In Pursuit (27 page)

Claire never responds.

The next morning, I head back to Claire’s apartment to carefully repack my belongings. On Wednesday, I grabbed completely impractical things, and I’ve also got a few loads of laundry that need my attention.

I’m folding my clothes when Amanda calls.

“Hi there,” I answer nervously.

“Good morning, darling!” she trills, her voice decidedly light.

 “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to schedule some more time with you next week. Peter wants to be part of our next meeting. Does Saturday work?”

She has no idea.

“Of course. How about an afternoon appointment, say around two?”

“Perfect! And you’ll have some fabric samples by then?”

“You bet,” I say listlessly. This whole conversation feels dirty. I know something that Amanda should know.

“Bye!”

Then she’s gone, and I’m left wondering what in the hell I’m doing.

When Harris alerts me that he’s waiting downstairs I lug a weekend bag, my everyday tote, and his travel Gucci into the elevator. The extra weight slows me down, but as soon as I see him, I’m invigorated. Harris leans against the same car we were in a few days ago. He’s in another one of his expertly tailored suits, this one a dark navy, nearly black.

I pause, soaking in the sight of him. He’s strength, power, and raw masculinity rolled into one sexually charged package. When his eye meets mine, a slow sensual grin slinks across his face. I drop everything except my tote – I can’t afford to break my laptop – and race toward him. His long legs carry him closer to me with two lengthy strides, and then he’s lifting me up into his arms to give me a smacking kiss.

 “You’re real,” he says, breaking the kiss, but keeping our lips lightly touching as he speaks.

“So are you.” I break the contact and press my cheek to his, inhaling his citrusy scent. I barely hold back my moan of pleasure.

He settles me down on my feet, and his grin turns into a look of displeasure.

“What’s wrong?” I ask quickly.

Does he know about Claire and Peter?

“My girlfriend shouldn’t lug bags around like she’s homeless.” He fixes me with a stern look. 

His words hit a very sensitive spot in my gut because, at the moment, I feel like a hopeless wanderer with no place to call home.

“I asked Claire to chat on Sunday.”
She’s just ignoring me.

 “But on the bright side,” he leans down to gently nip at my lower lip. “I get you all to myself this weekend, without any interruptions.”

Moving to my tiptoes, I nuzzle our noses together. “Then stop wasting time, let’s get this party started.”

With a quick swat to my ass that leaves me laughing out loud, he picks up my discarded things and deposits them in the trunk.

The ride back to his place is thankfully brief. Within a few minutes, Harris and his driver Max are moving all of our bags into the foyer of his home. After thanking Max I drift toward the terrace, eager to feel the fresh air. I lean against the railing, inhaling the city as I survey the buildings before me.

The source of my new joy cups my spaghetti-strapped shoulders with his hands and presses a kiss into my hair.

“It felt like six weeks apart instead of two and a half days,” he says softly.

The weight of my secret dampens my mood. When Sean asked me if I trusted Harris, I said yes. Deep down I know that I can tell him without fear of a negative consequence.
You are mine, and I am yours
he’s told me. If I’m ready to commit to that promise, then I must be honest with him.

“I need to tell you the real reason I moved out,” I confess. Spinning my sandaled feet, I twirl to face him. “When I went home on Wednesday night, I accidentally saw Claire with Peter.”

He frowns deeply, but doesn’t respond.

“They were together.”

Harris sighs, placing his hands on my shoulders and positioning me back toward the view. He wraps both arms around my chest, tugging my back into his front side. The grip is rigid, his body taunt.

“I was afraid something like that had happened.” His voice sounds tight. 

“I couldn’t tell you over the phone,” I murmur.

“It’s okay, baby.” He sighs, wearily. “Let me handle this.”

“I didn’t want to confront Claire, because I don’t really think it’s my business. But when we’re just starting dating, and the conflict with my career… I can’t live there anymore,” I admit.

“No, probably not.”

“Um, there’s Amanda, too. You know she’s my client and sort of a friend. Do you think I should say something to her? Is it my place?”

“Let me talk to my sister first.” He settles he chin on the top of my head, nestling our bodies together. “We’ll start there, and then figure out what you should do. Together.”

We’re silent for a long while, contemplating the city. He accepted my revelation so easily. He didn’t seem surprised, more like resigned. Perhaps exhausted by her other exploits?

With each breath, I sense he’s relaxing. The tension in his body eases away and I want to keep him in that state of mind. We have plenty of time to talk about his relationship with Claire; now I want to cheer him up.

Finally, he speaks. “Would you be mad if I kept you to myself tonight?”  

“Please.”

He groans behind me. “That word reminds me of what it’s like to have you in my bed.”

I erupt in giggles. “What happens there? I forget.” He turns me around quickly and grips my wrist, tugging me back toward the apartment.

“Show, rather than tell,” he says gruffly as we enter his bedroom. He picks me up easily, and tosses my body, which is shaking with laughter, onto the bed. With an exaggerated growl, he dives down to me, raining kisses over my cheeks.

Several hours and one shower later, I’m once again bundled up in Harris sweatpants and t-shirt.
No underwear,
he commanded as I hunted for clothing.
Why?
I asked with raised eyebrows.
If you need to ask, then I obviously didn’t go a good enough job showing you.
He winked at me, and I all but melted into a pile of lovesick goo at his feet. Even though I had a bunch of clothing in my weekend bag, Harris told me it’s sexier to see me in his clothes than my own. Of course, I’d rather be wrapped in his scent over my mine, so I greedily oblige. His shirts have just the right amount of fabric softness, ideal for snuggling.

We’re back on the balcony, eating pizza and sipping sparkling water. City dwellers zip around the streets below, but up here the mood is serene. Nowhere to be, nothing to do, but live in the moment. Together.

Then he clears his throat, alerting me that something serious is coming. We’re sitting next to each other at the large wood table, he at the head and me to his immediate left, so that we can indulge in the view while we dine.

“Edith, tell me why that song had such a powerful hold over you.”

A flush clears the color from my face. I play dumb. “What song?”

“
I Think of You.
” My faux confusion is clearly not deterring him. “Remember the day I played it, when I took you home from the textile shop? Then, when Greg mentioned it, you went so white, I thought he had somehow sucked all of the peachy goodness from your cheeks.”

 At that, I fight back a slight smile. Then I force myself to study him, really read his expression. It’s empathetic, understanding, and open. With him I’ve found a partner to share the hurt that keeps me awake at night, that keeps me from evolving and moving on.

“Yes.” The word escapes in a sigh. I push my plate away and scoot back in my chair. “That song is, well, I don’t exactly know why, but very meaningful to my dad. Maybe the lyrics remind him of my mom, I’m not really sure.” My voice cracks and his free hand flies to mine, dovetailing our fingers together. I nod my thanks, and forge ahead. “Anyway, he would play it sometimes. Loud. Really, really loud. I’d sit in my bedroom listening.” A defiant tear snakes down my cheek. “It’s a painful memory for me, because we never sought comfort in each other. Our rooms shared a wall, but it was like we were continents apart. I just wanted a dad, and not a roommate.”

Harris presses the pad of his thumb to my lips, silencing me. Then he moves in, kissing the wet trail on my cheek.

Against his finger I say, “I’m okay.”

“You are more than okay,” he agrees, leaning in for a tender kiss. It stops me in my tracks, because whether either of us ready to admit it or not, this display speaks louder than any words could. The way his lips gently coast over mine conveys unsaid sentiments.

I want to ask him about Cooper, I want to know what pain he has but from the way he is studying me, I know that more questions are coming. His thumb slides down my cheek, neck, shoulder, to the crook of my elbow, leaving shivers in its wake. The delightful touch is not enough to deter the conversation, though.

“Tell me about your relationship with your dad.”

“What relationship?” I scoff. Then I immediately cover my mouth with my hand, trying to push the escaped question back inside.

“Don’t be ashamed of how you feel,” Harris tells me. “From everything I’ve heard and seen, he doesn’t seem like much of a father.”

“No, he wasn’t the best,” I admit. “But under the circumstances, I can’t say I blame him. He was only twenty when he lost my mom, and he didn’t know how to raise a little girl by himself. ”

“I don’t buy that,” Harris says roughly, causing me to wince. Both hands grip my upper arms and he hauls me closer so that he has my full attention. “You were the child, and he was the parent. It was on him to support you, love you, tell you he’s proud of your accomplishments.”

“It’s not that easy,” I spit back at him, anger bubbling. Not at him, no, but for the years of loneliness.
Why wasn’t I enough for my dad?
“I think I remind him of her. My musical talents all came from her. And once, when she was tipsy my grandmother said -” I nearly choke on the words, because at an earlier time, they both thrilled and disturbed me. As soon as I get a hold of my power of speech, I go on. “Lauren and Edith Neff are the same person, down to personality ticks. I stretch my fingers before I play the piano, just like her.”

“All the more reason for your dad to treasure you.”

My gaze travels to the cityscape before us. I blink as they lose focus. “He could have been a better father.”

“Damn right.” Silence, and then, “Edith?”

I shake my head to clear the fuzzy thoughts. “Yes?”

“Forget about your dad for a moment, and listen to me. You’ve done something to me that I never thought was possible again. God, you make me happy, you evoke these feelings that I never knew myself capable of. Do you realize I was consumed with jealousy that night at Luminous? Every guy there wanted you, and of course fucking Warden had his hands on you. I nearly ripped them off.”

My eyebrows rise in shock at his vulgarity and honesty.

 “You get jealous?” I ask shyly, a smile playing at my lips and my distress over my crappy relationship with my dad fading to the background. 

He smirks, the intensity dissipating. “That was before you became mine, and I became yours. Now, not so much.”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly. I press a kiss to his neck, but then he settles me back into my chair, and he in his.

“What do you want to ask me about?” he says, changing the subject abruptly, opening himself up to the potential of painful reveals.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him about his brother, but there’s so much I want to know about him, that I decide to put that painful topic on hold.

“Your parents.” I don’t frame it as a question, to make the statement as nonthreatening as possible.

“Go right for the good stuff, huh?” he mutters, a wry smile appearing.

I push his lengthy pants up higher on my legs so I can hug my knees to my chest as I wait for him to continue.

“It’s probably clear to you that Claire and I don’t have a close relationship with our mom and dad. Partially due to them living in Sydney.”

That's not what she told me, but I get that.

“Australia?”

“The one and only.” The conversation hits a lull as he mulls over something, his gaze unfocused.