Page 138 of One Wrong Move

“I can’t deny you anything,” I say, “except personal space.”

Harper chuckles again. Her ass is distractingly near, rubbing against my rapidly awaking cock. My right hand is resting against her ribs, fingers grazing her breast. She smells good. Like herself and sex and hotel linen.

“Nate,” she says while managing a brisk escape. One moment she’s here, and then she’s gone, sliding out of the sheets. “I’ll be right back!”

“I’m counting the seconds.” I turn onto my back. The room is cast in partial sunlight from the drawn drapes, the glow entering through the narrow gaps. Despite the intensity of the night, I’m half-hard again.

I grin up at the ceiling.

And what a fucking night.

Sleeping with Harper had been a constant fantasy of mine. For the past four years, I’ve used my right hand while imagining us in various positions. Often feeling guilty. But that did not stop the visions from playing out in my mind.

Reality has been so much better than anything my mind had ever conjured up.

“Nate?” Harper’s tentative voice comes from the bathroom.

I sit up in bed. “Yes?”

“I think I’m gonna jump straight into the shower,” she calls.

I throw back the sheet. Lord knows I need one, too. “We can take one together,” I say. “Let’s save water.”

“So climate-conscious,” she retorts.

“Of course. It’s one of Contron’s core values for the upcoming decade.” I’m grinning as I grip the handle. Open the bathroom door.

Harper is standing in front of the giant mirror, beneath the spotlights.

And she’s fully naked.

Turning every which way to look at her reflection, a tiny smile on her lips. “I’m covered in your come,” she says.

I freeze at the threshold. Possessiveness so strong it’s like a tidal wave sweeps through me, and I harden in an instant, staring at the woman I’ve spent all night making mine.

It might not mean that. Not to her. But in an animalistic, primal part of my mind, that’s exactly what I’d done. Every single time she came with my name on her lips… and every time I filled her up.

She looks at me, a blush creeping up her fair cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. I love it.” I wrap my arms around her waist from behind. “Besides, I’m the one who left it there, wasn’t I?”

“Mm-hmm. Yes, you are.” She leans her head against my shoulder and watches us in the mirror. She’s so beautiful. Long legs, curved hips, pink nipples, and wild hair.

“And now, you want to wash away my pretty markings,” I say in a tutting voice, brushing my hand over her hip, her thigh, between her legs.

She laughs. “I never pegged you as the possessive type,” she says. Turns in my arms and pulls me toward the giant shower. “Happy, charming, easy-going Nate Connovan.”

I reach past her and turn on the water. There’s no other place on Earth I’d rather be at this moment than right here with her naked and smiling in my arms. “Maybe I’m only easygoing about things that don’t matter,” I say. I don’t add the next thought that comes to mind.

Of course I’m possessive… when it’s you.

We hit one more museum before driving back to London. It’s a lengthy trip—four hours to the Channel and then almost two more back to the city. But I’ve never been one to mind driving long distances.

And when Harper is in the passenger seat, I could keep driving forever.

She’s chatty. Happy. She spins through music, plays a lot of her favorites, talks about the weekend that passed. She’s wearing the same short skirt from last night. And more than once I find myself resting my hand on her thigh while driving on the highway.

I don’t know if that’s friendly.

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