Chapter 12
Lark
What am I doing?
It’s three in the morning, and I’m currently brushing my teeth next to the sexiest man alive. And yes, he was nominated, voted on, and presented the award by me.
Although he’s been staring at me in the reflection of the mirror as if he’s about to seduce me while brushing his teeth with a spare toothbrush, I have a feeling that he’s just built like that, put on this planet to make women weak in the knees and melt in his arms. I was close when we were downtown, but now in my apartment . . . I’m even closer.
Especially after becoming his girlfriend. I giggle internally. Okay, it sneaks out.
Harbor isn’t like other guys. I mean, he probably wants to get me in bed, but not more than I’m willing to jump right onto that mattress with him.
Sure, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, but he’s also intelligent and thoughtful. We talk all the time, but there’s comfort in the silent moments with him.
Oh Lordy, I’m already in way over my head, and I’ve only known him a week. Everything with us is moving so fast, but it doesn’t bother me. It actually feels right.
Just like that body of his. So right. My boyfriend is built like a Greek god. And I’m feeling enough confidence in this dress to be his Aphrodite for the night. Yep. I feel great. He could have any woman, but he chose me not just for the night but to be his girlfriend.
I’m someone’s girlfriend. The shock of that causes my jaw to slack and toothpaste to dribble down my chin. I bounce around, trying to scavenge toilet paper to wipe my face. “Holy wow! That burns like a mother.”
He laughs. “Isn’t it usually motherfucker?”
Tapping the paste away with a square of toilet paper, I reply, “Usually, but it wasn’t my father who left. It was the woman who gave me life.” I clamp my hand over my mouth, realizing a second too late that I’ve said too much.
Harbor’s staring at me again but with concern this time. “Your mom left you?”
I sigh and rest back on the counter with the paper stuck to the little bastard of a wound. “I have a suspicion that talk of a parent leaving their kid when they were not even two years old isn’t the aphrodisiac we were hoping for.”
Gently pinching my chin, he runs the pad of his thumb over the almost-healed cut. “It’s not, but that doesn’t make it less important.” He leans down and kisses my chin. “Is it painful like a paper cut?”
“Worse,” I reply with a slight pout to my tone, basically hoping he puts his healing lips on me again.
Harbor’s expression is as steady as he is while he studies the wound. He kisses it again and then smiles. “Yep. You’re still going to live.”
“Barely,” I bemoan, tossing the paper in the trash.
Cupping my face, he presses his lips to mine, and whispers, “You think you’ll survive the night?”
My heart kicks in my chest, and my breath staggers.
I close my eyes and breathe him in. Desperately trying to hold on to my better senses while wanting to toss reasoning in the wind, I slink my body against his.
I kiss under his jaw and place two on his neck before leaning my head on his chest. “Depends on what happens next.”
Everything is hard under my hands . . . and parts they’re not touching. I smile, doing a mental victory lap.
He wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “What if—”
“What-ifs make me nervous.”
“I know, so please hear me out. What if we didn’t detail out the night and just do what feels right . . . or what comes naturally?”
My eyelids bolt open. There’s no denying I’m horny for the man, but letting things come naturally means giving up all control. “I struggle with the unknown.”
Leaning back, he brings my chin up, and says, “No, you don’t.” His tone is soft as if he knows exactly what I need to hear right now.
“I don’t?”
“No, you believe in destiny and romance, like in the movies. That all falls under living in the moment, aka the unknown.” My eyes water, and I hate feeling weak when his eyes are on me.
His brow furrows. With the back of his finger, he swoops in to catch a tear. “Why are you crying, Lark?”
“I think you know me better than I know myself.”
“Well that’s nothing to cry about. That’s a good thing.”
“It’s happy tears.”
He reaches over and pulls more from the toilet roll and dabs under my eyes. “You’re making it hard to seduce you when you’re crying. You have me torn between throwing you on the mattress or asking if you need to talk.”
Pushing off him, I stretch out my arm and point my finger at him. “I knew it! I knew you were trying to seduce me.” Circling my finger in front of his face, I say, “With those eyes—”
“Those are my eyes.”
I shake my head. “But they were extra seductive tonight.”
“So were you, if we’re being so honest.”
My head jerks back, and I plant my hands on my hips. “Me?” Feeling the fabric under my fingers, I realize I’m wearing the dress—the one that reveals everything I absolutely wanted him to see in hopes of seducing him. “Scratch that.” Raising my hands in surrender, I claim, “You busted me all right.”
I walk out of the bathroom with my chin held high and a sexy thrill running through my .
. . attitude. I add, “And you’re right.” With my back to my bedroom door, I turn around to face him.
“All great—” I stop myself before I throw the word love into the mix.
That’s probably jumping ahead too many spaces at this juncture—the juncture between me crying over him, understanding what makes me swoon, and my bedroom, that is.
“All great movies start with the main character being spontaneous. When Harry Met Sally, Serendipity, Pride and Prejudice. The list goes on, but you get the idea.”
Harbor’s leaning against said juncture with his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face when he replies, “I do.”
“We should be spontaneous and do what feels right,” I say more for myself than him and shrug as if this is what acting casual looks like.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Wrinkling my forehead, I hold up a finger. “But it’s not a plan. It’s living in the moment.”
“Right.” He shakes his head. “It’s not a plan.” He stands, his arms falling back to his sides as he eyes the door behind me. “Are you going to show me your bedroom, Lark, or would you prefer to do what comes naturally out here?”
I laugh awkwardly, unsure how to go about this bedroom situation.
Do I present it like a game show host?
Do I open it and let him meander around, snooping through my stuff and just stand here while my whole world is exposed through old videos and books I love, to the color that seems to touch everything from wall to wall?
Did I make my bed? Put away my clothes that I was trying on earlier and got vetoed? Are my birth control pills displayed like candy on my nightstand?
He finally cups my face and looks deep into my eyes. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“I . . . I don’t do this.” Another nervous laugh escapes.
“What are we doing?”
“I don’t have guys over like this.” My arms go out, and I press my palms to the wood door behind me. “There’s stuff in there that you might judge me for or think differently about me.”
Tapping the door above my head, he says, “There’s stuff in there that gives me better insight into who you are and what you like.”
“Okay, but—”
“No buts. Don’t worry. I’m not judging you, Lark. I mean, what’s the worst that could be in there? Stuffed unicorns covering the bed or blue covering every surface.”
“You don’t like blue?”
“Is it blue?” A smug grin appears, backing the accusation. When I don’t answer, he dips his head and whispers in my ear, “I fucking love blue, just like you.”
Oh my God. Did he just tell me he loves me? Or was he saying he fucking loves blue like I love the color? Or does he love me like he fucking loves blue?
What do I say?
I feel very strongly for him, but it’s too soon—
“Hey, Lark?” My eyes find his and that sexy smirk of his. “I love the color. It’s too soon for other types of confessions.”
Falling back against the door, I wipe my brow with the back of my hand. “Phew because it’s way too soon for exchanging I love yous.”
And with that matter cleared up, I present my bedroom like a game show host and open the door.
His gaze slides over my shoulder as he straightens his back, peering in over my head.
What am I doing with him in my bedroom? Does inviting him in give the nonverbal go-ahead for sex? I wonder how he feels about making out?
He kisses me, reminding me exactly what I might want to be doing with him. Stepping aside, I take a breath and let him enter the room.
Wandering in, he looks around, keeping that grin firmly in place.
He takes a stroll to the bookcase, bending down and eyeing up the titles I’ve displayed.
“Darcy. Rochester. Heathcliff and Cullen.” He raises an eyebrow as he looks over at me through the corner of his eyes.
“Questionable in their motives, but I can appreciate your love of a broody male.”
“In this room, those are the classics,” I reply with a shrug as if he asked me something. I move to the wall and lean against it, crossing my wrists and entwining my fingers.
His finger runs along the front of old DVDs on the next shelf, titles I keep for the memories. “Pretty in Pink. Casablanca.” He shoots a glance my way. “Pretty Woman. If this doesn’t reveal the heart of a romantic, I don’t know what does.”
“I have Fight Club and Gladiator as well.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself.
“A lover with a fighter’s heart. I can respect that.” Sitting on the end of the bed, he rests back on his hands and turns his attention on me like I’m the entertainment.
“So . . .” I let it linger, hoping to gauge the temperature of his mood.
Should I let him lead? Should I take control? Or do we spend the rest of the night looking at each other like we were forced to attend the ninth-grade dance by our parents?
Oh, that’s right. I’m supposed to be going with the flow.
I can do that . . . I think.
“You know,” he starts. Standing, he crosses the small room and returns to me, caressing the side of my neck and then running his fingers into the hair at the back of my head.
“If you’re uncomfortable or have changed your mind, I can go.
I know how things can spiral in unexpected directions at this hour.
” His voice is deep, the tone befitting the night.
I’d like to think I’d choose self-preservation, but with his lips against that spot just under my ear and his breath heating my skin, I wrap my arms around his neck and give him more access.
His sharp inhale causes goose bumps to ripple against my skin, and then the lightest of kisses are sprinkled along my jaw until he finds my lips.
“I want you to stay.”
He tilts my head back, my chin nearly touching the bottom of his, and then presses his mouth to mine, and whispers, “I was hoping you’d say that.” Holding my face between his hands, he kisses me so hard that my back hits the wall.
My breathing is as wild as my hands, which travel across the broad width of his shoulders to find purchase. Then he stops, his eyes searching mine between panting breaths. Goose bumps ripple across my skin and as good as he feels now, greedily, I want more.
Taking my hand, he leads me to the edge of the bed, and whispers, “Are you sure?”
“You warned me the first time we met.”
He nods, his gaze dipping down momentarily. “And you foolishly let me in.”
This time, I lift his chin with my hand. “I don’t know what happened in your past, but believe me when I tell you, I love a redemption story.”
“Where have you been all my life?” His deep and smooth voice is sexy as he speaks so close that his breath coats my lips in a gentle sweeping kiss.
“I’ve been right here all along.”
Without a word, his eyes skim over my body and then he reaches down to the hem of my dress. Pulling it slowly up my body and then over my head, Harbor looks at me with lust coloring his eyes a deeper shade of brown. So I stand there, basking in his gaze.
His jeans and shirt come off, and we’re left standing practically naked together. The room suddenly feels hotter, but a deliciously forbidden sensation sparks in the air like two live wires coming together.
He sits down on the mattress and takes my hands, holding them between us. I’ve never felt more beautiful than I do when he’s staring at me like he’s the luckiest guy in the world.
Bringing me to his lap, he kisses my shoulder, and then looks into my eyes. “Does this feel right?”
“No.” I turn in his arms, straddling him and kissing him on the mouth. Pushing him back, he falls on the bed lying flat. I drop my hands to either side of his head and kiss his shoulder.
He asks, “No?”
Feeling sexy.
Feeling powerful.
Feeling more myself than I ever have before.
I kiss his mouth, and then whisper, “But this does.”