“Then stay focused. This is going to be the dance floor?” I motion to the center of the space. “What about bars?”
“On either side. Come to my office. I’ll show you the drawings.”
“It’s better out here.”
Harrison’s slow grin is devastating. “You don’t trust yourself alone with me.”
“I don’t trust you.”
But I need more than his word that this place will be performance-ready in six months. So, I follow him.
“You think I’m sufficiently base,” he murmurs as I fall into step beside him, “that while you’re looking at floor plans, I’ll reach over and unfasten the button on those jeans. Peel them down your legs but leave them on your ankles when I lift you onto the desk because the idea of you being trapped turns me on.”
His words might as well be stroking up my inseam, rubbing against my clit at the top, for the way they affect me.
He pauses outside the door, angling his aristocratic profile toward me. “Or do you think I’ll find out if you’re wearing the lingerie you bought to wear for me on your birthday?”
He’s smug, but the way he grips the door handle, as if all of this matters more than he’s letting on, makes me ache.
“I didn’t buy it for you.”
“You bought it to see if you could bring me to my knees,” he corrects. “Be careful what you wish for. You might enjoy the view.”
He holds the door, and when I finally brush past him, I’m still thinking of him that night after Debajo, how breathtaking it was to have him over me and inside me, dragging us both over a cliff to a fate neither of us wanted to escape.
How much more devastating could he be from his knees?
His control is one thing. His reverence would be another.
I understand he had reasons for not being available the morning after he left me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll fall into bed with him now. Neither will I give up who I am or what I want to get caught up in his world.
The office is spacious, a large L-shaped desk facing the door and a coffee table with a low gray sofa and two plush-looking chairs in one corner. Behind the door sits a row of filing cabinets. It’s a mashup of used minimalist pieces and opulence.
He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the contrast.
“I’m surprised at your persistence,” I comment.
He leaves the door ajar, possibly to make me more comfortable.
Or to prove that whatever’s going to happen between us won’t be derailed by a dozen contractors.
“At recruiting a DJ?”
“At recruiting me.” I select the chair nearest the door and sink into it, lifting Ernie into my lap—possibly to use as a canine shield. “There are plenty of people you could hire with less baggage.”
“You’ve repeatedly told me you only have one bag. And still you manage to lose it.”
I ignore the tug in my chest at his familiar teasing. “Is this about sex? Because if you think what happened between us the last night in Ibiza is enough to make me fall back into bed with you, you’re wrong.”
“If it was only about sex, I’d have you on your back right now.”
He’s utterly confident he’s right. But if it’s not about sex for him, what’s left?
“You were engaged once,” I say. “It ended badly. I have a hard time believing you’re here to sweep me off my feet.”
Harrison rummages through a stack of papers on his desk, tugging at the knot on his tie. When he crosses to me, laying blueprints out on the coffee table and claiming the next chair, I can’t help inhaling his scent.
“There’s a fascinating mile between you screaming my name and me on my knee with a box, love.”