64. Harper
HARPER
Luke's bathroom is ridiculous.
I mean, Blackthorn Ranch isn't exactly a modest spread, but this bathroom is something else entirely. Heated floors, a rainfall shower that could fit four people, double vanity with marble countertops, and a soaking tub that looks like it belongs in a luxury spa.
And here I am, sitting on the counter in one of Luke's T-shirts and nothing else, watching him shave.
The mirror is fogged at the edges from the shower we took twenty minutes ago. Luke stands in front of the sink wearing only a towel slung low on his hips, his hair still damp, a straight razor in his hand.
I should probably be thinking about Mandy and Turner and my dad—not to mention that Hendricks is arriving later today to figure out what to do about Mandy and how we’re moving forward.
Instead, I'm staring at my man, enthralled by the precise movement of the blade against his skin and the absolute focus in his eyes.
It's intimate in a way I wasn't prepared for. Domestic. Real.
Real hot.
"You're staring," he says without looking at me.
"I know." I’m probably drooling too.
His mouth curves slightly. "Like what you see, sunshine?"
"Stop," I say halfheartedly. I swing my legs, my bare heels tapping against the cabinet. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
"Do you trust Mandy?"
Luke pauses mid-stroke, the razor hovering near his jaw. He meets my eyes in the mirror. "Honestly?" He rinses the blade under the tap. "I'm not sure."
I appreciate that he doesn't lie to me. "What's your gut say?"
"My gut says she has a hidden agenda. Something beyond Turner." He continues shaving, the blade moving with surgical precision. "I can read it in her eyes—she's hunting something bigger than just revenge."
"Like what?"
"Don't know yet." He tilts his head the other direction, exposing the line of his throat. "But she's not telling us everything. That makes her a variable we can't fully control."
I watch him work—the steady hand, the focused intensity, the way he's completely present. I wonder what it’d feel like to have him use that blade to shave my legs. I shiver.
"Hendricks will help figure it out. Regardless, we need to move on Turner.” He rinses the razor again, then sets it down and reaches for a towel, wiping the remaining shaving cream from his face. He turns to face me fully, his hands bracing on either side of my thighs. "You scared?"
I nod. "Terrified.”
His eyes search mine. "You don't have to go in with us. You could stay here with Emma and Lily—"
"No." I hold a hand out, shaking my head. "I'm going. We're a team, Luke."
His smile grows slowly, sweetly, different than his usual devil-may-care grin. "Okay," he says simply, touching my face.
"Okay?"
"Okay." He leans in and kisses me, and it’s just as sweet as his smile. When he pulls back, his thumb brushes my jaw. "But you follow my lead in there. No heroics. No cop instincts overriding tactical sense."
I sit up straight. "I can handle myself."
"I know you can." He drops his forehead to mine. "But I need you to come back to me, Harper. All of you. Intact."
The vulnerability in his words makes my chest ache. "Same goes for you," I say, my hands finding his bare shoulders. "No explosions. No reckless shit. You come back to me too."
"Deal."
We stay like that for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes and breathing each other's air. Then Luke's hands slide up my thighs, pushing the hem of the T-shirt higher.
"You know what I want to watch?" he murmurs as he starts to kiss me.
"What?"
"You. Shaving."
I pull back, blinking. Blushing, thinking about my earlier thoughts. "What?"
His grin is wicked. "I want to watch you shave, sunshine. Legs, bikini line, whatever you do in here when I'm not around."
Heat floods my face. "Luke—"
"Come on." His hands squeeze my thighs playfully. "You've been sitting here watching me for ten minutes. Fair's fair."
"That's completely different." It’d be completely hot.
"How?"
"Because—" I falter, searching for logic that doesn't exist. "It just is."
"Uh-huh." He's laughing now, his eyes bright with mischief. "You're blushing."
"I am not." I totally am.
"You absolutely are." He kisses my neck, just below my ear. "It's cute."
"I'm not cute. I'm a former cop who's about to storm a trafficking compound."
"You can be both." His mouth moves lower, trailing heat down my throat. "Badass and cute. Deadly and mine."
The possessiveness in his voice does things to me. "You're distracting me on purpose."
"That's the plan." His hands slide higher. His eyes darken when his fingers touch my private hair and he realizes I’m not wearing panties. "Jesus, Harper," he says as his thumbs press between my lips.
"House rules," I remind him breathlessly. "Remember?"
"Best rule I ever made." He hooks my legs around his waist and lifts me off the counter in one smooth motion.
I yelp, grabbing his shoulders for balance.
He carries me toward the shower. "We have a couple hours before Hendricks gets here."
"A couple hours to do what?"
“I’ll show you,” he says, flashing his wicked grin as he sets me in the glass enclosure and turns the water on.
I love his sweet smile, but this wicked grin makes me hot. It always has, and it always will. “We already took a shower,” I point out, lifting my arms so he can pull the T-shirt over my head.
“I know.” He drops his towel and steps into me. “But I’m about to get you real dirty.”
Then he's kissing me again, and the water is hot, and his hands are everywhere, and for just a little while longer, we let ourselves exist in this perfect, private moment.