“You’ll realize very quickly that I don’t exist here, Babygirl. For the man who supposedly has everything, I have nothing that is truly mine.”
Flicking a glance at Clayton, I see that the irony isn’t lost on either of us. Even in my personal life, I managed to pick a girl whom I ultimately have to share. I should be used to it, rather than dragging my feet and trying to bully him into stepping aside. In fact, he already has, twice, and I still couldn’t convince Harper to be solely mine. She’s deemed this an all-or-nothing situation, yet that thought doesn’t infuriate me as much as it used to.
Carefully extracting my arm from her waist, I step aside to let Harper explore, living through her eyes. She takes it all in with carefully concealed wonder. The double staircase wrapping the entrance lobby, the tall windows gleaming with the late-afternoon sun, the immaculate gardens beyond, sculpted into a maze of sorts. High above us, a crystal chandelier watches over the gray marble flooring that splits the downstairs of the manor into three routes. The offices and entertaining halls to the left, the living space and games rooms to the right, the kitchens and cloakrooms straight ahead.
The knot in my chest loosens ever so slightly as I realize what she’s doing. Withholding her initial reactions, keeping her face impassive for my benefit. Clayton isn’t as subtle as he steps out from beside her, whistling low beneath his breath.
“Jesus, Wavershit. You didn’t tell us you were raised in a Bond villain’s lair. No wonder you turned out so—” Harper elbows him in the ribs, the ghost of a grin lighting up her face as she finishes that sentence herself.
“So humble, handsome and happy,” she winks, a blush tinting her cheeks as she lies straight through her teeth. I bark a laugh, slinging my arm over her shoulders.
“You know I’m only one of those things.” Beneath my hold, Harper sobers in an instant. I swear her green eyes turn glassy in an instant, her head tilting up to me in a way that threatens tocrack my heart. She knows my ego well enough to know which of those three options I would have chosen.
“You’re not happy?” she frowns as if the thought of me being otherwise physically wounds her. Aware of our audience in Clayton, Fiona and the driver who have carried our bags in, and the butlers who always linger too close to be coy, I tug Harper towards the kitchen. Swallowing against the mic clip, I guide her to a stool at the island and turn towards the window.
“I…” I huff out a breath. “It’s not that you don’t make me happy. It’s just…” I lick at the healing scar where my lip ring used to be, my mind stalling. Maybe I should just make her a coffee and distract her from this conversation, but then her arms wind around my middle, just like I did to her in the limo. Just like she did to me on my porch the first time she told me I’m hers. That she wants me the way I am.
Twisting in her arms, I pull her in close and press her cheek to my chest as if my heartbeat can explain what my mouth can’t.
“People like me don’t deserve to be happy, Harp. The things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt. I thought perhaps with you, I’d finally have the chance at redemption, far away from my demons.” I laugh to myself, though there’s no humor to it, my head shaking. “But somehow, they found you. You’re caught up in my trauma, and I don’t know how to get you out.”
Harper’s hands slide up my torso, passing over the burn scars on my ribs. I shudder, keeping my eyes locked on the clock hanging above the open archway.
“Look at me,” she demands, but I can’t. Or more rather, I won’t, because I know she’s going to tell me something I won’t be able to accept. Continuing upwards, her fingers slide into my hair and she tugs my head down until I’m consumed by her dazzling green eyes. Just as I expected, they’re filled with sincerity so raw, it cracks a fissure through my chest. “None of this is your fault. I’ve suffered before, so I know the importanceof riding the waves, taking joy wherever you can, and not feeling guilty for it.”
“You can’t tell me you can find any joy here,” I scoff, reaching up to release her hold from my head and standing straighter. “This house holds nothing but greed and selfishness. There’s no happiness here.” Returning her hands to my waist, Harper places a single kiss over my heart, and I swear my knees waver. Don’t you dare crumble for a single kiss, you sappy bastard. Harper smiles up at me knowingly.
“I’m happy whenever I’m with you and Clay. I can see how much it pains you to be back here, and it means the world that you’re enduring it anyway. As a special thank you, maybe I can help you rewrite some of those memories you’re struggling with.”
“Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?” I almost roll my eyes. Raising up on her tiptoes, Harper tells me exactly how she’ll do it. I choke on my breath, heat flooding my cheeks, my cock jolting to attention, and that’s before she licks the shell of my ear. Her hand lowers to my sweatpants, palming my shaft through the fabric.
I groan just as Fiona walks into the kitchen, affronted by our display. Turning Harper around, I use her to block the sight of my erection to the woman who’s been more present in my life than my own mother. Alas, this only serves to plant my dick between Harper’s ass cheeks, the curve stroking my piercings. Fuck, this is worse. So much worse.
“Should I prepare some dinner?” Fiona asks, averting her eyes to anywhere Harper and I aren’t. Clayton arrives back from whatever tour he took himself on, equally as impressed by the opulence of the kitchen.
“Dinner would be excellent,” he smirks. Fiona looks at the newest addition with annoyance, and I join in that sentiment.Over Harper’s head, I glare at Clayton, my nostrils flaring slightly.
“Making yourself at home, I see.” Clayton shrugs, drumming his fingers across the island separating us.
“I have no reservations in spending your father’s money. He owes us as much.” My glare quickly subsides. I’m not sure when Clayton started considering himself as part of ‘us’, or why he thinks my father owes him anything, but I’m not mad about it. Take the bastard for everything he’s got and then some. Readjusting her stance, Harper’s ass grinds against me, a shot of lust burning through me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, gripping her hips to cement her in place. After the display I was forced to watch last night, I’m strung tight enough to blow if she so much as wiggles the wrong way. A butler I’m not familiar with steps into view, announcing that the bedrooms are ready. Perfect fucking time, I think to myself as Clayton extends his hand out to Harper.
“Shall we?” he grins knowingly. To my dismay, Harper accepts his beckoning and strides over to take his hand. I jolt at the sudden exposure, grabbing for the first object that comes to hand. It turns out to be an antique plate which is usually just for show, but has now become my cock cover.
Clayton’s grin widens insufferably while Harper’s lip does a little tuck-and-bite thing as if she’s trying to hold back a laugh. I scowl at the pair of them as I stand here, half-hard, utterly humiliated and somehow weirdly proud that I can make Harper smile despite everything. I’ll never be able to understand that girl’s resilience, but I admire it.
“Are you coming?” Harper asks, a snort escaping at her choice of words. I run a hand over my face, willing my dick to settle down. It’s no use, and there’s no point covering the tent pitched in my grey sweats when everyone in the room is painfully aware of it. Readjusting myself into my waistband, Itoss the plate aside with a clatter. My strides eat up the space between us, the staff present making a conscious effort to ignore me.
“We’ll take our dinner in the library,” I tell Fiona as I grab Harper’s other hand and drag her out of the kitchen and up the right staircase. There’s no point asking which bedrooms have been prepared, as it’ll be the only two aside from my father’s that aren’t covered in dust sheets behind closed doors. Harper trips on the stairs, staggering to keep up with me.
“Wait, library?!” She breathes, momentarily distracted by the portraits of dead relatives lining the wall, each scowl more prominent than the last as we climb closer to the chandelier’s glimmering. I pray to whoever will listen that my face never ends up on that wall, although I probably shouldn’t worry. My father finds me far too inadequate to sit alongside his ancestors.
At the top of the stairs, I make a beeline for a set of open double doors, dragging Harper with me. Just before we cross the threshold, I pull her to a stop and stare at the tail she’s still clinging to.
“Your room is across the hall,” I jerk my chin to the open doors opposite, “if you don’t mind fucking off. There’s time before dinner for the situation in my pants to be dealt with.” I surprise myself with my politeness. The old me who would have simply punched Clayton in the face and thrown Harper over my shoulder. The woman in question smirks, still holding Clayton’s damn hand as she raises her brow at me.
“Is this a pent-up rage thing?”
