"You should put on pants," I say.
"I should do a lot of things."
“Jesus, woman, you’re trying to kill me.”
She laughs, a raspy, sleep-heavy sound. “Relax, Kade. I'm not trying to seduce you. I just needed coffee and my suitcase is still in my cabin and I was lazy." She leans against the counter. "Though if you're uncomfortable, I can go change."
"I'm not uncomfortable."
"You look uncomfortable."
"I'm exercising restraint."
"Ah." She smiles into her coffee. "The Ice Prince returns."
“No. Simply trying to respect the boundaries you set last night."
"I appreciate that. Truly." She sets down her mug. "But for the record, I'm not made of glass. You can look at me without spontaneously combusting."
“I can?”
“I’d think so. You’ve been doing a pretty good job staring at the wall behind me for the past thirty seconds."
She's right. I have.
I force myself to look at her—examine her, examine the way my shirt hangs on her frame. Her smooth bare legs. The amused look on her face that lets me know she's enjoying watching me squirm.
"Happy?" I ask.
"Very."
"You're cruel."
"I'm caffeinated.”
I snort at her answer, and she smiles back.
"So," she says, hopping up to sit on the counter. "What's the plan? Fly back to Vegas? Pretend last night didn't happen? Issue a formal apology to Richard Francis?"
"Absolutely not."
"To which part?"
"The apology. I'm not apologizing for hitting Alexei."
"Good. He deserved it."
"He did."
"And the CulinaryVision deal?"
I lean against the opposite counter, crossing my arms. "Dead. Patricia Franklin will use last night as proof I'm unstable. The board will vote to delay or cancel the acquisition. Rachel will have a mental breakdown."
"And you're okay with that?"
“Trying to be.”
Harper tilts her head, eyes scouring over me. "But you're not. Not completely."
