I’ll be honest, it’s a little surreal seeing my name in giant letters all over the place.
Well, mine and West’s.
None of this would be possible without him and my girls.
“How much longer until they should be here?”
Quinn glances down at her phone. “About five minutes.” Then something over my shoulder catches her attention, drawing a grin from her. “Brace yourself. You’re about to have your first customers.”
Heart in my throat, I watch a group of smiling middle-aged women approach my table. They’re among the early bird shopping crowd, the City Market having just opened for the day,
The four women start picking up my products, testing out the samples, and asking me questions. I go into explanation after explanation about individual items, the ingredients I use, and what I recommend for each of their skin types. I’m so engrossed in my new role as business owner that I completely lose track of time and what’s supposed to be happening at any moment. Moreover, who’s supposed to be happening.
Then suddenly, I look up…and he’s there.
West.
Standing stock-still, feet away from my booth. His arms hanging limply at his sides, eyes wide, mouth agape. His appearance actually reminds me a lot of how he looked the day we met. Hair rumpled, clothes slightly wrinkled, bags under his eyes, as if he didn’t get much sleep, which bothers me.
But he’s still sinfully gorgeous, as always.
It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since the gala. And I send up a quick prayer to the big man that being apart these last seven days has been as agonizing for him as it has been for me. That he’s missed me as fiercely as I’ve pined for him.
Gretchen and Sloane flank him on both sides, looking beyond proud of themselves. I don’t know what lie they manufactured to get him here this morning. I told Gretchen to use her imagination, which is always a wildcard situation.
Or a death wish.
But at least he made it here in one piece. I’ll find out later if whatever tale Gretchen spun for him psychologically damaged him or not.
“Oh, my God, I love these colors,” the black-haired woman exclaims as she reaches for an eyeshadow palette.
My attention snaps back to my…customers. Will I ever get tired of saying that?
“I created those shades specifically for lighter colored eyes,” I explain, indicating my own mint green irises. “I call it my Princess line.”
My gaze finds West with that last statement, whose eyes are already on me. I watch him react to my use of his nickname, though it’s slight. The corner of his mouth shows the smallest hint of a curl—definitely nowhere near a smile. Then he crosses his muscular arms over his chest and spreads his legs wider, as if to say you’re gonna have to do better than that, princess.
I answer that challenge with a grin. After all, I never expected him to make this easy for me.
I pick up one particular tube of lipstick and hand it to the short blonde in front of me. “If you haven’t jumped onboard the red lipstick train yet, you really should. This shade would look phenomenal on you.”
She inspects the label on top and frowns. “Fruit Loops?”
I find West’s eyes again just in time to see his nostrils flare. I lick my lips—an unconscious move—as unprovoked images from the night he drew a map on my body with that same shade crop up in my mind like fresh daises at springtime.
I watch his knuckles whiten before turning back to the ladies in front of me.
The blonde opens the lipstick cap and sniffs. “Wow, it does smell like Fruit Loops.” She laughs. “That’s crazy. Is there a sample I can try?”
As I hand over the sample and hold up a mirror so she can apply the color to her lips, her friends continue to scour my tables.
“These names are cracking me up,” the redhead of the bunch says, snatching up a darker shade of lipstick. “Rulebreaker Ruby.”
“Flyboy in the Sky,” the brunette muses, holding up a palette of blue eyeshadow. “That’s unique.”
I was inspired by the cornflower hue of the sky the day West took me up in the helicopter when I mixed up that particular color. It had been cloudless and clear that day, leaving the exact shade of the sky forever seared onto my memory.
I sneak another peek at West, who’s still standing in the same spot. Only now, his chest is rising and falling more rapidly than before. His gaze is more intent on me, his jaw hardened. But I’m still reading the words what else you got? stamped on his face.
Sloane and Gretchen have snuck away from him to help me ring up some of the items the women are setting aside.
“Why do I feel like these names have stories behind them?” the redhead asks coyly, shooting me a knowing look.
I flush. “They might.”
“Then hell, sugar, sharing is caring. Anecdotes would probably even help boost your sales.” She nudges the raven-haired one in the arm, waggling her eyebrows. “Especially to a bunch of randy old bats like us.”
All four women burst into laughter, sending Sloane, Quinn, Gretchen, and I into similar guffaws.
“Who you calling old?” the tall brunette cries, feigning offense. “I pay my plastic surgeon damn good money to see that I never look anything of the sort.”
“Yeah, well, your downstairs probably isn’t getting that memo,” the redhead mutters.
The Gretchen of the group. No doubt. Which is proven accurate when Gretchen herself throws in her two cents.
“Hey, you’re as young as you feel, right? And a vagina’s age? It’s like dog years. You might be forty on the outside, but your girl could still be twenty-two and kicking.” She shrugs. “Go with what your vagina feels, I always say.”
The four older women whoop and holler in another round of cackles. Several nearby shoppers crane their necks in our direction at all the caterwauling.
“This girl’s already got life figured out,” the redhead nods at Gretchen, who cheerfully gives her a high five.
I shake my head in bemusement and catch West’s eye again.
He’s smiling. Finally.
My chest expands, as if suddenly filled with helium. He’s still standing in the same spot in observant silence. But he looks almost…happy as he watches me.
“I’d love to hear the story behind this one,” the blonde muses, holding up an experimental black eyeliner pencil.
Eyeliners are my newest venture. I still have some work to do on them, but I’m particularly proud of that one.
“Midnight in the Gardens?” she murmurs. “Sounds tantalizing.”
A choking noise comes from West’s direction.
When I shift my attention back to him, he has to discreetly adjust himself in his shorts, sending a thrill of anticipation through me. I thought he’d like that one. That night against the tree on Carter’s planation was one of the most singularly erotic experiences of my life, despite how it ended. As if the same memories are flitting through his mind, lust overtakes his features.
“Jesus,” the brunette scoffs at the blonde. “You need to lay off those romance novels and make your husband take you to Tumble Town.”
“Why do you think I was late meeting you guys?” the blonde retorts slyly.
All seven of us clap in applause.
“Huh.” The redhead grabs a jar of foundation. “Quit the Foundation? I don’t get it. This is foundation, isn’t it?”
My eyes briefly flick to West, whose own have narrowed in interest.
“Yes,” I answer the redhead, smiling. “But it’s my lightest formula, for those who don’t need much concealment. It goes on as a very thin layer for a more natural look. The alternative name was No More Foundation.”
I loudly emphasize those last words in hopes that West picks up on the meaning.
He does.
His mouth stretches into a devastating smile of approval and maybe…pride?
“What about this one?” The black-haired one holds up one of my newest cleansing creams for inspection.
“Good Riddance? Like, good riddance to oily skin?”
“You could say that.” I meet his eyes again. “I was inspired to make that after removing some toxic people from my life. That cream will remove blemishes, unclog your pores, and brighten up your skin. I guarantee it.”
West sucks in a breath. Like that admission brought renewed life back into his soul. Like it answered questions he didn’t want to ask, or was too afraid to ask. And I hope it proved something to him.
There is no more choosing. Not for me.
He’s my only choice from here on out. I’ll always have his back, just like he’s had mine from the beginning. No more doubting. And no more letting others dictate my life or running roughshod over me.
The conversation I had with Shae at her apartment three days ago was a bit of a rollercoaster. I didn’t naïvely go into it thinking it would be easy peasy, that I wouldn’t feel any guilt or conflict. It started out fine, when I hurled accusations in her face and demanded answers for her despicable behavior. There was no guilt then. Only resolve.
Then she’d started crying, begging. Apologizing even. Total breakdown. Said I was her only friend and that if I abandoned her, she’d literally have no one.
A microscopic bit of guilt hit me with that one.
Luckily, I reminded her that she apparently did have other friends. The ones she always meets up with after she and I go out for drinks. Apparently, I always want to cut the evening short when Shae wants to stay out. More than once, she’s called me a “wet blanket” and accused me of being “an old hermit who forgot how to have fun.”
I told her she could go cry on those friends’ shoulders.
Because this wet blanket is moving on.
Mother, on the other hand, didn’t even get a confrontation. It wouldn’t have changed anything, and she probably would have used the opportunity to make more threats anyway. She called me in a tizzy after hearing of my resignation from the Foundation.
I hung up on her within twenty seconds of her vile outburst.
We haven’t spoken since. And I have no plans to anytime soon.
As sad as it is, I don’t feel a tremendous loss over that. Sure, I’d like to have her in my life in some capacity—she is my mother. But if she wants to snub me because I’m not living the life she wants for me, then that’s on her. I’ve already wasted too much of mine catering to someone else’s egotistical agendas.
I reach into the basket sitting on the chair behind me and give each woman a handful of packets. “Here, take these. Have your husbands try them out. They’re samples of the men’s shaving cream line I’m working on. I’ve developed five scents so far.”
The redhead reads off the first one. “Filthy-Mouthed Pilot.”
That induces a round of giggles.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see West take a step closer to the booth.
The brunette picks up another packet. “Sexy Sore Loser.”
He barks out a laugh.
Thankfully, the women only spare him a brief glance before returning their focus to the packets. Although I sense my friends behind me crowd closer to the table, sensing something approaching.
And it’s approaching with all the sensual fluidity of a jungle cat. Just like the night of Carter and Sloane’s housewarming party.
Another step.
“Devilish Prankster.”
I lock eyes with him in time to see him grin.
“Devoted Boyfriend.”
His grin drops, an intense, sincere look of understanding taking its place. He gives a small nod, in acknowledgment or approval, I’m not sure. But he keeps closing the distance between us, so it was obviously something he wanted—maybe even needed—to hear.
I certainly hope my meaning is clear because it’s an important one. He’s been devoted to me since day one. Eleanor St. Clair was never devoted to me as a mother, and Shae was never devoted to me as a friend. He’s been there for me every step of the way.
I need him to understand how much that means to me.
The area around the table has gone silent as West comes to a stop a foot away from me. I know my friends and the women are staring, but there’s no way I can look away from this man. I can tell he wants to eliminate the twelve inches of space between our bodies, but that final name stops him, clearly sensing its weight.
“What’s the last one?” he demands without removing his eyes from mine, his voice nothing more than a scratchy rasp.
The blonde clears her throat when the brunette nudges her. “The last one is…Love of my Life.”
I see the instantaneous spark light up West’s eyes before he surges forward and seals his mouth over mine. As if he couldn’t stop himself from physically reacting. Like he’s at the whim of his body’s commands and had to make contact with mine or he would dissolve into a vapor.
Or maybe that’s in my head.
The kiss is a re-claiming of possession, a homecoming, and a gesture of forgiveness and longing, all rolled into one. His mouth is hard and unrelenting on mine, unapologetic about conquering my mouth and every breath I take. His tongue makes swift, confident swipes over mine, stealing my strength. By the time he pulls out of the kiss, my knees have turned weak, my hands desperately clutching onto his shoulders.
Against my swollen lips, he whispers, “I need a minute alone with you.”
“Just one?”
His mouth twitches. “For now, my little exhibitionist. But many more will follow later.”
Those words manage to rekindle hope inside my heart. He laces his fingers through mine and drags me away from my booth.
“All right, I get it,” I hear the redhead say behind us. “The names make sense now. Do the three of you know the story behind the Boner-ific Red? And can you be specific?”
West snorts, clearly having heard that.
He leads us outside the market and onto the sidewalk that’s not quite bustling with locals and tourists like it will be in another hour. He presses me up against a shaded part of the brick building, trapping me between his arms.
“This is what you’ve been doing all week?” he bites out. “This is why you haven’t been home?”
I can feel my brow furrow. He’s been home this whole time? I figured he’d have been staying with Seth or Emerson.
“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. After the night of the gala.”
His mouth tightens. “That’s what I thought when you didn’t come home. It seemed like you were…finally done.” His voice breaks on the last word.
“You were the one who walked away that night. And you said it was the last time.”
He pushes away from the wall to drag his hand down his face. “Yeah, I know that’s what I said. But you actually believed me?”
I stare blankly at him.
He huffs in disbelief. “Jesus, Harper. I figured you would know by now.”
I swallow. “Know what?”
Hands on his hips, his gaze sears right through me. “I’ll never be done with you. I was just pissed off that night. I thought maybe I could walk away.” He shakes his head slowly. “For about five seconds. The moment I turned my back on you standing in that lobby, in that fucking red dress, I knew I’d be coming back. I just needed some time to get my shit together. I’ll always come back for you.”
My heart is pounding so hard right now, I’m surprised the noise isn’t stopping people on the streets.
“When you never came home,” he adds in a much darker, more lethal voice, “I…sort of lost it.”
“Lost it how?”
He averts his eyes, grinning ruefully. “I may or may not have gone on a bender for three or four days. Emerson had to finally come over and peel my pathetic ass off the floor. Truth?” He shrugs. “I just didn’t care what happened next in my life. I’d already fucked everything up by losing you a second time. By accusing you of things I know you didn’t do. Would never have done.”
I swear, my heart starts doing a river dance. “Then you know I had nothing to
do with that donation?”
His face contorts in disgust. “I was an asshole that night for ever saying you did. I know that’s not you. I was just upset, couldn’t make sense of anything in the moment. But the look on your mom’s face…hell, the look on your face when she announced it…you were as blindsided as I was.”
I bite my lip, wishing Mother was in front of me so I could scream at her for putting that look on his face. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
His eyes blaze with intensity. “No, I’m sorry you felt you had to give in to your mother’s blackmail tactics for me.”
I sigh, hanging my head. “Gretchen and Sloane weren’t supposed to tell you that.”
“They didn’t.” His hand cradles my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Dan did. But apparently, he didn’t find out about it until after the gala either. He thought you were going for that job because you actually wanted to. I guess after our blowup, he went to your mom demanding answers, and she confessed to everything.”
I didn’t give Dan enough credit then. He clearly has brasser balls than I thought.
“Why, princess?” West whispers, his brow bunching. “Why did you do that?”
My fingers circle his wrist. “Because I couldn’t let her wreck everything you’ve worked for. You would have been crushed. I wasn’t going to just do nothing.”
“Did you think I’d be happy if I ever found out what you did?” he asks in a more forceful tone. “How could I enjoy my dream if I knew it had cost you yours? That would have crushed me.”
I nod, my lower lip quivering. I don’t even know why. There’s no reason to cry right now. “I’m sorry. I should have told you everything instead of keeping you in the dark.”
“Stop apologizing,” he says through gritted teeth. “You have no idea how sorry I am for leaving you that night. I shouldn’t have walked away.” He blows out a heavy breath, dropping his hand. “Then you left. I waited for you to come home so I could apologize. Hell, I was ready to get down on my knees and fucking beg. But you never came back. I thought I’d lost you for good. And without you, there was no reason to try anymore.”
The Six Month Lease (Southern Hearts Club Book 2) Page 23