Something shifts in his gaze. A knowing look. A private one. Like he absolutely knows where my mind just went.
Straight to a million images of him, all permanently inked NSFW.
“Am I going to have to separate you two?” Gabe says, already standing to collect the plates. He shakes his head with a grin. “Don’t make me send you to your rooms without dessert.”
Harrison’s mouth curves, slow and so unmistakable, a rush of heat climbs up my neck.
He pushes up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing a skull tattoo I distinctly remember licking.
“I have plenty of suits,” he says, completely unbothered. “I won’t embarrass you. And I’ll happily remain invisible in the background.” He leans back, slinging an arm over the chair. “Who’s going to be there?”
Gabe takes my plate and heads for the kitchen.
Does he have to do that now? Right when I could really use a referee?
“Not too many people.” I pretend to think it through. “It’s a small set. The photographer. Actors…”
“Actors?” he repeats. “How many?”
Most people light up when they ask that question.
Not Harrison.
If anything, his gaze sharpens, like he’s running an op and taking stock of the situation.
I sip my beer, aiming for casual. “A few,” I reply. Please let that be the last question.
He nods once.
Just when I think we can move on, he adds, “As long as Pierce Maddox isn’t there.”
Oh, hell.
Harrison stills, something dark coiling just beneath the surface.
And then explodes.
“You’re not going.”
“Excuse me?”
His chair scrapes back an inch. Heat flashes in his eyes.
“Pierce fucking Maddox. No. Absolutely not. Wedding photos. In a church. It’s not happening. You’re not doing it.”
“This won’t exactly be a picnic for me,” I snap. “In case you missed the memo, he’s a big part of the reason I had to abandon everything I was doing. Haul ass out of LA. All with paparazzi on my heels. And news flash, Harrison: I don’t get to opt out.”
His hands fly up, frustration breaking free. “Then why do it?”
“Because I’m contractually obligated!” I yell.
He punches his hand.
“That piece of shit cheated on you,” he reminds me. “Publicly humiliated you. It’s all over Page Six.”
I jump to my feet. “I love how you think I don’t know this.”
But he’s too angry to reason with now. Too busy ticking off reasons to kill Pierce.
