CHAPTER TWELVE
JACK WINCED, THE volume and throbbing tempo of the music scraping his eardrums raw and echoing around inside his skull. He scanned the audience, the familiar sight of her petite but curvaceous silhouette nowhere to be seen. Fuck. Had she left already? Had he missed his chance? He should never have left without telling her how he felt.
He curled his hands into fists to stop himself hurling the nearest vacant chair at the wall. Not that there were any. The New York Fashion Week show was packed. Standing room only, which suited him just fine. He wasn’t here for the couture.
Just for Harley.
His body tight with frustration, he slammed out of the auditorium and scanned the foyer for a door that would take him backstage.
With a quick introductory call to Harley’s sister, Hannah, he’d grovelled sufficiently to score himself a VIP backstage pass. He gripped the plastic card hanging around his neck like a life preserver and flashed it at the bouncers manning the doors that led to the warren of behind-the-scenes corridors.
He followed the noise, his impatient strides ground eating, until he arrived at the scene of utter chaos, so far removed from the glamour parading the runway.
She had to be here somewhere.
He wove between the crush of bodies—models in various stages of dress, designers and dressers tweaking outfits and barking orders, and runners with clipboards and bottles of water—stepping over clothes and shoes haphazardly strewn on the floor and skirting garment-laden clothes racks.
No sign of her.
He scrubbed his face with both hands, cursing his stupidity. For a fully grown, intelligent man, his short-sightedness astounded him. How could he have been so blinkered, so pig-headed?
Somewhere between guarding himself from further pain and losing himself in their game, he’d fallen for Harley. Hard. As far as a man could fall. But he’d messed up, banging on about her lack of trust in him, when he’d been too scared to trust his own feelings.
Like an idiot he’d tried to control what they had, telling himself it was simply amazing sex, but it had long ago surpassed casual. He’d just been too terrified to admit it.
His chest pinched as he cast around the frenetic room, searching her out.
He spotted her.
The air slammed from his lungs with a whoosh.
Every nerve ending buzzed to life as he took in her flushed, excited face as she laughed with the model she dressed. They battled with an enormous headpiece that complemented the scanty lingerie the model wore.
But his eyes were solely for Harley. He muscled his way through the crowds. Time to tell her how he felt. Yes, his timing sucked, but he couldn’t wait a second longer. Perhaps, even now, he was too late.
She didn’t see him. Tweaking the outfit of the model in front of her, she looked slightly frazzled but achingly beautiful. And then she looked up, straight at him.
The visceral blow knocked him back on his heels.
Her face fell slightly, eyes wary.
Another blow.
‘I need to talk to you.’ His throat was so tight his voice emerged way too gruff.
She stared, the models around her disappearing to join the line waiting to walk on stage. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, brows pinched together, and he stepped in front of her.
‘Please.’
She swallowed. ‘What are you doing here? How did you find me?’
His lips twitched, memories of the first day she’d literally stumbled back into his life crushing his chest.
‘I looked you up, and I tipped the doorman.’ He waved the VIP pass at her, his grin widening when she pressed her lips together as if she held in a smile. He had one or two stalker skills, too.
But his apology so far sucked, because she wasn’t in his arms where he wanted her. Sucking in a deep breath, he scraped the bottom of the patience barrel. She was working. He’d wait for her—as long as it took.
‘I’ll wait for you. After the show.’ His muscles twitched with the urge to reach for her. But this was her moment, and he’d always support all of her passions.
She nodded once and moved past him.
His whole body sagged as he spun to watch her walk away. And then she was back, leaping into his arms and pressing her mouth to his, her kiss filling him to bursting point, but all too fleeting.
‘Wish me luck.’ She pushed at his arms and he reluctantly loosened his grip around her waist, letting her slide down his body to the floor.
‘Good luck.’ He snatched another kiss, uncaring that he now likely wore more of her lip-gloss than she did. ‘But why do you need it?’
She smiled, eyes alight, stealing his air.
‘I’m walking. It’s my label, right?’ She stepped back, smoothing her hands down her immaculate outfit, a goddess. ‘I’m proud of it. No more apologising for who I am.’ And with a wink that boiled his blood, she hurried after her models, the sway of her sensational ass smacking him between the eyes.
* * *
He stripped her, his touch reverent, relearning every exquisite inch he exposed, pausing often to reconnect through searing kisses, as vital as air. Words he’d almost waited too long to say spilled from him, French words she wouldn’t understand, but he hoped she’d glean their meaning from his face and his actions.
Her hands weren’t idle, exposing him piece by piece until they stood before each other naked, with nowhere to hide. He cupped her face, peering into her soul as his fingers worked into her hair, his grip firm and possessive.
‘Je t’aime. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.’ How had he ever believed he could walk away? How had he fooled himself for so long that this was just about their astounding physical connection? That it was enough?
‘I love you too. I’m sorry I hurt you.’
He shook his head, the past slotted where it belonged. He wasn’t his father any more than she was hers. All that mattered was them. Together.
He’d show her, every minute of every day, what she meant to him. They’d work the rest out between them. Their own way.
She tugged his neck and his mouth covered hers as his hands cupped her breasts, tearing away from their kiss with a grunt to take one tight, perfect nipple into his mouth. She arched towards him, clinging to his shoulders as his lips tugged and her knees weakened.
Fuck, he loved her. Perfect, as if handmade for him.
Through frantic kisses and roving hands, they made it to the bed, where Jack covered her body with his, their legs slotted together, her breasts crushed to his chest until her scent, the tickle of her wild hair and her breathy moans completely surrounded him.
Bringing him home.
He poured himself into kissing her, his hands tangled in her hair, until her lips swelled, rosy red. When his control stretched paper-thin, he slipped his hand between her thighs, finding her soaked and ready for him.
He groaned, breaking away to quickly fish a condom from the nightstand. She took the foil packet from him, stroked the length of him and rolled the latex over his erection.
He took her hands, slotting his fingers between hers as he pushed inside her, her warmth clasping him inch by scorching inch, and his stare locked on hers.
His chest seized. She was everything he hadn’t known he needed, the intensity of the rightness vaporising the air in his lungs. Who needed oxygen?
Jack moved above her, gauging her every reaction, as in sync as their matched heartbeats. His thrusts first slow and long grew faster as he pounded her into the mattress. She clung to him with her thighs and her feet and her eyes, riding with him on tumultuous waves of pleasure.
They crested together, she crying out his name as the climax struck and he with a guttural yell and his mouth slamming back over hers, stealing her air for himself. He wrung the last spasms from her, the jerks of his hips subsiding as he groaned and she panted.
Time passed. He grew soft and slipped from her body, shifting to remove the condom and toss it onto the floor before collapsing back on top of her.
They lay in the dark for what seemed like hours. Silently tracing every inch of each other with lazy, indulgent touch. Jack pressed his lips to her stomach and she tangled her fingers in his hair, stroking the strands back from his face.
‘Thanks for coming to my show.’
He grunted, too comfortable, too satiated to move.
‘You were amazing. I’m honoured to know the woman you’ve become.’ She wriggled from under him, holding his face between her palms.
‘And you’re an incredible man, one I can look up to, without fear of ever being diminished.’
‘Harley...’ He rasped out her name, and then he kissed her again.
When he let her up for air, his length already hard against her thigh, her eyes sparkled, flooding his body with renewed lust.
Fuck, would he ever get enough of her?
‘So what about our game?’ She slid one foot up the back of his leg and he sank deeper into the cradle of her hips. His lust-fogged mind struggled with her meaning as her soft lips caressed his earlobe while she whispered, ‘Our better and better game?’
He grinned, grinding his hips into hers. ‘I’m happy to continue playing, if that’s what you want.’ His lips captured her nipple, and she squirmed, wriggling free, but not out of reach.
She pressed her lips together as if stifling a smile.
‘But surely it’s over. Nothing could be better than that last one.’ Her fingers traced a torturous path across his chest and down his abs until her hand circled him, slowly pumping.
With a speed that made her gasp, he slid her back under him, pinned her wrists to the bed and parted her thighs with his own. ‘Oh, man, I love a challenge.’
She laughed, the sound trailing off to soft moans as his open mouth travelled her neck and chest. He paused to lap at each nipple in turn and then he released her hands and sank beneath the sheets.
Employing his best effort, he channelled all his energy into rendering her speechless for a while, unless it was to cry his name and confirm he’d succeeded.
Better and better.