Wade
I don’t know what it is, but something’s changed between us. I saw it in Harlow’s smile when I got back to the house today. Felt it in the clutch of her hands on my chest when she wanted that minute more.
And tonight, it’s in the kiss she gives me when we get to the truck. It’s slow and sweet. Lingering. And when her eyes come up and meet mine—yeah, something’s changed.
We don’t spill into the hotel room, tearing at each other’s clothes like we can’t waste a second of the precious time we’ve got left. We walk in together, fingers tangled in a loose hold. I sit in the wingback chair by the window and pull Harlow onto my lap.
“I didn’t know about the elevator,” she says, playing with my knuckles.
“It was epic.”
“It’s sad.” She shakes her head. “Wade, you were right there, and I missed you. I didn’t even notice. Why? Because of some regulatory report? Because I was killing myself for a job I didn’t even get?”
“Harlow,” I start, but when her eyes come up to meet mine, they’re brimming with tears. They gut me, have my heart beating harder as I hold her close. “Don’t cry.”
“I don’t want to miss any more.”
I slip a hand around her neck and draw her in for a kiss. Then, holding her in my arms, I cross to the bed where we lie down together. Fully dressed, shoes off.
“Okay, Good Girl. No more missing out.” She nestles closer, peering up at me from my shoulder. “Tell me. What’s the first thing we’re going to do when we get back to Chicago?”
Jesus, those eyes. That look.
I know what I want it to mean. I know how I feel.
It’s too soon. But there’s no rush.
Finding my voice, I tease, “But keep it on this side of the law. I like to keep my nose clean.”
Wade
It’s still dark. Harlow’s legs are entwined with mine, her body tucked close.
We’re both early risers, but this seems—
I hear it then. The repetitive vibration of her phone from where it’s charging beside the bed.
“Good Girl,” I murmur, hating to wake her, but I know she’s got her phone on Do Not Disturb, which means whoever is calling at 4:37 a.m. must be important. “Your phone’s ringing.”
She lifts her head, sleepy and adorable. Confused.
“Harlow. Your phone.”
Her eyes clear, and she fumbles for the phone, almost knocking a lamp over in the process. But then she’s got it. I can’t see the screen, but the voice booming through the line can only be one man.
And I hate him.
“Harlow, Junior totaled his car.”
“Is—is he okay?” She staggers from the bed, her voice stricken.
I slip out the other side, flipping the light on and coming around to rest my hand at her back.
I’m already making plans in my head. I’ll pack while she gets the details. Drive her back today. Be back for the wedding tomorrow, depending—
“He’s in the hospital.” Irritation snaps through the line. “Says the drugs were the girl’s. Escort. Press got to her before we could and—” He sighs. “Going to be a damn mess to clean up this time.”
Harlow stares at the phone like she doesn’t know what to say. And yeah, it’s a lot to unpack. “He’s in the hospital? God, how bad was he hurt? Does… Sandy know?”
There’s a beat of cold silence and she physically winces from it. I’m about to take that fucking phone myself when he answers. “Sprained wrist. Some bruises. He’s my son. He’ll be fine. But I’ve decided he’ll go to rehab.”
Her breath comes out in a rush, and she nods. They aren’t close, but this is the only family she has.
“I’m glad it wasn’t more serious. But maybe rehab will be a good thing for him.”
“It’s the best place to park him until this blows over.”
Harlow’s eyes cut to mine and she mouths an apology. I shake my head and hold her hand. Then, giving her the most reassuring smile I’ve got, I mouth the word “coffee” and point at the door.
Gratitude fills her eyes and she sits down at the desk, picking up the pen and notepad. “What can I do?”
I stuff my legs into my jeans and pull on a shirt. Grab my wallet.
A throat clears from across the miles. “Obviously, this changes things. In the short term, we’ll have to distance Junior from PHR. Be at the office at eight.”
“What?” she chokes out, and I stop halfway out the door.
But instead of turning to me, she turns farther away, her shoulders hunching forward.
Privacy. Damn it, I don’t want to leave. If she’d turned toward me, I’d be back at her side. But that’s not what she needs right now. So I close the door behind me. The last thing I hear is her asshole father saying the words Harlow’s been waiting her whole life to hear.
“You want to prove yourself? Here’s your chance.”
I make it to the truck before giving in to the string of expletives clawing at my throat.
This thing between us is too new to compete with the approval of the douchebag who’s been neglecting her, her whole life. We’ve barely begun and I’m going to lose her.
I drive to the gas station and fill up the truck. Clean the windows and check the tires, telling myself not to be a dick by trying to talk her out of going back. Not to remind her of all the shabby shit her father has put her through, when for what sounds like the first time in her life, he’s giving her the credit she deserves.
Only an asshole would try to take that away from her, and that’s not who I want to be to her. Harlow needs a fucking good guy, even if that means I need to drive her back to Chicago and say goodbye in front of the PHR corporate headquarters, knowing there’s a damn good chance there won’t be a place for me in her life after that.
The life she’d been so desperate to escape for a week. Ten days.
Fuck.
I spend the drive to the coffee shop telling myself it’s not over. That come Monday, she’ll want to continue from where we’re leaving off. That I’ll pick her up from work and she’ll throw her arms around my neck, telling me she missed me even though it’s only been a couple days. That it doesn’t matter that her petty, piece-of-shit father won’t approve of me based on my career choice alone. That even though Harlow has spent her entire life killing herself to impress this guy, she’ll still choose to give us a chance. Because she feels it too. Because this thing between us is different… it’s real.
And then I spend the ride back to the hotel telling myself to get my shit together and act like a fucking man because chances are good none of that is going to happen. Harlow is getting a shot at the one thing she’s always wanted, and I’m not going to get in her way.
No matter how hard it will be.
I get up to the room and, bracing with a supportive face that’s backed with a steely will usually reserved for going after what I want rather than letting it go, let myself in. Stop short, not understanding what I’m seeing.
“Where’s the coffee?” Harlow asks from within the still tangled sheets of our bed. Her hair is still a sexy sleep-mussed mess. She’s still swimming in my T-shirt, our clothes from the night before still scattered around the room.
There aren’t any bags. Just the woman I could feel slipping through my fingers, looking like she isn’t going anywhere.
I rub my hand over the spot in my chest that’s hammering harder than it did before my first NHL game.
“In the truck. With breakfast.” Water. Soda. Some snacks and, in case she wanted to try and sleep on the way back, one of those neck pillow things that people love but would straight-up strangle me. “You’re not packed.”
I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Hell, she might only want to sleep another hour or so. She might—
Jesus, please be what it looks like.
Harlow
“I’m not leaving,” I say quietly, somehow more nervous than I was on the phone with my father. Wade doesn’t move and the anxiety that’s been building since he left ramps higher. What if he doesn’t want—
But then, he’s on me in a blink, pulling me hard against him, crushing me with his kiss. Telling me everything I need to know without words.
I cling to him, emotion choking me.
“Thought I was losing you,” he growls against my mouth, arms banded around my back, holding me so my bare feet dangle above the floor.
“No.”
Not when it feels like, for the first time in my life, I’m not missing what matters. I’m not alone.
“I was going to take you.” He lays me back on the bed, following me down. “Let you go if that’s what you needed.” He whips the shirt off my body and does the same with his clothes. Groans when we’re skin to skin. Then pulls back to meet my eyes. “Fuck, Harlow, it was going to kill me.”
I shake my head, run my fingers over his scruff. “I told him I couldn’t leave and I’d be there Monday.” And then the truth I need him to know. “I couldn’t leave you.”
“Just for this week?”
“What if it’s more than this week?” I ask softly.
His eyes close and then he kisses me again, so long and deep, when he stops, we’re tangled together. “So you’re mine, really mine?”
Mine.
No one has ever wanted me to be theirs. And the way this man does, so openly, so completely… it makes my heart ache so hard I can barely breathe through it.
Hands shaking, I trace the lines of his face. Slip my knee higher up his ribs. Inviting. “I’m yours.”
God, the sound he makes. It’s pure possessive relief.
And then he’s pushing inside me. Thick and long. Slow and gentle.
He fills my body the way he’s filling my heart. Completely. And when it feels like he’s given me all I can take, he says my name with quiet reverence… and gives me that much more.
We move together. Eyes locked. Bodies straining.
It’s beautiful.
It’s making love. My first time. And I never want to stop.