9. Harrison
CHAPTER NINE
HARRISON
I tap the elevator button, Daisy right at my side, the city sprawled out through the glass behind us. She’s got her go-bag slung over one shoulder, her ponytail tugged tighter than ever.
She’s quiet, a different kind of quiet than her silence at the bar. Her shoulders don’t budge from the set line she picked up on the floor, but I catch a tremor in the way she shifts her weight, left then right, like standing still is the hardest thing in the world.
The elevator dings, and we step out into the bright hallway. She blinks at the tiled floor, follows me down to my door. Every step, she falls further into herself. I get it. When the adrenaline drops out, all you have left is bone-deep exhaustion.
I punch in the code and open the door. The penthouse is all glass, steel, and shadow, and right now it feels twice the size.
Daisy’s first step inside has a hitch, just a split-second lag, like she’s bracing for something. I know that feeling. New space, new battleground. You never let down your guard until you know every inch of the territory.
I kick my boots off at the door. She toes out of her shoes and lets her bag slump to the floor.
The jacket peels off next, shoulders rolling under the cotton as she shrugs out of it.
Her arm brushes mine as she passes in, and I get a noseful of rose and tired skin and just her. Damn. Even half-dead, she floors me.
Kitchen’s a straight line on the right; bedroom is to the left.
She doesn’t even bother to get her bearings.
Daisy makes it ten steps down the hall, steps into my bedroom, then drops like a stone to the edge of my bed.
Her hands go straight to her thighs, fingers curling in the denim.
I track every motion, cataloguing it like I’m studying tape.
She looks wrecked. Beautiful, but absolutely spent.
I lean in the doorway, arms crossed, and let the silence say its piece. The want is still there, gnawing at my ribs. Christ, I could rip these clothes off her and devour her, right here with the city watching. But that’s not what she needs.
Not tonight.
I keep my tone easy. “You look like you just skated a full third period.”
She tips her head up, eyes narrow, mouth barely twitching. “I don’t remember ever being this tired.”
Her voice wobbles at the edge, rough and real in the middle. No banter left, just the last dregs of her running on empty.
I push off the door frame, cross the room in three strides. Drop to my knees in front of her, hands braced on either side of her calves.
Daisy blinks, surprised. I reach for her ankle, lift her foot into my palm. Her sock comes off easily, then the other. I drop them both off to the side, not even pretending to give a shit where they land.
She sinks further into the mattress, shifting to let me ease her t-shirt down her arms. I don’t say a word through any of it. No jokes, no play.
Just me, focused, doing what she needs.
I watch her, making sure she’s good, then drop back on my heels and look straight at her.
“As much as I’m dying to repeat last night, you need sleep.”
She doesn’t answer at first. Just stares at me, eyes locked. Waiting for me to crack, maybe. Waiting for the angle, the sales pitch, the next move.
But there isn’t one.
I hold the moment. Let her see I mean it.
Her shoulders drop another inch. The tension rolling off her is almost visible.
She licks her lips. “If you say so, but first, I need a very long, very hot shower.”
I grin, but it’s nothing like the one I give the cameras. It’s just for her. No noise, no show.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She lets out a breath. It’s not quite surrender, but it’s not a fight either.
I take her hand and tug her up. She’s light in my grip, the resistant part of her already caving.
And that’s enough. That’s everything.
I lead Daisy into the master bath, the lights low, the city playing background noise outside the glass. She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t protest, just trails in my wake. Her exhaustion is baked into every step.
I twist the knob, get the water running, and wait for the heat to build. While it does, I pull her shirt over her head—slow, careful, not a hint of hurry. I drop kisses against her bare shoulder, just because I can’t fucking help myself, but I don’t push it. Not tonight.
She stands there and lets me. Eyes half-mast, exhaustion shining from every line of her body.
Her jeans are next. I work them down her hips, my hands steady, and she holds on to my upper arm for balance. She wobbles, unsteady for just a second, and I grasp her hips, not letting her fall.
I strip down next, never breaking eye contact while she pulls her hair up in a bun. The only time she flinches is when I step into the shower ahead of her and reach back for her hand.
I tug her under the spray. The water sheets over her back and down the curve of her neck.
I soap up my hands and start with her shoulders, working slow circles.
The lather slides over her skin, catching every edge.
Her muscles jump under my fingers, then relax.
With every pass, she sinks a little deeper. I can feel her tension bleeding out.
I wash her arms, her back, moving gently. No agenda, nothing but making her feel human for maybe the first time today. When my fingers reach her ribs, she lets out a little sigh that punches straight through me.
She doesn’t talk. Neither do I.
I work my way down, slow and thorough, soaping every inch of her.
My hands linger on her lower back, the curve of her ass, but not for sex—just because I want to take care of all the parts of her no one else gets to see.
I kneel to soap her thighs, and she leans against the tile, letting her head rest.
“Come here.” I pull her in, squeezing her body against mine, letting the water pound over both of us. For a second, maybe two, the only sound is the thrum of the shower and the city forty stories below.
I reach past her for a towel and wrap it around her shoulders before she even shivers. I dry the back of her neck, then her arms, and the rest of her curvy body. Then I sweep her straight up into my arms. She’s so light it’s almost scary.
She drapes herself against my chest, head tucked under my jaw. I carry her to the bed, drop the blanket, and kneel to lower her onto the mattress.
She barely manages to crawl under the comforter. I tug the sheet up, tuck the edges, and on the way, my knuckles graze her jaw. The contact pulls her eyes open for half a second, then they flutter shut again. Out cold.
I stand over her, just for a second, and memorize how she looks: splayed out, mouth parted, face soft for the first time since I met her.
All the chaos in my chest goes quiet.
I smooth the blanket a final time and let her go all the way under.
I crawl in slowly, careful not to jar the mattress. Daisy doesn’t even stir. I ease my back to the cool linen sheet, the other arm folding her in close. She melts into the slot at my side, one cheek squished to my chest, her breathing already deep and steady.
There’s this pressure in my ribs as her hand, limp but anchored, palms over my heart. I’d laugh if I could move. It’s like her, even asleep, to stake her territory.
My mind should be running on loops. Stats, plays, highlights, all the shit I’d usually anchor to when I can’t sleep.
Instead, I just watch her. The slope of her jaw, the hair curled under my chin, the scent of rose and shampoo and skin. The comforter is too warm, but I don’t care.
I trace a line down her spine, slow and light, fingers skating right between her shoulder blades. She shivers, then sighs, and her body gets even heavier against mine.
The city throws new shapes on the ceiling every few seconds. I follow them, let my hand wander. There’s an ease in this that I’ve never found anywhere else.
I feel Daisy’s heartbeat against my side. It’s steady and sure, matching the rhythm of my own. I breathe in sync with her, lazy, letting it settle everything that’s been wound tight since she walked into my damn life.
My thumb drifts up to brush her jaw. She doesn’t wake, but her lips part, her breath running soft on my skin. The weight of her, the absolute trust, pins me harder than any check on the boards.
I keep my hand at her back, never stopping the gentle circles.
It’s nothing like being on the ice. This is stillness, pure and complete. I don’t want to move. I don’t even want to sleep. I just want to hold her.
The decision hits me low, sharp. I’m not letting her go.
Not now, not ever. The thought is final.
My jaw locks on it, stubborn. I anchor it there.
She breathes, soft and peaceful. My hand stays at her back, the city sliding over us in shifting shadows.
I let myself stay awake for a long time, chasing every small detail.
And when I finally drift, it’s with Daisy’s heartbeat keeping time inside my chest.