The Bastard (Filthy Trilogy 1)
Eric lets those questions linger in the air between us and he’s so close, so very close to me, his hand on the back of my seat, his face so near my face that I could reach up and trace every handsome line. “I wanted you to come here, and yes, I wanted you to come for me. But I also never wanted you to leave, not from the cottage or the hotel room, but you did. Easily. You walked away without looking back, so it’s hard for me to believe that you came for me without another agenda.”
“I left and you stayed. For six long fucking years, you stayed with them. And Gigi sent you to me. I could easily believe that you have an agenda.”
“I told you my agenda. I need your help. I don’t want to be your enemy, Eric.”
“I’m only your enemy if you make me your enemy.”
“I won’t. I chose a side when I went after you.”
“Gigi’s side?”
“My father’s, and my father would have respected you for all you’ve done on your own. He would have despised Isaac. You’re not him and I’m not her, that person you made me, we’re not the princess and the bastard.”
“I told you,” he says, reaching up, his knuckle brushing my cheek, sending shivers down my spine, “I’ll make you like that name.”
I catch his hand. “And you like being the bastard?”
His gaze lowers to my mouth and lifts. “I am who I am, Harper.”
“Well, I’m not her,” I say. “I’m not on a throne. I’m not above you because I inherited money I don’t even have, or because I’m my father’s daughter, or whatever the case.”
“I’m here. Stop obsessing over a name.”
“How can I not obsess over that name? I was in that hotel room with you when you were calling me that name. I felt the anger in you when you used it.”
“Not at you, Harper.”
“Now who’s lying to who? I was there. Let me repeat myself. I felt your anger. You hated me for being a part of this family.”
“And yet you fucked me?”
“Right. I did.” My throat constricts, hurt and anger colliding, and yet my voice is remarkably calm. “I must have wanted something. I get it. That’s what you think of me.” I turn away from him to face forward.
Eric doesn’t move away. He stays right there, leaning over me, watching me. “Harper,” he says, his voice l
ow, rough. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, my skin tingling with the need for him to touch me. How can I need a man to touch me? How can I need this man, who hates me, to touch me?
“It does matter,” he says. “You matter or I wouldn’t be here.”
I want to believe him. I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. I want him to kiss me and I know he will if I turn to him. I know I’m setting myself up for heartache with this man. I know he could use me, but I’m so damn drawn to him.
“Look at me, Harper,” he orders softly.
“I can’t or I’ll forget you hate me.” It’s at that moment Jim exits Starbucks, his long legs eating up the parking lot in a near run as he charges toward his car. “That tall, dark-haired man is Jim,” I say, glancing at Eric, and reaching for my seatbelt. “He’s the union guy. He’s leaving.” I let my belt fall away. “Why is he leaving?” I open my door and climb outside, the cold contrasting all the heat Eric and I were just generating and I shiver as I call out, “Jim!”
He looks my way and I swear it’s like he’s seen a ghost. He keeps walking toward his car, a Mercedes that says he’s paid well for his negotiation skills he isn’t using right now. I chase after him, certain now that somehow this meeting was Isaac setting me up for a fall. “Jim, wait,” I say catching him at his door. “I thought we were meeting?”
“I have a situation,” he says, scrubbing his jaw. “I can’t meet with you tonight.”
Eric steps to my side. “Hi, Jim,” he greets, and it feels familiar, like they know each other.
“Eric,” he bites out. “I just heard you were back in town.”
“I noticed,” Eric says dryly.
Jim’s lips thin and he looks at me. “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.” He opens his door.