Page 173 of Enemies

I drop to my knees at his side.

“Christian sold La Mer to Mischa.” The words are low and brittle. “I’ve been trying to find evidence to exonerate my parents—in London and before. But it was all a ruse to run up Mischa’s bid. It’s over. Everything I’ve fought for the past decade is gone.”

His agony shreds me. I’ve seen him furious, controlling. I’ve seen him caring, wanting. I’ve never seen him broken.

“But why would Christian give you all this time to prove yourself, then go back on his word at the last minute?”

“I offended his pride.”

I shift over his lap, straddling him. “Does this have to do with turning down his offer of La Mer in exchange for marrying his daughter?”

Surprise flares in his eyes that I know. “Yes.”

“That’s fucked up,” I breathe.

“His offer or the fact that I declined it?”

“Both.” What kind of twisted shit is it that a man would trade his daughter for a property? I think of meeting Christian, how devoted he seemed to his family. “If he made you the offer, he must have thought you’d accept it. So why didn’t you?”

Harrison angles his head back against the lounger, looking at me through half-lidded eyes. “You know why.”

I run my hands over Harrison’s jaw, the unshaven shadow rough against my thumbs.

“Whelan was arrested today,” I say. “Tell me you had nothing to do with it.”

His eyes go flat. “He raped you.”

“I know, I was there,” I retort. “Did you know about his arrest when I came to see you at the club earlier?”

His nostrils flare, and I have my answer even without him speaking a word.

“I told you I’m not a perfect man. Sometimes I’m not even a good one. You said you liked that about me.”

“I like that we’re both imperfect and we can figure things out together,” I argue. “Not that you snap your fingers and make decisions regular people don’t get to make.”

He shoves out from under me and I nearly fall onto the concrete patio.

“There was no question about turning down Christian’s offer last summer, just as there was no question about sending Whelan to prison.”

He stalks to the end of the balcony.

“Because you always make the right decisions?” I shout after him.

He turns, the towel falling off his bleeding hand. “Because I fucking love you!” he roars.

Shock reverberates through my body.

He stares down at me, daring me to argue with him.

Harrison King loves me.

This man who buys and sells property, travels the world, pursues vendettas and does it all in a custom suit to hide behind the pain he’s endured and the enormous pressure he’s put on himself, loves me.

I cross to him and pick up the towel. Reaching for his hand, I wrap the clean side of the fabric around his knuckles again.

“I’m glad you didn’t get La Mer from Christian,” I say. “Because then I wouldn’t have you.” My hand slips between the buttons of his shirt, my fingers grazing the scar I know by memory. “People can mark us, but they can’t define us. We can move on and live again and trust again.” You taught me that. “What did Mischa win, really? A pile of concrete built by another man? You’ve taken a warehouse and dreamed it into a place people can be free and feel alive. It’s going to be spectacular. You can make your own legacy as someone who creates, not merely conquers. Tell me you want that.”

Because if he does, he’ll find a way to get it. This man I fell for without wanting to.

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