She could do this.
Straightening her shoulders, she checked her reflection in the glass doors one last time and took the first steps toward her future. Only, when the sole of her knee-high, leather boot hit the porcelain tile, a chip of ice stuck to her foot and gravity betrayed her.
Her muscles locked as she twisted to catch herself falling through the thin air, her arms pinwheeling and her voice crying out in panic. Her knees crashed against the hard ceramic floor, the impact radiating up to her skull as her palms smacked over the cold tile. The contents of her purse and her résumé went flying.
Dark, ebony hair formed a curtain around her face she desperately needed, as she scrambled for composure. Nobody saw—
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
So much for poise.
The heat of the lobby mixed with her scorching mortification, and a clammy sweat broke across her skin. “I’m…”
Was she hurt? She quickly took a mental assessment of her body.
Nope. Just her pride. “…okay,” she finished with shaky assurance.
She waited for the embarrassment to ebb as she gingerly tried to stand. Her pencil skirt had hitched up her thighs and her hands stung as she made sure her ass wasn’t hanging out.
A chip marred the corner of her freshly manicured nail. Get off the floor. Disoriented by the fall, she tried to put herself back in some sort of orderly fashion. The contents of her purse were everywhere. How absolutely humiliating.
Sweeping an arm out, she corralled a mix of cosmetics, tampons, pocket change, and other personal items into her bag as two large, expensive looking male shoes stepped into her vision line. Her stomach flipped, certain they belonged to the owner of the Brick Hotel, husband of the woman who hated her more than anyone else in this town, and the person she was there to impress.
“Let me help you.” His deep voice carried an unmistakable air of authority but she couldn’t bring herself to look up.
Shaken from the fall and certain she’d just made a complete fool of herself, she only wanted to leave. So much for making a good first impression.
Her eyes burned with frustration and she blinked rapidly. She would not tear up like a big baby, no matter how much she wanted to wail at her unending bad luck.
Locking her jaw and shoving away all signs of shakiness, she dug for any remaining shred of confidence. Forcing herself to lift her gaze, she swept the hair away from her eyes and looked up. “Thank you, Mr. King—”
Her words instantly cut off as her limbs and face went numb. It wasn’t Gage King. It was so much worse.
What was he doing there? Where had he come from? How long had he been back? Why now?
As she looked up at those unforgettable blue eyes her soul took another fall, her mind hurtling back in time to a moment when the agony of teenage heartbreak was so poignant it could still sting a decade later.
“Mariella?”
Her heart tumbled into the pit of her stomach as she rasped his name, “Harrison.”
His eyes, marked with the fine lines of time, narrowed on her. “Wow. It’s been…”
Too long, she thought, her heart pounding against the impenetrable armor she’d encased it in since the day he abandoned her.
“Are you okay?”
Mortified that he saw her fall, she scrambled to gather the rest of her scattered belongings, her motions shaky and her gaze never completely leaving him.
His hair was still thick, but slightly darker than the sun-bleached golden blond it had been in high school. His voice was deeper, and although he was a decade older, his body appeared stronger. Honed and filled out.
Gone was the boy in the letterman jacket. Here, was a man—a devastating man—in a tailored suit reeking of success and authority. And she was the hot mess kneeling on the floor like something a hurricane blew in.
Clambering to her feet in an inelegant twist, she smoothed her pencil skirt over her thighs and quickly tidied her hair. “Harrison,” she repeated this time with feigned calm. An unnatural smile trembled to her lips as her heart jackhammered in her chest. “You’re back.”
For years, she dreamed about all the things she might say if he ever returned. Forgotten fantasies of slapping him rushed to the forefront of her mind, and she curled her fingers into a fist to resist the temptation.
She didn’t remember him being so tall. She’d probably miss if she tried to slap him.
On the other hand, the instinct to hurl herself into his arms left her unsteady on her already rickety feet. Every single emotion regarding Harrison Montgomery seemed a perfect paradox of wanting to prove herself a dignified woman while also wanting to surrender every inhibition that controlled her composure.
She could still recall the feel of his flesh beneath her tongue and the way his body trembled and flexed under her touch. A shiver pulsed through her at the memory of his control slipping and the intense way he would take her.