7. Harper
SEVEN
HARPER
The afternoon had slipped away like water through Harper's fingers as she wandered the sprawling estate, marveling at the intricate woodwork that clearly bore Dorian's unmistakable craftsmanship.
Every banister, every custom window frame, every built-in bookshelf spoke of patient hands and meticulous attention to detail.
She'd traced her fingers along the smooth grain of a hand-carved mantelpiece, wondering what it revealed about the man who'd created such beauty while carrying the weight of an entire pack on his shoulders.
Now, as she descended the grand staircase toward the dining room, Harper expected another evening like the previous night—polite conversation with Dorian while Lila remained sequestered in her room, picking at a tray delivered by the kitchen staff.
The thought brought a familiar pang of professional frustration mixed with genuine concern for the girl who reminded her so much of her younger self.
But when Harper stepped into the dining room, surprise bloomed warm in her chest. Lila sat at the mahogany table beside Dorian's chair, her posture still guarded but present in a way that hadn't existed earlier today. The sight sent a thrill of cautious hope through Harper's system.
Progress, she thought, unable to suppress a small smile as she approached the table. Maybe that brief session actually reached something inside her.
"Good evening," Harper said warmly, settling into the chair beside Dorian's at the head of the table. His proximity immediately flooded her senses with that intoxicating scent, and she fought to maintain her professional composure.
Lila looked up and offered a genuine smile—small and tentative, but real. "Hey, Harper."
The simple greeting carried more weight than any lengthy conversation could have. Harper felt something tight in her chest loosen slightly as she smiled back. "I'm glad you decided to join us tonight."
Dorian remained unusually quiet as the kitchen staff brought out their dinner—roasted chicken with herbs that filled the air with savory warmth, accompanied by roasted vegetables that looked like they'd been harvested from a local garden.
His blue eyes held a distant quality that suggested his thoughts were elsewhere, and Harper noticed the tension in his broad shoulders hadn't diminished since their return from town.
They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, the only sounds the gentle clink of silverware against china.
Harper caught herself stealing glances at both siblings—Lila, who seemed to be lost in thought but not overly tense, and Dorian, whose jaw carried that familiar set of someone wrestling with internal conflict.
Finally, Harper couldn't stand the weight of unspoken thoughts any longer. She set down her fork and turned toward Lila with barely contained excitement.
"I have some news," she announced, watching Lila's expression immediately shift to wariness.
Lila's fork froze halfway to her mouth, and Harper's heart clenched at the way the girl instinctively braced for impact. The defensive posture spoke volumes about the past few months—how Lila had learned to expect disappointment or restriction with every announcement.
"What news?" Lila asked carefully, her voice carrying that brittle quality Harper recognized from countless other traumatized clients.
"Good news, actually," Harper said quickly, her tone warm and reassuring. "Your brother has agreed to let you hang out with your friends tomorrow evening, but only if I supervise."
The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before Lila's eyes widened with genuine shock. She turned toward Dorian, searching his face for any sign of deception or hidden conditions.
Harper followed her gaze and met Dorian's intense blue eyes. Even now, she could see the internal war playing out in his expression—relief at seeing hope flicker back to life in his sister's face warring with the terror of loosening his protective grip.
"Yes, that's true," Dorian said finally, his voice carrying the weight of someone making a monumental concession. "If you want to spend time with Sophie and Courtney, I'll allow it. But Harper drives you there and monitors everything that happens."
Lila stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop or for him to add a dozen additional restrictions that would make the offer meaningless. When no further conditions came, she turned back to Harper with something approaching awe.
"You really convinced him to do it?" Lila's voice carried a mixture of disbelief and newfound respect. "I didn't think anyone could stand up to him."
Harper felt heat creep up her neck at the implication, but she kept her voice steady and professional. "It was a compromise. Your brother wants to help you reconnect with your friends—he knows it's important for your healing."
The transformation in Lila was immediate and striking. Color flooded back into her pale cheeks, and her entire posture shifted as excitement replaced the defensive tension.
"I need to call them right now and plan what we're going to do," Lila said, practically bouncing in her chair. She stood quickly, then paused to look between Harper and Dorian. "Thank you, Harper. And thank you, Dorian."
With that, she rushed from the dining room, leaving her dinner only half-finished in her eagerness to reconnect with the friendships she'd abandoned.
The sudden quiet felt charged with unspoken tension. Harper glanced at Dorian and found him staring after his sister with an expression that managed to be both relieved and terrified. The conflicting emotions played across his features like a storm system moving across a mountain landscape.
"It will be fine," Harper said softly, trying to ease the worry she could practically feel radiating from him. "I'll be there the whole time, and this is genuinely good for her."
Dorian nodded slowly, but she could see the effort it took for him to accept her reassurance.
They finished their dinner in contemplative silence, though Harper remained hyperaware of the way his gaze kept finding her face, as if he wanted to say something important but couldn't quite find the words.
Finally, as they set down their napkins, Dorian cleared his throat. "Would you like to sit by the fire with me?" His voice carried a rougher quality than usual. "We could get to know each other better."
Every professional instinct Harper possessed screamed that she should politely decline and maintain appropriate boundaries. But something in his tone—a vulnerability beneath the alpha authority—made her pulse quicken.
"Alright," she heard herself saying, already reaching for her wine glass.
Dorian stood and collected his own glass, his large frame moving with that predatory grace she was beginning to recognize.
Harper followed him from the dining room, down a corridor lined with more of his beautiful woodwork, until they reached a spacious living area dominated by a massive stone fireplace.
The room embodied the same careful craftsmanship she'd noticed throughout the house—built-in bookshelves filled with worn volumes, comfortable leather furniture arranged to encourage conversation, and windows that would offer stunning mountain views during daylight hours.
Professional boundaries, she reminded herself firmly.
The flames caught with a soft whoosh as Dorian knelt before the massive stone fireplace, his broad shoulders moving beneath the dark henley as he coaxed the kindling to life.
Harper settled onto the leather couch, wine glass cradled between her palms, watching the play of muscle beneath fabric with far more attention than was appropriate.
The fire cast dancing shadows across the room's rich wood paneling, transforming the space from merely welcoming to something that felt dangerously intimate.
This is just conversation, she reminded herself firmly, taking a steadying sip of wine. Professional courtesy. Getting to know each other since I'm treating his sister and staying in his home.
But when Dorian rose and turned toward her, firelight painting golden streaks across his angular features, Harper's breath caught in her throat.
Then he moved closer to her, settling onto the couch with careful precision—close enough that his pine and cedar scent wrapped around her like a drug yet maintaining just enough distance to appear respectable.
The restraint in his posture spoke volumes though. Every line of his body radiated tension, as if he was holding himself back from something that would shatter the careful boundaries between them. But his blue eyes held hers with a burning intensity that made her pulse flutter against her throat.
Be professional, she chanted silently, even as heat bloomed low in her belly.
Dorian cleared his throat, the sound rough in the firelit quiet. "Tell me more about yourself. The woman behind the counselor exterior."
Harper forced a casual smile, though her fingers tightened around the wine glass. "There's not much to tell, really. I don't have much of a life outside work and volunteering."
His gaze sharpened with that unnerving perceptiveness she was beginning to recognize. "That's by design, isn't it? I can tell you overwork yourself."
The observation hit too close to home, and Harper felt her carefully constructed walls trembling.
Something about this man, this place, the way the firelight made everything feel dream-like and safe—it was dismantling her defenses faster than she could rebuild them.
Maybe it was the wine, or the exhaustion of constantly maintaining her professional mask, or the strange way this estate felt more like home than anywhere she'd lived.
"Keeping busy is easier than realizing I push everyone and everything away," she heard herself admitting. "Easier than facing my own needs."
"I can relate to that immensely." His voice carried a weight of understanding that made her chest tight. "Why do you think you do that?"
Harper let out a shaky laugh, edging slightly closer on the couch without conscious thought. "Who's playing counselor now?"
The sound of his laughter sent warmth cascading through her system—rich and genuine and utterly devastating. It transformed his entire face, softening the harsh lines of authority into something achingly human.
"I grew up managing an abusive stepfather," she continued, the words spilling out. "Feeling like I had to control everything around me, putting everyone else's needs first—it just became safer that way."
Dorian's expression darkened with something fierce and protective. He inched closer, close enough that she could see the silver flecks in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry you had to endure that. You deserved someone to protect you, keep you safe."
"That was a long time ago." Harper's voice came out breathier than intended. "I'm fine now. I have a career, people who value my expertise—"
"Are you really fine, though?" He moved closer still, his voice dropping to a rumble that seemed to resonate in her bones. "Are you really fulfilled? Do people actually see you?"
The questions stripped her bare, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable in ways that terrified her. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to rebuild her walls and retreat to safety. Instead, she found herself leaning toward him as if drawn by some magnetic force beyond her control.
"I'm not fulfilled," she whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth. "But for some strange reason, right now I feel like you can see me."
"I do see you." His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin with reverent gentleness. Their faces were inches apart now, his breath warm against her lips. "I see a woman starved for love—"
The last thread of Harper's control snapped.
She closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in a kiss that was desperate and hungry and everything she'd been denying herself.
Her hands tangled in his dark hair as he responded with equal fervor, one large hand threading through her waves while the other cradled her face like she was something precious.
The kiss consumed her completely. This was nothing like the polite, comfortable affection she'd shared with Matt—this was raw and primal and perfect, like finding oxygen after a lifetime of suffocating.
Dorian's mouth moved against hers with skilled intensity, their tongues tangling in a dance that sent heat flooding through her entire body.
She could lose herself in this, give in completely to the fire building between them. His hands began moving lower, his fingers skimming the hem of her sweater, and she knew with crystal clarity that if she let this continue, there would be no going back.
You're here for Lila.
Reality crashed over her like ice water.
"No." Harper wrenched herself away, scrambling to her feet on unsteady legs. "This is a mistake. I can't do this."
"Harper, wait—"
But she was already running, fleeing up the grand staircase as his voice called after her, not stopping until she reached her guest room and slammed the door, turning the lock with trembling fingers.
What has gotten into me?