In Pursuit (28 page)

“What are they doing there?” I ask gently.

The trance broken, he continues. “This would be easier to talk about if I was touching you.”

Immediately, I move into his seat so I can curl into his lap. Harris pulls me in close, his hands nestle my head into his chest. I press my cheek to his heart, listening to the steady, reassuring beat.

“The expensive condos, luxury cars, drivers, private planes... it doesn’t all come from the law firm.”

What? So not where I thought the conversation was headed.
Then I realize he said private planes. Plural. Holy moly.

“My parents are in Australia, running a hedge fund and adding to their empire. Mom and Dad both came from money, Mom the legal type, and Dad’s the financial type. Like your parents, they started dating young. Old money brought old money together at a private school on the North Shore. Thankfully, Mom and dad were more down to earth than their parents and sent us to public school.”

I take a deep breath, wondering where he will go next.

“Originally, my dad became a lawyer to support his own family business. Then he met mom, and it was a match made in heaven for their families. He brought clients from his family’s business dealings to the firm. When I graduated from college...” He clears his throat roughly, pausing to stroke my loose hair. We sit still like that for awhile. I lift my hand to the arm holding me to his chest and squeeze him lightly. “After I graduated college, they decided to move to Australia. Dad had some opportunities and extended family there. They left lots of toys in their wake; private jet, trust funds,” he adds bitterly.

“It sounds like a lot of responsibility was thrust on you really fast,” I say gently. “I can see why you take such a large role in Claire’s life. She’s very lucky to have a brother like you looking out for her.” I try to convey how deeply I believe what I am saying.

He presses a kiss into the crown of my head and hums noncommittally. “Does that answer satisfy the question?”

I want Harris to open up to me, tell me about his brother and whatever else lurks beneath the impeccable exterior. He did give up some information about his parents, that was certainly a step forward, so I decide to be happy with the nugget of information and nuzzle deeper into his chest.

“I want to ask you something else, something that might upset you,” he says. My body tenses slightly in anticipation.

“Go ahead,” I encourage dryly. There’s nothing I could do to stop the question.

“Why were you with that prick?”

I know who he means easily.

Maneuvering my body so I can look up at him, I shake my head. “Sarah and Greg introduced me to Jared. At the time, I was feeling vulnerable because I was always the third wheel to my best friends. Also, Dad and I were even more distant than ever.”

“Why?” 

“For one, it wasn’t football season.” I give him a self deprecating grin that he returns with a scowl while he waits on the rest.

“Truthfully, my father and I went for months at a time where our relationship was limited to very basic conversation. I cooked and managed the home, but that was the extent of what we talked about. Hardly warm and fuzzy. We’ve only spoken once since I’ve been here.” I avoid his eyes when I say this, because I called him as a result of the harrowing pain without Harris.

 “Anyway, Jared and his family took interest in me, and it felt good to be included. I always have been desperate to feel part of something bigger than just my own island. It took me a while to realize that they liked the image I could present for their political aspirations more than me as a person.”

Harris tugs me in closer again, stroking at my hair and back in long, sweeping movements. “You’ll tell me if he bothers you again?”

I answer his question with one of my own. “Did you call him?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because you are
mine
, Edith. And I am yours. You know that right?”

I blush furiously, out of happiness. “Yes. Don’t distract me. What did you say to him?”

“To stay the fuck away from you, and if he doesn’t, I’ll ruin him and his father’s shitty career.”

I gasp at the way he nonchalantly recalls the threat. “Harris! You shouldn’t have done that. His family is incredibly well connected, and they could stir up trouble for you or your family or – ”

“I’m better connected, sweet Edith,” Harris smiles darkly. “That little shit thinks
he can push you around because his daddy is a congressman struggling to maintain constituents. Wouldn’t be hard to get him out of office, and I wouldn’t hesitate to do that if he harms you.”

“Harris.”

“I protect what’s mine.”

“And I’m yours,” I whisper into his neck, where my cheek has taken up residence. I’m swept up with the thrill of his protectiveness, a brand new emotion not often bestowed on me.

With his now familiar playful growl, he stands, holding me to his chest. “Now, I’m going to take what’s mine.”

I can’t contain my happy grin.

“You think this is funny?”

“A little.”

“I’ll show you how funny I can be then,” he mutters, placing me on the chaise longue, the scene of our first unsuccessful attempt at intimacy. I’m spread out before him, this time smiling up with trusting eyes. I know Harris won’t hurt me. I have nothing to fear of him.

He clutches my left foot in his hand and then, using his free hand, begins to tickle my instep. I howl, writhing back forth, completely enamored. 

S
aturday begins so well that I forget to have any defense mechanisms in place in case things fall apart. My cursed luck strikes again. I should have known my bliss with Harris couldn’t last too long, but I clung to the hope that we were something special.

Once we made it out of the bedroom, I cooked Harris an extensive breakfast of pancakes, eggs and turkey bacon. After we clean up ̶  this time I won’t leave anything behind for Eleanor ̶ he insists that I pick my poison for the day. Meaning, we can do whatever I want.

“Anything?” I ask as I rifle through my bag. I'm only in a lacy tan thong and a beige bra. His hands settle on my hips and then I feel the rigidity of his erection pressing into my lower back.

“We could always stay here,” he says huskily.

I giggle at the hot trail his breath leaves on my ear. “Let’s go out for a little at least. Take me on a walk on the beach?”

“Only if you don’t mind a stop on the way,” he says, dropping a light kiss on the shell of my ear.

“Anything,” I say. To gain some control back over my body, I step away and tug on a pair of denim shorts and a billowy linen tank top.

He’s wearing a pair of chinos, rolled to reveal his ankles and a plain white t-shirt. He’s delicious and I tell him so. He laughs as he presses a firm hand to my lower back, steering me out of the apartment.

“Not as tasty as you, edible Edith. Especially that spot between your legs that makes you purr...”

A blush covers my cheeks. “Harris!”

“Don’t get shy on me now, or I’ll just have to taste you again,” he says with a thoughtful expression. “Actually, I plan on doing that anyway.”

Turns out the stop he wanted to make on the way was really just a pause in the lobby of his building. Harris had my new favorite Chicago coffee delivered.

“Are you always this thoughtful?” I ask, sipping on my latte.

He casually throws his arm around my shoulders, tucking me against him.

“Only for my girl.”

When we’re on our way back from the beach we run into one of Harris’ colleagues at the firm, and her husband. They’re an older couple, walking their terrier near the shops on Michigan Avenue.

“Harris, it’s great to see you out of the office,” the woman says teasingly while she eyes where Harris and my hands weave together.

“I do take some time off.”

"Not nearly enough," she reprimands gently.

"Maybe so."

“And who do we have here?” She’s friendly enough, eyes shimmering with delight as she looks me over.

“Betty, Steve, please meet my girlfriend, Edith. Edith, the Smiths are old family friends and Betty and I work together at the firm.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” I can’t help but beam that Harris has announced me as a girlfriend to his colleague and friend. They greet me with warm handshakes and smiles.

"I didn't know Harris had a girlfriend, but I'm pleased to see him with such a polite young woman," Betty says in a motherly way.

"He's a wonderful boyfriend," I murmur, slanting a look toward Harris.

While they chat about a mutual friend, a pair of familiar, deep brown eyes catch my attention. The look is fleeting, but I swear it’s him. Shifting around Betty, I try to get a better look at a man who I spotted in the midst of a crush of tourists.

“Edith?” Harris asks snapping me out of my search.

“Sorry – what was that?”

“I was just telling Betty that you are an interior designer. She's interested in redecorating.”

“Oh!” I smile brightly. “I could give you a call, and we could chat?”

The prospective client diverts my attention and I’m no longer seeking out a man who looked like my father.

In the elevator, I can’t keep the smile hidden as it stretches across my face. The weight of Harris’ arm hasn’t left its resting spot around my shoulders, and my own arm found its way around his waist. I move up to my tiptoes and place a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“What’s that for? Other than that I’m irresistible,” he teases.

“For the best Saturday morning in the history of Saturday mornings,” I say when I settle back on flat feet.

We land on his floor and he steers me into the foyer, pushing me up against the wall.

“You,” he drops a needy kiss on my forehead, “are,” moving to my cheek, “so,” my nose, “sweet.” Then, just when the anticipation nearly leads me to jumping up and throwing my legs around his waist, he grants me my wish and crushes his lips to mine.

“You, too,” I say when we part.

He throws back his head, laughing out loud. “I’m not, but thanks for saying that.” He sighs. “There’s some work I need to get to.”

“That’s fine,” I say quickly, not wanting to smother him. “If you don’t mind, I was hoping I could spend some time on your piano.” I look longingly at the instrument. “It’s been forever since I got a good practice in.”

Harris’ eyes light up in delight. “You’re welcome to use anything in my home. The owner included.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Later. The owner needs to get to work so he can play with his girlfriend when he’s finished.” I give him my own raised eyebrow expression, then head straight to the piano bench.

I start the way I inherited from my mother, sitting down at the instrument, stretching out my hands and fingers, prepping them for the work. Paying no mind to Harris, who apparently hasn't moved from his position, leaning against a wall at the edge of the room, I start with scales. Then my eyes shut and I start to play, no singing this time,
Doctor My Eyes
by Jackson Browne. Mostly, I play without singing. Only songs that I truly love do I spend the time learning the words and putting in my own rendition.

Settling into my routine, I perform song, after song, after song. Through my warm up, I refrain from singing. When I complete my first set, I turn back to check on Harris, but he’s long gone. Curious and unable to deny the pull drawing me to him, I peek into his office.

He doesn’t look up from his computer when he acknowledges me, but I can tell he is fighting a smile. “I never took you for a Jackson Browne fan.”

“Just like I never thought you could like Mumford and Sons.”

“Another thing we have in common,” he says, more to himself than to me. Across from Harris’ contemporary walnut desk is a comfortable-looking gray sofa and a marble coffee table. My eyes fall to the iPad sitting in the middle of the round table.

“Harris,” I start shyly. “May I borrow your iPad? I want check out some new music.”

“Come here,” he demands, pushing his leather chair back from the desk. His arms circle my waist when I stand before him, and he pulls me forward, so that our legs interlock like a zipper. I am practically sitting on his right thigh.