In Pursuit (12 page)

“Okay, I’ll drive you.” His voice is steady, no slur about it. I belatedly remember that he hasn’t been drinking tonight, and it is safe to go with him.
Well, as safe as a drunk girl freaking out and alone with her crush.

I start to trip over my heels as I round the table toward him, and his arm shoots out to balance me.

“Thanks.” I say the word very softly. With my chin near my chest, I highly doubt he heard me.

His steady hand presses to the small of my back, sending goose bumps cascading down my inner arms. I want to prolong this moment, keep his warm and steady hand in contact with my body for as long as possible. But there’s not much to do except keep walking.

H
arris helps me navigate the crowd, and then we are outside, his car waiting a few short steps from the front of the club. He opens the passenger door of the car and, without asking, lifts me into the seat. It’s probably for the best, because I’m not sure my unsteady legs could take me up and into the car. I use the moment while he is getting himself into the vehicle to calm down.
Everything is fine, Harris is taking you away from this place.

The drive begins in silence and my eyes flutter closed, enjoying the calm sensation that washes over me when I have a moment like this with Harris.

“Edith, I,” he starts, but then stops.

I turn my body so that I am facing him and eye him warily. “Yes?”

“I’m so sorry for what I said to you the other day.” This couldn’t be. Harris sounds totally unsure of himself, the words jumbling together when he quickly spits them out.

“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say in my surprise.

“It’s obvious, to anyone who’s seen your work that you are very talented. It wouldn’t have taken me looking at your portfolio to see just how accomplished you are as an interior designer. Hard work is not something to ever mock.
Ever.
You should only hear praises from me because you are so praise worthy. Edith -”

“Stop. Please. I accept your apology, Harris.” My words sound slurred to my own ears, but I don’t feel drunk anymore. His vehement apology, mixed with Jake’s drug offer, sobers me a bit. “We all say things we don’t mean sometimes.”

He flashes me a relieved grimace. No sooner are the words out of my mouth than we pull to a jerky stop in front of my building.

“May I walk you up to your place?” He’s hesitant.

Words don’t find me in this moment, so I nod. Harris jumps out of the car and races to my side, opening the door for me.

“Can you walk? Let me carry you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted
to?” He doesn’t allow me enough time to answer. “I’ll carry you on my back.”

His lips twitch like they want to display a smile. Unfortunately, they remain as they are. I can’t help it, the thought of him carrying me on his back sounds way superior to me wandering home by myself.

He turns around and bends down so I can climb onto his back. His hands hook under my knees, and I shiver at his touch. I lean back to shut the door behind us then drape my arms over his shoulders.

At first, while we are still outside the building I just drop my cheek to his shoulder and let out a soft sigh. When his grip tightens on my knees, I rotate my head so that my cheek is gently pressing against the side of his neck. My tongue darts out on its own accord, lapping quickly at it his salty skin. In my drunk soaked mine he shivers slightly in appreciation.

But that couldn’t be possible. Right?

“Mmm.” It’s a soft murmur that I can’t contain when I inhale his citrusy scent, but he probably hears it. Judging by the way he swipes a finger back and forth against my knee, Harris might like holding me this way. When we enter the elevator he gently presses my back into the wall.

“Am I too heavy for you?”

He bounces me slightly. “Just the opposite actually, you fit so well I could carry you…”

The ding of the elevator announcing our arrival on the tenth floor saves him from finishing that sentence and we continue the journey to the apartment. I tighten my legs around his waist, practically grinding my sex into his back. I want him so badly I can hardly contain it.

Like a well-rehearsed habit, Harris pulls the keys from his pocket, unlocks the front door and disarms the security system. He takes me straight to my bedroom. I glide clumsily out of his grasp in the doorway, and stumble over to the bed, dropping down onto the edge.

“I am sort of dizzy,” I muse out loud.

A frown mars his handsome face, and Harris turns quickly from the room.

“Are you leaving?”

“Getting you water,” he calls over his shoulder.

In his absence, I pop up from the bed and head into the bathroom. My hands make quick work of removing my makeup. I’m bent over the sink, brushing my teeth when he reappears in the doorway watching me.

“Can’t go to sleep without brushing my face and washing my teeth,” I mumble through a mouthful of toothpaste. I gather my wavy locks and pull them away from my face and then, splat! The toothpaste goes down the drain of the sink.

“You mean washing your face and brushing your teeth, tipsy.”

My heels are still strapped to my ankle, so now I at least reach the underside of his chin when I move to him and accept the water that he extends to me.

“Er – that sounds better. Thank you,” I say, looking into the glass in my hands since he won’t move from the doorway.

He shakes his head as if to clear whatever’s in his mind, and angles his body to the side so I can sneak past. I place the glass on the bedside table and sit down. He moves next to me on the bed, and we’re silent.

“Are those your parents?” His voice is only just above a whisper, and it’s very husky. He leans across me, his arm brushing my chest in the process, and picks up the white frame. My nipples immediately pebble at the attention.

“You look just like your mom.” His eyes meet mine and pause.

“That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.”

Back to photo, then back to my face. “It’s true.”

His gaze is so intense I feel like he’s peeling back all of my carefully constructed layers and looking at the vulnerable little girl who craves her father’s affection. To break the spell, I bend down to my feet and my heavy, numbed fingers begin to try and unclasp my shoes.

“Let me, please.” Harris drops to one knee before me, picking up one foot in his large, calloused hand.

How does such a pretty boy have calluses?
I wonder before I fully grasp that he is on his knees before me.

“Harris, what are you doing?” I blurt, confused by his transformation from stoic angry dude to gentle romantic man.

“Helping you get ready for bed,” He says as his nimble fingers unhook both buckles and moves the shoe out of the way. Then he grabs my left foot and lifts to his knee, kneading the arch.

I flop back on the bed at the first touch. “How did you know I love this?”

I whimper before letting out a deep, sensual groan. The gentle pressure his thumb creates doesn’t completely alleviate the pain, but it pushes away the lingering anxiety from Jake’s drug offer and the
maybe
sexual advances from Claire.

“You did say your feet hurt when that fucking moron Warden was hitting on you,” his tone is sharp, revealing his discontent. At the moment, Jake’s name sounds like it has a left a bitter taste in Harris’ mouth.

“Edith.”

“Harris.”

“I like the way you say my name.” He’s on my right foot now, digging his thumbs into the knots. “Your voice,” the words come out gruffly, and he clears his throat before he finishes,  “has a musical lilt to it.”

“Who says musical lilt?” I giggle to myself, keeping my eyes closed so I can’t see Harris’ reaction to my teasing.

Jared never complimented me – unless to tell me I looked perfect for the fundraiser or cocktail party we were attending, so I relish in this, letting Harris’ words sink in, enjoying the warm feeling they have on me. But there’s something the drunk girl inside me won’t let up, so she decides to come out and make her presence known.

            “Tell me why you’re here.” Sleep is nearing, my voice is a mixture of slur and drowsiness.

My eyes are closed, so I feel Harris move next to me on the bed rather than see him. Then he lifts me into his arms and cradles me to the hardness of his chest. I’m so content, so calm, that I don’t fight it, just enjoy the comfort I find in his arms. A few moments later and he’s tucking me underneath my blankets.

His voice is right next to my temple when he speaks next. “You humble me when I needed humbling most. And...”

“This is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in,” I peer at him through half-closed eyes. I don’t want to hear what he has to say next. “I’m too drunk to follow this conversation,” I admit sheepishly.

“Then we should have it when you are sober.” His gruff voice is soft. “Edith, I’m going to kiss you now.”

“That would be lovely.”

Like a soothing whisper, his soft lips brush across my forehead.

“That’s all I get?” I whine.

It must be my imagination, but it sounds like he is chuckling.

“For now, Edith, for now.”

Sleep lures me away from him.

“She is MINE! Do you hear me? Back. The fuck. Off.” 

The voice jolts me from the confines of sleep, causing me to bolt up in bed. I can’t tell if I’m having a nightmare or if the voice is real, because now the only thing I hear are my labored breaths. Then there is the low growl of a male voice, but the walls muffle the noise so I can’t make out the words.

“Keep it that way, Harris.”

Even though Greg isn’t there for me to pinch him, I know I’m not dreaming. Claire and Harris are arguing in the hallway near my bedroom. But over what?

“You’ve taken everything from me. So don’t even consider taking her.” Clack, clack, clack. Her designer heels smack against the floor as she walks in some other direction, then slams a door so aggressively that the picture of my mom and dad quakes on the table next to me.

The door to my bedroom is firmly closed, but when I strain my body upward I can see some of the hallway light, blocked by what might be two feet. My brain is foggy with exhaustion and vodka, but I want to figure this out. Just as I kick back my comforter to investigate, the light blocker leaves the space outside my bedroom door. Just a few heartbeats later, the front door to our apartment shuts.

A quick glance to my clock reveals it’s nearly three a.m. Harris brought me home around one. Has he been here this entire time? And if he was, what the hell was he doing? I flop my body back into the cozy comfort of my bed with a heavy sigh. Before I can analyze this too deeply, sleep comes calling again and my lashes droop down.

W
hen I wake up late the next morning, it’s of my own volition, not because shouting interrupts my REM sleep. After I scrub a hand across my face, in an attempt to clear up my alcohol-soaked memories, I see a glass of water and teacup saucer on my table. I push myself up on my elbows. In the saucer are two aspirin. I swallow them gratefully and then lean back in my pillows. Someone, okay it must have been Harris, put my small purse neatly on the modern side table, so I lunge for it, pulling my phone out. Perfect, there’s already a missed call from Sarah.