Tires crunch down my driveway; headlights beam through my front window. She’s here.
Anxiety rolls through my chest. Fuck, I hope she likes it here.
Please let her like it here.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door and lean against the frame, arms crossed, watching Harper get out of her car, wearing a long black coat and an awestruck smile as she takes in the tall elm trees that create a ceiling above us. She takes a few moments to soak it all in, and even though it’s dark, the lights from the house illuminate the scene, creating a private world in the shelter of the elms.
When she reaches the porch, she finally makes eye contact with me. “Rogan, this place is . . . it’s just so beautiful.”
I lift myself off the doorframe and hold out my hand to her. I can’t quite see what she’s wearing under her coat, but from the lack of fabric around her legs, I’m going to assume she’s at least wearing a dress. My pulse quickens.
Once her hand connects with mine, I guide her through the door, my breath held tightly in my chest as she gets her first glimpse inside.
Pausing at the door, I close it behind her as her eyes wander around the house. From the floors to the vaulted ceilings and exposed old beams, she takes everything in, a smile playing on her lips, a glint in her eyes.
“Wow,” she says breathlessly, removing her jacket.
Fuck, I could say the same about her. She’s not wearing a dress but one of those romper things instead. Short shorts, cinched waist, deep-V neckline that falls past her breasts, and when she turns to hang her coat on a little peg next to the door, God help me, I spot the romper’s open back, exposing her lightly freckled skin.
There is no way I’m going to be able to be decent tonight, not with her dressed like that. Hell, I’m seconds away from pushing her up against the wall and showing her just how much I want her in my life again.
When she turns back around, she takes my hand in hers and walks toward the center of the house. “It’s so beautiful in here. How much have you renovated?”
She wants to talk renovation right now? Wearing that?
“Uh . . . what?” My eyes are glued to her breasts. There is no way in hell she’s wearing a bra, not with the way her nipples are poking out. She’s always had pert little breasts, but in this outfit, fuck, my mouth is watering just for one little taste.
She pulls my chin up, and I meet her eyes. “Hey, I’m up here.”
“Yeah, I know where you are. I’m just choosing to look elsewhere.” I pull at her hand, bringing her close to my chest, where I can easily run my hand up her bare back. Fuck, so soft, so smooth. “This was a dangerous outfit to wear, Harper.”
“You think so? I thought it was rather conservative.” She gives me a wry smile.
“Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You want to drive me crazy, don’t you?”
“Just wanted to look nice.” She pushes away and walks along the back of the couch, her fingers trailing along the fabric. “And I’m pretty sure you knew what you were doing by not wearing socks with your jeans.”
“Bare feet don’t even come close to that romper.” I almost said bare foot but caught myself. Not right now.
She shrugs and makes her way around the main living space; I follow closely behind like a lost puppy dog.
“So tell me what you did. Is there anything original still in the house?”
“Why don’t we start in my bedroom? I can tell you all about what I did in there.”
She shoots me a side eye. “We aren’t going anywhere near your bedroom.”
But I bought brand-new linens for you.
“Kitchen counters, then; those can be fascinating. Or the dining room table, even the back of the couch. Want to talk about those? Unless”—I point to the hallway that leads toward the back of the house—“you need to take a shower? I can show you the tile and give you a detailed history of it all while you soap up.”
“When did you become so horny?” she asks, one hand on her hip, showing off the length of her gorgeous, silky legs.
“I’m a man, Harper. I’m always horny.”
She laughs. “If that isn’t the truth.” She nods toward the kitchen. “Show me around, come on.” Groaning, I take her hand in mine and lead her to the open-concept kitchen, where she eyes the floating shelves, deep-teal cabinets, gold hardware, and farmhouse sink.
“You have got to be kidding me, Rogan. This place is absolutely breathtaking. Marble counters? You’re so fancy.”
“Not fancy, just like dressing my house up a bit.”
Glancing up, she takes in the exposed beams of the ceiling as well as the little rounded kitchen nook set into a bay window, which brings in an abundance of natural light in the morning.
“You did all of this? Designed everything?”
I give in to her questioning. “Yes. I also did all the renovations myself. I always have my hand in every house I own, but this one I did on my own.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, Griffin helped every once in a while, when the job required two men, but it was mostly me. I knew this was going to be my home, so I wanted to do everything myself, even if it took me a while.” I give the house a once-over. “It was worth it . . . especially seeing your reaction.”
When renovating, I always imagined what it would be like to invite Harper over. I never thought it would happen, but I still wanted to create a home she would love. And now, like magic, she’s here, appreciating all the little details I put into the house.
“You should be really proud of yourself.”
In this moment, right now, I am.
Clearing my throat, I head toward the oven and peek inside. Bubbling cheese sits atop the lasagna, browning in just the right spots. From the counter, I grab the pot holders and take out the pan, setting it on top of the burners to cool.
From behind me, Harper wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek against my back. I set the pot holders down and twist in her embrace, encasing her in my arms. The scent of her perfume—flowers and cherry—circles around me.
Looking up, Harper slides her hands up my chest, past my neck, to my jaw; her thumb strokes my cheek. “You impress me, Rogan.”
I start to shake my head when she stops me.
“I’m serious. You’ve come so far, and I think that’s something you need to recognize. Have you ever really sat back and thought about all you’ve been able to accomplish?”
Never.
“That’s not the kind of person I am. Not anymore.”
“Well, you should. You act like you haven’t accomplished much, that you’re nothing but a ‘landlord,’ but you need to realize what you’ve done for this town, for yourself . . . it’s incredible. You’ve created real homes, revitalized the town, and all with simple hard work.”
“It kept me busy,” I say offhandedly. She might be right, that I’ve come a long way, but it still doesn’t seem like much—not when I don’t have anyone to share it with.
“You’re never going to admit all that you’ve done, are you?”
“Showboating isn’t my thing.”
She sarcastically laughs. “Please, I remember a certain cha-cha you used to do after every touchdown you scored.”
I chuckle; it was idiotic. “That’s different. You’re required to do something stupid when celebrating a touchdown. Plus, I’m not that guy anymore. I live in reality now.”
The wheels in her head are turning, her eyes searching mine before she settles with a contented look. “Well, if this is your reality, it’s absolutely stunning.” She stands on her toes, and her hand runs to the back of my neck; she pulls me down and presses a kiss on my jaw before dropping back down.
Dying to taste her again, I hold her in place when she tries to take a step back.
“Kiss me like you mean it, Harper.”
“What?” she asks, a little startled.
Hand on her back, I pull her flush against me and lift her chin. “Kiss me like you used
to, like you couldn’t get enough of me, like it was the last time you’d ever have your lips on mine.”
“I . . . I . . .” Her head drops against my chest. “I can’t.”
I drop my hand; worry tickles up my back. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
Her teeth roll over her lip, biting the corner as she takes a step back. “If I kiss you, I know I won’t be able to stop myself.”
My anxiety eases as a lopsided smile replaces my frown. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” I gather her into my arms and place her on the counter, stepping between her legs. Smoothly, I run my hands along her exposed thighs, up to her hips, and hold her firmly in place.
“Rogan,” she whispers, her long lashes fluttering. “Please . . .”
“Please what?” I ask, pulling her closer.
She glances at me, a heated look, a look of yearning and wanting, and in seconds the air between us electrifies.
I move one of my hands up her arm to her shoulder and play with the silky fabric of her romper, the neckline so deep that it gives me a view straight down her cleavage. Slowly, I move the fabric toward the edge of her shoulder, watching as her lips part in surprise and her breathing quickens.
“Please what, Harp? Please stop? Please keep going? Please kiss me? Please remind me of what it’s like to be together again?” I push the fabric off her shoulder, exposing her delicate skin. Eyes on her, I lower my mouth, waiting for her to stop me, but when she doesn’t, I press my lips softly against her shoulder.
I spread featherlike kisses over her skin, moving to her collarbone and cautiously working my way up her neck. When she shifts her head to the side, giving me better access, a shot of excitement pulses through me, straight to my cock.
Fuck, go slow, man.
Despite how much I want this, how much I’ve dreamed of this moment, I need to go slow.
I kiss along her neck while my free hand glides up and down her arm, stroking small circles. A tidal wave of goose bumps spreads across her skin as my fingers travel up her arm and I slowly drag my tongue along the column of her neck.
One of her hands moves to the back of my neck, holding me in place while her legs spread wider, letting me in farther.
I can feel her starting to trust me. With every intentional kiss, she loosens up, granting me more access to her body and—I hope—her heart.
Working my mouth farther up her neck, I reach her jaw, taking a moment to savor her sweet skin and the soft moans escaping her plump lips. Fingers threaded through my hair, she quietly guides me higher, my lips trailing until I reach her lips. I halt, pressing my forehead against hers. I glance down; her left breast is almost entirely exposed, no bra in sight. I’m tempted to move the fabric the rest of the way, to take her breast in my mouth while I lay her back on the counter and pull her entire romper off her body.
But I hold off.
Reaching up, I place my other hand at the base of her neck and gently stroke her racing pulse with my thumb.
“Harp, I need to know you want this, that I’m not the only one feeling this pull between us.”
She takes a shaky breath. “I feel it too.”
“But . . .” I sense it in her voice, the but that she can’t quite admit.
“I’m scared.” Ever so gently, her nose rubs against mine. “I’m so fucking scared, Rogan.”
“Of me?”
“Of how fast I’m going to fall for you if I let this happen. I’m already dangling over the edge.” Her head nuzzles mine right before she presses a kiss against my cheek, then my nose and my eyelid. “If I give myself over to you, it will change everything.”
“It will.” I kiss her forehead. “But in the best way possible.”
She bites her lips and looks away, so I kiss her face, bringing her attention back to me.
“Talk to me, Harp. Don’t go somewhere else, stay here . . . with me.”
“I just . . .” She lets out a long breath. “I’m damaged, Rogan, and not just from you. I feel broken inside, like no matter what I do, I can’t seem to glue myself back together. I’m not the same girl you fell in love with. I’m lost, barely starting to find myself again. If I do this with you, I know my heart will be yours. I can’t have you break what’s barely mended.”
Cupping both of her cheeks, I press a long, hopeful kiss to her forehead. “Anything I say right now is going to fall on deaf ears. What you need to do is trust my actions. I know that’s scary, but all I can do is show you I’m a better man now.” I kiss her nose. “I love you, Harper, always have, always will; nothing will ever change that.”
Her eyes flutter open as her pupils widen, her gaze flashing back and forth.
Making sure she heard me, I say, “I love you, and if I have to, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you of that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ROGAN
Torturous millimeters away, I hold my lips before hers, waiting as she contemplates her next move. This is on her. I can’t move forward any farther, even though with each moment that goes by, a piece of my heart fractures.
I run my hand down her neck, across her collarbones. Careening down her arm, my hand spreads wide, allowing my thumb to caress the side of her breast, the softness springing an entirely new ache in my cock, which is already pressed tightly against the zipper of my jeans.
“I . . .” She stops, her breath frozen in her lungs when my other hand caresses up her thigh, under the shorts of her romper, to the juncture of her hip. “Oh God,” she breathes heavily, her head tilting back. I take the opportunity to spread kisses along her exposed neck, my tongue flicking behind her ear.
Her hands fall to my chest, and she grips me tightly, one of her legs curling around my waist.
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
My fingers travel back up her arm, only to make the journey south again, this time rubbing against her breast even more, brushing my thumb close to her nipple. Still kissing her, I play with her body, her neck, her breast, her thigh, where my other thumb is lightly stroking her hip bone, moving inward.
“God, Rogan,” she moans, snapping her head up, surprising me.
I hold my breath, my touch frozen now as I wait for her next move.
The air stills; heat emanates from the oven as both our chests rise and fall, time passing in slow motion.
Just fucking kiss me, I plead with my eyes.
I don’t think I can take not having her lips on mine tonight.
I want her in my arms, in my bed, my mouth on hers, my cock buried so far inside her that there’s no doubt she’s mine forever.
“Love me,” I plead. “Fuck, Harper, just fucking love me.”
I lift my eyes, my heart so goddamn heavy in my chest that I can barely take my next breath. Throat constricted, stomach twisting and turning, I watch her indecision roll around in her head.
And right when I think she’s about to pull away, my pleading and begging body feels the press of her hands, sliding up my neck to my face. She moves her mouth to mine, closing the last few inches between us, and with a light press of her lips to mine, she kisses me, disintegrating every last muscle in my body, turning me into a puddle of relief.
Tightening my grip on her arm and hip, I hold on as I’m flooded with memories of her taste, of her touch, of the way her lips fit so perfectly against mine.
Groaning, I grip the back of her neck and part my lips. Her tongue immediately slips against mine, and in that moment, I lose myself.
Fuck, she’s just as I remembered. Sweet, but urgent. Sexy, yet soft.
As we twine our tongues together, she drags her hand down my body, along my pecs to the contours of my abs, and slips her hand under my sweater. Her fingers dip past my waistband for a second before they travel upward, her palm lying flat against my skin.
When she reaches my pec, her fingers flick across my nipple, sending a jolting ache straight through my cock.
“Fuck,” I mumble, wanting to return the favor. Wanting her ba
re, I move both my hands down over her shoulders, dragging the rest of the fabric with me until her pert breasts are exposed.
I pull away from her mouth and take in her chest. Rosy, hard nipples, perfect little handfuls. I missed her breasts so damn much. With my hand, I gently push her back onto her elbows and bring my kisses to her collarbone, running my tongue along it until I reach the base of her neck.
“Yes,” she moans as I move to her chest. I lick one mound, and then the other. Her legs tighten around me.
Moving closer to her areola, I make small circular kisses around the dusky circle, teasing but never fully touching, letting my scruff drag across her porcelain skin. And when I don’t think she can take it any longer, I replace my kisses with my tongue, following the same rough path.
Her hips start to move against my pelvis, her hands press against the counter, her mouth parts. “Rogan, please,” she begs.
“Please what?” I move to the other breast and make the same torturous circles, loving the way she’s already writhing under me.
“Suck my nipple,” she says boldly, shocking me and turning me on even more all at the same time. “Take my breast into your mouth and pleasure me.” Well, fuck, when . . . hell.
“Shit, Harp,” I answer, unable to formulate words.
With both my hands, I pull her romper over her hips. She lifts up, allowing me to remove the garment altogether, leaving her completely naked on my counter.
I take her in, dragging a hand over my mouth. “Where the fuck is your underwear?”
She smiles wickedly. “Didn’t want to wear any tonight.”
“Hell,” I grumble, taking one leg in hand and pressing light kisses up her inner thigh, her smooth skin allowing my lips to graze effortlessly. When I reach her hip bone, I pass by her glistening center and up her stomach. Her body twists under me, her chest arching, giving me easy access. I take her breast in my hand, then close my mouth around her hardened nipple.
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