Chapter Five
CHASE
I woketo sunlight streaming across familiar yet unfamiliar territory—my own bedroom but somehow altered. The sheets clung to my legs, the pillow next to mine bearing the gentle indent of another head. I took a deep breath with closed eyes. Harper’s scent lingered in the fabric, a mix of coconut shampoo and something distinctly her, making my chest tighten with the memory of her body against mine. For a moment, I lay still as if any movement might disrupt the delicate evidence that last night had actually happened.
Then reality crashed over me like a rogue wave. Harper Coleridge had been in my bed.
Was no longer in my bed.
I bolted upright, scanning the room. Her clothes from last night weren’t scattered across my polished floor anymore. The bedroom door stood ajar, letting in the faint aroma of… coffee?
Jesus. This was real.
I rubbed a hand over my stubble, memories flooding back with startling clarity. Harper’s unexpected visit to discuss the latest resort renovation plans. The way our attempt to resolve the argument had somehow veered into personal territory. And then…
My stomach dropped as the full implications hit me. I’d slept with my business partner. Not to mention my best friend’s sister.
I’d broken the cardinal rule of my thirty-odd-year friendship with Eli, the half-joking, completely serious pact we’d made in high school that his sisters were permanently off-limits. But here I was, in the aftermath of making Harper Coleridge very much on-limits. Part of me wanted to believe that Eli would understand. He’d grown a lot over the past year and found his own love. But another part had to wonder if that would only make him more protective than ever. Crossing my oldest friend felt like standing on a trapdoor, wondering not if, but when the ground would drop out from under me.
Then there was Harper. Even if Eli didn’t kill me, there was no escaping the fallout at work. I’d crossed every professional boundary imaginable with the general manager of my biggest project.
And God help me, I couldn’t bring myself to regret a single second of it. After we stumbled up here, our second time had been almost a reverse of the first. Slow, tender, explorative touches and kisses built into frantic, explosive, gasping surrender. Both times had been all-encompassing.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. That was the problem.
“You’re overthinking this already, aren’t you?” Harper had whispered against my shoulder sometime in the dark hours, her voice knowing and warm against my skin. “Stop it and just relax for now.”
I’d been transparent even then. She saw right through me.
Forcing myself out of bed, I felt oddly vulnerable in my own space. The polished surfaces and strategically chosen furniture stared back accusingly. This house, with its flawless organization and deliberate aesthetic, had been my refuge—a controlled environment where everything had its place. No messy emotions, no uncertainty. But now Harper had been here and changed the very air, leaving invisible fingerprints on everything.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a gray T-shirt, conscious of choosing something casual, as if dressing for work might somehow make this morning after more awkward than it already promised to be. The bed remained unmade behind me, a rumpled reminder I couldn’t bring myself to erase yet.
My feet carried me down the hallway toward the kitchen, but I paused at my home office doorway. More evidence of last night’s transformation—blueprints for the Sunset Siesta renovation spread haphazardly across my usually pristine desk, a guest room render on the floor and weighed down by Harper’s sandals. The sight sent another jolt of memory through me, of her kicking them off in a frenzy. More papers were strewn across the floor along with my shirt.
After inhaling a huge, long breath, I continued toward the kitchen where the coffee scent grew stronger.
Harper stood with her back to me, dressed in last night’s clothes but barefoot, her chestnut hair pulled into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. She was frowning at my thrumming espresso machine like it was a puzzle she was determined to solve. The morning light through the kitchen windows caught the highlights in her hair, the curve of her cheek.
For a second, I watched her, this woman who had somehow wholly untied me. She looked beautiful in a way that made my heart stop and start all at once. Hair unkempt, no makeup, just Harper. A gorgeous woman not trying, or needing, to be anything else.
She must have sensed my presence because she stiffened slightly before turning around, coffee mug clutched in her hands like a shield.
“Hey,” she said, her voice tight with forced casualness.
“Morning,” I replied, aiming for normal and missing by a mile. “I see you figured out the espresso machine.”
She glanced down at the mug as if surprised to find it there. “Sort of. It made some threatening noises at me but eventually surrendered. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” I moved into the kitchen, hyperaware of the careful distance she maintained between us. The air felt charged with all the things we weren’t saying. “I, uh, saw your shoes in my office.”
She blushed. “Right. I should grab those.” She turned back to the espresso machine. “Do you want one too? Since I’ve already conquered this unnecessarily complicated beast.” She seemed relieved to have something to do with her hands, something to focus on besides me or the elephant-sized awkwardness filling my kitchen.
“That’d be great.” I leaned against the counter at what felt like a safe distance.
Harper nodded and grabbed another mug from the open shelf. Her movements were methodical as she positioned it under the spout, her brow furrowing in concentration. A mechanical hum filled the kitchen, a welcome buffer. We stood in painful silence, the machine rumbling softly in the background like it was mocking our discomfort. Eventually, she turned around and handed me themug. The rich scent rose in the air but didn’t cut the tension.
“Harper—” I started.
