Page 62 of Enemies

“It had to be the old guy with kids.” I curse and blink my eyes open as he smirks.

“Don’t make plans.”

To buy myself an inch of breathing room, I shift up so I’m sitting on the table.

“I’ll have to prepare for my final two shows. Especially since one is next Saturday. Besides, I thought you were spending every second convincing Christian to sell you La Mer.”

His gaze flickers. “I decided to leave him time to sleep, and eat, and fuck his wife.”

“How charitable,” I tease.

I realize my mistake immediately as he steps between my knees, forcing my legs apart.

“A man needs a release, Raegan. It’s not healthy to work all day without satisfaction at night.”

There are mere inches between us, and my heart is racing.

Keeping my voice level is an impossible task. “I don’t celebrate my birthday.” I lift the glasses from his face, folding them and tucking them into the breast pocket of his jacket. “It’s cursed.”

He snorts. “How do you figure?”

“It’s a long story. And you should be warned… everyone has a birthday. I might get you back on yours.”

Blue eyes darken to a flinty gray. “You’d have to stick around.”

Surprise has me straightening even as footsteps from upstairs interrupt. Natalia.

Harrison leans across me to close the case of glasses, near enough his scent invades my senses.

“Two extra days is one thing, but I can’t imagine staying longer,” I murmur, though suddenly I’m wondering what it would be like. “For one, there’s the small issue of you hating me.”

“I never hated you. I wanted you to fix the damage your words caused.”

“You wanted to punish me,” I challenge. “I got up in your business and dared to ask questions, and you didn’t like it.”

His gaze roams my face, then lower. Harrison moves my hair behind my shoulder before wrapping it around his hand like a rope. He tugs on it, forcing my head back, and leans in, his mouth grazing my ear. “I still want to punish you.”

His hips press closer, near enough that I feel his hard length between my thighs.

With one jerk of his hands, he could have me on my back.

I want him to.

But when his phone goes off, he shifts away. I resist the urge to wipe my forehead and see if it’s damp as the rest of me.

“Don’t bother arguing about the birthday,” he says when he pockets the device again. “You’ll need to pack a couple of bags for our outing.”

“I only have one. What kinds of activities are we doing?”

He turns for the door.

“Drinking? Walking? Swimming?” I demand.

“Yes.”

I exhale, irritated by the lack of specificity. “Are there sharks?”

He turns back, his heated gaze sweeping my body. “Count on it.”

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