by Laura Burton
He thinks he owns me.
Harry wanted to take him by the scruff of the neck and demand more respect. His brother Jonas wouldn’t even hesitate, but he owned a chain of CrossFit gyms and had the biceps to match the image. One punch would knock Matt off his chair and have him scrambling across the floor like a bug. Harry smirked to himself as he pictured it. Harry, however, was not his brother. He was the peacekeeper. The gentle one. Not an alpha.
“I’m sure we can work this out. Perhaps I can delay the tour a couple of days. I’ll need to make a few calls.”
“I don’t care what you have to do. If Sabrina isn’t able to do the tour, I’m not going.” Matt rose to his feet and stared at Harry with a dark look as if daring him to argue. The two of them had been talking for two hours, eating into Harry’s day. He glanced at his watch and gave Matt a nod in defeat.
“I’ll update you in the morning. Just try not to worry.”
Matt strode across the room like he owned the place, swaggering his hips and moving his arms dramatically. A petite woman entered the room, blushing at Matt as he passed by.
“Mr. Jackson, you are expected at the Tower in twenty minutes,” she said in her strong New Yorker accent.
Harry rose to his feet and checked his watch again.
“I still have time,” he muttered to himself. “Thanks, Amy. Please get my publicist on the phone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harry clasped his hands together and shrugged in his tailor-made suit jacket. He hated wearing a suit. In fact, he was known to turn up on the red carpet in a pair of denim jeans and a relaxed chambray shirt. As a producer, he got away with the style, but attending an event at Lincoln Center had strict requirements. The cheapest seats were over $400, and with the sizeable ticket price, a formal dress code came with it.
His meeting ran over as usual, forcing Harry to send Benjamin to collect Julie from her apartment. He stood outside the entrance to the opera, a dozen cameras flashing repeatedly, blinding his vision. A babble of chatter filled the air, but he didn’t care. He was so used to the attention, it was as if they were not even there. Minutes rolled by as Harry waited patiently, looking up at the starry night sky. He counted the twinkling lights one by one, seeking out the constellations he recognized. His eyes were tracing out the Big Dipper when a familiar rumble of an engine pulled him out of his thoughts. The flashing lights were no longer facing him but on the black Rolls Royce that had come to a halt outside Lincoln Center. Harry’s face lit up as his heart rate accelerated. His driver Thomas, a tall slender man with very little hair atop his head, gracefully got out of the vehicle and walked to the back door. Excitement and intrigue buzzed through the paparazzi as they anticipated who it might be. Thomas looked over and offered an expectant smile; Harry nodded to him to carry on.
Harry’s breath caught in his chest and his heart thumped against his rib cage. One long bare leg appeared, then another, as the pair of gold-glittered stiletto shoes sparkled in the street lights. Her long cream gown flowed down as she exited the car and the shoes disappeared from view. Thomas’ narrow frame partially obscured Harry’s view as he watched a slender hand grasp the sleeve of Thomas’ black jacket.
“Who is she? Who is it?” one of the reporters asked loudly to the others. The clicks of the cameras buzzed along with the multiple questions from the paparazzi. As if one giant spotlight beamed down on the woman, Thomas moved aside, and Harry wanted to fall to his knees.
She is breathtaking.
The cream-colored dress hugged every curve of her body. A slit to the side revealed the lower half of her right leg, and the V-neckline showed just enough flesh to make any man sweat.
But Harry was not looking at her body anymore, he was transfixed under her gaze—sure that she could give him any command and he would willingly obey. He was utterly charmed. Her eyes were two glowing amber flames. Intense, and inviting. The curve of her lips rippling upward until her cheeks were plump like strawberries he wanted to savor. The image sent tingles down Harry’s spine. He gulped so loudly, he was sure it could be heard even over the noise of the paparazzi. With an air of entitlement, they barked questions at Julie. She didn’t owe them anything. Harry stepped forward automatically and offered his arm to her.
“Hello,” she said softly, sliding her hand through the crook of Harry’s elbow and squeezed his bicep. He flexed under her touch, his muscles tightening instinctively. Her hair was swept up into a loose bun with wispy flyaway hairs framing her porcelain face. Long thick lashes fluttered as her eyes darted around the intrusive paparazzi.
Harry thanked Thomas and sent him on his way; he bowed in response and returned to the car. Benjamin must have exited the car and was now standing still, holding open the doors and nodded to Harry as he and Julie walked past.
“Joseph and Martin are already inside. The box is ready for you,” he said in a low voice, now they were out of earshot of the press.
Harry nodded in acknowledgement and rested his hand on Julie’s; the warmth of her skin against his made him weak. He wanted to caress her face with his hands and grasp the back of her neck. Wild fantasies crossed his mind momentarily until Harry mentally shook himself.
Get a grip.
Harry guided Julie into their private box, and they settled down in the plush velvet cushioned chairs. They had a perfect view of the stage and the sea of people in the audience below. Harry turned to Julie and watched her stare at the theatre with her mouth hanging open.
“Have you been to the opera before?”
Julie looked at him, as if surprised by his question.
“No, never,” she replied. Then after a thoughtful moment she corrected herself. “Once, but I was only a child. I hardly remember it.”
Harry sensed there might be a story there. But before he could probe any further, the lights dimmed and the orchestra erupted into song.
Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off her, as she stared at Catherine Fisher, a world-renowned opera singer, who entered the stage to a round of applause. Catherine was a star and the reason why the show had been sold out for months.
The music was enchanting. The melody rose and fell following a whimsical, beautiful story, floating up to the tall ceiling, lifting the energy. Harry’s head was fuzzy, not only with the music but seeing her hand resting on the arm of the chair, so close to Harry’s wrist. His fingers twitched as he wrestled with the urge to take her hand in his. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, the flowery scent of her perfume drove him crazy.
“Are you enjoying it?”
Julie turned her head, a little too quickly and her nose bumped against his cheek. She blushed and automatically raised her hand to Harry’s cheek. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the moment.
“Sorry,” she blurted and removed her hand. Harry swallowed against a dryness in his mouth. Catching her off guard, he took her hand and rubbed his thumb across her smooth knuckles. Bolts of electricity shot through his arms and straight to his heart. The chemistry between them was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Julie’s eyes widened as she looked at him, the two of them hovering within inches of each other. Harry didn’t blink. He didn’t want to miss a moment looking at Julie. She stared back, as if daring him to make a move.
Harry did not plan to make out with Julie—especially in the middle of the opera! She was a lady. He was a gentleman. He had morals and respect. But she was so tempting and right within his reach, just a breath away.
He was not sure if it was the romantic, heart-soaring music that melted his resolve, or dim lighting casting an ethereal glow around her. But something made Harry forget his surroundings, and he was pretty sure they could have been in the middle of a tropical storm and he wouldn’t have noticed. All he knew was that Julie had her eyes locked on him and nothing else mattered.
“Do you mind if I––?” Harry didn’t finish. There was no need. Julie leaned forward and claimed his lips in the sweetest kiss he had ever known. Her lip gloss tasted like cherry; it w
as addictive and her lips were softer than rose petals.
Harry pressed his forehead against Julie’s and the two of them sat like that with their eyes closed, absorbing every gorgeous moment. The symphony of music and Catherine Fisher’s melodic singing sent them away to their own magical world.
Harry was known to fall in love quickly. He promised himself that after last time, he would keep himself on guard—have fun, but be careful with his heart.
And yet here he was. With Julie’s delicate hand against his chest and her lips pressing against his temple. When she drew away and blinked slowly at him, her cheeks were rosy. Harry decided there was no hope left for him. She had his heart. Every part.
Before his rational mind could stop him. He found himself willfully obeying the impulsive, passionate side of his mind. Without any hesitation, not even a tiny moment of consideration, Harry slid out of his chair onto his knees and looked up at Julie with imploring eyes. He grabbed her hands in his and pressed them to his lips before looking up again.
“Marry me.”
Julie’s eyes grew wide. She blinked at him a few times in a stunned silence. Then, her entire face grew red. Suppressing the urge to jump to her feet and scream with joy, Julie said the first thing that came to mind.
“Sure. Why not?”
Chapter Nine
Madly in Love
Julie decided that the opera should come with a warning sticker.
Careful, heart-stirring music may lead to impromptu proposals.
In the moment, it seemed entirely ordinary to be proposed to. The fancy clothes. The gorgeous music. The mood lighting. It was all a perfect setting to pour out your heart in song and declare your true love.
Yet, Harry quite literally fell to Julie’s feet and said the last two words she thought he’d ever say. To her, at least.
“Marry me.”
And in her shock, she came out with the only thing that sprang to mind, which just so happened to sound like she accepted his proposal.
Rationale did not return at the end of the show. Nor did logic rear its head when Harry and Julie sat in the back of the limousine driving around New York. In fact, the romantic urges only intensified. Now they had some privacy, the heat ramped up and hands started to roam. They were two souls beautifully entwined as they followed wherever their passions took them. The limousine came to a stop outside Julie’s apartment and Harry and Julie broke apart panting and sweaty. Julie’s heart fluttered faster than the wings of a butterfly and she became dizzy, grinning at Harry, as if the pair of them had behaved like a pair of mischievous youths.
Harry hesitated. He looked like he was going to grab her behind the neck and pull her in for another kiss. But his hand froze in midair, and he shook his head with a casual smile.
“Are we crazy?” he asked.
Yes, completely crazy. But I don’t care, thought Julie as she surveyed his face. His hair was disheveled and there were blotches over his forehead.
“Maybe,” she said quietly.
“You know, I don’t even care,” Harry said with fervor, taking her hands in his. “I’ve never felt this good.”
Julie couldn’t argue. Sure, this was their second date and three days ago the two of them were complete strangers, but Harry’s hands were familiar. His kisses were grounding and equally thrilling. The tone of his deep voice and the warmth of his skin against hers made her feel like she had come home. She had never experienced anything like it before. It were as if she was Helen of Troy and he was Paris in a previous life, and they had found each other again.
“I feel like I know you,” Harry said, he gripped her hands tightly and stared at Julie with a total look of vulnerability. This was not just a pick-up line; she was sure of it. Julie’s heart soared.
“I know exactly what you mean,” she whispered, tracing a line down his neck to his collarbone. The touch seemed to lower Harry’s defenses once more and he lunged forward. Julie leaned back against the leather seat as Harry rested the palms of his hands on either side of her. His shoulders rounded and his face lingered millimeters away from hers. He was like a hungry lion and she was his prey. Willingly, she closed the gap and the tension between them reached new dizzying heights.
A vibration broke the two apart. Harry looked down at his leg. As he sat back, Julie took the opportunity to recover herself. Her skin was on fire, as if someone just dialed her sensitivity levels up to maximum.
“Remember, I asked you to come with me to this charity event?” Harry asked, looking up from his phone.
“Yes,” Julie nodded as she gingerly touched her throbbing lips. Harry eyed her.
“Did I mention it’s in London?”
No. He didn’t mention that.
Julie suppressed the urge to gasp and planted a fixed smile on her face.
“England? Great, I’ll be able to see my parents.”
“I wondered if you were British. The accent,” he said, leaning forward and smoothing Julie’s hair with tenderness.
“I’m sounding more American every day. But I thought you’d pick it up, seeing as you are too.”
Harry shook his head. “I’m not British,” he said firmly.
“But you said you went to––” Julie began. Harry raised a hand in the air, as if about to offer up his darkest secrets and Julie fell silent again.
“I said I went to boarding school in England. I didn’t say I was born there.”
“Oh that’s right, sorry. Where did you say you were from again?” Julie asked, blushing profusely. She had been so preoccupied with gazing at Harry’s perfectly chiseled face that she hadn’t paid much attention to their dinner conversation.
“My parents were born in Canada, then settled in Idaho. After their divorce, my mother married an English diplomat and they live in Surrey now.”
“So, you’re kind of British?”
Harry’s face reddened as he laughed.
“How does that make me kind of British?”
Julie chuckled back.
“I don’t know,” she said simply. “But you’re not really Canadian, are you? Not if you were born in Idaho and grew up in a British boarding school.”
“I suppose.” Harry rubbed his chin and looked down in thought. Their heated moment had passed, and Julie looked awkwardly out of the window. An endless stream of raindrops poured against the glass, and she inwardly groaned at the thought of running up the steps to her apartment.
My dress will be like a pile of old rags by the time I get inside.
“Can I walk you to the door?” Harry asked gentlemanly. Julie snapped her head back to him and raised her brows.
“In that?” she gestured to the window with her thumb. “I hardly think there’s any reason for us both to end up like drowned rats.”
“You’re right.” Harry looked thoughtful again. “We’d have to get out of our wet clothes before we catch a cold.”
Julie opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water.
“Mr. Jackson! I have standards, you know.”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Sorry,” he added quickly. He bent down and pulled out a black umbrella from under his seat. “Now, if you would allow me to walk you to the door, I promise that neither of us will be like drowned rats.”
Harry stuck to his word. He expertly shielded them with the black umbrella in the rain as Julie picked up the skirt of her gown and tiptoed up the stone steps. At the door stop, she turned to face Harry, pressed up against his chest, and craned her neck to look at his face.
“Thank you,” she said a little louder than usual. The rain hit the umbrella like a beating drum. It was not as fast as her heartbeat, though. “So, when will I see you again?”
Harry’s eyes creased as his mouth curved upward. He took his free hand and caressed Julie’s cheek.
“Not soon enough,” he replied.
Smooth.
“When are we going to England? I’m not the boss, like you are. I’ll have to ask for time off.” Julie offered a playfu
l grin as she walked her fingers up his sleeve. Harry rested his hand over hers and his eyes moved side to side as he looked into Julie’s eyes with adoration. They were like two long-term lovers sharing a tender farewell.
“The event is Saturday night, we can leave late Friday and be back before Monday.”
That’ll be the shortest visit I’ve ever done.
“Right,” she said brightly. Harry took her left hand and rubbed his thumb across her bare ring finger before lifting it and pressing it with his lips. The skin burned where he touched her, as if she had been branded.
“I’ll send across some details later and see you soon.” His silky voice was enough to make any woman swoon. His face looked like it had been expertly carved out of rock. Chiseled, angular, irresistibly handsome, with deep-set eyes and a strong brow. Julie traced her fingers around his brows and down to his cheekbones.
“Do you….” Julie hesitated. She was going to invite him in, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Not only did her cat not like men and would hiss and launch a claw attack without hesitation, but she had emptied the entire contents of her wardrobe into her living room. She didn’t want to bring Harry in to see that.
Harry made the decision easy. He pecked her on the cheek and pulled her in for a warm hug.
“I have to go,” he said softly, though he took her keys from her fumbling hands. He tried each one until the door finally clicked.
“Thanks again, it’s been a… magical evening,” Julie said with a sigh. She opened the front door and they both turned when a strange noise alerted her to stop moving. A hissing sound followed by the rush of stomping feet.
“What on Earth…?” Julie bent around Harry’s torso seeing the limousine sitting innocently in the rain. The loud hissing faded and the driver got out of the car. One of Harry’s security guards had dashed up the steps to join him, his face flushed and alarmed.
“I’m sorry, sir, it was just a kid. None of us had reason to suspect….” He trailed off before brandishing a piece of paper to Harry, who stood like stone holding the paper firmly in one hand.
