Chapter Three
Harper
Having gone to bed so early from jet lag, I wake up well before dawn to find the sky outside still pitch black. It’s early, but my body is rested and ready to go. I roll over in my bed and see the door to the bathroom, shut tight and locked after my run-in with Will last night. A groan catches in my throat.
Way to blatantly stare, Harper.
Seriously, though, how could I not? Without an ounce of modesty about him, he just stood there, naked and hard, not even bothering to hide his large—and by “large” I mean enormous—hard-on.
Go for it, Harper.
Good Lord, how the hell can I sleep with Will when everyone thinks I’m George’s girl? I tried to tell them I wasn’t, but no one seemed to want to hear that. They all came to their own logical conclusions. So why didn’t I drive the fact home that I’m not here because of George?
Because I’m not certain of it myself. Not certain that I hadn’t been sent here to have epic sex with him. I pinch my eyes shut. Could this situation be any more messed up?
Wait. Maybe I’d been sent here to meet Will?
How is that for logical reasoning at its worst?
I reach for my cell phone and check the reception. I could call the girls, but with the time difference I’d wake them. A text however…
My fingers fly over the screen as I shoot a group text to the girls who participated in the draw that fateful New Year’s Eve. One of them needs to come clean and let me know if they’re sponsoring this event. I know I vowed to leave first thing come morning, but what if this is where I’m supposed to be?
Completely flustered with the situation, I push my blankets off, climb from my cozy bed, and shiver. The fire in the hearth went out during the night, and the room is a lot chillier. I step up to the window and pull open the curtains. The place is breathtaking, and there is a part of me, that poor little girl from the wrong side of the tracks part, who feels like she doesn’t belong. I grew up believing rich people have a different way of thinking and acting. Basically, they have a sense of entitlement and care only about money. They’ll do and say anything to get what they want.
With that last thought in mind, I dig through my suitcase, one packed by my sponsor, and pull out a pair of jeans, a big, warm sweater, and a pair of running shoes. At least I don’t have to wear my Louis Vuittons for the next week. While I love them, they’re hardly appropriate for this environment. As I rifle through my things, I find a some sexy bras and underwear. I take a pair of lace panties into my hand and hold it up. Wow, they’re absolutely gorgeous. But will I ever get a chance to wear them, to break my dry spell?
Sadly, I’m thinking no.
Unless Will was meant for me.
Knowing that’s not the case, I toss the underwear back inside, reach for the brush to wrestle my unruly hair into a ponytail, and pull on my clothes. I don’t want to shower and risk waking the household or having Will walk in on me again.
Or joining me in that shower.
Yeah, him sliding in behind me, soaping my body and touching me would be all wrong…in the most delicious ways. I let my mind drift, revel in the erotic vision for a moment longer and imagine my hands, my mouth, on his beautiful body, his impressive cock. Athletic and cut, he was clearly made for sex. I’m sure he could bring me pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. A garbled noise catches in my throat, and I put my hands over my mouth, hoping no one heard me.
I wait to hear movement, but the house remains silent, so I take a breath to clear my head and then tiptoe through the quiet household. To ward off the chill, I hug myself, and I slow my steps in the upstairs hall to peruse all the pictures on the wall. I was in such a hurry last night, distracted by the way Will was staring at my ass, I didn’t take time to revel in the majestic castle, one obviously rich in history, judging by the aged portraits on the long wall.
I take them all in, figuring out the lineage, and when I come across George’s portrait, I nearly bite off my tongue. Wow, good looks really do run in the family, and if one of the girls was online chatting with him and pretending to be me, I’m surprised she didn’t keep him for herself. Then again, all of them had found love.
I still can’t believe it, really, that they all found happiness, and a few have even moved halfway across the world to be with the man they love. Me, I’m not interested in moving out of my beloved downtown New York condo that cost me an arm and a leg, and I’m not looking for love. I’m married to my career. Sex, however…
I hurry downstairs and cut through the kitchen. While I’d love a cup of coffee, I don’t want to mess with anything, not without permission. I open the back door, and a cool breeze washes over me, but with the sun climbing the hills on the horizon, I’m hoping it will warm up soon. I stand outside, take in the vast countryside, and when I hear a horse in the distance, I head toward the barn. As a child, I always wanted to ride. I loved animals and swore I would take lessons when I finally made it on my own. But work took over, and there was never any time.
I breathe in the fresh air, so different from New York, and open the barn door. As the hinges creak in the cold, I’m met with about a dozen horses, all whinnying at the stranger who has dared to invade their space.
I take my time to walk through the stable. When I reach a big, beautiful brown mare, I say, “Look at you.” I touch her nose, and she pushes against me. “You are so beautiful.”
“Yeah, very,” I hear from behind me.
I grab my chest and spin to see Will leaning against the door, two cups of coffee in his hand. “Are you trying to scare me half to death?”
He eyes me and asks, “What are you doing?”
“I…I’m just looking at the horses,” I answer, but I get the distinct impression that’s not what he’s really asking me. I turn from him, rub my hand over the horse again, and wait for him to ask me why I’m really here. I’m not about to come right out and tell him about that pact, or that I think George and I were supposed to have epic sex, so I don’t say anything more.
“I brought you coffee,” he says. His clothes rustle as he pushes off the doorframe. His boots scuff the floor as he closes the distance. “I thought you could use a cup.”
“You thought right.”
“I woke early, too, and spotted you coming down here.” He steps up to me and hands me a cup. Our fingers touch, linger, and sexual energy arcs between us. Not great for a woman pretending to be his cousin’s girl.
“Beautiful,” he says, and for a minute I wonder if he’s really talking about the horse.
I take a much-needed sip and let it fuel my body. “She is.”
“George loves to ride, but I guess you already know that.”
“Uh…right.”
“Do you ride?”
“No.”
The corner of his mouth turns up, a lopsided grin that makes him look so damn adorable my thighs quiver again. “And here I thought George would find a girl who loved horses as much as he did.”
He’s not being mean or facetious, he’s simply stating a fact, and I don’t feel defensive when I say, “I always wanted to ride, but we couldn’t afford the lessons when I was young.” I’m just stating a fact, too. But I do wonder why I’m telling him something so personal. Oh, probably because it’s hard to think straight with him standing so close, his goddamn, let’s-do-dirty-things-together scent throwing me off my game.
“Want to take her out?” he asks.
“I can’t.” I shake my head and a few loose strands of hair fall from my ponytail. He stares at them for a moment, his eyes turning a darker shade of blue as he reaches out and brushes them away, the roughness of his fingers bringing on another shiver.
Why would a white-collar consultant from New York have such rough hands? I’m curious, but I don’t ask. I’m also curious about how said hands would feel on my body. I don’t ask for that, either.
But you want to.
“I don’t know how.”
A moment of silence hovers, takes up space between us, then he says, “I do.”
I stand back as he places his coffee on a stool and opens the door to that mare’s stall. He steps inside and runs his hands over her. She whinnies, nudges him with her head, and he laughs.
“Hey, girl, did you miss me?”
“She seems to really like you.” Then again, is there a female around that doesn’t? I can’t imagine there could be. He’s hot, charming, funny, and I definitely want to fall to my knees before him. I clear my throat. “Is she yours?”
“No, but when I’m here, she’s always my first choice.” He fits her with a saddle and leads her from the stall. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”
I put my foot in the stirrup, and his big hands span my waist and lift me. It’s a simple gesture, far from intimate, yet I tremble just the same.
“Front or back?” he asks.
I gulp, like he’d just asked if I wanted to be on top or bottom. He angles his head and stares at me and I quickly get myself together and say, “What’s easiest for you?”
He exhales, and a tortured look moves over his face as he scrubs his hand over his chin. “To be honest, either way, I’m going to get a hard-on.”
I laugh. I actually laugh—hard and loud—as his words ease the tension between us.
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
He grins. “I’m nothing if not honest.”
He likes me.
“Honesty is good,” I say. I pride myself on honesty, too. Well, up until last night, anyway. And truthfully, I very well could be here for George. I won’t know the truth until one of the girls text me back.
“Harper, I have to say, I kind of hate that George found you first.”
Oh, but he didn’t.
I want to tell him that. I want to come clean. Heck, there are a lot of things I want to do with Will, but I’m just not sure of anything, so I close my mouth and pray one of the girls gets back to me sooner rather than later.
He climbs up and sits in front of me, and I slide my hands around his hard body to hang on, and of course, to cop a feel. His muscles bunch beneath my hands as I splay my fingers, trying to touch more of his body. God, I am so juvenile.
“All set?” he asks.
“Let’s go.”
I hold him tighter as he sets the horse into motion. “What’s her name?” I ask, leaning in and putting my mouth next to his ear. His low moan vibrates over the sound of the horse’s hooves hitting the ground, and I have to admit, I like the effect I have on him. The effect he has on me. I close my eyes and give a long-suffering sigh because there isn’t a thing I can do about this attraction between us.
“Buttercup,” he says.
I take a deep breath, swallow my disappointment, and ask, “Who named her?”
“Not me,” he says, laughing. “She’s Annabella’s horse.”
“She won’t mind us taking her out?”
“Nope.” He flicks the reins and Buttercup starts up a dirt path, and we go higher into the mountains. I glance behind me and admire the view in the valley below.
“It’s gorgeous up here.” I snuggle in as the air grows cooler, and absorb Will’s warmth. I have to admit, I’m really enjoying this, probably far too much. When we reach the top, Buttercup stops, and Will slides from the saddle. His feet hit the ground with a thud, and dirt and fallen leaves stir up around him.
I breathe in the fresh air, take in the quiet. “It’s so peaceful here.”
He rubs his hand along Buttercup’s nose, and for the first time in my life I’m jealous of a horse. As raw need pumps through my veins, my mind drifts. What would it be like if he touched me like that, those deft fingers stroking the length of my body with careful precision? Without conscious thought, my hips move in the saddle as my body stirs to life. A sound rumbles in my throat, and that’s when I catch Will’s inscrutable gaze locked on me. I shake my head to get it on right. I can’t give him the idea that I want him. What would he think of me? More importantly, why does what he thinks of me matter so much?
“Yeah, way different from New York,” he says quietly, his eyes still latched on mine.
“I’ll say. I can see why you like coming here.”
“There’s no place quite like it.”
His words make me think of Dorothy, and how I’d wanted to tap my heels together and go home last night. I can’t say as I want to do that now. I kind of like it here with Will and his big family.
“I could get used to this.” I run my hands along Buttercup’s mane. “Do you visit a lot?”
“Not as much as I’d like. I want to get here more often. Work ties me down.”
“I can understand that.” Work ties me down, too, which is why I put the pact together. For once, I needed some no-strings fun, an epic adventure. But I’m just not sure what adventure I’m supposed to be on. Am I here for George, or was there a mistake in the address?
“Harper?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Everything okay?”
“Will…I…I’m not sure I’m supposed to be here,” I admit, hating the secrets I’m keeping. Just then my cell phone pings, and I struggle to pull it from my back pocket. I lose my balance and slide off the saddle, landing on my ass with an undignified thump. A curse flies out of my mouth as I hit the hard ground, dirt flying up in my face. “Mother fu…” My words fall off when Will races around the horse, his eyes wide. When he sees that the only thing I’ve hurt is my pride, he tries to fight off a grin. Son of a bitch. The nerve of him. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Nope.”
“Yes, you are,” I shoot back. He holds his hand out to help me up, and I hit it away. “Stop laughing at me,” I say.
“I’m not.” He looks away, but not before I see the way his lips are quirking.
Bastard!
“You think this is funny?”
“No, I don’t,” he assures me, but I hear the garbled way his voice is coming out. He is so trying to hold back a laugh.
“How is this for funny?” I grab his leg and tug, and he lands on his ass beside me. I laugh. Hard. But it dies an abrupt death when he rolls on top of me, pinning me with his weight. Oh God, it feels so good to be underneath him like this.
Breathe, Harper, breathe.
He dips his head, his lips right there, so close to mine all I have to do is inch up a bit for a taste if I want to.
I want to.
Kissing him wouldn’t be wrong, would it? I mean, I never met his cousin, even if one of the girls was pretending to be me—and I’m definitely going to kill her for that. Still, kissing him wouldn’t be right, either. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea about me.
“Not finding it funny anymore?” he asks, his voice deeper than moments before. I shift beneath him, and he groans. I go still when I feel his erection pressing against my leg. He brushes my hair from my face, his eyes fixated on my mouth. “Are you hurt?” he asks, all humor gone from his voice. “If you are, I could kiss it better.”
“I think I bruised my ass.”
His grin turns devilish, and my insides quiver. “Are you telling me to kiss your ass?”
I lift my chin slightly. “I’m not telling—”
He brushes his thumb over my lips. “Why don’t I start here?”
His mouth comes down over mine, and in that instant, the entire world closes in on me. His tongue slides in, and oh my God, the man can kiss. My hands curl around his back, touch him all over. Our mouths meld together, and we breathe each other in, neither one caring about the cold ground, or the dust settling on our clothes, as my nipples swell, press against his chest. He groans, and his hips roll as he pushes against me, his cock hard against my thigh. Heat flickers through me, and he traces my lips with his tongue before plunging back inside. Oh God, I want him. I feel his desire, need. It matches my own. But before we go any further, he needs to know the truth. He deserves that. But what is the truth?
“Will,” I say, and break the intimacy. “I’m not…I’m not.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s onto me, like he knows my secret. “You’re not what, Harper?”
“I’m not… We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say.