Page 127 of One Wrong Move

Harper changes in the bathroom and emerges wearing the same outfit she’s slept in at home for the past few days. A camisole and shorts. Her hair is braided and hangs down her back, but small curls have managed to escape and frame her face in wispy ringlets. She’s beautiful. And tired, trying to cover a yawn with her hand.

I’m lying on my back on top of the covers.

“Hey,” she says, smiling.

“Hi.”

She pads across the space to her side of the bed. Her side. I feel too light. Like I’m not living in this reality, but some kind of fantasy, a world where I get to do things like this.

We haven’t spoken about it. About us.

Haven’t said a word more than friends help friends come and want to sleep down here? Everything else has been unspoken, unsaid, the words too real to be uttered. We’re still just mere friends who find each other attractive.

Bringing up this discussion might change things.

Might change everything.

Harper climbs into bed, and I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I return, she’s snuggled in the covers, and the room is silent apart from her soft breathing. It’s also dark, lit only by the lights from beyond the window.

“Want me to close the blinds?” I ask.

Her voice is sleepy. “No. I can see the Eiffel Tower from where I’m lying. I want to see it all night long.”

“While you’re sleeping?”

“I want to know it’s there,” she says. “And I want to wake up to it. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.” I slide in behind her, not hesitating in the least now. She’s already turned her back to me and is lying on her side, perfectly arched.

I’ve learned to spot her invitations.

Shifting nearer to her side, I wrap my arm around her waist. I’ve skipped the T-shirt tonight, and the bare skin of her arms and upper back is silky against mine.

“You’re right,” I say into the fragrant mass of her hair. “You can see the Eiffel Tower from here.”

“I don’t want this weekend to ever end,” she whispers.

I tighten my grip around her. “It won’t.”

There’s a smile in her voice. “I added something to my list.”

“Did you? This system of yours is very convenient.”

She sighs. “This isn’t something I’ve done, yet.”

“Oh? What is it?”

I settle deeper into the softness of the bed, closer to Harper’s warmth, and slide my leg between hers. Feel the rise and fall of this incredible woman’s chest beneath my arm, and watch the distant lights of the city.

“I want to kiss someone in front of the Eiffel Tower.”

My smile is hidden against her neck. “Someone?”

“Mm-hmm.” Beneath the covers, her hand covers mine, pulling it up to her chin. “Someone like you.”

Experiencing Paris with Harper is better than both of the previous times I’d been in the city for business. By miles. She’s genuinely happy, authentically curious, and wondrously amazed at everything we see. I don’t know if I’ve ever known such sincerity.

She cries in the Louvre.

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