Chapter 13 #2
“Nothing. You look good here. In my shirt. In my space.” He moved back to the bed, cupping my face again. “Harper, I know this is fast. I know everything's complicated and you have every reason to be scared. But I need you to know something.”
“What?”
“I'm not going anywhere. Whatever happens with the boutique, with whoever's threatening you, with all of it. I'm here.”
The certainty in his voice made my throat tight with emotion I wasn't ready to examine too closely. “Even though I'm a complete disaster?”
“Especially then.” He kissed me once more, soft and sweet. “Come on. Let's get you fed before you eat my furniture.”
I'd been in Connor's kitchen dozens of times over the past two weeks.
Had sat at this table, eaten meals he'd cooked, made coffee in this pot while trying not to think about how domestic it all felt.
But today, with Connor moving around in just sweatpants, his hair still messy, glancing at me with soft smiles, it felt intimate in a way it hadn't before.
Like we'd crossed some invisible line last night and there was no going back. Which I guess technically we had. I wasn’t sure whether I should be terrified or thrilled. Probably both.
“Coffee?” Connor asked, already reaching for my favorite mug.
“Please.”
I watched as he prepared it exactly how I liked it. The same way he'd been doing every morning, but now it felt weighted with meaning. Like proof that he'd been paying attention all along. That he'd been learning me.
He set the mug in front of me and pressed a kiss to my temple before moving back to the stove.
I wrapped my hands around the mug, breathing in the steam, and tried to make sense of the contentment settling in my chest. The quiet rightness of this moment that felt dangerous to trust.
“What are you thinking about?” Connor asked, glancing back at me.
“How weird this is. Good weird, but weird.” I took a sip, letting the warmth spread through me. “Twenty-four hours ago, I was getting ready for a date with Felix. Now I'm sitting in your kitchen wearing your shirt after spending the night in your bed. It's a lot.”
“Having regrets?”
“No. Just trying to wrap my head around it.” I studied him over the rim of my mug. “You don't think this is too fast? That we shouldn’t have gone on a date or something first?”
Connor flipped a pancake with practiced ease. “I've wanted you for six years, Harper. This doesn't feel fast to me, it feels overdue.”
Okay, that's unfairly romantic and I don't know what to do with that information. “Still. Maybe we should…I don't know. Take things slow? Not rush into anything?”
“You spent the night in my bed already.”
“Valid point.” I took another sip of coffee. “Okay, maybe we already rushed into something. But moving forward, we could pace ourselves?”
He brought over a plate stacked with pancakes, setting it between us with butter and syrup. “What does that look like to you?”
“I don't know. Not making any big decisions right away? Figuring things out as we go?” I reached for a pancake, my stomach growling again. “I just don't want to mess this up by assuming too much or moving too fast or—”
“Harper.” He leaned across the table, his eyes intense. “You're overthinking this.”
“I overthink everything. It's kind of my thing.”
“I've noticed,” he said with a smile. “We'll figure it out. There’s no pressure. No rush.”
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I marveled at how different this felt from how I would’ve expected it to.
“What's your plan today?” Connor asked. “Boutique's closed, so you've got the day free.”
“Thrilling tasks like laundry and paperwork. Maybe call the insurance company again so they can tell me the exact same thing they told me last week.” The list felt overwhelming suddenly. “What about you?”
“Ranch work. Cinnamon's training is coming along, but she needs consistent work. And there's fence line that needs repairs in the north pasture.” He paused. “You could come help if you want. Like before.”
The memory of working in the barn and Connor's hands over mine while he showed me how to hold the pitchfork and the tension that had simmered between us made my pulse jump.
“I'd like that. But fair warning, I'm still terrible at mucking stalls.”
“You'll get better with practice.”
“Optimistic. I like it.” I finished my pancake and stood to carry my plate to the sink. “But I should probably shower first. I'm pretty sure I smell like sex and bad decisions.”
“You smell perfect.” His eyes had gone dark, tracking over me with an intensity that made my breath catch. “But if you want to shower, my bathroom has better water pressure than the guest bathroom.”
My pulse kicked into overdrive. “Is that an invitation?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you propositioning me before noon?”
His grin was pure sin. “Is it working?” Oh, it's definitely working.
I didn’t need to tell him that, he could see it on my face. “Go. I’ll be up in two minutes.”
I went.
Connor's bathroom was attached to his bedroom, and I'd never been inside it before. It was larger than the guest bathroom with a walk-in shower with a glass door, double sinks and enough space to move without bumping into things.
Masculine and clean with none of the clutter that had filled my bathroom in my apartment. Just the essentials like soap, shampoo, a razor and his toothbrush.
I turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to fill the room. I could hear Connor's footsteps on the stairs, getting closer, and my heart pounded inside my chest.
Part of me wanted to panic about it. About moving too fast, about what this meant, about all the ways this could go wrong.
But the bigger part of me—the part that had spent six years wanting Connor Whitaker and pretending I didn't—just wanted to stop overthinking for once and enjoy this.
Connor appeared in the doorway, and his eyes darkened when he saw me standing there in his shirt.
“You haven't gotten in yet.”
“I was waiting for you. Seemed rude to start without you.”
“Considerate.” He moved into the bathroom with deliberate steps that made my mouth go dry.
“Harper, last night was the best night of my life.
And I don't just mean the sex, though that was…” His jaw worked.
“That was incredible. But all of it. Finally getting to touch you. Kiss you. Tell you how I feel. Finally having you in my bed.”
“Connor—”
“This morning, waking up with you? Even better.” His hands moved to the hem of my borrowed t-shirt. “And right now, getting to do this…” He started lifting the fabric slowly. “This is exactly where I want to be.”
I raised my arms, letting him pull the shirt over my head, leaving me bare in front of him. The vulnerability should have felt overwhelming, but the way he was looking at me with reverence and want made me feel powerful instead.
“Your turn,” I whispered, my hands moving to the waistband of his sweatpants.
He helped me, pushing them down and kicking them aside until we were both naked in the steam-filled bathroom.
Connor took my hand. “Come here.”
The shower was perfect. Hot but not scalding, with water pressure that actually lived up to the hype. It cascaded over my shoulders as Connor stepped in behind me, his hands finding my waist.
“Let me,” he murmured, reaching for shampoo.
“You don't have to—”
“I want to.”
So I let him.
He washed my hair with gentle fingers that felt impossibly good, massaging my scalp until I was practically boneless against him.
Let him rinse it carefully, his hand cupped at my forehead to keep soap from my eyes.
Let him soap down my body with slow, thorough strokes that were as much about learning me as cleaning me.
By the time he was done, I was trembling with want.
“My turn,” I whispered, turning in his arms.
I took my time learning him the way he'd learned me. The broad planes of his chest, the ridges of muscle across his stomach, the strength in his shoulders. Every scar from ranch work and childhood mishaps. Every line and hollow that made him Connor.
He watched me the whole time, his breathing getting rougher as my hands moved lower.
“Harper.” His voice was strained. “If you keep touching me like that, we're not making it out of this shower.”
“Maybe I don't want to make it out.” I looked up at him through my lashes, feeling bold.
Connor's control snapped.
He backed me against the wall, and I hissed as the cool tile touched my back. He kissed me hard and his hands were everywhere at once. Mine buried into his wet hair, holding him close.
“Tell me you want this,” he breathed against my lips.
“I want you. Connor, please.”
He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. His eyes searched mine once, and then he was inside me, and the sensation was so intense I gasped.
“Okay?”
“More than okay. Move. Please move.” He did. Slowly at first, then faster as I urged him on. We were both lost in each other, in the perfect rightness of this.
When I finally shattered, his name tearing from my mouth, he followed seconds later, my name a prayer on his lips. He continued to hold me against the wall as we both fought to catch our breath.
“That was…” I couldn't find words.
“Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to my temple, then slowly let me down. “You okay?”
“I'm perfect.” And I meant it. In this moment, naked in Connor's shower with my body still humming, I was perfect.
By the time we were dressed, it was nearly eleven. I felt wrung out in the best way possible. Sated. Content. Like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.
Connor pulled me in for another kiss. “I could get used to this.”
“Used to what? Shower sex or me eating all your food?”
“Both.” He tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “Having you here. In my space. Mornings like this.”
The words felt heavy with implications I wasn't ready to unpack yet. “One day at a time, remember?”
“One day at a time,” he agreed. But his eyes said he was already thinking further ahead than that.
Before I could respond and examine the hope and terror warring in my chest, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Connor frowned. “It's Davies.”
My stomach dropped, all the contentment evaporating. “Answer it.”
He put it on speaker. “Sheriff. What's up?”
“Connor. I wanted to give you an update on the investigation.”
“What did you find?” I moved closer to Connor. He wrapped an arm around my waist automatically.
“Unfortunately, we can't find any record of Armand Beaumont anywhere. No licenses, no property records. Nothing.”
My heart sank. “So he's a ghost.”
“Either it's an alias, or he's deliberately operating under the radar. We've shown his description around, but only your boutique customers recognize him.” Davies sighed. “Without concrete evidence, we're hitting dead ends.”
“What about Morgan?” Connor's voice was tight.
“We questioned her. She claims she was being friendly when she visited the boutique. Says she doesn't know any Armand Beaumont.” Another sigh. “Without concrete evidence linking her to anything, my hands are tied.”
“So we just wait?” I asked, frustration mixing with fear. “Wait for them to come after me again?”
“We keep investigating. But Harper, you need to be careful. Whoever's behind this is smart and well-resourced.”
Connor's arm tightened around me. “She's safe here. She doesn't go anywhere alone.”
“Good. Keep it that way. I'll call if we find anything.”
He hung up, and reality crashed back in like cold water.
“They don't know anything,” I whispered. “Armand could be anyone. Could be planning anything.”
“Hey.” Connor turned me to face him. “Look at me. We're not helpless. We're being careful.” He cupped my face. “Whatever's coming, we handle it together.”
“Together. Right.” I pressed my face into his chest, breathing him in. “Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for the pancakes. And the…everything else.”
He laughed, and the sound chased away some of the fear. “Anytime, Harper. Anytime.”