"It's my mom. She's—" Harper types something quickly, but her hands are shaking. "Sorry. She's asking about Thanksgiving plans."
I watch her carefully. There's something she's not telling me. Something that makes her hands shake and her expression close off.
"Harper," I say quietly. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just—" She tries to climb off my lap, but I don't let her.
"Don’t,” I snap, my voice still strangled with desire. “Don't shut me out."
"I'm not?—"
"You are. I can see it." I cradle her jaw, forcing her to look at me. "What were you going to tell me before your phone rang?"
Her mouth parts softly before she shuts it again.
"Harper."
"I can't—" Her voice cracks. "Not yet. Please."
I search her face for a long moment. Every instinct I have is screaming that whatever she's hiding could hurt me. Could be another Isabelle situation. Another carefully constructed lie.
But then I see the genuine distress in her eyes. The way she's looking at me like she's terrified I'm going to walk away.
And I realize something.
I don't want to walk away from Harper, from whatever the two of us are starting to explore.
I nod slowly, then pull her back down for another kiss. This one is softer—a promise rather than a demand.
"Harper." I slide my hand higher up her thigh, watching her eyelids grow heavy. "Are you going to make me beg?"
"Would you?"
"For you? Yes."
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest. Harper stares at me for a long moment, then leans down and kisses me with enough heat to melt steel.
"Okay," she breathes against my mouth. "I'll come to Vegas."
"Good girl."
The words slip out before I can stop them, and her reaction is immediate. Her hips roll against me, her fingers tighten in my hair, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
"You like that," I say, not a question.
"I—" She's breathing hard now. "Maybe."
"Not maybe." I grip her hips, holding her still. "You do. And I'm going to remember that."
The car slows. We both notice at the same time.
"No," Harper whispers. "We can't be there already."
But we are. Through the rain-streaked windows, I can see my building. The doorman under the awning. The familiar entrance.
"Fuck," I mutter.
Harper starts to climb off my lap, but I stop her.
