Of Happiness

by Olivia Luck

  I can’t fight off the smile that slinks across my face. “Stop using your lawyerly logic on me. It’s too hard to fight.”

  “Oh, baby, haven’t you learned by now I won’t fight fair when it comes to you? Whatever means necessary to make you mine.” He drops a kiss on my downturned lips, pecking at them until I can’t help but laugh.

  “Are you two done making the world jealous with your love?” Claude asks from far way.

  A wave of heat rushes to my face. Love. Did Harris hear that? His arm coils back around my shoulders, face remaining neutral. If he did, he’s showing no sign of ruffled feathers. On the other hand, prickles of awareness are shooting all over my body. Can he tell that I’m in love with him? Does he love me too?

  Yes. What do you think “I am yours and you are mine” means? But then a nagging voice reminds me, it’s not a declaration of love.

  Caught up in my internal ramblings, I hardly notice that we’ve moved through the industrial racks of designer threads to stand in front of closed, imposingly tall doors.

  “Dressing rooms,” Claude says, noting my confused expression. “He goes in here.” He jerks his head to the left, indicating Harris’ spot. “And my beauty, follow me.” With a playful bow, he pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter the inordinately large room.

  “Okay, sweet cheeks—hey!” Harris halts Claude’s progress by clamping a hand on his shoulder, dragging him out of the dressing room.

  “You better rethink following my woman into a room where she’s about to undress,” he demands.

  Claude gives an exaggerated eye roll. “I was just going to tell her that if she needs help with zippers, I will get a female associate.”

  “Keep it that way,” he grumbles, then angles his body around Claude’s lean one. “Baby, I want to see everything you try on.”

  I dig my teeth into my lower lip, squelching a smile. “Okay.”

  Claude shoos Harris out of the room, then turns to me with an excited grin. “We’re going to have so much fun playing dress up. Harris said cocktail attire, so I’ve got a few things for you. Are there any colors you don’t wear?”

  What an odd way to shop. If he asks, I guess I should answer.

  “Not a huge fan of purples.”

  “Agreed. You have enough of that in your lovely eyes. Try that one on.” He points to a tight black bustier dress. He departs the room, but not before asking my shoe size, so he can bring pairs to match the dresses.

  I wiggle out of my clothes and into the crisp, midnight black dress. Instantly I know it’s not for me by the way it flattens my chest. But as Harris asked, I open the door and call out his name. Sure enough, Claude waits outside impatiently tapping his foot.

  “Oh, no! That works against your sexy body, not with it,” he says loudly.

  The door to Harris’ dressing room flies open, revealing my bare-chested boyfriend in suit pants and a white dress shirt hanging open. “What the hell, Claude? Stop hitting on her,” he barks.

  “I said I didn’t do a good job of picking out a dress for her smoking figure.”

  Harris’ eyes narrow. “You’re job isn’t to flirt with my girlfriend. It’s to find her something to wear to our event.”

  “You’re silly,” I say, walking over to Harris. On my tiptoes I give him a kiss on the cheek. “He’s doing his job.”

  “Fine,” he mutters.

  When I turn back, Claude holds a cherry-red shift. From the front, it doesn’t look like anything special, I cock my head to the side, eyeing it.

  Then he swivels the heavy wood hanger around.

  “Stunning,” I breathe. The dress has a plunging back that dips so low it might be impossible to wear any underwear at all.

  Claude smirks at Harris, his expression saying, “Look what I did.”

  Skipping forward, I gently extract the delicate dress. The smooth silk jersey feels nearly weightless in my hands. I return to the dressing room and hang it on a wall rack. With a few twists and turns, I’m able to slip out of the bustier dress, but not before seeing the price tag.

  Woah. It cost more than I paid in rent.

  I stand in my bra and panties, eyeing the red dress. No price tag hangs on this lovely object. Surely it must be expensive with the French designer’s name sewn into the interior. There’s no way I can let Harris spend this much on me, but that dress… Reaching back as if under a spell, I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor. I won’t let him buy this one, but I desperately want to feel it on my skin.

  Gently sliding it off the hanger, I step into the dress and settle the straps on my shoulders. On the floor next to the three-view mirror are a pair of black, sky-high heels. Using the wall to balance, I place my feet into the shoes. When I catch my eye in the mirror, I nearly sigh. I lift my hair off my shoulders, twisting it back on my head as though it’s been artfully arranged.

  “You know I can’t buy that one for you.” His voice makes me jump slightly and I whirl around to see Harris standing in front of the closed door, wearing an impeccably tailored, dark gray suit and white shirt, open at the collar.

  “It’s too much money,” I agree, though I turn over my shoulder to see how the garment displays my back. It’s a sensual cut, dipping so low it brushes against the bottom of my spine. More skin shows than I’ve ever revealed before, but even I have to admit it’s incredibly sexy.

  “It has nothing to do with money, baby,” he murmurs, and in the reflection of the mirror, I see that he’s moved so he’s standing much closer now. A moment later, I feel the heat radiating off his body from directly behind me.

  Our eyes meet in the mirror and in his eyes I see what churns inside of me—anticipation.

  His thumb grazes the base of my neck, then it leisurely traces an imaginary line down the length of my exposed spine.

  Each of my breaths is slow, heady. I forget where we are.

  His fingertips reach out and skim across my stomach, then he maneuvers my body, so I’m facing the mirror again and my back is pressed to his front. “I can’t have other men looking at you and feeling what I’m feeling now.” He punctuates his words by pressing an impressive erection against my body.

  His hand drops to my thigh, drawing circles against the skin and raising goose flesh in its wake.

  “What are you feeling?” I ask throatily.

  “Like if I don’t get my hands on you in the next ten seconds, I might die.”

  He draws an imaginary line around my thigh until he reaches between my legs, His fingers inch higher and higher until they reach my panties.

  A low moan escapes my lips.

  His hand falls away from my arousal, causing me to whimper.

  “My baby wants me?” he teases.

  “Yes,” I breathe, not caring that Claude’s outside or anyone might hear us.

  He reaches to my sides where my arms have fallen and clasps my hands in his, drawing them up and sliding them around his neck.

  “When did you become an exhibitionist?” he wonders, his hand finding my waist again while the other pushes the dress up around my hips.

  His words somewhat bring me back to reality. “Can we do this in here?” I wonder, though I don’t really care the answer.

  Harris nudges aside my thong and I squirm beneath his touch, desperate for him.

  “We can do whatever we like,” he whispers. One finger slips inside, then another. And then I’m gasping, my eyes flutter close and I’m riding his hand. Moving up and down with each stroke, trying to increase his pace.

  “Let me see those eyes,” he says against my ear.

  My grip around his neck tightens and I cry out as he flicks my clit. My eyes fly open and find his gaze in the mirror. As he moves his fingers faster and faster, he uses his thumb to draw tiny circles against me.

  “Harris,” I gasp when he abandons my throbbing flesh. Then with one intense pressure flick from his finger, I’m flying over the edge, never losing eye contact with him as my lips part with each puff of air. />
  When I’ve come down from my high, he spins me around and lifts his two fingers to own his lips. With a sensual smile, he slips each one into his own mouth, licking himself clean. “Delicious,” he says with a wink. Then his arms find their way around my lower back, yanking me forward for a passionate kiss.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’m buying this dress, but you’re only wearing it for me.”

  He lets me go, shoving a hand into his pant pocket as he backs away. I’m still drifting in a sea of ecstasy, unable to speak until—

  “Harris,” I say breathlessly before he leaves. “You did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “Ecstatic Edith,” I answer, a playful smile flirting with my lips.

  With a wink, he turns and pulls the door open.

  “What did you do to my new friend?” Claude shrieks.

  “We’ll take the red one, but she’s going to need something else for the party,” I hear Harris tell him with laughter in his voice. He shuts the door behind him, leaving me in a post orgasm haze.

  How did my life turn into this?

  Claude pokes an arm into the dressing room, holding a rich green halter dress. “I’m not looking in here in case you are naked.”

  “Claude!” I giggle, navigating the plush carpeting in the high stilettos. I pull the dress from his hands. A second later, a pair of shoes appears in the open space.

  “This is the dress,” he informs me before I even try it on.

  And he’s right. Thirty minutes later, he’s wrapping up our packages. Harris insisted on the red and green dresses as well as matching shoes and a clutch, despite my protestations. He purchased the suit he had tried on; it was actually an item he had picked out earlier, but needed to be tailored to fit.

  As Claude wraps the packages, Harris brushes a kiss into my hair. “Thank you for letting me do this,” he says in a voice for my ears only.

  I cock my head to the side to study his expression. He’s peaceful. How could I deny him?

  The rest of Thursday and Friday passed in a blur with Harris and me soaking up every moment together. We jogged along Lake Michigan together and read books on his terrace. I cooked while he watched. He cleaned the dishes while I watched. He sat on the couch and listened to me play piano, asking questions about the songs and why I learned to play and sing them. For two days, work and the outside world fell to the background. I rescheduled an appointment with Luke and Sean’s friend for next week, leaving no client meetings. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I ignored the blog—putting up a “Gone Vacationing” message. I let myself indulge in my new boyfriend. I sent Sarah and Sean text messages telling them that Harris and I were back on, and I would call them on Monday. These few days belonged only to Harris and me.

  When we weren’t learning about each other, we made love. With one heated look he’d haul me into his arms and the rest of the world would fall away.

  All the while I desperately wanted to confess my love, I selfishly didn’t want to be the first to admit how deeply my feelings ran. After all the hiccups, I still want Harris to come to me, to show me and tell me that I truly am his. So my lips don’t share the depth of my emotions.

  Since my visit to Claire on Thursday morning Harris hasn’t heard from her. Claire’s driver Marcus did call to say he dropped her off at the airport. This time she flew commercial; Harris said he was unwilling to let up the family jet so she could potentially manipulate the pilot into taking her anywhere but the therapeutic facility that would help Claire, hopefully, find some clarity. Despite the nagging sensation that a trip to New England wouldn’t be the balm to all of her scrapes, I keep a positive face for Harris. Ultimately I want her to get better just as much as him.

  The Saturday morning alarm arrives too early for my taste. Aggressive beeping from Harris’ clock shocks me into wakefulness and I nearly shoot out of his warm embrace at the startling sound. It felt like only a few minutes ago that we fell asleep. When I see that it’s 4:30 a.m., I realize that I’m right; we were up until one.

  “Harris,” I moan, flopping back in the bed.

  “You can sleep in the car and in the plane.” His voice is gravelly, but annoyingly alert.

  There’s a change in altitude when Harris scoops of me off the bed and carries me into the bathroom.

  “Shower,” he instructs as he sets me on the countertop, causing me to yelp when cold quartz hits my skin. Within a second, he’s back, lifting me into the shower stall and setting me on my feet underneath the spray of warm water.

  With his back to me, Harris pours some of his body wash into his hands, rubbing them together. Then with long, lazy strokes, he cleans my body. Soon I’m writhing beneath his touch.

  “No time for that,” he murmurs, dropping a row of kisses along my collarbone. Just as quickly as they were on my skin, he removes his hands, washing his own body.

  “Now I’m going to smell like a man,” I inform him grumpily.

  “Correction, you’ll smell like me, and then everyone will know who belongs with whom.”

  “Show me,” I demand, placing my hands flat on his chest.

  He groans, sweeping me into an embrace. “As much as I want to”—his eyes flash with lust as he pecks my forehead—“we have a plane to catch.”

  Glowering, I release him and make quick work of washing and conditioning my hair. “Fine,” I grumble with my back to him.

  “Hey,” he says, fingertips digging into my hips as he spins me around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?” I shoot back, but I really want to ask, “Don’t you want me anymore?” Insecurity found its way back to me. His actions say he’s in love with me, but he hasn’t told me. Meanwhile, telling him is all I can think about. With every kiss, every lingering eye contact, every touch of his fingertips, I want to shout the words. Deep down remains the niggling fear that Claire will return and tear us apart. The idea of Harris confessing his love gives me another layer of security that our relationship won’t be disrupted by Claire.

  He releases my body and maneuvers around me to turn off the shower. “That’s what’s got you cranky? Don’t be in a bad mood, baby. I’ve got a spectacular surprise for you.” The repetitive consonants make me smile, even though I try to fight it. He dips down, nipping at the shell of my ear. “I’ve worked so hard, won’t you let me have my fun?” His breath is hot on my ear, causing my now-cold body to erupt in shivers.

  “Yes,” I murmur as my frustration diffuses.

  “Good. Move it along.” He swats my ass, and I yelp. Outside the shower he carefully wraps me in a plush white robe, pulling the belt tightly around my waist. “We’re leaving in twenty.”

  “Twenty minutes!” I squawk. “That’s not enough time to get ready.”

  He’s already left the bathroom and crossing the hardwood floors into this expansive closet. “One of the things I adore about you, sweet Edith, is how low maintenance you are. I’ve seen you get ready to go out in way less than twenty minutes,” he says, poking his head out to give me a teasing grin.

  But his saucy expression doesn’t distract me from his word choice. He said adore, not love. Wrinkling my nose, I glare at him. “It’s not even five in the morning. Forgive me for being confused and… snappy.”

  He sighs, emerging completely from the closet with only a towel wrapped low around his hips, and droplets of water glistening on his chest. With his long-legged stride, he’s standing in front of me quickly. “Would another clue make you feel better?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, realizing how childish I must sound.

  He whisks me up into his arms, pressing the length of my body against his and holding me high enough that we’re face to face. “Tonight I’ve got what Jane calls a ‘glam squad’ to prepare you for the festivities.”

  “Glam squad?”

  “Something about hair and makeup,” he explains. “Not that you need it, but Jane told me it would earn br
ownie points with you. Does it?”

  Now I’m smiling for real, imagining Harris scrubbing a hand through his cropped hair and asking Jane’s advice to make this one night getaway enjoyable for me. “Yes, handsome Harris, I’m sorry for my sour mood. I’ll cheer up.”

  “That’s my girl.” His voice is rough, deep. His words are brief, but there’s more lurking behind his slate-colored eyes. We stay frozen in the moment, only breathing softly, eyes locked.

  “Do you remember the day I was a complete asshole to you?” he says abruptly, settling me back on my feet, but keeping his hands on my hips. He cringes. “Actually, I was an asshole more than once. But I’m referring to the night we went to dinner with Greg. I found you at your computer and I insulted you…”

  “Yes,” I say hesitantly.

  “You were looking at me then the same you look at me now,” he says softly, watching my reaction. “It terrified me.”

  “How do I look at you?”

  “Like I’m a man worthy of being yours.”

  My heart squeezes painfully at his omission.

  “We are worthy of each other.”

  “I’m starting to understand that.”

  Then his eyes flicker to the clock behind me, breaking the spell.

  “We’re leaving in ten.”

  I whirl into a flurry of activity, twisting my damp strands into a braid and then dressing in a comfortable cotton skirt and tank top. After brushing my teeth and slathering lotion on my face, I rush into the foyer where Harris waits patiently with our luggage. Luckily he insisted we pack last night.

  “There she is,” he says huskily, giving me a once over. “You got ready in ten minutes with no problem.”

  “With good reason,” I confirm. “I was hurrying to spend time with you.”

  That comment rewards me with a wide grin.

  Our things are packed in his matching leather suitcases, and I’m once again borrowing his Gucci travel bag.