“Anger isn’t what I’ve been feeling most lately. Not since I’ve come back home.” Because although the timing sucked, his body was predictably reacting to Bree’s nearness.
She tipped back her head, offering him a sweet smile that only made him harder. A throat cleared, and Harley finally lifted his gaze from Bree’s face to Craig, who watched them with equal parts trepidation and hope.
“You’re having another baby?” he asked.
Bree’s fingers bunched the shirt over Harley’s heart as she twisted in his arms to look behind her. “Yes,” she said.
Craig’s face crumpled into a grin. “Congratulations—that’s wonderful. Does Carter know?”
“No. I’m going to wait a little longer before I tell him.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word. But Carter’ll be over the moon having a new baby brother or sister. He’ll be dying to help me make something for the little one in my workshop over the holidays. A rocking horse might be nice; he could paint it—”
“Dad.” Paul turned back to them from where he had been pretending to watch the cricket match.
“Oh.” Craig’s gaze zipped to Harley, smile wavering. “I’m getting ahead of myself. You probably don’t want me to have anything to do with this baby.” His voice rose at the end—definitely a question.
Shit. He could either adult—like a grown man who had, without fanfare, turned thirty last month…Or he could prove to Bree her faith in him was unfounded by tossing his toys out of the cot and storming off the field.
“Yet to be determined.” It was better than a flat out, “No way in hell.”
Paul angled his sunglasses down, giving Harley the bro-eyebrow-raise. “Since Mum and Dad are joining us for the barbecue tonight, the two of you can try being civil. It’s a step in the right direction, ay?”
Out on the field, Carter stood in the line, getting ready for his turn to bat. The boy loved Craig—Harley had seen it in the way Carter clung to the older man’s arm walking over, even though he was close to the age when showing affection to grown-ups was a little uncool. If Harley seriously considered continuing to be a part of Carter’s life—even in the minor role of uncle—then losing his shit around the kid’s pops was unacceptable.
“Yeah. I can be civil for a few hours,” Harley said.
He glanced down at Bree, finding her face upturned to his.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, and the hand that rested on the small of his back slipped down to squeeze his ass.
His stomach, tied into knots since Craig first walked toward them, finally loosened. Priorities slid into place. He’d accepted the olive branch from his father, so the Make Peace with The Past priority dropped down his internal list to no longer urgent.
Showing Bree how far he had to go before he was civilized rose to the number one spot. Because right now, his need to make love to her, to make her his, was desperate and completely barbaric.
Chapter 18
On a scale of one to ten, with ten being “Hey, let’s do this again” and one being, “Kill me now”, Harley rated dinner that night as a solid four-point-five.
He based that rating on a point for hanging out with Carter, a point for getting to know his brother—after the initial shock had worn off, Paul threatened to smack Harley upside the head if he referred to their fledgling relationship as half-anything—and a point for being so civil to Craig the muscles in his jaw ached. The remaining points went solely to Bree, who was so crazy beautiful, so tuned in to him she knew when to stay by his side and when to give him space. She’d made what could’ve been the most awkward meal of his life bearable.
Not that he and Craig had smoothed over anything concrete, but Harley had taken the first tentative step. Before he and Bree left the Taheres’, Craig offered Harley a slip of paper with his address and phone number on it. Craig said he’d like to sit down and talk with Harley and Ford one day if and when they were ready. Harley had folded the note and slid it into his wallet.
Progress.
Harley drove down the tree-lined Park Terrace, where he’d booked a room at an exclusive Hagley Park boutique hotel near Christchurch’s central city. While much of the inner city had been devastated in the 2011 earthquake, nothing kept the residents’ spirits down for long. Christchurch, especially its iconic, four-hundred acre park running alongside the sleepy Avon River, bloomed again, despite the tragedy that tried to define it.
“We’re staying here?” Bree said as they pulled up to the hotel’s valet. “It’s like five hundred dollars a night.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “If you’d rather stay at the Bates Motel lookalike we passed five minutes ago…”
Bree rolled her eyes. “I guess we’ll sleep better here, where we won’t have to worry about psychos with kitchen knives.”
Harley got out and opened Bree’s door. He leaned in before she could swing one of her sexy legs out of the car, bending close to her ear so the valet couldn’t overhear.
“Hope you’re not expecting a full eight hours, baby, because sleep was not what I had in mind.”
Her gaze flared hot. “You rich guys, all the same. Thinking I can be bribed with a fancy, five-star hotel.”
“I think I can bribe you with orgasms.” He stroked a fingertip down the curve of her neck, eliciting a delicate shiver.
She sucked in a shaky breath, and her lips curled in a teasing smile that had him hardening.
“Buy one get one free?” she asked.
He moved aside, and she slid out of the car, the pretty dress she’d changed into at her sister’s riding up high on her legs. And holy hell—was she…? The flash of pale, smooth skin and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a distinct lack of panties, disappeared as she stood and her dress swirled around her thighs.
“It’s an unlimited offer.” And if his voice came out a little croaky, it was because his throbbing dick had stolen the blood supply from his vocal chords.
By his calculation, he had approximately five minutes to get her up to his room before the urge to strip her down and lick her from her peach-painted toenails to her succulent nipples, which were only a shade or two darker, overcame his aversion to PDAs.
“Okay, you win. Hurry.” The wobble in her voice cut that estimation in half.
Harley snatched their overnight bags from the rental car’s back seat then tossed the keys at the valet. He somehow got through the check-in process, lasting until the elevator doors hissed shut and he’d hit the button for the top floor. He dropped the bags and backed Bree to the wall, plastering himself against her warm curves and kissing her until the first whimpering moans rose from her throat.
“No panties?” He pressed a thigh between her legs, eliciting another low sound of arousal. His or Bree’s? He was too far gone to make the distinction.
“I knew you needed me,” she said simply.
“Perceptive.” He dropped a kiss on her brow as the elevator slowed, and he left his lips there, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. “And generous. And maybe I should apologize for needing you so fucking badly that I can’t seem to regain my balance.”
“Don’t apologize.” She angled her hips until the softest part of her connected with the hardest part of him. “I need you, too.”
Fingernails dug into his arms where she’d a firm grip on him—just in case he changed his mind and tried to pull back.
Not gonna happen.
And he wasn’t meaning only in the physical sense. But trying to communicate that need eloquently while his cock ached and Bree was wrapped around him was near impossible. He just had to try.
“A while ago you told me I only come to you when I’m desperate. You nailed it, but not for the reasons you thought, not for the reasons I let you think.”
A ding as the elevator reached its destination and the doors hissed open. Without taking his gaze off Bree, Harley kicked his overnight bag backward so it rested half inside the elevator, half on the landing.
“I didn’t come to you for mindless sex
to drown out whatever demon was screaming in my head, but to soak in your goodness, to let it fill up all my broken places. The only damn time I find peace, find out who I really am, is when I’m with you.”
Elevator doors hissed, closing on his bag and bouncing open again with a buzz.
“I need you.” He bent, flicking his tongue against the seam of her mouth until her lips parted for him, and he sank into her kiss, hands fisting in her hair—just for a moment. “But I need you to believe that more.”
“I believe it,” she said, and in a move that snapped the last of his control, licked her lips with a sigh. As if savoring the taste of his mouth.
Harley peeled away from her—pure torture—and scooped up both their bags. She hurried at his side along the corridor to the room at the end. One swipe with the key card and they were inside the room. Bags followed the same trajectory as they had in the elevator, but this time, it was Harley who found himself backed up against the wall.
Bree poured herself onto him like warm syrup—pinning his arms to his sides, her full breasts rubbing on his chest as she rose and took his mouth in a soul-destroying kiss. Her tongue danced along his lower lip, teasing and inviting him to give over control to her completely. Powerless to resist, he let Bree take from him whatever she wanted. While her weight continued to push against his biceps, his hands were still free, and he tugged up her dress to palm her panty-free bottom. He cupped his hand over the satiny-smooth flesh, curving his fingers into her, finding her wet and ready.
Bree rocked upward, spreading her legs farther apart, grinding against him so sweetly he thought his cock would go all Bruce Banner on him and split his jeans apart. He dipped a finger inside her, and her internal muscles clamped down, a small, needy sound escaping between her teeth. One finger then two, slowly stroking in and out of her slippery flesh. Her body melded with his, encouraging him with more breathy sighs to discover her most sensitive spots. Being an obliging sort of guy, he didn’t need much of an incentive, and he pulled her even closer, lifting her to her tip-toes so his fingers could slide easily through her slick folds to rub her swollen clit.
Her hips bucked and she raked her fingers from his chest to groin, somehow finding enough of a gap between them to scrub the heel of her palm down his cock, tucking her fingers around his balls with a gentle squeeze.
“Now. I want you inside me in the worst way. Please.”
She pushed herself upright, and his still-moist fingers trailed over the sleek curve of her ass. Harley was gratified to see her hands tremble while she fought with his jeans’ button.
“I got this.” He pushed her fingers aside and unhooked the button, his cock already forcing its way out of his boxers.
By the time he’d unzipped his jeans, Bree had positioned herself against the wall. She faced it, one forearm braced, the other hand holding up her bunched dress, her thighs spread hip-distance apart, slick with her arousal.
He would’ve labelled it in his head as the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen, only the way her big blue eyes watched him over her shoulder as he closed the short distance—yeah, there was hunger in her gaze but also a sweet vulnerability—turned the fire of lust into the slow-burn of something else entirely.
Something like tenderness. Something a hell of a lot like love.
“Hey.” He brushed her hair over one shoulder and feathered kisses along her nape. “I wanted to take my time tonight.”
“We have all night,” she said. “I really don’t need all of those eight hours.”
He would’ve argued, perhaps gathered her up and carried her to the huge, king-sized bed he knew was in the separate bedroom, only her fingers closed around a convenient body part and dragged him flush against her. Positioning the tip of him at her slick entrance, she bowed gracefully forward, tilting her hips so he slid a few inches into heaven. Tight, wet heat gripped him as he bent his knees and thrust home. He withdrew slightly and slammed into her again and again, the incredible friction firing off so many pleasurable synapses in his brain, he wondered if he’d stroke out.
Harder than he’d been since he first made love to her as a horny-and-not-as-experienced-as-he-made-out teenager, Harley swallowed a groan as the sensation of being deep inside her overwhelmed him. And then he thought, to hell with it. Bree deserved to know how fucking amazing she made him feel.
He skimmed his hands up her waist to unzip her dress. He peeled the fabric apart, the thin straps falling down her arms and giving him access to the heavy sway of her breasts. Her nipples jutted against his palms, and she made a breathy whimper as he teased the puckered tips between his fingers.
“I love the way you feel.” He dipped his head, pressing his face into her silky hair. “The way you smell.”
Dropping a hand from her breast, he traced a path over the gentle slope of her belly, slid his fingers under her dress and into her slick folds. “I love how wet you are for me.” She moaned and pumped her hips back. “How without words you tell me how much you want me.”
He held her still for a moment continuing to tease her with his fingers. Only a few more strokes inside her beautiful body and he’d lose it completely.
She squirmed, rotating her hips as he circled the little bundle of nerves. Slapping a palm against the wall, she cried out her pleasure, internal muscles gripping and releasing him, drawing him in deeper, making him forget his train of thought with her jerky, panting breaths. His balls tightened, and it was too late to do anything but surrender as he came with a shout inside her.
Bree sagged forward, and Harley gathered her close in his arms, his heart slamming so hard into his ribs it felt like the steady bang-bang-bang of a nail gun. He held her. Just breathed in her spicy, flowery scent, feeling how well, how perfectly she fit tucked into him, so warm and sated. And his.
Later, much later, after he’d kept his word and made Bree come so many times she was now curled, boneless, in the big bed, sleeping in the catatonic sleep of the sexually exhausted, Harley stood at the picture windows that overlooked Hagley Park. It was still outside, past four in the morning according to the last time he’d checked his phone. The slow-moving current of the Avon River absorbed streams of moonlight filtering through the tree branches. If this had been his New York apartment—and not the roach-infested, closet-sized dump he’d lived in during his first year in Manhattan—he’d be staring down at the East River. Feeling alone, feeling isolated, even if there were a woman in the bedroom behind him.
He hadn’t felt that sense of loneliness and isolation during his two months back in Oban, not since Bree was in his life again. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass.
Do you love her? The question Harley asked Ford when his fool brother had nearly lost Holly.
Fool brother? Harley shook his head. Who was the foolish brother now?
Do you love her, love her? The real deal. The kind that rips your nuts off and shoves them down your throat at the thought of ever being without her.
He’d been thinking of Bree that day on the phone with Ford, just as he’d thought of Bree back in that Christchurch gallery. Thought of maybe saying no to New York, after all. But then Clarissa Hobbs, who’d already been married three times, told him, “Love doesn’t last, but play your cards right, and your art will.” He’d embraced his fears and had chosen to believe her.
Clarissa was wrong.
Love did last. His feelings for Bree had gone dormant; they hadn’t disappeared. Screwed-up hot mess that he was, he loved her. The real, nut-ripping-off deal.
But he didn’t need to be a mind reader to understand Bree needed more than just Harley saying he loved her. She was carrying their child, a real live hand-grenade that would blow up their lives in less than seven months. Only Bree didn’t have seven months before Christine sold the gallery from under her.
Harley would follow Bree to whatever part of the world she settled in, but he knew she considered Oban home. And if that’s where her home was—fuck if he’d stand by and see her lose it. Ne
arly a month ago, Bree would rather have borrowed money from a mafia Don than him, but the situation between them had changed.
He loved her. Soon as he found the right time—not in the middle of making love to her, because, c’mon—he’d tell her. And he’d also let her know he’d come around to the idea that maybe he could do this daddy-ing thing.
So helping the woman he loved was justifiable, right?
Harley slid back into bed and picked up his phone. He opened his e-mails, created the first one to be sent, and stroked a hand down Bree’s spine when she stirred. She mumbled something and rolled over, flinging an arm possessively over his chest.
More than justifiable.
***
The best laid plans and all that crap.
Bree snatched another orange juice off the tray Holly was offering to guests and wished like hell it would have the same effect of a decent claret. Or two. Or three. Her lips ached from smiling, and she cast another glance around the now-half-empty gallery.
It was safe to say her exhibition was a complete and utter disaster.
While Shaye had done a fantastic job with the catering, and Holly and Ford were doing brilliantly as volunteer servers—but everything else that could go wrong, had gone wrong.
Start with her wealthiest potential buyer of Harley’s work, a private collector in Melbourne. He’d come down with a stomach bug yesterday morning. Then another potential buyer, a woman in Auckland, had taken one look at the weather forecast for the weekend and said something to the effect of, “When hell freezes over I’ll fly in a tin can across the Foveaux Strait.”
Not to worry, right? She’d attached a photograph of Harley’s Drawing Breath to an e-mail and sat back to wait for an offer to roll in.
The Melbourne collector, known for being a bit of a dick, had replied late this morning. Would rather frame my own vomit-splattered canvas and hang it on the wall than this cliché of Komeke’s. Disappointed. The Auckland buyer was more tactful. Pass on this one, sorry.
Drawing Me In: A New Zealand Secret Baby Second Chance Romance (Due South Series Book 7) Page 26