Chapter Seven
Wade
Eve isn't just excited to meet Harlow. She's fucking thrilled from the moment we step over the threshold. Harlow is a little stunned beside me, clinging to my hand like she thinks if she lets go, everything might slip away and she'll wake up back in her bed.
That isn't going to happen, though. This is real. It's what she deserves. I wasn't just flattering her when I told her that her drawing was incredible. I meant it. Even a cowboy like me knows talent when he sees it. And she's talented as hell.
"It's so good to meet you," Eve says, beaming at her. "When Wade showed me your drawing, I was desperate to get you in here."
"Um, thanks," Harlow whispers. "It wasn't my best work."
"Are you kidding? It was fantastic!" Eve says, looping her arm through Harlow's to draw her deeper into the gallery.
I stand back, letting her have this moment. It's about her anyway. She doesn't need me right now. She just needs to soak it in and realize that she deserves this.
"I brought my sketchbook," she says, holding it out to Eve almost like it's a shield.
Eve's eyes light up before she takes it with reverent hands, sinking onto a long bench. Harlow sits beside her, fidgeting nervously as Eve flips through the pages, asking questions about one drawing or another, or offering praise.
She's not even halfway through when she closes the book, passing it back to Harlow. "How soon can you have enough pieces ready for a show?"
"What?" Harlow says, shock written all over her face.
"A show," Eve repeats. "I can absolutely get enough people in here to sell everything you're willing to give me."
"I…I… Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously."
"I have a couple dozen paintings already," she blurts. "And two years' worth of drawings."
"Excellent!" Eve cries, clapping her hands. "We'll set up a time to go through them, start working on a theme, a night, the guest list…"
Harlow just gapes at her, shell-shocked.
Eve notices and chuckles, squeezing her hand. "It's not happening nearly as quickly as you think it is, Harlow," she murmurs. "And it's overwhelming, but that's part of the fun. I'll do the heavy lifting. All you have to do is show up. Deal?"
"I…" Harlow looks to me.
"It's your call, beautiful," I murmur, not willing to make this decision for her. "It's your art, your dream. I'm just the guy who drove you here."
"Oh, I think you did a little more than that," she murmurs.
I wink at her, but don't say anything. Truthfully, I didn't do all that much. Her work spoke for itself. I just brought it where it needed to be seen.
"Deal," she says to Eve.
"You're in?" Eve confirms.
"Yes."
Eve beams at her, but Harlow isn't looking at her. She's staring at me, a mix of emotion on her face that has my heart threatening to pound clean through my chest.
Does she even know how beautiful she is? Or what she does when she looks at me like she thinks I'm something special? I'm just a cowboy. She might be a goddess.
I fully intend to make her my goddess.
As soon as we step outside of the gallery, she flings her arms around my neck, leaning up on her toes to press her lips to mine. "Thank you," she whispers, her tone fervent, the sun catching in her hair.
I grunt, catching her around the waist to kiss her properly. She goes pliant in my arms, mewling into my mouth. My dick presses against my zipper hard enough to leave indentions.
Fucking hell. I want her in ways I've never wanted anything.
I break the kiss, breathing hard.
"You don't have to thank me, Harlow," I murmur. "But anytime you feel the need, that's how you do it, all right?"
"Okay." She smiles at me, all shy and sweet, not even remotely like the guarded woman I met at the bar a week ago. This version of her is softer, sweeter, less cautious. I fucking love it.
"You hungry?"
"I could eat."
I grin, leading her back to the truck. "Tacos or steak?"
"The answer is always tacos, Wade."
She isn't wrong.
"Tacos it is," I agree, boosting her into the truck before circling around to the driver's side.
The drive to the Mexican restaurant takes all of two minutes. Harlow is a happy little clam beside me, practically squirming in her seat. She's fucking cute when she's happy, like she can't sit still or stop smiling. It looks good on her.
I snag a spot near the door and then hop out to help her out of the truck. But instead of setting her on her feet straight away, I slide her down my body this time, just to watch the way her eyes darken and she shivers.
Her hands tighten on my shoulders, a soft moan tumbling from her lips.
"Christ, I want to kiss you again," I groan, pinning her between my body and the side of the truck.
"What's stopping you?"
It's an excellent question. And truthfully…I have no answer.
I dip my head, brushing my nose along hers, breathing her in.
She smells like strawberries and sunshine, but there's a faint hint of paint beneath it, as if her shower didn't entirely wash away the evidence of how she spent her day.
The combination shouldn't be nearly as sexy as it is, and yet, my dick jerks in my pants anyway.
My lips brush hers in a lazy pass before I sink into her, my hands gripping her wide hips to hold her steady. She mewls into my mouth like a little kitten, opening for me.
"Harlow," I breathe. "Sweet, sweet Harlow."
"Wade," she whimpers.
If she had any idea what she does to me when she says my name like that, she probably wouldn't do it. Or hell, maybe she'd keep doing it. I don't know. All I know for sure is that, every time she moans like that, I want to fuck her until she's nothing but a puddle of ecstasy around me.
"Jesus H. Christ," a familiar voice says from behind me.
I tense instantly, my grip tightening on Harlow.
She goes rigid, too.
"This is a public parking lot, not a whorehouse," Danny growls. "Maybe have a little respec—"
I carefully set Harlow on her feet, keeping her behind me before turning to face him. He's standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, his face still all fucked up from our fight. It's satisfying to see, not going to lie. But the baleful glare he shoots her pisses me off.
It's eating him alive that she's with me. Sucks to suck.
"What'd I tell you last time, Palmer?" I say, taking a step toward him.
"You mean before, or after you sucker punched me?" He draws up to his full height. "Because if it'd been a fair fight, you wouldn't have walked away, Jessup."
Yeah, bullshit. Danny Palmer is all talk.
"You swung first," I remind him, my arms crossed.
"Whatever." He sneers at me before trying to lean around me to get another look at Harlow. "You really want to be with a loser like him, Harlow? I can show you things he can't eve—"
"Speak to her again, and you're going to be having a very bad day, very soon," I warn him, taking another step toward him. I want to put my fist in his face again, just because he clearly needs it. But I told Walker I wouldn't. And I don't want to scare Harlow, either.
"Are you threatening me?"
"No," I say softly. "I'm telling you to stay the fuck away from Harlow and the bar while she's on shift, or you can try explaining to Dillon why so much stolen shit magically appears on your ranch. I'm not there for you to blame for your crimes anymore, Palmer."
Harlow makes a soft sound behind me. It's not really surprise, though. More…confirmation, as if she's just been waiting for the pieces to snap into place.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he lies. "The theft problem resolved itself when I fired you."
"You didn't fire me, you prick. I walked away," I remind him.
"And no amount of you trying to rewrite history will change the fact that one of your cowboys heard you setting up the deal to buy that fucking tractor you sent me to pick up.
" I shoot him a smirk. "He'll talk if I ask him to do it.
So keep talking your bullshit, and we'll let Dillon sort it out. "
Danny's expression darkens, but I see the momentary flicker of doubt in his eyes.
There's a reason he never runs his mouth about me to anyone except me.
He's scared as hell that I'll start talking.
And we both know if Dillon checks his property, it won't be clean, just like it wasn't when I walked away.
He's a thief. If he can steal it, he will.
"You know what?" he says, peering around my shoulder at Harlow again. "She isn't even worth all this bullshit. I don't date cheap tras—"
I'm on him before he even finishes the insult, my fist slamming into his face. He reels backward, falling into the side of the building before landing on his ass.
"Wade!" Harlow cries behind me.
But her warning is already too late.
Sirens cut through the air, a police cruiser coming to a dead stop on the street just a few yards away.
Fuck my life.
Danny spots it at the same time I do, and throws his head back, laughing even as blood pours from his nose. "Looks like one of us is going to jail," he says. "And it isn't me, motherfucker."
Goddammit.