Soft footsteps inside. My heart jumped into my throat.
The door opened.
I froze.
The woman standing there... was that Harper?
She was even more beautiful than in the photo. She wore a simple white cotton dress that traced tempting curves—Christ, when did she become so... so goddamn gorgeous?
"Harper..." I forced the word out, throat like sandpaper.
Harper's pupils contracted sharply.
The next second, she tried to slam the door. Instinct made me shove my arm out, bracing it against the frame, using my body weight to stop the door from closing.
"Wait! Harper, please—"
"Let go!" Harper's voice held clear panic and resistance. "Let go of this door!"
She pushed hard, trying to force me out. But how could she match my strength?
I held the door firm, nearly wedging myself into the gap.
"Harper, please just listen—"
"I don't know you!" Her voice pitched higher, eyes instantly red. "Please leave, or I'm calling the police!"
"You don't know me?" I let out a bitter laugh, her words shredding my heart. "Harper Evans. Mrs. Orlov. My wife—and you say you don't know me?"
Harper cried as she shoved at my hand trapped in the doorway.
"I came all the way here to hide from you. Why won't you just leave me alone?"
"I came to take you home." I stared at her, searching for even a trace of what we'd had. "About Aiden... I'm sorry. I can make it up to you. Whatever you want."
"Home?" She repeated the word softly, mouth curving into something almost mocking. "My home is right here."
Harper paused, her gaze still direct and unafraid. "If you really feelguilty, then disappear from my sight. That's the only compensation you can give me."
Just as I was about to keep talking, a hand reached out from behind Harper, settling naturally on her shoulder.
"Sweetheart, who is this?"
A man's voice. Lazy, elegant, but laced with undisguised hostility.
My gaze traveled over Harper's shoulder to that face.
Blond. Blue eyes. Features so refined he could've stepped out of an oil painting.
So this was the man.
Julian Dante. Head of the Dante family in San Francisco. Descendant of fallen Italian nobility.
Also Genevie's husband.
My blood froze for an instant, then boiled over.
What was he doing here? How dare he touch Harper?
