Page 20 of My Only

By the time I reached the plunging neckline of her blouse, I had to force my jaw to unclench.

Then, finally, our eyes met.

Her red-painted lips curved into a soft frown.

“Oh.” She tilted her head, her wavy brown hair slipping off her shoulder. “You look tired.”

A slow pause.

“Late night?”

Yup.

Because of her.

Harper Royce.

The first time I met her, I had known she was attracted to me.

She never made it a secret.

And at first, I hadn’t thought it was a big deal.

She was harmless.

I wasn’t blind.

She was a beautiful woman. Five-foot-nine. Flawless, warm brown skin. A body built for lingerie catalogs.

Every man in this office could see that.

And she never shied away from showing it.

With her tailored skirts, her blouses that hugged just enough, her heels that elongated her long legs.

Harper Royce was a woman who understood her feminine charm. And that charm was starting to get my ass in trouble.

“Yeah,” I replied, clearing my throat when my voice came out rougher than expected. “Definitely a late night.”

“Aww, so sad.” She pouted as she sank into the chair across from me. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Her eyes bored into me, like always.

Sharp. Calculating.

Almond-shaped, dark brown, forever enhanced with subtle makeup and quiet seduction.

Harper was charming and very smart.

And not just book smart.

She had a calculated intelligence, the kind that could be dangerous.

I was learning that the hard way.

She was the interior designer for the Greene Gardens Project, specializing in modern, sustainable luxury interiors.

At thirty-four, Harper was a force to be reckoned with.

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