The Allure of Dean Harper

by R.S. Grey

  I glanced down to my chest, remembered it was bare, and then jumped off Dean. Jeez, I’d just played the role of slutty nurse really well. Oh please, let me help you while I shove my boobs in your face.

  “You perv! You could have reminded me that I was topless,” I said, holding my arms over my chest.

  Dean opened his eyes and glared up at me. “Yeah, sorry, I was a little busy trying not to throw up from pain.”

  Josephine thrust a bright red thing in front of my face. “Here, put this on.”

  A normal person would have grabbed a t-shirt or a towel. What did Josephine grab? A giant, puffy life vest—the kind you find on cheap paddleboats. It would cover my boobs, but only barely.

  “Seriously Jo? Seriously?”

  She glared at me, holding it out for me to take. “What?! It was the only thing I could find. Just put it on.”

  I huffed and took it from her. It wouldn’t cover me completely, but it was better than nothing. I turned away from Dean and quickly pulled it on over my head. I buckled it in front of my chest and tightened the black strap as tight as it would go. By the time I turned back around, Dean was staring up at me with a blank expression.

  “What?” I asked, glancing down to confirm that the life vest was covering me.

  Josephine laughed. “He’s probably just recalling all of his boyhood Playboy fantasies.”

  He shook his head and pushed up to stand. He towered over me, tall and lean. I could smell the ocean air mixed with his body wash.

  “More like Baywatch,” he corrected with a little smirk.

  I groaned with embarrassment. “Could we just pretend that you didn’t see any of that?” I pleaded.

  He arched a brow and met my eye. There was an emotion concealed behind his gaze that I hadn’t seen before, at least not from him.

  “Not possible,” he said, shaking his head. I watched him take the stairs back up to the deck and realized that the tension brewing between the two of us wasn’t gone. Our time together on the boat had morphed it into something much harder to control…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lily

  After the boat ride from hell, I knew it’d be hard to face Dean at work. I stayed in bed late on Sunday, trying to recreate my memory of the events from the day before. Sometimes I could convince myself that I’d looked cool and sexy with my life preserver on, and then other times my brain replayed the moment when my face collided with Dean’s crotch over and over again like a perfectly looped video that never seemed to end.

  When I checked my email that night and saw Dean’s name, I half expected the subject line to read “Obviously, You’re Fired.”

  From: Dean Harper

  To: Lily Black, Julian Lefray, Zoe Davis, Hunter Smith

  Subject: LVRW

  As you know, we have a very busy week coming up. We leave for LVRW on Wednesday so I’d like to have a meeting at my house tomorrow morning. We’ll go over the flight, accommodations, and our schedules for the few days we’ll be in Vegas.

  My address is below. We’ll start at 9:30 AM.

  D. Harper

  Huh. No mention of how his crotch-el region was healing up. I’d take that as a good sign.

  …

  I stood on Dean’s doorstep and knocked, but no one answered. I rang the doorbell, but it felt useless. His front door was black, shiny, and solid. There were no windows to peer through, and the windows along the foyer were dark.

  I spun in a circle, trying to decide if I was at the correct house. His Upper West Side townhouse was tucked in a row of stately brownstones. Down the block, I’d passed a neighborhood deli with trendy French tables and ivy vines that looked like they’d been growing for the last hundred years. I’d almost stopped inside for a latte, but I hadn’t wanted to run late. Now, however, it seemed the latte would have been useful. I yawned and tried to cover it, telling myself I wasn’t actually as tired as I felt. Sleep had been elusive the last two nights. I’d filled my days with work, but at night, when my head hit my pillow and I had a moment alone with my thoughts, I’d replay my encounters with Dean.

  The way we fought, the way he infuriated me, the way he intrigued me. I couldn’t decide where he fit in my mind’s Venn diagram. On the left side, I had people I hated, and on the right, I had the people I loved. Right in the middle, in a category of his own making, there was Dean Harper.

  I tried the doorbell for the second time and then reached for the door handle. It was unlocked. I pushed the door open and stepped into his foyer.

  “Hello?”

  I took a tentative step forward and spoke up. “Dean?”

  My shoes echoed across the black-and-white marble floor. His house, from what I could see, was immaculate and designed to a T. The entryway was a round circular room with a black chandelier hanging above a black lacquered table. There were formal elements, like the chandelier and crown molding, interspersed with masculine details. His bike hung in the hallway leading from the entryway to a large, hand-carved staircase. Photos hung on the wall around the entryway; blown-up versions of Dean as a baby drew me closer.

  I slipped off my heels—I figured Dean probably had a no-shoes-in-the-house policy—and stepped closer to the first photo to my left. Dean was young, maybe one or two, sitting on a rocking horse wearing a diaper, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. His chubby belly made me smile as I moved on to the next photo. Dean was older in that one, with buckteeth and a choppy bowl cut. His blond hair was bright, almost white, and he had popsicle juice streaked across his face as he sat beside an old man on a tractor. The old man was waving at the camera, but Dean was looking up at him, enamored.

  I scanned through the rest of the photos on the wall, taking in Dean with braces and Dean on the day he graduated from college, surrounded by his loved ones. I circled back to the table at the entry, too intimidated to venture into any of the other rooms on the first floor. There was a pile of mail on the table, mostly boring envelopes with bills, and catalogs he’d yet to recycle, but stacked on the very top, there was a colorful postcard with a picture of a massive cave beneath the words “Maquoketa Caves State Park”. I glanced up the stairs, listened for footsteps, and then turned the postcard over.

  “Dean,

  I know you just visited, but I couldn’t resist sending you a post card from your favorite park. I got your dad to go down into the cave earlier. He pretended to hate it, but I know he had fun. Maybe the next time you visit we can come back and camp here like old times.

  Love you,

  Mom”

  “Is it a Texan custom to break into your friends’ houses and rifle through their mail?”

  I swallowed and glanced up to see Dean standing at the top of the stairs. His jaw was clean-shaven and his hair had pomade in it, momentarily coaxing the wavy strands into submission. His red tie sat in the center of his pressed white shirt and his navy suit fit him like a glove. He looked like he had the entire world under his thumb…beginning with me.

  “I rang your doorbell,” I explained with a shaky voice.

  He started down the stairs, dragging his hand along the smooth rail. His dark eyes stayed on me.

  “And then I called your name.”

  He arched an eyebrow, but stayed silent.

  “Your door was unlocked,” I said, pointing to it as if it would speak up and confirm my story.

  He stepped from the stairs down onto the marble floor, dragging his eyes up over my outfit. I glanced down. My dress was black and slimming with a sweetheart neckline. I’d stuffed a cardigan in my tote with plans to put it on before I’d arrived. Without it, the dress was a little too risqué for work. There was too much skin exposed across my neck and chest if Hunter was going to be around.

  “The meeting doesn’t start until 9:30. I was showering,” he explained, drawing my attention back up to him.

  I reached for the cream cardigan. His gaze followed the fabric as I pulled it on over my shoulders. “Then I guess I read your email wrong.”

  He
knocked his knuckles against the table twice and then stepped back. “C’mon. We’ll wait for the others in the kitchen. I need some coffee.”

  I trailed after him, focusing on the black hardwood floors that began just off the entryway. We passed his bicycle hanging on the wall like a modern art installation and then turned the corner into the kitchen, just to the left of the main staircase. The dark wood floors extended into the room, but they were balanced out with light gray cabinets and Carrera marble countertops. Every gadget I dreamed of having in my future kitchen was on full display inside Dean’s. A restaurant-grade refrigerator sat beside a built-in espresso maker and I swear to god, my heart fluttered a little bit at the sight of the black KitchenAid mixer.

  “Espresso?” he asked,

  I scrunched my nose. “Latte?”

  He nodded as I moved around the large island, giving him space to move. There seemed to be no limit to his talents. Bartender, barista, yachtsman, restaurateur—the talent had to end somewhere, right? Probably in the bedroom.

  I slid a barstool out from beneath the island and sat as I watched him work, letting my question take root in my mind. Dean had all the things that a good lover was supposed to have. He moved and spoke with utter confidence. He had a killer body from working out, which would also help with stamina in the bedroom. He bent to see into the back of his refrigerator and I smiled at his ass. Yet another bonus.

  Experience in the bedroom mattered as well, but that wasn’t something I could find out from looking at him.

  “Do you go on a lot of dates, Dean?” I asked, letting my thoughts seep out into the open before I could stop them.

  He glanced away from his refrigerator. A navy-clad shoulder gave way to smirking lips and curious eyes.

  “Will I have to write you up alongside Hunter for sexual harassment?”

  I laughed. “That question was hardly harassment.”

  He pulled the carton of milk from his refrigerator and set it down on the island in front of me, precisely and thoughtfully. I could see the veins in his hands, evidence of an early morning workout, no doubt.

  “It’s not like you have to prove anything to me,” I continued. “I was just wondering…”

  I let the second half of the sentence linger, suddenly feeling too nervous to expand on my thoughts.

  “Wondering what?”

  His eyes dared me to be honest, and I’d never been good at turning down a dare.

  “It just seems like guys like you—the powerful assholes of the world—are supposed to be really good in bed.” His eyes widened only slightly, and I swore I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. He propped his hands up on the edge of the island and leaned forward, gaze locked on mine.

  “And what has your experience been?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve only been with guys my own age.”

  “So?”

  I shrugged. “In college, anyone can be a rich kid, with a big ego and daddy’s checkbook. It’s another thing entirely to be powerful on your own.”

  His nostrils flared and then he pushed back off the counter. “Well if you ever care to put your little theory to the test, you know where to find me.”

  I laughed.

  He was joking.

  He had to be joking.

  Right?

  I opened my mouth to clarify but the doorbell rang before I could. Loud, obnoxious, and horribly timed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dean

  I rounded the corner back to my house, but instead of slowing down, I passed my stoop and kept going. My run was over, but the fire inside me wasn’t tamed. My problem with Lily was no closer to being solved.

  The meeting at my house the day before had gone to shit within the first five minutes. The team had gathered around my kitchen so we could go over final items for Vegas, but the entire time, I could feel Lily’s curious gaze on me. She’d sat at my kitchen table, picking apart my words in her mind and making them out to be more than they’d been. The dare I’d spoken just before everyone had arrived had been a joke. Nothing more. I could have clarified that, but instead, I’d let it linger between us, suffocating the room with questions.

  I could still reach out to her and squash the invitation. I had her email, her cell phone number, and her address, but something held me back.

  It was that something that made me want to keep running.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lily

  I stood across the street from Dean’s house, knowing full well that I shouldn’t have been standing across the street from Dean’s house. It was the night before we were supposed to leave for Vegas. I had a flight at 8 AM, a few things left to pack, and at least another hundred reasons why I shouldn’t have been staring at Dean’s black lacquered front door.

  All day, I’d replayed his words in my mind. All day, I’d backtracked and broken down and read between the lines. I ran through Central Park with my iPod blaring and still, Dean’s words rang louder. I stood in line at a coffee shop and tried to find a single guy that was as attractive as Dean. As annoying. As bossy. As challenging. I ate at a newly opened deli for lunch, hoping to review it for my blog, but I’d finished off my sandwich without registering a single flavor.

  Dean had me wrapped up around him with a single sentence.

  “Well if you ever care to put your little theory to the test, you know where to find me.”

  Fuck him.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse and texted Jo.

  Lily: I’m about to have sex in New York for the first time…

  Jo: Whoa! Please say it’s not going to be with Hobo Nelson.

  Lily: Dean.

  Jo: Wait. Wait. Wait. ABORT. Answer your phone.

  She called right then, illuminating my screen with her photo. I ignored her. I wasn’t looking for her blessing; I just wanted her to know where to find me in case Dean and I accidentally killed each other.

  I slipped my phone back into my purse as it continued to ring. Phone call. Voicemail. Phone call. Voicemail. Jo wouldn’t stop until I picked up. Instead, I took my first step across the street as my heart started to thump in my chest, too hard to go unnoticed. The lights were off in his house. For all I knew, he wasn’t home.

  Still, I had to try.

  In an out-of-body experience, I watched my heels ascend to the top of his stoop, and then I was on his doorstep and I had nowhere to go but forward. I reached out and rang his doorbell. I could hear it chime inside, echoing across his marble floors. My stomach dipped and suddenly I felt sick and suddenly I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. I clutched my stomach. My phone kept vibrating with Josephine’s warnings and I felt like I was going to throw up.

  I took a step back, prepared to bolt. My throat felt tight and my legs felt weak. I just needed to get off his stoop and then I could sit and breathe and berate myself for being so monumentally stupid. And then his door opened slowly, and Dean was standing there in the dim light of his house, and I was absolutely in over my head.

  He didn’t say a word, just stood there shirtless, tan, and surprised to see me. His black drawstring pants were loose, holding on to his hips and defying the law of gravity. I could see a sliver of his Calvin Klein underwear just below a razor-edged Adonis V that cut into his abs so hard it looked almost painful. His hair was wavy and unruly, just like mine…and suddenly I didn’t feel sick and suddenly I was sure this was a good idea.

  “Lily?”

  He spoke my name like it was a question. I knew the answer.

  I shook my head and stepped forward, pressing my hands to his chest and pushing him back into his house. His hands found my hips. He gripped my workout top and scrunched the material in his palms so he could feel my skin underneath. I hadn’t even thought to change before coming over; I was a mess, sweaty from my workout and running around the city all day. My running tights were stained with coffee and I would have showered had I even thought I might actually be there, standing in front of Dean and accepting his challenge.

>   There were two seconds where I had control. I’d taken him by surprise by showing up at his doorstep, but he recovered quickly, pulling me deeper into his house and making it that much harder to second-guess my decision.

  “Well if you ever care to put your little theory to the test, you know where to find me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dean

  I knew this would happen. I knew that by playing with Lily, by testing her and teasing her, eventually she would bite back. Her bite wasn’t painful. It was a naughty dream that bled into waking hours. Her tank top and leggings were stretched across her skin so that I could see every curve that lay hidden beneath.

  The second her hands hit my chest, I knew what she wanted. I’d truly been half-joking the day before, but I should have known Lily would accept a half-thrown gauntlet. She was a feisty little twenty-something. She thought she knew the world and she thought she could show up on a man’s doorstep late at night. So fucking naive.

  She dragged her nails down my chest and I grabbed her hips, squeezing through the thin material. We could make it up to my room, but that was half a world away, and I needed her right there. In the foyer, on the cold marble.

  I kicked the door closed and yanked off her black tank top. Her wide, bright eyes were the size of saucers. Her lips were plump and pink. We hadn’t even kissed yet, but by the morning, those lips would be red and swollen. She’d have to put ChapStick on them for two days straight and every time she did, she’d remember when I’d bent down and stolen that first kiss, gripping her hips and yanking her toward me.

  When our mouths connected, she groaned, and I ground her hips against mine. Her tongue slipped past my lips and I tilted my head, bringing her closer. She tasted good, like cinnamon gum. I smiled. She’d planned this. She’d chewed gum on the way over. She’d thought of me all day. She wanted me to slip my hand along the edge of her tights, just like I was doing—down across the edge of her stomach, from hip to hip and back again. Her stomach quivered beneath my touch and her mouth fell open so she could drag her teeth along my shoulder. She wanted me to know she liked it.