by Naima Simone
“Damn it, Harper.” His growl reached her seconds before his fingers closed around her arm, jerking her to a stop just as his driver opened the rear door.
He jerked her against his chest, and his mouth crushed hers. With a loud, greedy moan, his tongue speared between her lips, and for a moment, she melted, meeting him thrust for thrust. She whimpered into his mouth, opening wider so he could have more of her.
He doesn’t want more of you. Just like five years ago.
The whisper brushed across the walls of her head, and she wrenched free, her breath harsh, serrated by the anguish and hurt that flooded her like a swollen river.
Without sparing him another glance, she stumbled into the car and tugged the door closed, not waiting for the driver. She had to get away from him, from the agony of his rejection, before she did something she regretted.
Like beg him to chase her.
Chapter Eight
“So you’re still here.”
Swearing under his breath, Rion turned away from his office window and the view of the Leather District at dawn on a Sunday morning. So deep in thought, he hadn’t heard his office door open. Or his friend enter.
“You need to wear a cow bell or something around your neck,” he snapped at Killian. Damn. It never failed to amaze him how someone so big could move so silently. It was impressive…and eerie.
As Killian moved out of the shadows and farther into the room, Rion didn’t bother asking how his friend had spent the night before. The darkening bruise along his jaw and the cut on his bottom lip told the story. More contusions would probably mark his torso, but not many; Killian was damn good at what he did. Another underground fight. Demons rode Killian, and he had two outlets for the rage and pain that seethed under his skin like a boiling cauldron: fighting and fucking. And no woman had caused the injuries to the other man’s face. Fists had.
“I work here, don’t I?” Rion rounded his desk and leaned against the front, arms crossed.
Killian matched Rion’s stance, his feet spread wide, and a dark eyebrow arched high. “Is that how we’re gonna play this? Okay.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Yes, you do work here. But you don’t live here. Which I think you may have forgotten since you haven’t left this place since Friday. Now…” He paused, his hazel gaze sharp as a scalpel. And just as incisive. Bastard. “We can dance around why, or you can just tell me why you let Harper leave.”
“I’m not talking about her.”
“I didn’t think shit could surprise me anymore. But seems I was wrong. First, learning from Sasha that Harper Shaw was here at the club. The only girl who’s ever had your balls in a twist had walked in here looking for you. Then second, finding out you just let her walk out of here. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Killian snarled, his disgust evident in the curled corner of his mouth.
“Leave. It. Alone. Killian,” Rion gritted out.
His friend snorted. “Your gynecologist called. She wanted to set up an appointment for you.”
Fury rolled through him, and he launched off the desk, pushing his face into Killian’s. “I said, let it go, goddamnit,” he ground out.
Instead of shoving Rion away, who loved a good fight, Killian smiled. “So you do give a fuck. I was beginning to wonder.”
They stared at one another for the space of several heartbeats before Rion grunted, pivoting around and tunneling fingers through his hair. “I’m not in the mood for your mind games, Killian. Save them for the ring and whatever sorry idiot you’re beating the shit out of.”
“What are you in the mood for? Getting drunk, maybe? Brooding over how stupid you’re being to waste another five years?”
“You don’t know—” Rion swallowed the rest of the accusation back. Remorse rushed in. Asshole. He was a grade-A asshole. If anyone understood the agony of lost time, it was Killian. Jail had robbed him of two years of his life. A woman had stolen more than that. “Sorry,” he murmured.
Again, Killian shrugged. “Because I do know why I’m in here riding your ass.” He lowered his arms and held out his hands, scarred palms up. “You think we don’t know how much you loved Harper? That we don’t know why you gave her up? Hell, Ri,” Killian continued, “how many people get second chances? And here you are blowing it, and for what? What reason could possibly justify letting her walk out of here tonight?”
“Because she’s not for me.” All the rage inside him blasted out like he’d gone supernova.
Her words hounded at him. And no matter how he tried to turn down the volume, he could hear it over and over. I don’t want just one night. For a second—for one, blinding, joy-filled second—hope had wrapped its bony fingers around his heart. Then she’d admitted to not knowing how long she wanted him.
Didn’t know how long it would be before she decided to stop slumming. One week, one month, maybe even a year. The length of time wouldn’t change the result. Her returning to her neat little life that didn’t include the owner of a sex aphrodisiac club. He shook his head. What? Would she invite him to dinner with family like their own BDSM version of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? Yeah, her parents accepting him into their tight-knit, proper, and decorous fold was as likely as peace in the Middle East.
No, once more Harper would find a safe, nice guy like Terrance. Once again, he’d know it was better that way, what she needed…deserved. And once again, Rion would walk around like the walking wounded, alive but with a huge, gaping hole in his chest.
After finally savoring her strawberry-and-cream scent on his tongue, after being inside her for hours and being milked by her pussy and perfect mouth, after holding her while she wept, and having tasted her kiss…he was already condemned to nights where he would wake up craving her. Needing her.
Trying to grab onto more time like a desperate fool, all the while knowing it was steadily slipping away, wouldn’t ease the pain. Like a surgeon in triage, his only choice had been to sever it before the hurt and loneliness slithered in, poisoning him.
“That’s utter bullshit,” Killian growled. Rion snapped his head up, and he glared at his friend. Killian returned his scowl, hazel eyes bright with anger. “Bull. Shit,” his friend repeated. “If she didn’t want you, what the hell were you two doing up here? Playing bridge?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Rion countered.
“But it’s part of it. Sasha told me why she came here. She could’ve gone anywhere to scratch an itch, but she came to you. Women like her don’t fuck and forget. They don’t enter into sex easily or without emotion. She searched you out, Ri, after five years. What does that say?”
A dismissive answer tunneled up the back of his throat, but it hovered on his tongue. He shook his head. What he wanted her actions to mean and what they actually meant were two different things.
“Damn, open your eyes,” Killian said, disgust lacing his tone. “That woman loves you. She always has. You were the one who chose his own insecurities over her.”
“The hell are you talking about?” Rion rasped.
Killian’s scowl eased, and stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, he shifted closer to Rion. “If you’re honest with yourself, the reason you didn’t stop her from marrying that guy then is the same reason you let her go the other night. And it has everything to do with you and nothing to do with her.” He paused, and his words sank into the room, embedded into Rion’s heart. “You don’t believe you’re good enough for her. She never believed that; she was your friend when you only had me and Sasha. She was never afraid to walk beside you, and she held her head up high while she did it. She never gave a damn that you were Darry Ward’s son. But you…you were the one who never felt worthy. Did it ever occur to you that she might not have gotten married if you’d only opened your mouth and told her how much you loved her? I get it, Ri. You’re afraid of being hurt again. But now you have another chance to change both of your lives, and again, you’re screwing up.”
“What about you, Killian?” Rion murmured. “Knowi
ng the pain that would be waiting for you on the other side, would you still have loved her?”
A shadow flickered in his friend’s gaze. “In a heartbeat.”
Shit.
Rion blinked. A memory rippled in front of his mind’s eye. The same from earlier that evening. Him, walking into his high school English class, searching out and spotting Harper in the second seat in the second row. A bright, happy smile widening that too-lush-for-a-teenager mouth. Then another image wavered, replacing that one. Years later, sitting in a diner across from the Boston University campus. Her, dark brown eyes solemn and wary, telling him she’d accepted Terrance’s proposal. As if waiting for him to say something…anything. Waiting for him to stop her.
But he rejected the image even as his stomach tightened with nausea. Because again, he was going to do what was better for her rather than what he wanted.
He met Killian’s stare, resolution a heavy weight bearing down on his chest. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But…” He paused, clenching his jaw before continuing. “It’s because I…care for her that I know I need to let her go.”
Anger flared in Killian’s hard gaze. “In all your knowing, did you consider that maybe it should be her choice about what’s best for her life?” He didn’t wait for Rion to reply, but stalked out of the office, not even bothering to slam the door shut behind him. Somehow the soft click was more of an indictment on his opinion of Rion’s decision than a resounding boom would’ve been.
Silence permeated the room. But he wasn’t alone. Memories, from years ago and two days ago, crowded in the room. He closed his eyes, savoring the mental reel, acknowledging they detailed the most joy-filled, content moments of his life. He greedily hoarded them because he also understood they would probably be all he had.
Sighing, he opened his eyes, and his gaze landed on his desk. Unbidden, the image of Harper bent over, palms flattened to the surface, her dress hiked around her hips, baring herself to him, wavered and solidified in front of him.
She’d been nervous, maybe even a little terrified—of rejection, of him, of herself and the needs that had brought her to Lick. But she’d also been brave, facing her own fears and insecurities. Honest, giving him the truth, knowing there was a possibility he could use her vulnerability against her. Forgiving, coming to him even though he’d hurt her in the past. And so generous with her reaction to his touch, her pleasure, her body…her heart.
A line from a song he’d heard echoed in his head. Something about a person being who they loved, not who loved them. If that was true, then he was brave, honest, forgiving, and generous. Worthy.
He shuddered.
Now the question was…could he believe?
Chapter Nine
Spending the second night in a row at her parents’ house should officially qualify Harper for spinsterhood. But, Saturday had been dinner, and tonight was for a party. Yes, all women attended, and they were gathered together to celebrate her cousin Sylvia’s engagement, but there was food and music…so maybe she wasn’t as pathetic as she seemed.
Nah. She should stop by the pet store on the way home and adopt her first cat now.
Hell. Was it possible to annoy herself?
“What’s all the sighing about, sweetheart?” Raquel Shaw bumped the refrigerator door closed with her full hip, another tray full of antipasto in her hands. “That has to be the fourth one I’ve heard since you came in here to help.” Her mother aimed a pointed look at the coconut pie she’d charged Harper with slicing…that had only one cut in it. “What’s wrong?”
Oh nothing. I just can’t figure out a way of performing an emotional lobotomy to scrub away the memories of the man I love fucking me then leaving me. Somehow she doubted that admission would go over smooth with her mother, so Harper stuck with shaking her head.
“Sweetie.” Her mother set the tray on the butcher block island and slid an arm around Harper’s waist, squeezing. “Is this too hard for you? Being here? Sylvia worried it might be…”
“No, Mama.” Harper hugged her close. “I’m okay, I promise. Please stop worrying.”
The mother-henning could be a bit smothering at times. But Harper never doubted her mother’s love. Her and her father’s affection and protection had been a constant in her life. After Carlie and Terrance’s deaths, Harper had leaned on it. Often. They’d seen their daughter at her worst, and so now that Harper was trying to find her independence and “sea legs” again, they were there, their arms stretched out, ready to catch her if she stumbled. Even if Harper wanted to scrape her knees a few times.
“Asking me to stop worrying is like telling me to stop breathing. You’re my baby.” She cupped her cheeks and smacked a kiss on Harper’s cheek before patting it and turning back to the appetizers. “You know…”
“Oh God.” Harper groaned.
“Shush it. Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” her mother admonished. “Now, as I was saying. One reason I’m glad you came tonight is so you can see that even though life holds tragedies, it also brings happiness. Like your cousin. Sweetie, there will be another Terrance out there. You just have to be ready to receive him. You can’t allow grief to close your heart to love or a family.”
Harper closed her eyes, the knife hovering above the dessert, trembling. The Band-Aid she’d slapped over her heart loosened, and the cracks zig-zagged wider. “What happens when you open your heart, and the person you offer it to doesn’t want it?”
Her mother stilled, and chatter from the living room filtered into the silent kitchen. With deliberate movements, she wiped her palms on her apron and lowered to a stool. Folding her hands in her lap, she studied Harper with the dark brown gaze she’d passed down to her.
“Spill,” her mom ordered.
Cursing her wayward mouth, Harper covered the coconut pie with a sheet of plastic wrap and settled on the matching stool.
“When I told you last night that I’d spent Friday evening with friends, I wasn’t being exactly truthful,” Harper confessed.
Her mother arched a black eyebrow. “Exactly truthful? That’s like being a little pregnant. Either you lied or you didn’t.”
“Okay, I was with an old friend. Not plural,” Harper hedged.
“And is this friend the one who has you sighing and moody because he broke your heart?”
“Yes,” Harper murmured. “But in his defense, he doesn’t know he has my heart to break.”
“Well that’s two strikes against him already,” her mother huffed. “One, that he hurt you, and two that he doesn’t have the sense God gave a goat to realize there’s a beautiful woman right there who loves him. Who is this friend?”
“Mama.” Harper smiled, briefly squeezing her mother’s hands. “He’s…” She hesitated, memories of how her parents had disapproved of her friendship with Rion in the past, giving her pause. “He’s not like Terrance.”
She waved a hand. “Well, of course not. But you can’t constantly compare other men to him…”
“I’m not.” There wasn’t a comparison. “Mama, I loved Terrance. Overall, he was a good man, a provider, and he would’ve been a wonderful father. In the beginning, he made me feel safe, secure, but even if he had lived, I don’t know if we would have stayed married.”
Astonishment widened her mother’s eyes and parted her lips on a soft gasp. “Harper.”
“It’s true, and it hurts me to tell you this because I know how much you and Dad loved Terrance. Even in the short amount of time we were together, we started to drift apart. It started before Carlie, but widened further after we lost her,” she said.
For the first time since the doctor had delivered the news about her baby’s death, Harper uttered her daughter’s name with ease. As if her cathartic confession and grieving with Rion the night before had ripped the scab off the wound so it could start to heal properly. Oh, the pain still existed, but now she could say her baby’s name without feeling as if shards of glass scraped her throat raw.
“Her death d
amaged something with us that already wasn’t strong enough to withstand a blow.” Harper forced herself to meet the dark eyes so like her own. “Terrance…hurt me.” At her mother’s soft and outraged gasp, Harper quickly covered the other woman’s hand with her own, squeezing tightly. “Not physically. He never lifted a hand toward me, but emotionally. He could be cold, distant…critical. I wanted the affection and easy love that you and Dad have, but instead I was lonely, hungry for intimacy, for…acceptance. Terrance may have provided a home, clothes, and food… He may have given me financial security and safety, but my heart wasn’t safe with him. He wounded me in a way that made me not just doubt my femininity, but ashamed of it. He hurt me.” Repeating the words were cathartic, an affirmation of the truth. Of the fact that he should’ve cared and loved all of her, not made her feel dirty for her desires and needs. That he’d been wrong. Not her.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I thought you two were happy. I didn’t see…” her mother whispered, her voice faltering as moisture glistened in her eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see.”
Harper expelled a heavy—cleansing—breath. “You have nothing to apologize for, Mama. And it’s okay; I’m okay. Really.” And she was. She could admit the true state of her marriage and not feel as if she’d been rubber-stamped with failure. “Also, now I can admit I married Terrance for the wrong reasons. Instead of running to him, I was running from someone else.”
Her mother studied her, understanding dawning. “You were in love with someone else,” she whispered. “But who…” Shock whipped across her expression. “Not the Ward boy.”
“His name is Rion, Mama. Rion Ward. And yes, him.”
“Oh, Harper,” she breathed, already shaking her head.
“No,” Harper said, holding her hand up. She didn’t want to be disrespectful to her mother, but she also couldn’t let her say anything negative about Rion, either. Yes, every time she dwelled on him sending her away the night before last—which occurred every three minutes—her body throbbed in pain, but he was a good man. His one, glaring flaw was that he didn’t love her. “You don’t know him. Not like I do. I understand why you and Dad didn’t approve of him. I didn’t then, but now, I do. In your shoes and with my child, I might’ve felt the same way. But he was—is—so much more than where he came from. He’s a protector with an artist’s heart. He wasn’t given anything in life but a hard time, but he refused to let it define him, and he is now a successful businessman. He’s honorable, kind, driven, and if you’re lucky enough to be called his friend, he’s fierce and loyal. And I’ve loved him since I was fourteen.”
