by Piper Lawson
“This is it.” I hold up the phone, excitement surging through me. “Wild Fest. My warehouse.”
“How’re you going to get it? You said they’re not returning your calls.”
I square my shoulders. “I’ll figure it out.”
6
Harrison
“Hope the construction outside didn’t give you too much trouble. They’ve been working on that intersection forever. I’m Zack.”
“Harrison.”
The kid who heads up the zoning department for this part of LA shakes my hand. He’s probably thirty, clean-cut, smells like ambition and family money. I don’t need to look inside his head to know for him this is a stop on the way to something bigger.
Mayor. Governor. Maybe senator.
“I understand you’re looking to develop a property in Burbank.”
“It should’ve been zoned commercial. Everything around it is. I trust it will be straightforward after the hearing to approve the request so we can move forward with construction.”
“Unfortunately, our hearing process has been delayed. We need to move yours back six weeks.”
Unacceptable.
The delay will put me behind Mischa’s expansion and cost me money. Every damn day this building sits empty costs money.
“This is a priority. I have significant stakes riding on finishing this on time.”
He jams his hands in his pockets, eyes crinkling at the corners.
It’s not a smile—it’s a warning.
“I don’t know how fast things move in the UK, but there can be hang-ups in California and the planning office has limited resources. We advise developers to anticipate sufficient time for approvals.”
Fucker.
He’s one of those types. The ones who hear I’m coming and want to make my life hell.
“If it’s resources you’re short, I’m sure we can expedite things.”
“Just because you have money doesn’t make it fast.”
The rest of the meeting goes about the same, and by the time I leave, I’m in a bad mood. I slam a fist into the brick outside before heading to my car.
This new venue is my best investment to grow my company until I can clear my parents’ names and convince Christian to sell me La Mer.
The entire drive back to my penthouse condo in one of LA’s best hotels, I’m clenching the steering wheel.
I toss the keys to the valet and head up to my condo.
I bought the suite three years ago. Its stunning skyline and modern décor are lost on me as I toss my tie on a chair and strip down, heading for the shower.
The water makes my agitation worse.
Is it possible I was off my game?
More than once today, I’ve caught myself thinking of Raegan’s mouth.
How I’d like to taste her everywhere else.
Whom she’s going to dinner with.
When I get out and towel off, there’s a buzzing in the back of my brain I can’t ignore. I grab my phone and check Beck’s social media.
Good food, better company.
The image shows Beck grinning, his arm around a woman with her hand in front of her face. But her amused smile is visible and, for me, recognizable.
My abs clench.
When she said she had a dinner she couldn’t change, I assumed she meant it was something important.
Unless he’s more important to her than me.
The napkins on the table, deep plum, edge into the frame. I stalk to the kitchen and yank open the top drawer to find the same napkins.
But I can’t get over the way she’s smiling in the picture. I can’t remember making her smile like that.
On impulse, I veer away from the closet full of designer suits.
Instead, I choose trousers and a gray shirt, fasten the cuffs.
Top button?
I undo it.
Better.
I take the elevator downstairs and head for the restaurant.
It’s full of stunning couples and small groups. It’s one couple I’m looking for. I don’t see her, but I spot his dark head.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The casual shirt can’t hide the agitation beneath the surface.
Cutting the maître d’ a look that brooks no argument, I head back to the table.
“We’re good on wine, thank… you.” Beck’s brows lift as I sink into the chair across from him.
“You’re the dinner date.”
He spreads his hands. “Guilty as charged.”
My gaze runs over the tablecloth. They’ve eaten their entrees, and a single dessert menu rests between the two place settings.
“We’re sharing,” he drawls at my look.
I came down to see her, but I want to hit him. “You’re not going to keep her.”
Beck cuts a look behind him before leaning an elbow along the back of his chair. “She’s not a tea set. You might be a king in London, but this is LA, my friend.”
I take him in, dragging my gaze slowly from his white sneakers to his designer jeans to his button-down and too-long dark hair. “We’re not friends. But you don’t want to be my enemy.”
He leans closer. “Rae’s my girl, and I don’t need to fuck her to prove it. I will, however, ask the waiter to hold my phone while I use a butter knife to cut your limbs off and stuff them in any available orifice if you hurt her.”
I’m still reappraising the man when Rae’s startled voice cuts the tension.
“What the hell is going on?”
She’s beautiful. Even the dark shadows around her eyes that I want to erase. The dress is orange, the color of the one she wore to Christian’s gala, only shorter. It’s as casual as the other was formal, with a scooped neck and a hem that ends halfway down her thighs.
“I decided to pick you up rather than meeting you at the club. Simple, seeing as you’re eating at my hotel.”
Wariness edges into her expression. “You’re staying here?”
“I own the penthouse.”
Rae’s attention doesn’t budge from me, but Beck chuckles behind his napkin. “There’s an easy way to settle this.” Now we both look at him. “Join us for dessert.”
The waitress is at my side in an instant, eyes widening in recognition. “Mr. King. I’ll bring you a whisky.”
“And a chocolate mousse. Three spoons,” Beck drawls.
She disappears.
“Rae and I were just discussing her next move,” our smug host says.
She shoots him a warning look.
“She’s opening my new club,” I say.
“This is bigger. Wild Fest.”
“Red Rocks amphitheater in Colorado,” Rae says, shifting in her seat. “Massive outdoor event, record-breaking despite being in its third season.”
“Fourth season,” I correct.
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Of course I’ve heard of it.”
“We’re still figuring out her audition tape,” Beck says.
My brows lift. “They want an actual tape?”
“Beck’s talking metaphorically. It’s competitive.”
It’s rational she would focus on a prize like that, but I’m still irritated she’s spending her evening brainstorming with Beck while I was off my game because I couldn’t clear my head of her.
The waitress returns with my whisky, plus dessert. Beck reaches for a spoon and dives in with an appreciative wink for the waitress, which has her flushing as she leaves.
Is this what Rae is into? Some Hollywood wannabe who’s my brother’s age?
She’s not the woman I thought she was.
“How was your day, Harry?” Beck asks.
I ignore the nickname and swirl my drink before taking a sip. “I was preoccupied by a problem I need to resolve.”
The problem being the woman in front of me.
I shift in my chair, and my knee brushes Rae’s.
She jerks in her seat and her spoon clatters off her plate, falling to the carpet.
Beck looks between us in amusement.
“You know, this has been fun.” He rises and rounds to hug Raegan, who tries to glare at him.
“Let me get you another spoon,” I say when he’s gone.
I shift out of my seat to seek out new cutlery, heading toward the kitchen. I overhear our waitress talking with another whose voice I recognize. She’s served me before, and I try to recall her name.
“I wasn’t planning on the double shift, but when someone calls in sick, you have to,” she says quietly to the other waitress. “Now I’m not sure I have time to walk home before my kid gets back from his dad’s, but I can’t afford to take a car.”
Melanie. Madison. Mary…
“Maria,” I say.
“Mr. King.” She straightens, flushing. “I’m so sorry if we were too loud.”
“Not at all.” I order a town car while she watches, slack-jawed. “It’ll be here in five minutes,” I say when I hang up. “Take it wherever you need. The charges are on my account. Could I get a spoon?”
She runs to grab one, murmuring thanks as she passes it to me.
I shift back into my seat and hold out the spoon to Rae. She takes it, her gaze holding mine long enough that I wonder if she overheard the exchange.
“We have unfinished business.”
“And it couldn’t wait.”
“No.”
Rae shifts back in her seat, scanning the room behind me.
I see her shut down, feel it in her body language. It pisses me off that she can pull away emotionally while she’s still within reach.
I like to come across as in control because I’ve had to, which only highlights how painfully ill-equipped I am to deal with her.
There’s no reason for me to feel out of place in this restaurant full of attractive Angelenos in their West Coast business casual. But I do. It took everything in me to walk out the door without a jacket.
And I did it for Raegan.
“I’m trying to help both of us, but you’re making it exceedingly difficult,” I state.
Now I have her attention. She leans in, eyes flashing as if she can burn me from the inside out. “Really? Because so far, every time I’m near you, I get holes shot in my reputation and my career. You don’t get to show up here and demand I follow your rules. There’s no contract this time. Who do you think you are?”
I pick up my drink and drain it. “A man who keeps asking why the fuck he bothers.”
She rises from her seat and she stares at me with eyes full of fire. “Then stop.”
Before Raegan reaches the door, I’m on my feet.
7
Rae
I’m over the games.
Harrison King might get any woman he wants, but he’s not getting me.
I shouldn’t have opened the door enough to give him a chance, but I wanted to talk about the gig. And maybe to see him. But he behaved like an utter prick, crashing my dinner with Beck like a jealous boyfriend, then acting as though I’d fucked up.
Just because he helped one of the waitstaff when he thought I couldn’t hear doesn’t mean he’s not the devil.
I’m nearly at the front doors of the hotel when someone grabs me and tugs me behind a huge potted plant. My shoulder hits the wall. “What the fuck?”
Then he’s pinning me in place with his fierce expression, filled with anger and desperation.
“You want me to stop?” he demands, his voice dripping with incredulity. “You came into my club, my house, my island, and turned them upside down.” Harrison angles his body to box mine in, and his fingers find the nape of my neck, squeezing hard enough it steals my breath. “You fucked me like you needed it, and the next morning, you were gone. So at least be honest about your reasons. It wasn’t because of some paparazzi shot. It was because you didn’t believe in me enough to stay.”
He’s breathing as if he’s been running. His corded throat is bobbing, that firm mouth parted, those piercing blue eyes full of shock and desire.
The accusation in his tone doesn’t affect me, but the hurt beneath does. The rawness of his words is a reminder he was left before by a woman he trusted. I didn’t leave him for another man, but his betrayed expression makes it seem as if I might as well have.
I lift my chin to meet his gaze. “What did we have? What could we have had, Harrison?” I swallow hard. “You were this arrogant, untouchable god, and I was this angry girl who wanted no part of your world. At least… I didn’t at first.”
His nostrils flare as he searches my face.
I’m playing a dangerous game, showing vulnerability to a man who crushes his, who succeeds by exploiting weakness in others. Except the throbbing low in my gut wants to believe he’s not unaffected either.
“If I look like a god right now, you need reading glasses more than I do.”
His self-deprecating comment makes me suck in a breath.
My attention drifts down to his open collar, the rolled-up sleeves revealing muscled forearms. I pop his collar, trailing a finger along the edge. “You’re missing your suit.”
He’s a warrior without his armor, and I’m aching to know what convinced him to lay it down tonight.
Before I can ask, his mouth crashes down on mine.
His tongue presses at the seam of my lips, demanding entrance. I grant it to him, my body responding before my brain gives permission.
He tastes like whisky and man and I’m drowning in him.
My palms flatten against his chest to steady myself.
The rational part of me screams to get away.
Instead, I press up on my toes to kiss him back.
His arms band around me like steel.
“Too public.” His muttered words cut through my haze of arousal.
Harrison doesn’t take my hand but steers me across the foyer and toward a private elevator using only the force of his presence.
We step inside, and the doors shut.
His gaze is loaded with hunger, and I revel in it before he drags me up to him. Those wicked lips land on mine before sliding lower to my jaw, my neck, tracing down to my cleavage. I fist a hand in his shirt.
“Fuck.” My fingers tighten in his hair as his mouth moves to cover my breast through the fabric, licking its hardened peak.
He’s a storm intent on killing me and making me grateful for the mercy.
The elevator dings, and he guides me out, a firm hand on my back as we step into the huge living room of a suite.
“You never do anything halfway, do you?” I pant.
“What I want, I get.” Harrison pulls back to study me, his eyes nearly black with desire. “I want you to repeat every smartass thing you’ve ever said to me while you’re laying over my knee. I want to ride you bare before your show. To come inside you and watch you go out and play in front of a thousand people and know I’m still there. Where they all want to be. I want to tie you to my bed and make you come until you’re begging me to stop.”
His words seduce me. “Too many orgasms doesn’t sound like a thing.”
“Sweet, naïve girl.”
He grips my face, his expression turning serious as he stops either of us from taking things further.
“There was one thing I wanted in my life. But since you crashed into it, I want you. Seeing you with Beck makes me crazy.”
Thrilling. It’s thrilling to hear him talk like this.
“How crazy?”
My lips curve, because what’s crazy is the fact that this billionaire wants me, a girl with no permanent address and a closet full of damage. Harrison’s shoulders pull tight under the shirt. He’s gorgeous and a little reckless, his hair sticking up as if he’s been running his fingers through it.
“Crazy enough I only wore a damn shirt to dinner.”
I slide a hand under the edge of that shirt and rest my palm over the scars on his chest. My thumb traces the edge
, and I get off on the way his pulse skips beneath my touch. “It’s a good shirt,” I whisper.
Riding a wave of arousal, I reach back for the knot on my dress and unfasten it. It falls to the floor.
Harrison’s gaze roams my body, from my bare legs to the curve of my hips to my simple, nude lace bra, before landing on my face. “Beautiful. Everywhere.”
My skin hums at his praise.
He inches closer, threads his fingers into my hair. “Feel how hard you make me.” He takes my hand from his chest and places it over the bulge in his pants. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.”
“Pshh. The tiniest fraction of your life,” I breathe. “You are ten years older.”
“Means I know how to make you mine.”
My hand wraps around his length through his pants. His grin fades, his gaze flaring with heat.
I unfasten his shirt one button at a time, pushing it off his shoulders. He tosses it to the floor without looking.
What’s between us might not end well, but I’ve never felt the rush I feel around him—outside of the booth.
I’m willing to take this chance…
As long as he’ll let me drive.
I sink to my knees and take him out of his dress pants. He’s huge and hard, and I’ve never salivated for a dick before, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.
“I prefer it when—”
“I know how to give a blow job,” I retort, earning myself a chastising look.
“I’ll enjoy it more if you do it the way I like.”
I flip him off, for old times’ sake. He grabs my hand and sucks my middle finger into his mouth.
A jolt of pleasure grips my spine as heat wraps around me, settling into a dull ache of pleasure between my thighs.
“Is that a request?” I manage, but his wicked tongue is messing with my head.
“I prefer those hands engaged in more productive pursuits,” he rasps when he releases me.
For once, I’m not arguing.
I turn my attention back to his hard cock. I wrap my fingers around him, using the wetness from his mouth to slide up and down.
His exhale is half-groan and entirely sexy.
I take him in one long ambitious stroke until he hits the back of my throat.
