Page 28 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
Pressing my eyes shut, I shake my head. Maybe the sudden jerky movement will dislodge that thought straight out of my head. It doesn’t.
“You can’t do this. You can’t be attracted to her.”
My muttered scolding does little to quell the fire burning inside me—the fire I feel for Harper.
I plop onto the edge of the bed and let out a sigh. There’s no use denying it. I’m attracted to her. And if I’m being truthful, I was attracted to her the moment I met her. Meeting a cute and sexy woman who had no idea who the hell I was, who had no agenda to push onto me, who didn’t want a selfie or my autograph—who joked with me at the coffee shop, who charmed me with her sense of humor and how easy she was to chat with—hooked me instantly. She was a goddamn breath of fresh air compared to the near-constant superficiality I’m bombarded with.
The more I’ve gotten to know Harper, the more I like her. Having all this unintentional physical contact with her is sure as hell amping things up too.
But we can’t take things any further—Ican’t take things any further. Not if I’m serious about making this setup work. Not if I’m serious about getting my career back on track.
I rest my elbows against my knees and cradle my head. What happened tonight on the veranda was a mistake. It can’t ever happen again. I’ve got to draw clear boundaries and keep them.
And starting tomorrow, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
In the morning, I peek my head out of my bedroom doorway and make sure the coast is clear before I step to the bathroom. I do the same after I shower, walking out fully clothed this time, before padding into the kitchen for a cup of coffee and breakfast. Then we’re kicking off today’s project: ripping up the floorboards in the open-concept living room and dining area.
I’m downing my second mug when Harper strolls into the kitchen, decked out in plaid shorts that hug her beautifully plump ass and hips. My eyes bulge over the rim of my cup, and I choke on a sip.
I slam the mug on the counter while I cough and wheeze. Her eyes go wide before she rushes over to me.
“Are you okay?”
She moves to thump me on the back, but I step out of her reach and pivot. I look like a running back dodging a defensive lineman. She takes in the odd movement with a confused frown.
I hack for a few more seconds before holding up my hand. “I’m fine. Just fine,” I choke out.
She narrows her gaze at me. “If you say so.”
She tiptoes up to grab a mug from the cupboard, and I catch a glimpse of her tank top riding up her back, revealing a delicious strip of tanned skin. And then I see them: the most perfect pair of lower-back dimples, right above the swell of her ass.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
She spins around. “What was that?”
I frown and shake my head while mumbling, “Nothing.”
“So we’re prying up the hardwood floorboards today, right?”
I tell her yes while I swipe randomly at my phone screen—just to have something to look at other than her dynamite body.
“You should put on some work clothes.” Jesus, I sound severe. But that’s the only way I know how to play this. I’m not ballsy enough to initiate an uncomfortable-as-fuck conversation about how ridiculously hot she is and how it’s taking everything in me not to pull her into my arms and finish what we almost started last night.
So I ignore what’s bothering me and attempt to move on with a no-BS attitude.
“Okay. Um, I will.” Harper gulps her coffee before setting the mug on the counter. “You’re acting weird,” she says. “Is this about last night? How we almost kissed?”
Again I’m choking on my coffee. Damn. She went straight for it.
I mutter a “goddamn it” between coughs, jolted by the way she chuckles. The sound is so light and warm—like she’s completely unbothered by what happened. By the sound of it, I bet she didn’t spend half as much time obsessing over the moment last night as I did.
“Uh, yeah,” I finally say after wiping my mouth on a cloth napkin.
She crosses her arms and tilts her head at me. The gesture comes off like she’s amused. “We don’t have to make it into a bigger deal than it is,” she says. “It was probably just the vodka. And the pleasant conversation. And the full moon too.”
“Yeah. Definitely the full moon.”
She shrugs, her smile slight and easy. She is the picture of unfazed. “We can just forget about it. It wouldn’t be the smartest thing in the world for us to have kissed given our setup. We’re living together, after all.”
