“I have ice.”
He limps toward me. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry I yelled.”
“It’s...”
I smirk. “You were going to say fine?”
“Guilty.”
I motion to the bed. “Sit down.”
He removes his shoes and positions himself against the headboard, and I put the cold packs on his quads.
I glance around the room, unsure of what to do.
“Harper.” He pats the bed next to him.
I kick off my sandals and obey. I hug my knees to my chest and sigh.
“Can I ask you something without you thinking I’m judging you?” he asks.
I tilt my head, resting it on my forearm. “Okay.”
“Why aren’t you practicing law anymore?”
This will be the final nail in your coffin. After this, he’ll never have any desire to touch you again.
I attempt not to answer. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re Mr. I Have It Together.”
He groans. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. And Marquis’s Top Ten Under Forty Professionals agrees.”
“God, I hate being on that list.”
“Why? You should be proud.”
His face hardens.
“I’ll tell you my truth if you tell me yours.”
He hesitates for a moment then finally gives in. “Okay. You first.”
I hug my legs tighter. “I didn’t enjoy it, and when my ex-husband served me divorce papers and had already raided all our bank accounts, I decided all my years of work didn’t get me anywhere. So if I was going to spend eighty hours a week doing something, it should be something I love.”
“Your ex stole all your money?”
“Yep. Millions.”
“The judge didn’t make him pay you back?”
I hide my face in my arms. “Ugh. This is so embarrassing.”
“What is? It’s not your fault he was a dickhead.”
“No, but I signed the papers and didn’t go after anything.”
“Why?”
Hearing myself say it out loud only makes me feel more foolish. “I didn’t want anything created during our marriage. I know it’s financial suicide, and now I’m paying the price for my emotional stupidity, but at the time, it just...” I get choked up. “It hurt too bad.”
Silence.
And now he knows what an idiot you are.
“When did you get divorced?”
“A few years ago. I backpacked around Europe, thinking I’d find myself, but I didn’t. I’m no closer to knowing what to do with my life than the day I got divorced. And I used to have it all together—the career, the husband, the luxury lifestyle. But it didn’t make me feel happy or fulfilled. And maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m so screwed up, I need to just accept reality. But I keep thinking, life can’t be this empty. Surely it’s supposed to be full of happiness and a sense of purpose.”
More silence.
Now you’ve done it. Blurted out all your insecurities.
“I can understand why you didn’t want anything from him,” he says.
I lift my head out of my arms. “You can?”
His blue eyes fill with pain. “Yeah. It’s similar to why I don’t want anything from the sperm donor. And every day, I try to escape the fact I only got my job because he set up my interview. Hell, for all I know, he told them to hire and promote me.”
“He’s not responsible for your success.”
Steven snorts. “I’ll never know.”
“He’s not. You’re brilliant. And you’re dedicated.”
“And boring, boring, boring,” he mutters.
“You aren’t boring.”
He snorts. “Tell that to my co-workers.”
“They told you that?”
“No, but they had no problem telling Marquis. All anyone has to do is read the article.”
I turn my body and crisscross my legs. “I read the article.”
His face turns red. He groans then mutters, “Awesome.”
“I thought it was. Why don’t you?”
“Can we change the subject?”
“Nope. The deal was you’d tell me if I spilled my personal details.”
“Spoken like a true attorney.”
“Ha! Now talk.”
“Did you read the articles on the other nine people?”
“Yes.”
“There’s your answer.”
“Not following, you’re going to have to be a little more clear.”
“Extremely serious.” He puts his fingers in quotes.
“You are serious. It isn’t a bad thing.”
“Very motivated by numbers.”
I raise my hand. “Question.”
“What?”
“Aren’t you the VP of Finance?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. So what’s wrong with that? Most people wish they understood numbers better.”
He avoids answering. “Scheduled like a superhuman.”
“And this comment is bad, why?”
He puts his head back and focuses on the ceiling.
“Well, I read the article on the plane and thought you were sexy, and smart, and trustworthy. And assumed you were probably a badass in the boardroom, but I didn’t think those things about any of the other nine.”
His lips turn up. “You thought I was sexy?”
“Still do.”
He blurts out, “Two of my exes went on national television and did a tell-all.”
My pulse quickens. I softly say, “I heard about it.”
“Awesome.” He turns away.
I turn his chin toward me. “I think most guys would pay to get the exposure they gave you, if it makes you feel any better.”
“I’m not like most guys.”
I stroke the side of his head. “No. You aren’t.”
He turns away again and mutters, “I wish I were. It would make things so much easier.”
I slide on top of him, straddling his hips, and lace my fingers in his hair. “I’m glad you’re not. Being like everyone else is overrated.” I shouldn’t do it, but he’s too tempting. I lean forward and kiss him. It’s only a peck, and I pull back, inches from his mouth.
Moments pass, and his erection hardens underneath me. We lock eyes, and our chests both rise and fall faster.
His arms circle me, and he hungrily tastes my mouth, swirling his tongue against mine. He strokes his finger along my spine, and I shiver as fiery heat burns in my veins.
“Sorry, I know I’m uncertainty,” I whisper against his lips.
He groans. “You’re killing me, Harper,” he murmurs then palms my head and kisses me with more urgency.
I reach for his pants.
He grips my hands. “What time do Jamison and Quinn leave tonight?”
“Not till eight. We have lots of time.”
He kisses me again then flips me on my back. The ice goes flying and thuds on the wood floor. While brushing his lips on my neck, he says, “Good, I have time to take you on a date before they leave.”
“You don’t have to—”