by Olivia Luck
“Bye, Dad!” I call, staring at the cab as in melds into traffic.
When he’s gone, I remain where I stand on the sidewalk despite the crowd of people milling about the front of the hotel. There’s no client meetings scheduled today, no work to attend to, except for drumming up new business.
Reaching into my purse, I let impulse guide me.
“Luke,” I say when he answers, “is Harris free this morning?”
I take a taxi directly to Harris’ office. Though not far from the hotel, I’m anxious to be with him as soon as possible. Luke has everything taken care of by the time I arrive; the lobby security guard lets me breeze by without obtaining a visitor pass. I barely notice the décor of the contemporary lobby, swiftly walking into an elevator and heading up to the fiftieth floor.
When I reach the top of the building, the elevator doors whisk aside to reveal a reception area. Sitting behind the desk is a receptionist, Betty. Harris and I ran into Betty and her husband on the same day that Claire accused me of having an affair with Peter. He had introduced Betty as a family friend and colleague, and I had instantly taken to her kindness.
“Lovely to see you again, Edith,” she says pleasantly with a mischievous grin.
“And you, too, Betty.”
I shift awkwardly. Betty’s wearing a suit, and I’m somewhat casual in my black sundress. It’s the one I wore on my first date with Harris.
“I’m here to see Harris,” I explain even though I’m not sure he’s aware I’m in the building.
“Yes, of course. Let me take you to his office.” She rises and gestures for me to follow her down a long hallway dotted with office doors and administrative assistants. Last week she mentioned her need for design services, and I sent Betty an email about my work. While we walk, she tells me that she hasn’t read it yet, but will get back to me by the end of the week. One new potential client, that’s promising.
At the very end of the hall sits Luke. The space around his desk isn’t enclosed, but it is offset from the hallway in a doorless office. He has enough room for a spacious desk and a large window overlooking the grid of skyscrapers.
As soon as Betty deposits me, Luke waves me closer to his desk.
“He doesn’t know you’re here,” he hisses, jerking his head to the right. I look at the imposing door a few feet away from his desk.
“What should I do?” I whisper as though Harris can hear us.
“When he got here this morning, he was practically whistling. Just go in, he’ll be happy to see you.”
“Okay, I can do that,” I say, more to myself than to Luke. Reaching across the desk I place my hand on top of his and squeeze lightly. “Thanks.” He offers a reassuring smile.
Rolling my shoulders back, I force myself to stand up straight. Then I cross the room and place my sweaty palm on the door handle. Calling on all of my bravery, I turn the knob and poke my head in. Behind an expansive marble top desk, Harris sits at an angle, typing on his laptop.
“What’s up, Luke?” he says without looking my way.
The door closes with a quiet click behind me. I don’t respond, but he senses my presence. Harris’ eyes swing across the room and he stares at me with parted lips. Surprise fades away and quickly turns to an intense hunger.
The speech I had prepared escapes me as Harris’ eyes darken. My mouth dries as I scan his smoldering expression. If I were to lift my hand I could almost grasp the sexual tension, let it slide through my fingers.
My tongue flicks out to wet my lips and in response he lets out a soft groan.
Whatever I came here to do, it will have to wait.
Neither one of us speaks as he gracefully moves to stand. Barely making any noise, he prowls around his desk and across the carpeted floor of his office. When he stands in front of me, he presses a hand to either side of the door behind me, caging me in.
My body responds, tingling with anticipation. I drift closer to him, unable to resist his magnetic pull. As if pulled by a rope, my chest brushes against his. I wonder if he can feel or hear my thumping heartbeat.
Still silent, eyes trained on mine, he drops to one knee. His fingertips drift around one of my ankles. With slow and assured strokes, they trace patters around my lower leg, drawing higher and higher until he brushes past the skirt hemline and reaches my inner thigh. Circling the sensitive skin with his thumb, his gaze finds mine. Silently, his eyes ask for my assent.
“Yes,” I murmur.
This word accelerates his slow assault and the sensual strokes become more purposeful. Both hands find their way under my skirt and tug at my thong, drawing the garment down my legs.
A soft whimper escapes my lips as I shift my weight in anticipation.
Then he’s back on his feet, closing the gap of air between our bodies. Grabbing behind my knee, he draws my leg around his hip. Without needing any more instruction, I hitch my other leg around him.
“Baby,” Harris whispers into my ear. “You need to be real quiet. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” I gasp breathlessly into his ear.
“Good. Your moans are meant for my ears alone.”
Gently I press my lips to the spot in front of his ear.
“Harris,” I sigh.
He releases my leg and begins tugging at his belt buckle. He presses my back harder into the door as he shoves his pants and boxer briefs off his hips. His hands push the skirt of my dress up high around my waist, revealing my tingling flesh to the cool air. It has no impact on me, though; I’m scorching.
Then his hands are on my hips, gripping me so tightly I wonder if they will leave imprints.
Leaning in closer still, his lips brush against mine. “Remember, baby, quiet.”
With a smooth thrust, he’s inside of me, slamming my body into the door none too softly. My head falls against the wood and my eyes closed as our bodies fit together.
“God, Edith,” he groans. He presses his lips to my exposed neck.
“I missed you so fucking much,” he says against my skin.
Despite the hypnotizing sensations flooding my body, I’m able to lift my head. I tilt it to the side.
“Kiss me,” I plead. His lips trail up my chin, dropping to meet mine. He takes my lips in an all-consuming, thundering kiss.
I love you.
Angling back in the small space of air between us, I gasp. He stares at me unblinking, eyes filled with lust and… peace.
“I missed you too,” I whisper.
“Don’t make a noise,” he grunts as his movements grow more frenzied.
The walls of my core tighten around him while I move closer to the edge. The moment is so intense, so crystal clear that I feel myself clench against his cock as the powerful orgasm rips through my quaking body. I sink my teeth into his shirt-covered shoulder. I’m unable to hide the gasps of breath when I’m coming down off my high. But as soon as my breathing settles just the tiniest bit, Harris groans grow deeper.
With a guttural groan, he presses his face flush against my neck as he comes.
“Baby, baby, baby,” he whispers, rocking against me as his orgasm subsides.
We’re both breathing heavily as he peels his face away from my skin. He drops his forehead against mine, closing his eyes.
“When I said we needed to put the past behind us, this wasn’t what I had in mind. Well, it wasn’t the first thing on my mind,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly.
I can’t help but smile wryly. “I didn’t come here to take advantage of you.”
“But I’m so glad you did,” he muses, nipping at an earlobe.
“Me too.”
On a moan, he slides out of me.
We exchange a brief smile. “We can discuss this later. Let’s get cleaned up.”
He ushers me to a closed door past his desk. Behind it I find a small, but pristine bathroom. Dropping my hand, he first rights himself, then turns to the sink and wets a hand towel.
“Open up, baby,” he says playfully, pu
shing my legs apart with his hand. Carefully he wipes at my tender flesh, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful? I meant to.”
“Hm,” I murmur noncommittally as I revel in the intimacy of the exchange.
When he’s finished cleaning me, he drops a kiss on my cheek.
“We need to talk,” he decides.
“Yes, that’s what I wanted.”
“Will you let me take you somewhere?” he asks with tentative eyes.
“Somewhere where?”
“Less than two hours away driving.”
Insecurity shines in his troubled eyes. I know Harris is ready to share his demons with me. I want to sigh with relief, but I manage to keep a straight face.
“Of course.”
As we pass through his office, he grabs his suit jacket off a coat rack. When we’re back at the door, he drops down to scoop my panties off the floor. He shoves them into his pants pocket. Then Harris hands me my purse, which mysteriously landed on the floor when I entered the office.
“Don’t I get those back?” I eye him warily.
“Nope.”
Chuckling to himself, he opens the door and gestures for me to walk out ahead of him. Outside of his office, he presses a palm to my lower back, guiding me away from Luke. He throws a self-satisfied smirk to our friend.
“Cancel my meetings for the rest of the week, Luke. I’m not coming back.”
“You got it, boss!”
I dart a glance at Luke, who’s grinning happily at us. When our eyes meet, he winks slyly and my face flames. Despite Harris’ command to be quiet, Luke definitely knows what we were doing behind the closed door. My hand flies to my hair and I almost groan out loud as I feel the mess of tangles.
Obvious much?
Harris nudges me forward with the tips of his fingers.
“Bye, Luke!” I call over my shoulder.
We bypass the hallway of other offices quickly, though Harris pauses briefly to give his regards to Betty.
“You’ll be happy to know I’m taking the next three days off to spend time with my lovely girlfriend,” he says.
With a start I realize that Harris just called me his girlfriend. I shoot him a sidelong gaze, wondering if his arrogance knows no bounds.
“It’s about time,” Betty teases.
His fingertips leave my back and then he twines his arm around my shoulder.
“It is time,” he murmurs for my ears only, and I relax marginally.
We bid farewell to Betty and find ourselves in the elevator. Harris extracts a keycard from his pocket and waves it in front of an electronic box. With a beep, the B button lights up and the elevator begins a speedy descent.
I easily fall into the space next to him, dropping my cheek to his chest. A familiar feeling of tranquility washes over me, soothing the ache that’s been omnipresent since Saturday night.
“Where are we going?”
The doors to the elevator glide open and we’re standing at the helm of a large parking garage. We walk briskly through the rows of cars toward his convertible.
“Michigan, for a few hours. We’ll come back tonight.” His voice changes to one thick with emotion.
With a ding of the remote, he unlocks the car and pulls open the door for me.
As I slide in, I give him a playful smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Okay, Harris, but can I get some underwear first?”
The terse turn of his lips breaks. He drops down into the space between us and presses a lingering kiss on my forehead. Then he shuts the car door and climbs into the driver’s seat. Instead of admiring the stunning vehicle, he captures all of my attention.
“How about we go pick up your stuff and you stay over when we get back?” He smoothly navigates the car out of the parking spot, one hand lazily steering while the other reaches over to capture my mine.
“Harris… my clothes are going to get whiplash from moving back and forth so often.” I say it lightly, but I’m not ready to play house with him again until we’ve broken down the remaining barriers.
He clears his throat and lifts my hand, so he can brush his lips over my knuckles.
“Then we’ll both change into something comfortable for the drive. If after our trip you give me the honor of your company for the evening, we’ll get your things. I know I have a long way to go to earn your trust back.”
I smile softly at that, his words make me feel like there’s an equal exchange of power in our relationship, that he truly listens and respects my opinions.
“Okay.”
When I’m back in his car my hair is devoid of tangles and clothing is back in its proper place. He folded the convertible top away, leaving our bodies washed in sunlight as we drive. When I’m buckled into my seat, I tug my oversized sunglasses out of my purse and perch them on my nose.
“Any other cars I should know about?” I ask as he steers the Bentley toward the highway.
One hand steers the car and the other stretches across the center console. He nudges back the cotton of my skirt and rests his hand just above my knee, curling his fingers around my thigh. A blast of heat sends sparks of energy sizzling through my body, trying to distract me from the task at hand.
Gently he squeezes my skin. His voice is low when he speaks. “After today you’ll know it all. But this is my only other car, I promise you.”
Sinking back into the decadent leather seat, I close my eyes briefly and soak up the moment, Harris’ grip on me emotionally and physically. The rest of the day promises to be difficult, but for now I indulge in the pleasant sensations. Harris releases my leg and I follow his hand with my eyes to the control panel where he begins pressing buttons. “Timekeeper,” the first song I performed at Rusty’s open mic night, fills the air around us.
“Nice song,” I comment drily.
Harris flashes me a wicked grin, though I can’t see the emotion in his eyes because they’re hidden behind his shiny, mirrored sunglasses.
“My supremely talented girlfriend introduced me to this band.”
On impulse I reach down and cover his hand with mine, squeezing lightly.
“When you’re in the audience at Rusty’s, it makes performing in front of a group much less daunting,” I murmur. When my hand drifts away, he begins lightly drumming his fingers against my bare skin in time to the music.
The ride southeast mostly remains quiet, though occasionally Harris catches me studying his profile and offers his playful smirk. Harris hasn’t told me where we’re going in Michigan, but instinctively I know it’s the town where his brother died. Despite what looms ahead of us, I’m comforted by his reassuring presence.
A little over an hour later, he exits the highway, navigating the streets like he’s done it many times before. We pass by a large, white sign welcoming us with cheerful green letters to New Point, Michigan. The route takes us through the main drag of a quaint beachside town. There are boutiques, restaurants and bars, a school, library, and town hall.
Not long after we exit downtown New Point, Harris turns the car into a narrow, tree-lined road. A massive, shingled house with a four-car garage stands proudly at the end of the driveway. He turns the car around the circular drive and puts it into park outside the two story entryway. With the car turned off, the music disengaged, it’s silent. Harris watches the house with his lips pressed into a flat line.
“Beautiful home,” I say softly when he doesn’t make any comment.
Reluctantly, he pulls his sunglasses off his face and places them in their case. Harris’ eyes flutter closed and he inhales a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“I won’t go inside,” he informs me gruffly.
My chest aches at his tremulous expression. The immensely painful memories that this place evokes are obvious.
“Whatever you want, Harris.” In a mirror of one of his gestures, I tug his hand into mine, so I can brush my lips against the back of his hand. At the sensation, his eyes pop open, revealing raw emotion.
“Anywhere,” I agree, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing out of the car. When I meet him outside the driver’s side door, I wind my arm around his waist, letting him lead the way toward a stone path to the left of the front door. He swings an arm around my shoulders, clinging to me. The walk is short. We stop on the side of the home next to a swinging bench chained between two sturdy trees. Harris pulls me with him as he moves to sit in the corner of the bench. He arranges me so his chest nestles my back and my legs stretch out across the length of the cranberry bench cushion. One arm drapes along the length of the backrest and he drops his chin to rest on top of my head. Behind me, he’s rigid.
We sway back and forth silently for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of birds chirping and nature settling around us.
As much as I want to hear directly from Harris why he’s so thrown by being here in Michigan, I wait patiently for him to speak.
“This is the first time in twelve years I’ve come here… since Cooper passed away,” he tells me tensely.
“Must be immensely difficult.” To say the least.
“More than I can express, ethereal Edith.”
It’s the first time in half a week that he’s used our nickname game. Despite our topic of conversation, I’m reassured by the familiarity.
“I’m no angel,” I reply.
“I disagree,” he insists. “After Cooper died I was stuck in a perpetual state of purgatory. Very little made me truly happy, least of all the bullshit relationships I’ve had with nameless women. I didn’t think I had any right to be happy, not after I lost him. And then I met you.” Harris stops speaking, his voice catching. Swiveling my body, I turn into him, wrapping my arms around his middle and hugging him tightly.
“It wasn’t your choice, Harris; you didn’t want it to happen.”
“No, but it was his,” he responds morosely.
I angle my body so that we are making eye contact. “What does that mean?” I ask with a voice full of dread.
