by Rynne Raines
Grinning, Harrison shoved the key inside the door lock of his apartment but before turning it, paused. He sniffed the air and cringed. Christ. Where in the hell was that God-awful smell coming from? Nose wrinkled, he glanced over his shoulder to suite 7B and then shifted his attention to 7C. Maybe Mrs. Henderson was trying her hand at flambé again.
“I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be Mr. Henderson right now.” He opened the door, and the odor slammed into him like ton of burnt toast. Fuck.
“Fiona? Fiona?” he hollered from the entrance and quickly shut the door. Panic propelled him up the three shallow entrance steps in a single leap just as a loud crash rang out. A thousand different and horrible scenarios blew through his mind.
Something was on fire, obviously. Maybe something she had plugged in had shorted out. Maybe she lit a candle and fell asleep. Women loved candles. Did he even own any candles? He swung around the corner like a bat out of hell and pulled up short. His jaw dropped. His heart paused. All the air exited his lungs and left them burning.
“What the fu—”
“Welcome home?” From her knees on the kitchen floor, Fiona sheepishly glanced up at him and offered a pained smile as she tried to corral a runaway pot lid.
Relief spread through him, and the knot in his gut loosened enough so he could breathe again. Sweet Jesus. She was fine. She was safe. She was…cooking?
At the state of his generally organized and immaculate kitchenette, a bowling ball dropped in his stomach. There were two pans and three pots haphazardly balanced on the stovetop, which didn’t even make sense, considering there were only four burners. Each sauce pan had liquid of a different color precariously leaking over the edges and sizzling into crusted ash. Ah. Hell. The countertops, microwave, and fridge handle were all covered in a dusting of a white substance that he hoped to hell was flour. Wait. Was that his laptop underneath all those dirty measuring cups?
“Okay. Okay, I know how this must look,” Fiona started as she shoved to her feet. “I swear I’ll put everything back where you originally had it and give the kitchen a thorough cleaning. Cleaning is something I excel at.”
A low hiss snapped Harrison’s attention to the right-rear pot where more liquid threatened to bubble over. He hurried to remove the lid before anything else burnt onto the stove, and the odor that emerged had him clearing his throat and frowning.
“I thought you couldn’t cook,” he asked between a coughing and cranking off the elements.
“I can’t,” she confirmed. “But a little voice in my head told me if I could at least do a half-assed job that it would mean more.”
Strange delight mingled with his absolute dread of seeing his kitchen look like some type of food bomb went off in it. Although she had admitted to him this morning that she didn’t have the culinary skills to toast a piece of bread, she was trying to prepare a meal for him.
Momentarily awestruck, Harrison fell silent.
“Listen, I’m very sorry about the mess and also for the smell,” she began and he couldn’t help but smile at the awkwardness in her voice. “I really don’t know what went wrong. I thought I followed the directions to the word, but I must have added some of the wrong ingredients to the wrong pot. If you’re worried about the—”
“Stop.”
He flipped on the range fan and then turned. A bolt of lust shot straight up his cock. Her appearance was similarly chaotic to yesterday morning when he had found her in the cafe. Only today, her flushed cheeks were dusted with flour instead of streaked with mascara and her hair wasn’t loose but twisted up in some strange knot that left a collaboration of frizzy untidy wisps to cling around her face.
Hell, she made a pretty, pretty mess.
He scanned over the white—or at least what used to be white—apron that clung loosely around her slender body and a growl vibrated up his throat. Bare arms and legs poked out from the frumpy and filthy cloth that hid her pretty figure. Although he had envisioned coming home to a naked and waiting woman, this somehow rivaled his afternoon fantasies.
Urgency raged through him, and he wanted to claim her in every possible way a man could claim a woman.
And he wanted it all now.
This is what happens when I take advice from the voices in my head. Fiona frowned and clutched the sauce pan lid against her apron. What a disaster. She bit her bottom lip and winced at Harrison’s continued silence. She should probably start cleaning up or search his kitchen drawers for a takeout menu, but she couldn’t move. His smoldering gaze held her immobile.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked quietly and hoped he wasn’t.
Gently shaking his head, he slowly walked toward her.
Fiona’s relief became entangled with the sudden tension in the air. Her fingers twitched on the lid in her hands a scarce second before he took it from her and dropped it on the floor. He dragged her up against him and took her mouth so hard and fast that breath locked in her lungs. Hungry. Desperate. His tongue plunged, and demanded, and devoured. One of his hands roughly shoved under her apron and pushed between her legs, his fingers thrusting into her pussy. A moan caught in her throat and suddenly it was hard to breathe or think.
“It’s good you’re already so wet,” he rasped against her ear as his fingers worked in and out of her tight core. “Because I’m seconds away from pounding the fuck out of your pretty little cunt.”
“Oh, God.” She clenched her jaw and sank her fingernails into his broad shoulders.
With the promise of his words, her thighs quaked and every inch of her body became coated in fire. He plunged his fingers hard and deep inside her dripping pussy, and the next thrust drove her onto her toes. She sobbed a throaty moan against his shirt collar. Desperation clawed at her. Flames engulfed her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her so hot, so fast. She needed his cock.
Hair clenched in his fist, he spun her around and shoved her over the counter top. Beyond their labored breathing, she heard his belt buckle rattle. Then before the count of five, the silky head of his rock-hard cock grazed between her damp folds and ground against her clit. The heat of his bare flesh made her legs shake and her eyes roll. Dizzy and drunk on sensation, she shook her head and reared her hips back.
“Fuck,” he ground out and grasped her hips. “Christ. Wait.”
The moment the condom wrapper hit the floor, his cock slammed inside of her. Fiona’s mouth flew open but any sound, cry, scream, or moan stopped dead in her throat. He stilled, buried to the hilt inside of her.
“Christ,” he swore softly against her ear before he drew back and drove inside her again. This time, her cry dislodged.
“Atta girl,” he whispered. “You’re so pretty when you scream for me.”
As his encouragement sent her inhibitions into another dimension, Fiona ground her teeth, gripped the counter’s edge and shoved back until every granite inch of his cock shoved painfully deep. His fierce growl of approval urged her on. She bucked and bounced and crushed her hips back in time with his forceful thrust.
This was the intimacy she craved, needed.
Violent. Intense. Dirty. Desperate.
An orgasm ripped through her with so much force her knees locked, her muscles tensed, and his next long and hard thrust drove her into a world of ecstasy that she hadn’t known existed. And Harrison was right there with her.
His harsh curse scraped through her from the inside out, and his arms snapped boa constrictor-tight around her quaking frame to the point where she could no longer breathe. She didn’t care. She would rather suffocate in his arms than have him let her go.
All the years of denial shattered into a million tiny shards around her, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt free.
****
In Fiona’s experience, perfect moments in life were an impossibility forever chased by the delusional and foolish, a never-ending quest that could leave you heartbroken and unsatisfied and incapable of finding happiness in all the imperfection
the world and humanity had to offer.
Harrison’s heavy arm hauled her tighter into the curve of his firm body as they lay spent and sweaty on the kitchen floor, and Fiona smiled. For today she was the delusional fool that found her piece of perfection. But rather than analyze or agonize about how she obtained it or how long it might last, she snuggled into his ironclad embrace and savored it.
“You smell like burnt poultry and sex,” he murmured into her hair.
She softly laughed. “I believe you’re half to blame for that.”
“Mmm. I’ll take a third of the responsibility but,” he kissed her shoulder, “you and the apron take the rest.”
“Oh?” She grinned. “So, it was the apron that got you hot and bothered?”
“It sure as hell wasn’t the cooking.”
Her bark of sharp laughter shot out so quickly it startled her into instant silence. She rolled over in his arms and grinned harder, because he was grinning back. He hardly looked the picture of professional elegance now, with his dark hair tousled and sweat-damp. Sometime between when he’d walked in and now, he had shed his necktie and suit jacket, leaving a semi-wrinkled shirt with most of the buttons undone. He looked more man than politician this way. Touchable. Vulnerable. Human.
Wouldn’t it be so easy for her to fall for a man like him? For someone who made her feel all the right emotions, encouraged her passions and complemented them with his own. An honest man. A caring man. A deadly attractive man. Oh yes. It would be easy.
Easy and unwise.
An uncomfortable ache settled in Fiona’s chest, but she stuffed it down.
“All kidding aside, I’m so sorry about the mess. I never meant for it to get so out of control. Honestly, I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I’m in an immaculate kitchen, then poof.” She gestured a hand around them and rolled her eyes. “Disaster.”
“It’s fine. Really.” His lips quirked as he scored his knuckles lightly down her cheek. “You may not be aware of this, but I can be a bit fanatical when it comes to organization and control. This,” he imitated her gesture, “is a good reminder that not all things are in my control, and even so, the world still turns.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes and pretended to ponder. “When you put it that way, I think a thank-you is in order.”
“Let’s not get carried away.” His perfect teeth flashed, and he yanked her in for a hard, quick kiss that left her breathless. “Now, where in the hell did you find this apron?”
“Tucked away in the drawer near that oddly shaped appliance I think people call an oven.”
“Well, it’s sexy as hell.”
“Glad you appreciate it.”
“Appreciate is an understatement.” He sighed. “Christ. There are few things in this world a woman can wear that will transform me back into a university freshman who’s thinking more with his cock than his brain. I’m sure it’s been twenty years since I’ve almost forgotten a condom.”
“I think that’s the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me,” Fiona teased.
“That’s because you’ve been keeping poor company.”
“Now that is what I would call an understatement,” she agreed. “Either way, unless your racy secret sex life has landed you some horrible disease you haven’t told me about, a condom wouldn’t have mattered. Thankfully, my nonexistent sex life has provided me with a clean bill of health.”
“My racy secret sex life, as you put it so delicately, has landed me no such thing,” he assured her and grinned. She had such an easy way about her. He liked the way she could laugh at the past and embrace the present. “I was thinking more along the lines of pregnancy.”
Fiona stiffened in his arms, her lashes sweeping small crescents against her cheekbones as she redirected her eyes from him. Harrison studied her thoughtfully.
“What is it, love?”
She struggled to replace her frown with a smile, and eventually she succeeded, though it was pained and forced and didn’t sit well with him one bit.
“It’s nothing, really.”
“Have you forgotten about the fib rule?” He grasped her chin and tilted her face up. “Talk to me.”
She looked to the ceiling and sighed. Then, her eyes returned to his and she shrugged. “I can’t have children. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”
Shit.
He flexed his jaw and forced a breath through his nostrils. “I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t look at me like that.”
He cocked his head. “Like what?”
“Like the world has suddenly stopped turning.” Her gentle smile was sympathetic and unexpected, and it genuinely warmed him. “I’m fine. Really. I’ve made my peace with the reality and have decided it was blessing in disguise. Once Daniel discovered I couldn’t conceive, he pretty much saw me as a failure as a woman and left me alone.”
“Jesus Christ.” Irritation spiked through him and he scowled. “Quite a common thing, good women being led to believe they’ve found a prince only to discover a complete and utter prick beneath the golden crown.”
“I’m sure it is quite common. Unfortunately, I don’t have naivety to hide behind. I knew exactly who Daniel was when I married him. I just didn’t care,” she admitted. “At the time, all I could think about is getting back into the good graces of my father. Marrying his protégé seemed like a good start. Long story short, I had daddy issues. Still may have, actually. I’m not sure.”
Harrison brushed the hair back from her face then gathered her closer, resting his chin on top of her head. He stroked the base of her neck with his thumb, relieved when most of the tension in her dissolved.
“Was it worth it?” he asked quietly. “Did it mend bridges with your father?”
“No.” She snuggled deeper into his embrace and let out a long breath. “No. It really didn’t.”
No words exchanged between them for a period of time, but he gently stroked her hair and rubbed her back. He held her in a way he had never held a woman before. With the desire to protect. And, although it was unrealistic to think he could shield her from the harshness of the world, from her father’s narrow-minded ideals, and from Daniel’s stupidity, he wanted it anyway.
“So,” Fiona whispered and teased her fingers lightly over his chest. “Now you can see why I don’t see my inhospitable lady parts as some type of curse. I got lucky.”
“Inhospitable you say?” He held her away and arched an eyebrow. “I happen to think your lady parts are plenty hospitable.”
“Oh, do you?” Her lips quirked.
“Oh yes.” He rolled with her until she was flat on her back. “I do, indeed.”
Centered between her bare, beautiful thighs, he lowered onto his forearms and brushed his mouth over hers. When she leaned up to kiss him, he dodged and detoured to her exposed neck. Her soft moan went straight to his cock.
The front door slammed.
“Oh God,” Fiona whispered, eyes frantically darting toward the noise. “Someone’s here.”
Heavy footsteps carried toward them and the closer they got, the harder Fiona’s nails bit into his shoulders.
“So, even though you’ve been dodging my calls all day, nice guy that I am, I grabbed some food from that little Italian place down the street.” Marcus’s voice boomed throughout the apartment, and Harrison swore under his breath. “Pricey little joint but I managed to get them to throw in a few extra pieces of garlic bread.”
His brother pulled up short in the opening of the kitchen, a brown takeout bag clutched in his arms. Fiona wrenched her head to the side, but if Marc’s wide stare was any indication, she hadn’t done it quickly enough for him not to recognize her.
“This is why you don’t let your sibling house sit for you, especially when you know said sibling has miserable timing,” Harrison murmured softly in Fiona’s ear. “For the love of God, Marc. Are you going to stand there and gape like an idiot or have the decency to turn around?”
“Right. H
ell. Sorry.” Marcus snapped his jaw shut and quickly turned.
Harrison returned his attention to Fiona. She trembled beneath him, and not in a good way. He frowned down at her and brushed her cheek lightly.
“Hey. Look at me.” Her mortified gaze lifted and he wished to hell he had never given Marc a key to his apartment. “He won’t tell anyone. No one will find out. Are you okay?”
She weakly nodded.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she answered softly.
“Would you like to go get dressed?”
A more assertive nod followed, and he helped her up from the floor, then waited until she was around the corner before swinging an irritated stare back at his brother.
“How hard is it to knock?” he muttered, and jerked his slacks up.
“You gave me a key.” Marcus cast a half-testing glance over his shoulder.
“I gave you a key for when I was away on business. As you can see, I’m back.”
“If you had answered your goddamn phone, I’d have known not to come over.”
When Marcus realized they were alone, he did a full one-eighty, stomped into the kitchen, and dropped the bag of food on the counter. “Please, Harrison. Oh, please, please, please, tell me you weren’t fucking who I think you were fucking.”
“All right.” He yanked the zipper up on his pants then began buttoning his shirt. “I wasn’t fucking who you think I was fucking.”
Marcus groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “For Christ’s sake, man. When I said tread lightly and keep your focus on the election, in no way, shape, or form, did I mean dip your pen in the opposition’s inkwell. Forrester’s wife!”
“Lower your voice.” Harrison sent a warning glance. “She’s not his wife anymore. As of yesterday afternoon, she’s his ex-wife.”
“Oh well.” He tossed his hands dramatically but did drop his voice to a whisper. “If it’s as of yesterday that changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“Calm down.”
“Calm down?” Marcus shoved a hand through dark hair and swore. “If the press catches wind of this, your career is over. How did this happen? Were you just lurking outside the law offices until she signed on the dotted line?”