Harrison’s polished accent carries up the stairs as he addresses Archie. ‘Good evening, dog.’
Anger simmers in my blood at his disrespectful greeting.
Any remorse I harboured for using him to make my bodyguard jealous just evaporated. If I thought there was even a slight possibility Harrison and I might actually have as much in common in real life as we do on paper, that single statement blew that foolish notion straight out of the water.
This might be a tough night for Archie, but sitting through Harrison regaling me with stories that paint him as some sort of hero could be equally painful for me.
Still, no pain, no gain, right?
Harrison exhales a low whistle as I strut into the hallway, my coat draped over my injured arm and my clutch bag tucked under the other. ‘Victoria, you look stunning.’
He doesn’t look too bad himself, in that posh boy tweed suit way, apart from the fact his trousers are so tight he probably had to jump off the wardrobe to get into them. He’s the epitome of what his family stands for - generations of old money, titles and elitism.
Not to put too fine a point on it, especially given the way he spoke to Archie, he’s a snob.
Harrison’s lips press a greeting against my cheek at the same time his palm lands on my bare spine. His aftershave swamps me. It’s not awful, just completely overpowering.
Dark eyes light with approval. ‘Wow.’ A finger trails across my bare flesh, giving rise to goosebumps across my skin, but there’s not a single butterfly in my stomach, let alone a swarm of them, like when Archie touches me.
He’s towering a few feet away, glowering thunderously at the wall. Dressed in his familiar black Armani suit that hugs his pert backside and moulds his muscular chest, he’s every bit the hot, brooding bodyguard.
My stomach flips. The soles of my stilettos are rooted to the spot.
This feels so wrong.
Every part of me wants to scream,‘I can’t do this.’
But I have to.
Archie has to understand I won’t sit around and wait for him forever. I can’t waste the next ten years pining for him, like my sister Sasha did with Ryan. If he really won’t claim me, I’d rather know now.
‘I have a car waiting outside.’ Harrison guides me to the front door, nudging me back to reality. A sleek black limo with tinted windows is double-parked on the kerb outside.
A smartly dressed driver stands ready to open the back door for us, but Archie shoulders past and dismisses him. ‘I’ll be driving these two tonight.’
That wild Rambo look glints in his eyes. I swoon and sigh simultaneously.
It’s his job. I get it. But he could try to be a little less intimidating. His disdain for Harrison isn’t the driver’s fault. He takes three good steps back, gawking open-mouthed, then hops back into the car.
‘Is this really necessary?’ Harrison runs a palm over his day-old stubble.
‘You didn’t seriously think I was going to entrust my client’s safety to a child, did you?’ Archie’s voice is dangerously low.
‘Oh, thischildknows exactly how to take care of Victoria.’ Harrison drops a hand on my back in what I’m sure is a deliberate attempt to antagonise Archie.
He’s brave. Or stupid. I’m not sure which. This was a terrible idea. What the hell was I thinking?
Archie’s sporting the same dangerously cold expression he wore when he took out the four bouncers in Dublin. ‘Doubtful, boy, doubtful.’
‘Fine,’ Harrison finally shrugs. ‘Drive, dog.’
Annoyance whips through me. ‘H, please don’t call him that. Archie’s the best there is.’
‘Is that so?’ Harrison helps me into the back seat before sliding onto the leather next to me.
Archie reaches across to strap me in with a large, calloused hand attached to a huge defined arm, and shoulders that make Harrison’s rugby player ones look insignificant in comparison.
Then Archie slips into the driver’s seat, switching on the engine before Harrison has even closed his door.
