by Shayla Black
“Well, I hope I can help you. On that note, let’s start with this assessment. It covers general speech and language. It’s a functional communication profile and will help me figure out where to start. If I can isolate the problem, I’ll be more effective in teaching you ways to cope with or overcome your issues. I reserve the right to make you call the neurologist and admit to him that, despite being the manliest man ever, you need help.”
“Ugh, you’re torturing me, woman.”
“I suggest you get used to it.” She gives me an acidic smile. “You signed up for a summer full of it.”
“Maybe I should have my head examined after all.”
“Glad you’re admitting I was right. But it’s too late now. You’re mine, and I’m going to need you to concentrate. So that phone of yours that keeps buzzing has to shut up until this assessment is over.”
The damn thing is blowing up more with every passing moment, as if the rest of the world seemingly insists I comment on my relationship with the runaway bride. Her cell should be blowing up, too. “Why can’t I hear your phone?”
She shrugs. “I left it upstairs on the charger. I’ve already talked to Maxon’s wife, Keeley, this morning. She’ll talk to Britta. I’ll deal with my brothers later. Anyone else who wants to talk to me will only get a ‘no comment’ and I don’t have the time or energy to say that a thousand times over the next few days. They can all go to voice mail and kiss my ass.”
That’s such a Harlow response. The woman is an island. A beautiful one, of course. But she definitely isn’t into answering to anyone for anything. “I can’t argue with that. They’re relentless. I’ve had to change my number multiple times. It’s a hell of a nuisance.”
“But it comes with the territory?” When I nod, she sighs. “Fine. I’ll change mine tomorrow. And bonus, Simon won’t be able to call me again.”
“Is that son of a bitch harassing you?”
“Calm down. He hasn’t tried to ring me since the wedding. His family has, but I can handle them. I’m just saying it would be nice to cut them all off so I don’t have to deal with them again. I should actually thank my ex and his wandering sperm. Simon’s mother would have been one hell of a meddling mother-in-law.”
I can’t help but laugh. I don’t see strong-willed Harlow bending to any woman’s will simply to keep family harmony. Compromising, sure. But she will stand her ground and fight for what she believes in, even if she has to go to the mat hard. I admire that about her. She’ll never let anyone walk over her without her consent.
“You’re welcome. I’ll help you get everything changed tomorrow if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” She nods gratefully, then holds out her hand for my phone. As soon as I set it in her outstretched palm, she powers it down and sets it aside. “Let’s ignore the people itching to talk to you and get going. The sooner we finish, the sooner you get coffee.”
For the next two hours, we focus on just about everything communication. Auditory and visual cues, motor skills, attention span, silent gestures, and of course a whole host of expressive and receptive language. Subject changes, intonations, listening, syntax, rate of speech. She even checks my ability to swallow and asks to examine my tongue.
“Baby, you know my tongue works just fine.” In fact, I’m hungry. Yes, for breakfast. But for Harlow, too. It seems way too long since I had my lips on hers, my mouth on her pussy. I’m definitely feeling deprived. “But if you can’t remember, I’ll be happy to remind you.”
“Later, Casanova. We’re almost done, but you have to behave for a few minutes more.”
After we wrap up, she releases me to find some caffeinated nirvana in a pot while she closes herself in the office to assess my situation. I snatch my phone back and power it up as I wait for the hot java to brew. I scan my messages, looking down the list. Sports reporter, gossip columnist, Internet tabloid journalist, former teammate who likes to run his mouth, then a whole host of bottom-feeders who intend to drag me through the mud. I ignore them all. A message from Maxon jumps out.
What the fuck is going on? I know you talked to Griff, but Harlow is not in a good place for your limelight. Back off. Hire someone else for whatever “work” you’ve got.
I’m going to have to convince them—somehow—that the last thing I want to do is upset or hurt Harlow. It sure would help if I could fucking speak to them, but the last couple of times I tried… Nada. Why do her brothers make me so nervous?
“Any conclusions yet?” I ask while the coffee finishes. She emerges from my office as I finally pour myself a cup.
“No.” The soft sounds of footsteps precede her arrival in the kitchen. She’s now sporting a messy ponytail she hadn’t had a few minutes ago and a confused scowl. “Everything on this assessment shows you being somewhere between average and above average.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It gives us a baseline to work with, which is helpful. But this assessment isn’t one I can give again anytime soon. Or administer very effectively if we wait for a time when you’re having difficulty speaking. I was hoping your daily speech would have some hallmarks I hadn’t yet noticed but could work on. Nothing, so I’ll have to fabricate a situation that incites a verbal dry spell and find another assessment that may help me whittle down the exact problem.” She sighs. “I’ll be honest. Since I studied mostly developmentally delayed children, I’m not sure where to go next. I observed other clinicians with adult patients, but none of them had your specific issue. I’ll keep researching and have some ideas to talk to you about tonight, okay?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “All kidding aside, once this annoying shit slapped me in the head a few times with the fact that I can’t predict it and it’s not going away, I didn’t think solving the problem would be simple. If I did, I wouldn’t have hired you.”
“You did that just to keep sleeping with me.”
“I might have agreed to your proposition for that reason, but I agreed to get started because I finally admitted that I need help.”
Her face softens. “You do. I want to help you in every way possible to lead a full, normal life. Besides, I enjoy a good challenge. But I also think you love football too much to leave it entirely. Broadcasting seems like a perfect next step for you, and I’m determined to see you succeed.”
I’m struck again by how complicated this woman is. She wants to cast a bright ray in my life but would rather sit alone in the dark with her own woes. She’s doing her best to help me, so I’m going to jump in and help her, too. Maybe by summer’s end we’ll both be ready to move on and tackle a brighter future. What more could I ask for?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two days later, Harlow wakes me at the crack of dawn and tells me to dress in comfortable clothes while she makes us a lunch. Two things don’t escape my notice: First, she didn’t sleep in my bed again last night. She stays long enough for the amazing, explosive sex and waits until I fall asleep. Then I can only assume she slips out because I always wake up alone. Second, she hasn’t said a word about where we’re going or what we’re doing today.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I have a new assessment I’d like to try. I spoke with my master professor yesterday, and she gave me some great suggestions about where to go with your case next. I didn’t use any names, of course.”
I nod, acknowledging her discretion. Not that the world isn’t still buzzing about that kiss captured on camera and whether I’m the reason Harlow ran out on her cheating ex. As promised, I helped her change her number. She also disabled all social media profiles except LinkedIn, which she kept for professional purposes. I also haven’t seen her return a single one of those stacked-up voice mails except to her brothers or their brides.
“But in order to give this assessment properly, I have to change the test conditions. We already tried getting a read on you when you were tired and you performed better than expected. Since anxiety seems to be another trigger, we’ll try this in a stressful situa
tion.”
I’m pulling on a T-shirt to go with my khaki shorts and hiking boots when her words stop me. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing public,” she assures me. “Believe me, the last thing I want is a spectacle. I don’t need more attention, either.”
True. No one seeks less attention from the press than Harlow.
“Thanks for the reassurance, but can you be more specific?”
“No.” And she looks cheerful about having the upper hand as she hands me a cup of coffee. “If I tell you, then you can mentally prepare for the situation. I need you to be off guard for this to work properly.”
“That sounds ominous.”
Her smile turns flirty. “Am I scaring you, big guy?”
“A little bit. You’re small but mighty. And you can be fearsome when pissed off.”
“Don’t you forget it.” She winks and lifts a picnic basket. “Ready when you are.”
With a little more trepidation than I let on, I get behind the wheel and we head out of the estate. I’m semi-prepared when we open the gate to find a small cluster of reporters waiting for a photo op or a scoop. The second we emerge from behind the sweeping palm fronds, the snaps start. I can hear the speculation now. No one has seen us come or go for days, so they know damn well Harlow has been in my house. They’ll likely guess she’s been in my bed. Not as much as I’d like, but I’ll fix that soon.
Harlow keeps her head down as we pass slowly because they aren’t in a hurry to get off the damn road.
“Is your relationship with Ms. Reed serious or are you her rebound romance?” shouts one reporter.
I’m not going roll down my window to justify that stupid question with an answer.
“What do you have to say about the speculation that you’re in talks to provide color commentary for NFL games this fall?”
Nothing. If they want to speculate, I can’t stop them. But I’m certainly not adding fuel to their fire.
“Simon Butler says Ms. Reed’s public display at their aborted wedding was a stunt to whip up public sympathy when, in fact, she’s a… What did he call her?” He flips through his little notepad. “Yeah, a fame-seeking whore. Butler claims she cheated on him with you. What’s your comment?”
By silent but mutual consent, we’ve ignored most everything on our phones and turned off the world. It’s easy to do when you have no neighbors, your own beach, and utter privacy. For the past couple of days, I’ve done nothing but enjoy my moments with Harlow. We’ve gone skinny-dipping and built a sand castle on the beach. We’ve watched movies and cooked together. And we’ve had sex. Steamy quickies, followed by hours-long bouts of slow, heavy pleasure. We’ve christened the living room sofa, the kitchen counters, even the lounger on which I first spotted her. I don’t know what it is about Harlow, but every time I’m sure I’ve fucked her so much I shouldn’t want her again, I want her more.
“Was she seeing you while still engaged to her fiancé, Weston?” the reporter demands. “Is she the fame-seeking whore Butler claims?”
That’s it. I stop the SUV and put it in park.
“What are you doing?” Harlow gapes at me like she knows exactly what I intend and is horrified by the prospect.
“Putting a stop to this bullshit.”
She grabs my arm. “You can’t beat a reporter up. He’s only saying that shit to get a rise out of you, and I’ve heard worse. I’ll be fine.”
“You shouldn’t have to put up with that. It’s fucking wrong, Harlow. Butler screwed you over, and I’m going to set the record straight.”
“You’ll just fan the flames.”
“Your ex shouldn’t be the only one who says his piece, especially when it’s all lies. I’ve been silent because I don’t care what they write about me. They’ve been doing it for years. But you got dragged into this tabloid shit because I wasn’t thinking. It’s my fault, so I’m going to stop it.”
“Please let it go.” She bites her lip. “For me.”
When she asks like that, I can’t be the asshole who makes a stink, even if it’s for the good cause of defending her.
“Why?”
“They’re not worth it, and I can fight my own battles. I want to look forward, not back. Arguing with them just mires us in the past and drags us down.”
I grip the wheel until my knuckles are white. “I don’t like this for you. You’re not fame-seeking and you’re not a whore. Goddamn it.”
Her fingers on me gentle. “And I’m touched that you want to defend me. But they’re like a schoolyard bully, right? If we ignore them, they eventually go away. The minute we give them something to talk about, they sink their teeth in. Really. Just leave it. Besides, Simon is looking to save face, so he’s putting the blame for his shit on me. I’m sure he hopes that will protect his precious reputation. Honestly, if that’s all it takes so he never darkens my door again, I can live with whatever these guys write about me.”
Letting out a frustrated breath, I stare her way. Harlow is right, but I don’t like it. I want to beat the shit out of anyone who maligns her. But my impulse to defend her really only gives her situation more heat and Butler’s claim more credibility.
I put the SUV in drive and crack the window. “No comment.”
As I raise the glass on their shouting, I rev the car. The idiots lingering in the road are finally smart enough to jump out of the way. And as soon as we’re clear, I step on the gas and we lurch forward.
“Thank you,” she says softly, trailing her palm down my arm to hold my hand. “You did good.”
I squeeze her fingers. “I don’t want to upset you, baby. I just—”
“I know. And it’s very chivalrous. But we have more important things to do. And far more fun.”
Since she doesn’t give me much choice, I let the drama go. “You going to tell me what we’re doing now?”
“Nope. But I’ll tell you where to go. Head toward Haleakala. Once we’re in the vicinity, I’ll give you more specific directions.”
“You really are enjoying the upper hand,” I accuse.
“Totally.”
Her smile sparkles and for the moment before I merge into traffic, I simply stare. She’s wearing only sunscreen and lip gloss. There’s nothing remotely sexy about her athleisure outfit and sturdy sneakers. Yet I’m thinking she’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever met. It’s not her physical beauty, per se. I’ve dated actresses and models galore in the past. Country and pop singers. Even a porn star. They were pretty and all that. But Harlow is lovely from the inside out. There’s a vitality about her that’s bright and glowing and irresistible.
I’m sounding sappy and I need to stop.
After she rattles off a series of directions, I find myself at the top of a tall crater. The landscape here is more desert-like than tropical. There’s a guy waiting for us next to a tall pole with cables and harnesses attached.
My gut tightens. “We’re zip-lining?”
“We are.”
“How are you going to assess me while we’re doing this?”
“We’re doing it in tandem. More than a few times. Are you afraid of heights?”
“They aren’t my favorite thing,” I hedge. Actually, I’m somewhat terrified.
“Good. Hopefully this will be effective.”
I don’t really want to know how much this is going to cost me, both in money and guts. But none of that matters, I suppose, if Harlow is able to isolate my issue and help me. “All right. Let’s do this thing.”
And get it over with.
She gives me a little clap and a quick peck. I’d rather linger and go in for seconds, but she’s already approaching the guy wearing the polo shirt with the adventure company’s logo. “Hi, we’re your ten a.m. appointment.”
“Harlow?” he asks, checking his clipboard. Then he glances my way and does a double take. “Mr. Weston. Wow. Hi. I’m such a fan.”
Pasting on a smile, I hold out my hand and make small talk. Out of the corner of my eye I
see Harlow gathering supplies from her backpack.
Finally, our guide, Matt, straps us in hip to hip, facing each other. Harlow taps her thumbs over her phone like a maniac. “I’m just going to record your responses and I’ll calculate the results later. Nervous?”
“A little.” Okay, way more than that. I’m starting to sweat. I’m definitely having second thoughts. I wish like hell this was over with and I wasn’t having visions of snapping cables as we fall to our deaths. But I’ve never been a coward and I won’t start now. “Have you done this before?”
“Yeah. A couple of times. It’s a lot of fun.”
Dangling from a wire hundreds of feet from solid ground while whizzing toward another post I can see myself face-planting into? “Yeah, a blast.”
Chuckling, she secures her phone to an armband built to hold the device, then withdraws a booklet she’d rolled up and curled inside her bra. When she flips to the first page, I gape at her. “This is a real assessment, not just you trying to take a swag at my situation while we fly down the mountain?”
“Of course.” Harlow looks baffled. “Why would I waste your time?”
Matt approaches, checks a few harnesses and leads, then asks us how we’re feeling.
“Great!” She sounds downright chipper.
I, on the other hand, wonder if I can keep myself from vomiting. “Do I have to answer that?”
They both laugh.
“You’ll do great,” the guide vows.
I’m less convinced but short of chickening out and ruining whatever Harlow has planned, there’s not much I can do. “Thanks.”
Matt steps back. “Give me a thumbs-up when you’re ready, then I’ll release you.”
Daredevil Harlow sticks her thumb out immediately. No hesitation, just a confident enthusiasm I envy. Then they both turn to look at me. My heart is drumming. I’m definitely feeling overheated again. A touch dizzy, too.
Still, the sooner we start, the sooner we finish. So I manage to clench my fist and raise my thumb. With a wild shout, the guide lets go of the rope he’s been holding. We start to roll down the cable, and I grab on to the handle above me—as if that will do any damn good if the support above our heads snaps.
