“You were never very patient,” she said with a dismissive shrug, her eyes once again drifting south to his nose . . . only this time, she couldn’t prevent her gaze from sliding even farther down to his mouth. That wide, beautiful, bow-shaped mouth. Once, long ago, she’d become intimately acquainted with those lips. And she had never really forgotten the taste of them, not even with everything that had happened afterward. It wasn’t something she would ever forget. Similar to the way the craving of an addiction stays with you even after you’ve kicked the habit.
“I’m sure you want to get home,” she said pointedly.
“Not particularly. Why don’t we get some breakfast?”
“No. Thank you. Please leave.” His face tightened, and it once again surprised her into glancing up into his eyes. They held a trace of something very much like hurt. She blinked, and it was gone, to be replaced by . . . nothing.
“I suppose I’ll see you around then,” he said after a moment, turning to pick up his jacket, knife, and car keys. When he straightened to face her again, he graced her with a perfectly bland smile. “Please tell Libby to call me if she or the baby need anything.”
“Clara.”
“What?” His straight brows lowered over those deep-set, thickly lashed navy eyes in confusion.
“Libby named the baby Clara.”
He absorbed Tina’s words for a moment before grinning, his even teeth looking even whiter than usual against the darkness of his stubble. It made him look slightly naughty, and Tina battled to regain her breath. Feeling like she’d just tackled the stairs up to her flat again.
“Good for her,” he said. The relish in his voice surprised her, and she tilted her head to stare at him assessingly.
“I thought you hated that name.”
“Nah, I hated the evil bitch with the same name who tutored slash tortured Greyson and me for five years, but I have nothing against the name itself. It’s pretty. But Greyson is going to hate it.”
“Not that he cares,” she reminded him, and his face darkened as that beautiful grin slowly faded from his lips.
“Not now. But he will. And when he does, he’ll sorely regret his behavior and actions these last few months.” His voice was confident but grim.
“And you’re happy about that?”
“It’s petty, but yeah . . . I’m okay with that. He thinks . . .” He paused, his eyes on her face, but his gaze was turned inward.
“He thinks?” Tina couldn’t help prompting, and his eyes snapped back into focus and he winced.
“Shit.” He shook his head. There was something close to vulnerability on his face, and it made her curious.
“Harris?”
“Look, don’t tell Libby, okay? It’ll just upset her more,” he said.
“Don’t tell her what?”
He sucked in a deep breath between his teeth and shook his head again, and this time she knew she wasn’t imagining the vulnerability in his expression. Or the pain in his eyes. He clearly wanted to tell her. If only to share whatever this was with someone else.
“He thinks I’m Clara’s father,” Harris admitted grimly. His voice cracked a bit on the statement, and Tina gasped in horror. This was so much worse than Greyson just accusing Libby of adultery. Accusing her of sleeping with his own brother was seriously twisted. “I told him he was wrong, and I think maybe I got through to him . . . but . . .” Another headshake, this one filled with confusion and a little bit of helplessness.
If he were any other man, Tina would have breached the distance between them and . . . something. Maybe patted his shoulder or taken his hand. Anything to give him the comfort he so clearly needed. But he wasn’t any other man. He was Harrison Chapman, and she despised him.
“It was bad enough before, but that . . .” She shook her head in disgust. “That’s seriously messed up.”
“Don’t tell Libby, please.” It was the please that did it. She probably wouldn’t have told Libby anyway; her friend had enough on her plate as it was, and this information should come from Greyson or Harris, if it ever needed to come out. Tina was not going to burden her friend with this as well. And that softly voiced, desperate little please tacked onto what could have been a command strengthened her resolve.
“She won’t hear it from me. She has enough to deal with right now.”
“Thank you.”
“So polite, Harris,” she couldn’t help stating, her voice carrying just the gentlest hint of mockery.
“My mama raised me right,” he said, his words light but his voice burdened with what sounded like sadness and regret.
Tina chose not to respond. That instance when his upbringing had failed him so completely never far from her mind. She could tell he was thinking about it, too, because he cleared his throat and then shut his eyes for a long moment, as if willing the memory away.