
“I’d love to, Ryan.” She takes my hand, and I pull her into my arms. “Mmm. This is a nice song. I recognize the voice but not the song.”
“He’s one of my favorite country artists, and he’s such a talented songwriter, too.”
The song goes on to talk about the power of a woman’s love and how it can change your life, which makes me hold Harlow just a little tighter. I’ve heard this song before, but I’ve never felt it, not like this.
“Did you pick the song?” Harlow asks as she looks up at me.
A lyric about the strength of a woman’s love plays before I respond. “Yeah, I made the playlist.”
Harlow starts playing with the hair at the base of my neck, and as we slow dance in my kitchen, it’s the final nail in the coffin.
This woman owns me.
And I’m not even sure she realizes it.
“Ryan, I…”
“It’s okay, Harlow. If you need more time, this weekend can just be us being together.
There’s no pressure here, I promise. I’m happy to be with you, whatever you want,” I sincerely plead for her to believe me, despite my own physical discomfort, but it’s no secret that I am extremely attractive to Harlow.
“No, it’s not that.” She looks away, and I realize I misread her. Is she … is she embarrassed?
“Hey, what’s going on? You can tell me anything.”
“I was just going to say … really, it’s silly.” She is blushing and I’m intrigued. I move one hand from her waist and brush a rogue strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
I don’t push. I just give her space.
She takes a deep breath and meets my gaze again. Good, I like when her eyes are on me.
“I was just going to say that … this sounds embarrassing now to say out loud … but I missed you this week.” She leans over and nuzzles into my chest. “I missed this and how good you always smell, and how safe you make me feel.”
“I don’t think there’s anything embarrassing about that, Lo. I think that sounds pretty fan-fucking-tastic to me.”
She shoots her head up in surprise to my response. “Really?”
“Yeah, baby, just means we are on the same page, because I feel exactly the same way—and I missed you in my arms just as much, if not more.”
“I make you feel safe, huh?” she whispers as she rises up to close the gap between us.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re a great shot, but it’s not a physical safety I’m talking about, Harlow.”
“No?”
“No, Lo. It’s my heart. I know it’s safe in your hands.”
Her eyes soften at my confession, but I don’t want her to say anything she isn’t ready for, so I close the distance and kiss my girl.
She not only smells like a vanilla cookie—literally, does she get her perfume from Sprinkles?—but she tastes like one, too. I groan and bend down to grab the back of her thighs and pick her up, intending to set her on the kitchen island, but she shakes her head when I start to put her down.
“Take me to your bed, Ryan.” Her voice is husky, and I about finish in my damn pants at her command, especially as she nips on my lip to accentuate her demand.
“Yes, ma’am.” I don’t need to be told twice.
I lift her back up and turn to walk across the open-concept living space toward the primary suite.
I barely set her on my bed, and she’s already tugging her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to the floor.
Harlow may be short, but she has curves for days and is now showing me my new favorite sight as she frees her tits from a dark purple bra.
The only reason I’m not on top of her yet is because I’m pulling off my own pants and yanking my shirt off as fast as possible. I leave my boxers on as I climb on the bed and take her mouth.
She giggles, that sweet innocent giggle, like she’s not some minx that I will gladly serve on my knees for the rest of my days. “Ryan! Ryan, I wasn’t done. I still have my jeans on.”
“Illegal. Foul play. Immediate removal required,” I say between kisses along her neck and collarbone. I help her unfasten her jeans, and she tugs them down, pulling her underwear off with them.
I run my hand up along her jaw until I’m cradling her face in my hands. “You are magnificent, Harlow. Do you know that?”
Tears well in her eyes, but I know they aren’t sad tears. She’s so controlled in so many areas of her life—between the environment she grew up in and the demands of her professional career she has to be. But I don’t want her to be controlled and composed in my bed.
No, I want Harlow wild and undone.
It’s only fair. It’s the exact same thing she does to me.
She makes me feel things to depths I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. I would do anything for this woman if it meant making her happy.
She wants a pony? I’ll have a barn built.
She needs something? Consider it handled.
She wants to go somewhere? I’ll book the tickets.
The only thing I want in return is her heart, and it feels entirely fair to expect because she already has mine.