CHAPTER FIVE
At nearly two in the morning, I set down the game controller with a groan. “I give up. You can’t kill a giant.”
“You can, but you need more stealth and better weapons. And way better armor. You kind of sucked at vampires, too. Get it?” She elbows me. “Suck?”
I roll my eyes. “I need a garlic necklace to ward off jokes like that.”
“Ha ha.”
The truth is I like Harlow’s unexpectedly goofy sense of humor and the admittedly geek side of her I’ve seen tonight. In her defense, Elder Scrolls is a huge game, and I feel as if I’ve barely seen a quarter of the map. With a story centered around a civil war and an ancient legend coming true, I get why she’s been drawn in.
But now I’ve got something else on my mind.
I wrap my arm around Harlow and help her to her feet, then I scoop her up against my chest.
She squeals. “What are you doing?”
“I never did have my dessert, and I’ve suddenly got a sweet tooth…”
Even in the room’s low lighting, I see her flush. “I take it you don’t mean a pie I might bake in the oven.”
“Nope. You know I love to eat your pussy, baby. Let’s grab a few things along the way to make this even sweeter.” I cart her past a stack of towels folded on a table for pool and beach use, then double back to the kitchen. “Open the fridge and grab that champagne. Oh, and that bottle of chocolate sauce.”
She takes the items cautiously. “What are you going to do?”
“Feast.” I give her an unrepentant grin as I reach the pantry and search for what I want. “Pick up that jar of maraschino cherries, too.”
Harlow wraps her hand around it with a halting touch. “This sounds messy.”
“Yep, not to mention prolonged, sweaty, and dirty as hell.”
When she’s got everything in her grip, I haul her to the dining room, strip off her shirt and bra, then lay her across the table. She hisses and arches when the cool wood hits her back. I sit at the head, position the foodstuffs nearby, then grab her hips and pull her luscious ass to the edge.
I lift her skirt. “Panties?” I heave a long-suffering sigh. “I should forbid these.”
“You can’t do that. My panties are none of your business. What makes you think I’d even listen to you?”
“Don’t you want to make me happy so I can make you even happier?” I send her a sly grin as I slide the little scrap down her legs and to the floor.
“Well, when you put it like that…”
“Glad you see things my way. Now spread your legs, brace your feet on the edge of the table, and lift your hips.” I take hold of the towel.
“You’re bossy tonight.”
Despite her complaint, she does it.
I smile as I slide the towel under her ass. “Occupational hazard. I was the offensive leader of my team, you know. I’m used to taking charge.” I wink her way. “And I know how to score.”
“Talk about bad jokes…” She gives me a sour expression, but I see her smile peeking through.
“Yeah, but that’s not why you like me.” I skim my fingertips down the inside of her leg, satisfied when she shudders and her breath skips. I caress her thigh as my gaze latches on to her pussy. My mouth waters. I won’t be able to keep my tongue off of her for long. “What comes next is.”
With practiced moves, I pop the champagne open and set the cork aside. The bottle fizzles over and splashes bubbly over the rim, down my fingers, then onto her sex. She gasps at the cold. I heat her up by raking my tongue between her lips and into her folds, groaning when her flavor mixes with the sweet effervescence of the champagne. But I stop short of her clit.
Harlow wriggles. “You were almost to the best spot. Why stop now?”
“I intend to savor my dessert. Be a good girl, lie back, and let me.”
Capitulating isn’t her style, and I sense she’s gearing up to mount an argument for argument’s sake. I stop her by latching my mouth on her pussy again, opening as wide as I can to drink her all in at once. Her toes curl. Harlow grips the edge of the table and holds her breath. Her protest becomes a needy whimper.
God, I love giving her pleasure and having power over her body.
With a long lick, I ease back and grope for the champagne again and stand, leaning over her to pour a trickle of the chilled liquid into her navel.
Her stomach contracts and clenches. Her eyes slide shut with a sigh of pleasure. Her beaded nipples and rosy cheeks tell me how aroused she is.
And I’ve barely started.
I drink from her skin, relishing the way she writhes under me. Her responses are everything I’ve always wanted and like nothing I’ve experienced. When her fingertips curl around my shoulders, I can actually feel how much she wants this, wants me.
Swept up in my need, I can’t resist dribbling some bubbly between her breasts and licking the fruity liquid away. I take a swig from the bottle and hold the sparkling wine in my mouth as I capture her nipple against my tongue. When the cold champagne meets her heated flesh, her back twists. Her head thrashes.
I swallow and repeat the process with the other breast, sucking and tormenting to my heart’s content.
“Noah…”
I don’t answer, just curl my tongue around her distended bud and suck deep. It’s swollen from last night. Knowing she’s still sensitive enough to shiver at every lick and nip on her breast turns me on even more.
Her hips start gyrating against my abdomen, as if her pussy is desperate for stimulation. For climax.
I wonder if she’s figured out yet that it’s going to be a long time coming…but sooner than I want if I can’t get myself under control. The blow job she gave me a few hours past might as well have been a few decades ago. And her womanly scent is driving my primal urge to get in, sink deep, and fuck hard.
Easing back, I reach for the bottle of chocolate syrup, give it a shake, and send her a devious smile.
“You’re not going to drizzle that on my pussy and eat it.” She says the words in warning.
“Yeah, I am. You’re going to be my perfect sundae. Sweet cream…” I swipe my fingertips through her drenched folds with one hand and open the spout on the plastic bottle with the other. “Chocolate…” I tip the bottle upside down and coat her pretty pink flesh with the liquid cocoa. As she gasps, the rich scents combine and waft to my nose. I set the bottle aside and reach for the jar at her hip, popping the lid open. “And cherries.”
“Noah…” She writhes and tosses her head back, throat arching.
“What, baby?” I fish out one of the candied fruits and let it drip over the jar.
“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it isn’t polite to keep a girl waiting?”
I laugh. She’s always got a comeback, and it’s one thing I adore about her.
“Sure she did. But she meant for a date. We didn’t exactly cover oral sex etiquette. Now lie still and let me enjoy.” I set the jar of cherries on the other side of her thigh, still within reach.
“But you’re going to torment me.”
“I am.” And I plan to enjoy every moment…even if I’ll be tormenting myself, as well. Because, no lie, I’d love to strip off my pants and seat myself inside her in the next ten seconds, let my eyes roll back in my head as I lose my sanity to what I already know will be earth-shaking sex. Instead, I hold off. Wait. I want to make this so good for her. Mostly because I want her to want to stay around longer, even if it’s just for the sex.
If I can make her like me, even better.
Watching chocolate drip down the pouty flesh of her bare pussy could easily become my new pastime. She’s swollen here, too. Puffy. Perfect. Would she object if I took a picture and hung it on my wall?
I drag the cherry up the lips of her engorged sex, swiping it through the chocolate and her essence, then settle it between, trailing it up her distended clit. She gasps at the touch, body thrashing. I do it again, slow down the drag, swirl it around the hard, rosy bud. As soon as I lift the candied fruit from her, I follow up with a silken glide of my finger. She bites her lip and wraps her fingers around her breasts, squeezing as if she’s desperate for more.
I revel in every moment of her sexual agony.
Using a slow hand, I watch her fall apart by degrees. It’s a lovely sight, and she’s a sensual thing twisting under my touch. I’ve always loved women—the sight, the feel, the softness of them. But Harlow Reed is in a class by herself. I’m captivated by even the littlest things she does, by the way her dark hair gleams on my elegant table, by the way she pants when I touch her, by the way her entire body flushes as she approaches climax.
But she isn’t ready to surrender just yet.
Suddenly, her fingers glide down to the slick flesh between her legs, mixing her cream with the chocolate. She dips in, swirls around. Then she props herself up on one elbow and holds her digits out to me, letting the potent scents mingle just under my nose. “Noah… Take a taste. Just one. The rest will be waiting for you. Open your mouth. What can it hurt?”
I shouldn’t. It’s a distinct possibility I’ll lose my shit once I get her flavor on my tongue. But that doesn’t stop me from leaning closer. She paints my bottom lip, tempting me. Taunting me. Damn if I don’t crave her.
I slide my tongue over my lip, then move on to her fingers. Heaven. Paradise. Utopia.
One taste is my undoing.
I suck her fingers into my mouth as I rise from my seat and push her digits against my tongue, moaning as I melt.
Harlow pulls her arm back, leading me closer to the source of her honey. With the other hand, she opens her sex, revealing her reddening clit pulling away from its hood. “It’s not my fingers you want.”
She’s right. Vaguely, I’m annoyed at myself for letting her derail me, but not enough to refuse her.
I let go, take another swallow of the champagne from the bottle, then pour more over her puffy pink sex. When she whimpers, I set it down. To my surprise, she sits up enough to take a few long swigs. I stare.
“What’s it going to be?” she challenges. “Champagne kisses or chocolate-covered pussy?”
They both sound fantastic, but…it’s no contest.
Planting my palm between her breasts, I push her flat against the table, then grab her hips in my hands. As I sit once more, I drag my dessert up to my lips and dive in.
Her flavor hits me, grips me, sends me into a frenzy. I edge closer, take her hands and use them to hold her captive. There isn’t so much as a breath between her sweetness and my mouth. I settle in, go deeper, drown in everything that’s Harlow. Sure, I taste chocolate and champagne. Even her clit has a little candied-cherry flavor my tongue is enjoying. But it’s really her I want. I burn for.
I open wider, lap her from bottom to top, then savor her sweetness as I suck the fruit juice clean from her flesh greedily until I can taste nothing but her pure, clean essence.
Her moans bounce off the walls. Her thighs tense, and she’s holding her breath. Yes, her orgasm is coming. Her body tells me. Her scent thickens. Her taste deepens. I have no idea how she got sweeter, but I’m loving every moment she’s on my tongue.
Suddenly, she’s rising and bucking and growling out a throaty cry of completion that scalds my veins and makes my cock harder than it’s ever been. I dip my tongue inside her center and feel her hard pulses as she bows like she has no control over her body or the ecstasy wracking her.
Moments later, she melts limply onto the table with a heavy sigh, panting hard. “Oh… Noah.”
I lick and kiss her flesh gently, reluctantly easing back and weaning myself away from her—for now. “Do you feel good?”
“Yeah. I’ll be even better if you fuck me.”
While I want that—bad—I don’t have a damn condom in my pocket. I used the last one before dinner. “You got it. Let me run to the bedroom and—”
“Now,” she insists, shaking her head.
“I don’t have a way to protect you.”
Harlow frowns. I see her wheels turning. “My period ended six days ago. I’m not that far into my cycle and I’ve probably been taking the pill long enough now. It should be fine.”
“You’re sure?” I don’t want to argue because I’d love to have Harlow with nothing between us…and because the thought of her pregnant still sets off my libido again like a fireworks spectacular. But as pushy as I can be with pleasure, I’d never coerce her into taking me bareback. “I can run upstairs and be back in less than two minutes.”
“Two minutes will feel like a lifetime,” she wails, hips lifting as she shifts restlessly.
I can’t disagree with her.
“Baby…” I swallow hard at the thought of actually feeling her against me, bare all the way around me. “I want you so damn bad. I won’t last long.”
She smiles like she knows she’s won. “There’s always later. Let’s get to enjoying now.”
With a groan, I take my cock in hand and guide it to her splayed sex. Stickiness from the chocolate and champagne remains on her pussy. This is going to be messy. And I’ll love every second of it.
Grabbing her hips, I push inside her slowly. The electric sensation of her naked flesh gripping me sends an immediate shudder down my spine. She’s so tight, and without the latex, an inferno of ecstasy scorches my senses. Need steamrolls me. As I submerge all the way to the hilt, I grip her harder and toss my head back with a chest-deep groan.
Harlow is ruining me. Worse, I can’t give a fuck about anything except fucking her.
“Noah!” Her entire body moves under me, shoulders pressed to the table, hips lifting in my grip.
The cry of her voice flips a switch in me. I have to go deeper, harder, wilder. I have to leave my stamp on her.
I need to make her forget about any man who came before me.
I don’t know why and I don’t question the urge. Time for that later. I devote my entire being to merging with Harlow, withdrawing as quickly as possible, then shuttling in again with all my breath and might. The rhythm takes hold of my body. The table starts to shake with every plunge deep. Everything inside me is attuned to her—to the flush rising across her skin, to the light sheen of perspiration now covering her torso, to the twist of her full lips as the pleasure breaks her down.
Watching her is stunning. Impactful. But I need her closer. I need our mouths colliding as our bodies do. I need to invade her in every way at once that I can.
I’m trying to get enough of her. I’m beginning to think that’s not possible.
Still, I’m compelled to try, so I scoop her up, ignoring her startled yelp. Before she’s even finished the sound, I’ve taken the few steps across the room to back her against the wall and press myself into her. I slant my mouth over hers, lifting her up my aching cock. Then I let gravity work in my favor. She takes me even farther inside her, and I’m happily going where I suspect no man has ever gone before. Because this penetration is unlike anything I’ve ever felt—or even imagined in my wildest fantasies. I’m probing her depths and hitting a spot that has her tensing and clawing and panting into me. Her fingernails dig into my skin, leaving a trail of fire. Her lips part wide with euphoric bliss that transforms her face.
God, she’s beautifully sexy. All woman.
Mine. I feel that possessive impulse again.
I cover her mouth once more, pushing my tongue inside even as I shove my cock deep, using my whole body to push her against the wall so I can gain leverage, immobilize her, have her body entirely at my disposal.
“Pinch your nipples,” I demand between kisses.
Harlow reaches one hand between us to roll and tug on a hard bead, even as she uses the other to anchor herself around my neck and ride me like a surfer on towering waves roaring up to the coastline. She puts her whole body into our pleasure, gripping me with her thighs, gyrating her hips, eating her way up my neck and back to my mouth.
Shit, she’s doing way more to me than merely rocking my world.
As the pinnacle of my pleasure crests and I swallow the frantic wail of her shattering climax, I feel her pulse around me like a vise. My body short-circuits. I lose the ability to focus on anything except Harlow and emptying myself inside her—body, soul, and something else that’s totally new. Something that feels dangerous.
But I’m too far gone to care. The only thing that matters is spilling inside her and hoping that she’ll beg me to do it again.
As our movements slow and our breathing begins to even out, she blinks and focuses on me. “Oh, my god. What was that?”
“The most amazing thing I’ve ever felt,” I admit.
“You’re not kidding. Sex has never been like this for me.”
Part of me loves the ego trip. Another part is rejoicing at being her best. But there’s a sliver that can’t stand the thought of her remembering sex with any other guy. “Ditto, baby. You’re amazing.”
She gives me a tired smile. “We’re amazing together. Sex has been dull the last couple of years, so this is perfect.”
I want to know why…and yet I don’t. But curiosity wins out as I disentangle our bodies and set her on her feet. “Why the last couple of years in particular?”
Harlow shrugs and looks like she’s choosing her words. She seems suspiciously focused on my Adam’s apple—or anything that keeps her from meeting my stare. “You know… School stress, chaotic college life, immature idiots. I just never felt like myself with anyone before. Thanks.”
I’m getting to her. It’s a relief to know I’m not the only one feeling something besides arousal and tingling genitals. Yes, we’re talking about sex, but the soft surprise in her expression tells me she’s stunned by our connection. Like I am.
Where is it going?
I don’t know. And I don’t have to right now. But I need time with her. I need to spend my mornings, noons, and nights with this woman until I figure out what’s going on between us. I can only keep her here with the promise of employment and good sex for so long. No, she hasn’t made any noise about leaving, but I want to lock her down so that packing her bags and heading out before I’m ready to let her go is impossible.
“Shit!” Suddenly, she hobbles off, holding her inner thigh.
I follow with a frown. “Harlow?”
“I’m dripping…you. I’m so used to a condom.”
Me, too. But I’m kind of smiling as she dips into the powder bath and slams the door.
Feeling like a supreme sex god, I exhale with satisfaction and make my way to the home office. My lawyer is in New York. It’s well into morning for him. Maybe he’s already had a chance to put together the paperwork I asked him for yesterday. Sure enough, there’s a small stack of pages on my printer/fax. Greedily, I grab the pages up and scan.
With every word, my grin widens. This is exactly what I wanted.
I hear the toilet flush, the water run, then the door opens a few moments later. The light flips off. “Noah?”
“In here. I’ve got something for you.”
“If it’s another erection, it’s going to have to wait. Every part of me feels wrung out and I need sleep. Don’t even think about waking me up for hanky-panky tonight.”
I can’t promise her I won’t.
“No erection.” Yet. “Just the contract and nondisclosure agreement from my attorney.”
“That was fast.”
I pay him to be. “It’s great, right? We can get started as soon as you sign.”
When Harlow holds out her hand, I slide the pages and a pen into her grip. It’s late, and I’m hoping she doesn’t tell me that she’ll read it in the morning. I will sleep so much better tonight knowing that she’s signed, sealed, delivered—and all mine for the summer.
Pushing a mass of dark hair away from her face and over one shoulder, she cocks her head and scans the document. I can’t think of a single woman who would stand there stark naked under the harsh LED lights of my office and focus her brain on business. Many wouldn’t have the confidence to make themselves so bare in front of a lover unless they shimmied or crooked a finger to entice him or just got dressed altogether. Harlow merely seems to accept her nudity as yet another state of being that’s neither good nor bad. It just is.
She flips the page over and reads the rest, then scans the accompanying NDA. “This is generous pay.”
Sex is one thing, but business is another. I switch gears…but I can only do it by focusing on her face. If I look at her tits, I’ll be a goner. “I doubt unraveling my speech problems will be easy. Late nights, odd hours, and dealing with me when I’m grouchy won’t be a breeze. But my second career worth millions is on the line. Being a successful broadcaster will continue to feed my endorsement deals, too. I think it’s fair to compensate you appropriately.”
“The term of the agreement is through Labor Day?”
I nod. “That gets me through the end of preseason, more or less. If we need to extend, we’ll renegotiate. But I plan to work hard so that I’m broadcast ready by then.”
Harlow nods in acknowledgement. “I have no problem not talking about our professional interaction without your consent. I wouldn’t, anyway. Practitioner-patient confidentiality is paramount to me.”
“Later, if we’re successful, you can tell everyone. I will be. I’ve been thinking about other guys in the league who may be affected and not speaking out. Someone’s got to break the silence.” I shrug. “Why not me? Maybe others will come forward and get help if they feel like there’s hope.”
She smiles. “That’s noble. A lot of jocks wouldn’t want anyone to ever know. They don’t want to admit they’re less than perfect.”
“If disregarding my ego can help some of the others find their voice, it’s a small price. And it’s not always that players don’t speak out. Some are just drowned out. By the teams and their owners. And by the league itself, which has been slow to admit the connection between repeated hits to the head and long-term impact on players’ faculties. If I open the door for a discussion so some of these other guys can be heard and get help, then it’s a bonus.”
Without hesitating, she signs the forms, then sets the pen down and saunters in my direction, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Done. You know, you’re so good in bed that it’s not fair to actually make me like you, too.”
“It’s not a bad thing. I mean, I like you. And I like spending time with you. I’m glad we’ll be spending more together. And maybe…we’ll figure out there’s more going on here than a fling.”
For a moment, she freezes. Then she tsks at me and gives me a flirty shake of her head. “And ruin this great sexfest we have going? Why would we do that?”
As she walks away, her laugh seems almost nervous.
It’s hard not to notice that every time I bring up romance or relationship, she damn near runs in the opposite direction. But she wants children, and I don’t see her impersonally going to a sperm bank to conceive. Even more, I don’t think she would have let me take her without protection if she didn’t feel something for me. Or is she simply trying to get pregnant, even unconsciously? Doubtful, but I think what’s between us is way bigger than she’s ready to admit.
Sometimes Harlow is a walking dichotomy. And maybe the way to her heart is simply through her pussy. I don’t know yet, but I’m going to figure her out.
My phone ringing three hours later startles me from a deep sleep. I sit straight up in bed and grab the damn thing. Harlow was resting fitfully after I rolled over and turned out the lights. I don’t want to wake her now.
As I hit the button to answer the call, I look over to see if she’s still asleep.
The woman is gone. The sheets on her side of the bed are cold.
What the fuck?
Shoving the covers aside and climbing to my feet, I glance at the display on my phone. It’s my agent in New York. I growl as I press the phone to my ear. “Cliff, do you know what fucking time it is in Hawaii?”
“Ungodly early, I know. But the network is up my ass. They want to know if you’re stalling about giving them an answer about the job because of the runaway bride.”
The what? How do I answer when I don’t understand the question? “I’m considering all my options. You know that. They know that.”
“And they weren’t antsy about waiting until you were snapped looking cozy with a woman who ran out on her groom less than a week ago. The fact you two are dating now—and so publicly—is sending up a red flag for them.”
The words do a drive-by in my brain but I don’t comprehend them. “What?”
“We can all understand why she would leave a boring businessman for you, but Noah… Why would you give up the opportunity to take a prime spot in the coveted A Team for the network to—”
“She ran out on some guy less than a week ago?” I hate to sound as stupid as I feel for not Googling Harlow sooner, but I don’t have my computer handy and I need to understand right now.
Where the hell is she? After the reporters splashed her image across the tabloids, did she decide to leave?
I march out of my bedroom and go in search of Harlow. As I head down the stairs, I don’t see any lights on. I’m more confused than ever.
“You didn’t know that?” Cliff asks.
“She failed to mention it.” And given her behavior, I know it was on purpose.
“How could you not know? If she left this schmuck for you—”
“She didn’t. I only met her two days ago.”
“So it’s not serious, right?”
I hesitate. I’m not sure how to answer that but I’ve always been straight up with Cliff—speech problems aside. “I think it could be. Or I did until you called. You’re saying she broke up with her fiancé last weekend?”
“Um…yeah, buddy. In a big way.”
“What do you mean? How did you find out about this?”
“I’m going to text you a link. I hope you’re sitting down. We’ll talk again after you’ve had time to digest.”
Once Cliff hangs up, I’m torn between staring at the phone while waiting for his promised link to arrive and finding wherever the hell Harlow has gone so I can ask her a billion questions.
She was engaged less than a week ago?
Who was this guy? Why did she break it off? Suddenly, I’m less surprised that she seems allergic to relationships. What I don’t understand is why she hasn’t so much as whispered a word about this to me.
The phone buzzes in my hand, telling me I’ve got a text. But I’m still intent on finding Harlow.
Stomping my way back up the stairs, I fling open the door to the room she’d previously used as her bedroom and find her tucked under the blankets fast asleep. It’s dark. A fan circulates, keeping the room cool. She doesn’t stir at all when I walk in.
Why is she sleeping here, instead of beside me? Why did she lie down with me only to leave?
I stop and stare. I can’t look away as I wonder how and why this woman is turning my life upside down. I shouldn’t care. But I do. I shouldn’t even want to listen to her explanation. But I’m dying to hear it. I need to know if anything that’s passed between us means more to her than an orgasm. If she’s even in a place to care about me half as much as she does the sex.
My thoughts tell me more than I’d like about how invested I am in her. After a mere two days, it should be easy to write her off and walk away. But even when my head is telling me that would be smart, I won’t. She’s got a story. I’ve been wondering what’s up with her—and I’m finally finding out.
“Noah?” A familiar voice resounds from downstairs, startling me. “You up?”
I dash out of Harlow’s room and creep halfway to the first floor, peeking into the shadowy entryway. “Trace?”
“Yeah. I promised you a six a.m. workout on Saturday. Here I am.”
Shit. It’s so early, and I totally forgot. “Yeah. Give me five. I just woke up.”
“Sure. When you get downstairs, you can tell me why you’re banging a girl who ran out on her fiancé a week ago.”
Harlow’s dirty laundry must be all over the media if Trace knows it, too. Oh, fuck. She will not be pleased. I feel more than a little responsible.
“Be right back.”
After a quick swish with my toothbrush, I toss on some gym clothes and haul ass downstairs, my phone and the link I haven’t opened yet nearly burning a hole in my hand. Once I reach the kitchen, I see my brother nursing a cup of coffee and staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he starts in. “She’s a gorgeous girl but—”
“I literally found out five minutes ago about her ex-fiancé when Cliff called.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Let me catch up to you.” I bring up the messages on my phone and find the link waiting for me. I have a terrible feeling it’s going to change a lot between Harlow and me. But maybe it will at least help me make sense of her behavior.
I press the link and wait. YouTube pops up. The subject of the video says BRIDE RUNS OUT ON FIANCÉ IN EPIC STYLE. It’s currently trending and has over three million views. My gut clenches as the footage starts to roll.
Harlow stands at the back of the aisle with an older man I can only assume is her father. They exchange words that don’t look happy or comforting before she anchors her hand on his arm with a scowl. I frown as she walks up the aisle. Clearly, she’s pissed at her father, and I wonder if it has anything to do with the pending divorce from her mother. And why that would make her abruptly leave the man she’d once agreed to pledge her life to.
After Harlow and her father pass the camera, the angle of the shot changes. The video shows her from the back, her upswept hair revealing a mostly backless dress and a long veil that lends a luminous look to her silky skin. Her train dusts the ground behind her as she nears the altar. The camera sweeps up to show a shot of the unlucky groom. He’s average height—which is still far taller than Harlow. He’s got a typical stockbroker’s haircut, a face I swear I’ve seen a hundred times in football stadiums all over America, with only a cleft chin to differentiate him. He clasps his hands in front of himself, seemingly not nervous at all, merely smug. But I get why the smarmy bastard would be. He’s thinks he’s marrying a beautiful woman from a wealthy family in a lavish ceremony. I recognize the ballroom at the Ritz Carlton here on Maui.
As she approaches him, the music changes, and giant screens at the front of the room show snapshots of the two of them together, mostly staged poses from a single shoot—her wearing her engagement rock, him looking somewhere between self-satisfied and bored.
I’ve never met the guy. I don’t even know his name. And I already want to punch him.
Suddenly, the rotating images of the happy couple projected on the screens on either side of the makeshift altar disappear as the sound of a needle being dragged across a vinyl record echoes. Beside Harlow, the groom frowns in confusion as a different video flickers and starts to roll.
This one shows the groom with his pants around his ankles, bending a blonde over a linoleum countertop, a pot of coffee to their right, as he plows into her, racing to orgasm in a full-out sprint. She’s wearing four-inch stilettos and has her pencil skirt hiked up to her waist, showing off a hell of a tramp stamp that’s wide and flanked by inked filigree. The script writing flows and sways, spelling out one word: WHORE.
The wedding guests gasp, jaws dropping. The groom starts losing his mind, demanding someone kill the feed. No one does. They just stare.
As the footage continues, he huffs and bucks on film, his white ass clenching on every down stroke. “Fuck, Mandy. You’re such a whore, just like your tattoo says, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she pants. “Yes. Your whore.”
“My pregnant whore. Do you think I knocked you up in this room?”
“Or on your desk. There’s something about getting pregnant by your boss in the office that seems even dirtier. Do you think your girlfriend suspects?”
“She’s oblivious,” he assures as he plunges into his assistant again. “I’ll make sure she stays that way.”
The drag of the needle across an old LP sounds again, then Harlow’s face appears on both screens at the front of the room, her smile acid. “Hi, Simon. Or should I say stupid fucker? I’m not oblivious. And I’m not marrying you. Instead of being a no-show at the altar and leaving you to awkwardly explain to our family and guests why I’d run out on such an awesome guy at the last minute, I thought I’d just show them. I hope you and Mandy get everything you deserve in life. Oh, and I think you’ll find that Mercedes you just bought for our island vacations might not look quite so pristine.”
On the screen, a pale gray European sedan appears. The words JUST MARRIED written in temporary ink across the back window have been crossed out with black spray paint. The words LYING SLIME have been painted across the trunk in big, bold letters instead.
When Simon barrels down on Harlow, motions angry and jerky, she tosses her bouquet in his face, flips him her middle finger, then marches down the aisle, glaring again at her father. Then the video ends.
I’m blinking and stunned. A million thoughts charge through my head, none I can voice past my shock.
“Holy shit.” Trace looks almost as bowled over as I feel.
“That happened less than a week ago?” I breathe as pieces of Harlow’s puzzle start to fall into place.
No wonder she’s not eager to talk relationship. It’s a gross understatement to say that her last one ended badly. I understand now why her brothers are worried about her.
“Holy shit,” my brother repeats.
I don’t blame him for being so shocked his vocabulary has been reduced to two words. If I wasn’t so focused on what to say to Harlow—how to deal with her—I’d probably be repeating Trace’s catch phrase, too.
Still, I can’t help but wonder…why didn’t she tell me that she’d just broken an engagement? Give me a hint? Even mentioned that she’d ever been engaged at all?
I head for the stairs. “I need to talk to Harlow.”
“She’s here?” My brother seems taken aback by that.
“Yeah. She lives here, has for a while. Long story. I’ll explain later. I need a rain check on the workout. I’ll call you when I can.”
Now Trace hesitates. “Maybe you should just walk away, bro. She sounds like she’s been through a lot. And you don’t need drama now.”
“No one ever does. But I think Harlow needs someone to…” What? Soothe her, reassure her, hold her? “At the very least, she needs someone to listen.”
“That someone doesn’t have to be you. She has family or girlfriends, right? Or there’s plenty of other fish in her sea, bro.”
He’s not wrong, but I can’t leave her. “I’ve got this. Seriously, I’ll call you once I’ve talked to her.”
Trace shrugs. He doesn’t like it, but he’s backing off. “Sure. I’ll scram and grab some coffee at that great little diner. Um, can I borrow a ball cap? I lost mine and was followed by two reporters who thought I was you yesterday while I ran errands.”
It happens. We both look so much like our dad. When I glance in the mirror now, I swear I’m looking at a darker-skinned version of the man from my baby photos.
“Sure.” I bound up the stairs to find one. The sooner I get rid of Trace, the sooner I can confront Harlow. Once I pluck one from my suitcase, I toss it his way over the railing. “That work?”
He settles the new cap I picked up at the airport on his head, tags and all. It simply reads HAWAII. “Perfect. Thanks. Catch you later.”
“Take it easy, man.”
With a nod, my brother is gone. I turn around and head back up the stairs, directly to Harlow’s door, trying to get my questions—and my shit—under control. It’s not working. I know this conversation will probably be long and ugly. But I push my way into her bedroom, refusing to put it off for another moment.