I hate to admit it, but Harrison has player written all over him. No man has this kind of unbothered confidence and woman-pleasing expertise by accident.
Skills like that are learned.
Honed.
Repeated.
The man could teach a seminar.
And frankly, it should be required.
I draw in a slow breath, nuzzling into him before I can help myself. We fit so… perfectly. His warm, unmistakably masculine scent settles deep in my chest, and that’s when it hits me.
No matter how badly a reckless part of me wants to throw caution to the wind, I can’t.
My life, and the role of a lifetime, are waiting for me in L.A. This isn’t just a chance. It’s the chance. The one you don’t fumble because you got distracted by a hot lumberjack and his devastating timing.
So, no.
It’s better I end this fast and clean. And now.
I lift my head. When the room stops spinning, I search for a clock.
Floor-to-ceiling windows spill early morning light across pale wood floors. Beyond them, a glass balcony frames Manhattan like a postcard. Concrete walls are softened by art that looks expensive.
Everything is balanced. Sparse. Intentional.
Does he live here?
Because if he does, he’s a next-level neat freak.
And he’s either my soulmate… or I’m still drunk and he’s the best hallucination ever.
Hmm. A hallucination would explain the absence of a clock.
Then the faint chimes I was pretty sure existed only in my head start ringing again.
That’s my phone. I look around. It’s coming from somewhere outside the room.
I try to turn.
The man behind me with the renewed hard-on tugs me closer. “Five. Minutes,” he murmurs against my hair, voice rough and gravely.
The chimes stop, and I snuggle into him, telling myself that future me can end it in five minutes just as well as I can end it now.
Then the chimes start up again.
Harrison props himself on one elbow, listening intently. “Do you hear… um, the Wicked Witch of the West coming?”
I nod, heat creeping into my cheeks. “It’s my phone. And I really need to get it.”
He kisses my lips. “Stay here.”
Then he’s off me and striding down the hall. He comes back moments later with my backpack in one hand and absolutely zero shame in the other. “You get the backpack if you turn around. Hands and knees. Now.”
I swear, this man is going to be the death of me.
Or at least the death of my vagina.
