In Pursuit (17 page)

He raises both eyebrows. “Drink this.” Harris lifts my water glass and hands it to me, and I take two large gulps.

“Is it just me, or did it get hot in here?” I grumble, causing Harris to chuckle. I give him my best scowl, but I can’t hold on to the expression when our eyes meet again. His happiness cascades over me, making me want to be joyful right along with him.

As we continue eating, the conversation turns to safer topics, like his work at Franklin & Smith, mostly corporate law related to mergers and acquisitions. I’m surprised to find out that Harris is a patron of the arts, having ownership in some of the prominent art galleries in town. Harris asks me more about my clients, and the work I am doing for Amanda. He admits to reading my blog daily and comments on my recent post about rugs.

“I have something to confess,” I start when there is a lull in conversation.

“Go ahead,” he leans back in his chair and eyes me expectantly.

“I really don’t like going to clubs.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “I share that feeling, couldn’t you tell?”

“Sort of, but why did you go out the other night?”

“To spend more time with you.” He gives me a look that says
duh
. “The signals should be sufficiently unmixed by now, I hope.”

A blush spreads across my cheeks and I become increasingly interested in the finish of the tabletop.

“Dessert?” the waiter asks, hopefully.

With our gazes locked, Harris responds, “No, I have something else in mind.”

Excitement starts bubbling, it dominates more of my attention than an internal voice telling me to slow down. Consequences be damned.

He knocks on the window of the restaurant, jarring the valet mulling about. Harris waves at him, indicating that he wants his car, and the man hurries off.

“Do people always do exactly as you ask?”

“I don’t have time to wait, especially when I want to be with you,” Harris says firmly.

I’m nearly bouncing up and down on my seat, ready for the next part of this first/second date.

After he handles the check, and I don’t dare fight him on it, he extends his palm to me. Without an ounce of hesitation, I comply. Hell, I’d give him anything he wanted in that moment. Just to see him smile, just to know that I could please him.

“Thank you, for a wonderful meal,” I say shyly.

“I should be thanking you for the pleasure of your company.” He holds open the passenger door, guiding me into the car with a hand on my lower back.

“Where to next on this fantastic first date?” I ask him as he maneuvers away from the curb.

“Funny you should mention that. This is a pretty sweet second date, huh?”

“It’s a good thing we are both alliteration dorks,” I blurt out, then clamp a hand down over my mouth.

I cannot believe I just said that.

“No one has ever dared to call me a dork before, Edith,” he says with a faux air of arrogance. “I might have to make you pay for that later.”

A nervous and excited giggle slips out. “Okay, if you must. But, really, where are we going?”

“We’re going to my place.” Though his face is the perfect image of serenity, I can tell by the way his shoulders tense that he is worried about my reaction.

“Okay.”

I desperately want to see that smile again.

H
arris lives near Claire’s apartment, in a modern tower on Oak Street. Another valet waits as we turn into the driveway, and immediately helps me out of the car when we stop. Harris collects me from the valet, leading me to a bank of five elevators in the lobby. We bypass the first four and removes a key from his pocket to call for the elevator. Of course, it’s there as soon as he turns the key in the lock, sweeping open with a very subtle alert noise.

“Everyone’s waiting on you, Mr. Grant,” I say with a sly wink.

He shakes his head. “For such a sweet looking woman, you sure are good at giving me shit.”

The doors close swiftly and with the press of one button, PH, we’re flying upward.

I’m partially relieved that he doesn’t smother me in the elevator with kisses. My resolve earlier has dwindled now that we are nearing his home. Yes, I’m ready to be intimate with Harris but I’m not sure how far I want to go. Especially after what happened with Jared.
No,
I tell myself,
not thinking about
him
tonight.

“Hey.” Harris tugs on my hand, drawing my attention away from my ex. “Where are you?”

My mouth turns upward. “Just on a short detour. I’m back now.”

Harris slings his arm around my shoulders again and brushes a kiss into my hair. “Try not to do that too often. I miss you when you’re gone.”

The elevator doors open immediately into his foyer and I nearly gasp. In one word, the apartment is flawless. But the decor and wall of windows don’t leave me breathless; it’s the instrument that is visible as soon as we turn into his living space.

“A Fazioli,” I whisper as I disentangle myself from his protective hold. My feet move my body, but I barely notice until I am sitting at the bench in front of the stunning piano.

I miss the instrument so badly. When I was younger, I would race home from school to practice playing my mom’s old music. Once I found out her favorite song was
Landslide
by Fleetwood Mac, I immediately learned the piece and the words became my anthem dedicated to her. As I grew older, the hobby became a vehicle to express my emotions and a way to avoid loitering on loneliness.

“Do you play?” I turn to look for him, but he’s no longer in the entry. His hands cup my shoulders gently from behind, and I tilt my head up to look at him.

“No. A friend is a music producer and he’s keeping it here for his visits to Chicago.” He begins to rub my shoulders, pushing at the knots of tension that I didn’t know were even there. “Do you want to play?” His tone suggests more than just Chopsticks.

“I,” my voice is just barely louder than a soft gasp. “I heard you have a terrace overlooking downtown?”

His fingers continue their exploration of my shoulders and neck and I drop my head forward. One warm hand palms the back of my head and his lips come to my ear, saying softly, “I’ll show it to you on one condition.”

“What’s that?” I ask lazily.

He tilts me back into a waiting arm, then lifts me into his other, cuddling me to his firm chest. “I’d like to carry you. No complaints.”

I smile up at him shyly. “Why all the carrying?” 

“Because holding you settles my chaos.”

Oh, Harris. Talk to me.

“When I’m touching you, I feel like the lake on a calm day, completely tranquil. So, if it’s alright with you.” He uses a hand to pull open a heavy glass door. With another movement, soft light illuminates the terrace. “I would like to keep you as close as possible.”

Our lips meet in a hint of a kiss, so soft and so quick it might have mistaken for the wind. Then he puts me down, using his hands to steady me while I get my footing.

The balcony stretches out before us, a space larger than the combined living and dining room at Claire’s apartment. There’s enough room for a swanky grill, table with six chairs and four chaise lounges. Harris and I walk to the wall so I can check out the view of the lake and downtown buildings towering high above the people below.

            “It’s breathtaking,” I say as I stare in awe.

“Edith.”

I turn my face up to look at him to find him shaking his head quickly. His gaze is intent, serious but reverent. “This date was…”

Calming to the chaos,
I finish.

Lifting myself on to my tip toes, I slide my hands around his neck and interlock my fingers. He doesn’t need to say it again, because I feel it, too.

That’s all the encouragement he needs. Harris swoops down, crushing our lips together in a passionate lock. His hands come together at the small of my back again, and this time he applies a bit of pressure. I hop up and wrap my legs tightly around him. When my heels make contact with his lower back he groans, grinding up against me.

His stark erection strains against his jeans as he rubs it against my inner thigh. I wriggle against him, nudging his cock closer to my core. He nibbles at my lower lip, encouraging my lips to open. I eagerly oblige and our tongues meet, tangling in a sensual duel.

“More,” I groan against his lips.

This moment just went from zero to sex in about three seconds flat. Our lips continue their intense exploration, tongues stroking in devotion. His hands move down to cup my ass, squeezing my cheeks in his palms. I squirm against his arousal in response.

I am aware of a change in latitude when my back meets a soft cushion. Harris looms on top of me, using his hips to part my legs so that he can wedge between them.

Fingertips as light as clouds flutter down my arms, stroking in delicious sweeps of skin on skin. Then, both of his hands encircle my wrists, pulling them over my head. His right hand holds them both, not too tightly, but so I can’t move. His lips make a trail down my cheek to my neck, where he starts sucking gently. His fingertips move to my left thigh and make short, teasing impressions underneath the hem of my skirt. Then, with an urgency I can’t fathom, his left hand grabs at the elastic of my thong and yanks
hard.

The sound of a fabric splitting launches me into a memory I don’t want. My eyes shut tightly as I am taken back to six months ago.

“No, no, no.”
I chant the word, begging Jared off me.

I’ve never seen this side of him, he’s pawing at me savagely. Sure, he drank some wine at dinner, but I taste whiskey on his breath now. His hands feel like strong clamps, gripping my shoulders to the point of pain. He pushes me down into the couch, despite my cries for him to stop.

“It’s not the first time we’ve had sex, don’t be a fucking prude.”

With a rough swipe, he snaps the spaghetti strap of my dress. I flinch backward, trying to hold my dress in place when he reaches for my hands and pins them above my head. He drops sweaty, sloppy kisses across my face. One hand drops to my breast, squeezing like someone would test the ripeness of a firm avocado.
It hurts.
Then, in a move I don’t see coming, he drops his hand to my panties and roughly yanks at the fabric, tearing them off my quivering thighs.

Every sexual experience with Jared before this flashes before me, the times he was rough and his unwillingness to pleasure me. I had once told Sarah that Jared was selfish in bed, but now I see him in a completely different light.

He’s going to rape me.

Just as he is about to shove his fingers inside me, the alcohol causes him to be less graceful than usual and he slips, squishing me into the sofa. This short gap in his assault allows me to wiggle my knee and nail him in the crotch, and he bellows in pain. I jump off the sofa.

“Jared – we’re done.”

Like a light switch flickering off, my feelings change from sexually charged to a sea of anxiety. I thrash back and forth under Harris, his hand is starting to skim down my thigh, closer and closer to my most precious spot. A few moments earlier, his weight on top of me was welcome, enthralling. Now I just want him off. Claustrophobia claws, leaving me unable to think rationally. My wrists struggle futilely, trying to escape. I can’t find my voice to tell him 'no more'. It’s gone, and I don’t know where to find it. After a few more gulps of air, his fingertips start stroking my folds that don’t feel damp anymore.