Harbour (Runaway Home #1)

by Penelope Louleas

  ****

  I wake up in a sterile hospital room. My head is pounding and my face feels swollen. My hands and knees sting also. I'm alone. I start to cry, tears falling unchecked down my face. This has officially been one of the worst nights of my life.

  The door opens and I'm shocked to see Lincoln. His expression is a mixture of anger and sympathy. "Harbour, what the hell happened?"

  "Why are you here? How did you know?"

  "Your ID badge was in your handbag. They called the head office to try to track down a next of kin. How can you not have anyone listed?" I hang my head and respond, my voice thick with sadness, "I don't know anyone well enough to list them. I've only been here for a couple of months . . ."

  He sighs and runs his hand through his hair like he always does when he's stressed. "Harbour, you could've put me, or Vivian—even fucking Simon would've sufficed! Just give me a minute. I'm going to call the doctor to check on you."

  I can hear his angry, heavy steps fade as he leaves the room. This is not what I want. I don't want to be yelled at for my stupid mistakes. I want to be held and comforted. For the first time since arriving in New York, I wish I were home.

  The doctor checks me over and apart from some minor bruising and grazes; I’m fine and free to go home.

  "Do you have someone living with you?" the doctor asks.

  I shake my head.

  "You may have a concussion, so I think its best you stay with someone who can monitor you for the next twenty-four hours."

  I nod to appease him. He leaves the room and I prepare to head home. As I finish dressing Lincoln enters the room. "The police are here for your statement. Are you up to it?"

  I sigh and hang my head. "Guess I should get it over with."

  The detectives are with me for about twenty minutes. I explain everything in full detail, feeling so stupid for the position I put myself in. Luckily, Lincoln isn't here to hear this. I'm embarrassed by it all.

  As they leave, the female officer turns back to me. "You did well, Harbour. It could've been a lot worse. Don't let this scare you, just be more vigilant in future. Safety in numbers."

  "Thank you for your help, officers."

  Lincoln reenters shortly after. "Are you ready to leave?"

  "Yes, thank you for coming down here; I'm sorry for the disruption to your evening, or morning. What time is it, anyway?"

  "It’s seven thirty a.m. Come; the car is out the front."

  "Mr. Whitmore, you really have done enough. I don't expect you to drive me home. Thank you, though; it's nice to have someone who cares."

  He sighs and walks over to me, placing both of his hands on my shoulders. "First of all, I’m not driving you home; I'm driving you to my place. Before you argue, I heard the doctor say you needed to be watched, so it’s happening. Secondly, people care about you, Harbour, you just have to let them; and finally, we need to discuss our conversation from last night."

  I cringe. "I'm so sorry about what I said—"

  "We'll discuss it at my apartment, now let’s go."

  I grab my handbag and we make our way to his car. I feel like I'm doing the walk of shame as I'm still in my dress and heels from last night.

  "Can you walk okay in those shoes? Is your ankle sore?" he asks as we head towards the exit. What's he going to do? Carry me?

  "I'm fine, thanks."

  He shakes his head and watches me wearily as he helps me into his fancy Aston Martin. I feel a lecture coming on, and frankly, I deserve it. My reckless behavior was immature. I shouldn’t have left the club on my own.

  We silently head to his apartment, which is only two minutes from our office building. He drove me home even though he lived so close to the office? The thought makes me smile. He cares about my safety.

  He enters his building through the lift in the basement parking lot. He inserts a key into the panel of the lift and presses the PH button. Wow, a penthouse in New York. I feel like pretty woman, except for the prostitution part. The doors slide open to reveal an elegant foyer. The floors are white marble and in front of us there is a big, white, beautifully carved door, which I assume leads to his home. "Wow, your foyer is bigger than my whole apartment!" His shoulders tense, but he says nothing. He opens the door and I stand frozen.

  Oh. My. God.

  The first thing I notice is the floor-to-ceiling windows with a spectacular view of Central Park. A large white leather chaise lounge surrounds a state of the art chrome fireplace hanging from the high ceiling.

  "Come in, and make yourself at home." Lincoln's voice brings me back.

  "This is spectacular, Mr. Whitmore." My awe is evident in my tone.

  "Please, Harbour, when you're in my home, call me Lincoln."

  "Lincoln, this is amazing! I couldn't even dream a more perfect apartment. Do you live here alone?" He looks around and shrugs; did I touch a nerve? Did he live here with his ex also? Is this beautiful home tainted to him?

  "Thank you and yes, I live alone. I've only been here since my return to the city. I needed a change of location." So he bought it after his break up. I wonder if she still lives in their old apartment. I’d seen pictures online from a feature in Vogue Living. It was beautiful, but nothing compared to this. I remove my heels and walk into the grand room.

  "Would you like a drink?"

  I turn to see Lincoln standing in a huge kitchen that makes me instantly envious. It's full of all the mod-cons. I don't even recognize some of the fancy appliances.

  "Um, yes please, water."

  Lincoln opens the subzero refrigerator, and retrieves two bottles of Evian water. He walks towards me and I finally notice he's casually dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders and hard chest, and the jeans are snug around his trim waist. I quickly turn back around and walk over to the other amazing view in the hope that he didn't catch me undressing him with my eyes.

  He stands in front of me, blocking my view of the park, and hands me the water. He takes a long drink from his bottle and places it on the coffee table next to the large sofa. He puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on my chin. My stomach is full of butterflies and my breathing becomes shallow. If he kissed me, I think I'd collapse. He runs this thumb over the bruise on my forehead; luckily, it's not very severe.

  "Does it hurt?"

  Did he have to whisper? I think I just wet myself. "No, not anymore."

  "Will you tell me what happened?"

  "You don't know?" He shrugs, still holding my shoulder.

  "I know some of it, but I want to hear it from you." His hand runs from my shoulder down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. He leads me over to the couch and we sit next to each other. I start repeating exactly what I told the officers earlier. It doesn't get easier. I still feel stupid for leaving the bar on my own and endangering myself.

  When I finish, I finally look up from my fidgeting hands into his gorgeous blue eyes. They look darker than usual. His brow is furrowed, and he takes a deep breath before he speaks in a low tone.

  "Harbour, you were irresponsible, and this 'I’ll be fine on my own' attitude drives me fucking crazy. I want to lock you in here and never let you out. I’m very protective of you, and I feel like I failed last night. I'm so damn glad someone was there to help you, but it should've been me." He runs his hands through his hair exasperatedly. "I hate that this happened. I should've stayed."

  He's blaming himself? "Lincoln, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would've attacked any unsuspecting female. He was drunk and on a mission. I won't let my guard down again."

  "I won't let this happen to you again, Harbour, no matter what. You have my word that no fucking guy will touch you like that again."

  Whoa, where did that come from?

  "Um, thank you, but I'm not your responsibility, Lincoln. You're my boss, and I appreciate your concern but you can't take on the role of my knight in shining armor. The position is not open; I don't believe in fairy tales. This is the real w
orld. Shit happens; we learn from it and move on."

  "What did he do to you, Harbour?"

  I sigh. Again, really? "I just told you everything that happened Lincoln."

  "No, your ex."

  Shit. I'm so not talking about this today. I stand abruptly.

  "Lincoln, I'm tired, I need a hot shower and some clean clothes, so if you don't mind, I'd like to go home." He sighs heavily, obviously not getting the response he wanted.

  "I’ll show you to your room. There's an en suite; you can shower and have a nap. I’ll bring you something to wear, but tonight, we're talking."

  He stands not waiting for a response, and I follow him because I’m too tired to argue.

  Lincoln leads me into a bedroom that is simply breathtaking. There is a king-sized bed that looks so comfortable I will struggle to get out of it. The walls are painted in a cherry red and behind the bedhead is a black-patterned feature wall. He opens the door to the en suite and it’s huge with an oval bath and a rain showerhead in the corner surrounded by a semicircle of glass. There is natural light filtering through the huge windows above the bath and it has an equally spectacular view through to the window in the living room.

  "This is a one-way window. No one can see in."

  Oh, I didn't even think of that. "You sure?" I smirk at him, and I’m returned a cheeky grin.

  "I’m positive. I’ll get you some clothes and leave them on your bed. Have a nap and I’ll wake you for lunch in a couple of hours."

  Lincoln places the towels on the vanity and leaves the room.

  I quickly undress and have a relaxing long, hot shower using some very expensive female body-wash. I wonder if it belonged to his ex and if he keeps it in here as a reminder of her. My stomach knots and I realize I’m jealous of her, and what she shared with Lincoln—but just like her fancy body-wash, their relationship ended up in the drain. I wonder if he’s over her . . .

  That, and all other kinds of scenarios run through my head while I dry off and head into the bedroom.

  Lincoln left me a very baggy New York Yankees T-shirt and a pair of equally large track pants. I put on the T-shirt but opt not to wear the pants, then I climb into the bed or the cloud, because I'm sure this is what they would feel like. I lie back on the pillow, take a deep breath and I'm enveloped by Lincoln's manly scent still lingering on the clean clothes and I easily fall into a much needed, blissful sleep.

  I dream of Lincoln's blue eyes and his gorgeous mouth repeating the words, "I feel protective over you . . ."

  Chapter Ten

  "Harbour, wake up."

  "Go away." I bury my head into my pillow, which is so soft I've already thought of asking Lincoln if I can keep it.

  "You need to wake up. I'm sure you're hungry." He chuckles softly and I realize I'm starved. I roll over and look up at Lincoln, who is sitting in the edge of the bed facing me. God, I could wake up to that face every morning. I give him a shy smile, hoping he can’t read minds.

  "You’re cute when you've just woken up. Your hair is all mussed and you even left a lovely drool patch on my pillow."

  "Oh my God! The gentlemanly thing to do would be not to draw attention to it." I pick up the pillow and playfully throw it at him. He laughs and throws it back. "You can keep it, anyway. It’s a nice change from when my sister sleeps here; it’s usually covered in her make up."

  Oh, maybe the body wash was his sister’s. I’m somewhat relieved by this thought.

  "Come on, lunch is ready. Let’s eat."

  He stands and pulls the duvet off me. I shriek and pull the T-shirt further down over my thighs. I blush profusely as he stares at my legs and gives them an appreciative once-over. I’m not wearing panties. I’m sure he's realized this also. I quickly pull the sheet over my naked legs.

  "I’ll um . . . meet you out there so you can put your pants on."

  He turns and leaves the room, and I quickly jump off the bed and throw on the track pants. They're still on the edge of the bed. He must've seen them; he knew I was pant-less when he pulled off the duvet! Instead of being irritated by his blatant perving, I feel my stomach tighten and warmth build in my core. All he had to do was stare at me with his lust-filled eyes and I'm now wet and aching for him to take me. I shake my head and roll my eyes. Dream on, Harbour. He's not even in your solar system, let alone your league! But the "always think positive" good conscience says, He did just blatantly check you out . . . and he's worried about your safety. As I look at myself in the mirror, my hair a mess and my face flushed, I mumble, "Yeah, but he's my boss, too."

  How cliché of me, lusting after my sex god of a boss.

  I head to the kitchen and Lincoln is sitting on a stool with two plates of fettuccini carbonara in front of him. I eat this at least twice a week for lunch. "Yum, my favorite."

  He gives me a knowing look, then he pulls out the stool next to him. "Come, sit and eat."

  "Did you cook this?" I can’t see any dirty pots or pans; the kitchen is spotless, so I doubt it.

  "No, I ordered in. But I can cook." He lifts his chin, proud of himself.

  "Well, at least this amazing kitchen gets some use! I love to cook; baking is my favorite thing to do, and it relaxes me." I take a mouthful of the pasta, and as the delicate creamy sauce slides down my throat I moan in delight.

  "Please don't make noises like that. It’s . . . distracting."

  I blush, and continue to eat in silence. I don’t look over at Lincoln, but I can feel him staring at me. It makes me slightly self-conscious. He clears his throat and it begins; I know he's preparing himself to have "the talk."

  "We need to talk about what’s going on here, Harbour."

  Bingo! I continue to stare at my pasta and swirl a piece around my fork. "I don't know what you mean?"

  He turns in his seat and his knees are touching my thigh. Just that small amount of contact makes my stomach flutter. "Harbour, I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say there’s a strong pull between us. I think about you more than I should and, if I'm being completely honest, I’m hard every time you walk in the room. Shit, I’m hard every time I think about you. Fuck, I don't think my dick has relaxed since New Year's Eve!"

  I gasp at his statement and his honesty. My breathing begins to sound a lot like panting, so I try to rein in my dirty thoughts. I make him hard just by being around him? That’s the sexiest thing I've ever heard. Wow, I must be better at this flirting game than I thought.

  "Lincoln, you're my boss, and as much as I may agree with your eloquently put statement, we can’t act on this. It’s okay for you; you pretty much own the company. If this turns sour, which it inevitably will, I’ll be out of a job and have to move back to Australia. I like my job, and I love New York, sure, it gets lonely but I’m free here."

  I look up at him so he can see the determined look on my face. He leans forward, and I quickly spin around in the stool and jump off. I take a few steps before turning to face him, but he's right behind me. I gasp and try to step back but he grabs my face, staring at me with such intensity it takes my breath away. In my head, a war has begun. Conflicting thoughts are confusing the hell out of me. Kiss him, says my naughty side. Run, Harbour! Run, yells my logical side. God, I’d love to feel his lips on mine, but I just can’t risk losing everything and being forced to return home.

  "Please, don’t?" I ask him with a timid and not very convincing voice.

  "Talk to me, Harbour; why are you fighting this? I saw the passion in your eyes when we fought last night, and again when I pulled off the duvet. You want me, I want you . . . we can work something out so we can both get what we want." I quickly dart to the left and make my way to the windows. I need some space so I can think clearly.

  "How do you know what I want? You're only assuming I want to sleep with you. Like I said, I have a lot riding on this. It just can’t happen, As much as we might want it to."

  "So you do want this? You’re not denying it?"

  "No! I don't want to be your dirty little se
cret! I’m not that kind of girl. I don't know where you got your impression of me, but it’s incorrect. I’ve only ever been with one man and we were together for four years. I don't like to sleep around for the fun of it. Trust me, Lincoln; I'm doing you a favor."

  He slowly walks towards me as I back away from him. Eventually, my back is to the window, which cools me. It’s heaven because I feel like I’m on fire. He places his hands on the glass next to my face. "We can be each other’s little secret, but there’s nothing dirty about it, unless that’s how you like it." He winks at me, and I’m glad the glass is behind me or I would be swooning at his feet.

  "You have a dirty mouth." It’s the only response I can muster. My voice is laced with desire. "You have no idea . . ."

  With that, he leans in and I let him kiss me. It’s a hard, erotic kiss. As soon as his lips are on mine I moan, and he slips his tongue in and begins to explore my mouth. He pulls me closer with one hand on my head, running through my hair, and one snaked around my waist. I can feel his erection between us as he holds me tightly. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair like I’ve fantasized about doing so many times. Yes, it’s as soft as it looks, and just long enough for me to grab onto. My other hand moves to his bicep and I feel the rippling muscle underneath his T-shirt. He removes his hands and grabs my ass, lifting me, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. My brain is so foggy with desire that I can’t remember why this was a bad idea. Fuck being a good girl! I want to see what this dirty mouth of his can do!

  He starts to walk us to what I assume is his bedroom. I don’t have time to take in any of my surroundings, because Lincoln abruptly throws me on the bed.

  This is your chance, Har, you can stop now, I think. Hell, no! I sit up and pull my top off. Lincoln stops and looks at me.

  "Holy fucking hell Har, your tits are perfect." His voice is low and almost sounds like a growl. "Thanks. Now get naked." Wow... Did I really just say that? God, this man makes me crazy. In the four years I was with Derek we only ever fucked, quick and rough. And not the fun kind of rough either. Right now, I want to be fucked hard to release some of my pent up emotions. I have a feeling with Lincoln, I will enjoy every minute.