“Invested?”
“You know I am or I wouldn’t be here.”
“You have a lot to be invested in here that isn’t me.”
“Nothing I want to be invested in but you.”
“But you—”
“Left. I know. And as I said, I’m here now. This time is different. I feel it. Don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. Despite you being angry at me. I feel the difference now.”
“We’ll talk about my anger. We’ll talk about a lot of things.” And with that coded promise, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and turns me toward the front of the house. “Let’s go get that pasta.”
He sets us in motion and we walk in what is surprisingly comfortable silence, but my curiosity about this man gets the best of me. “I’m surprised someone with your academic capacity stayed here for school. Why not Harvard all the way?”
“I got into some trouble when my mother was sick. We had money issues and I shoplifted. It fucked up my academic history.”
I’m stunned at this confession and I want to ask about it, but we’ve reached the door of the restaurant. He opens the door for me and we’re greeted by a hostess that takes our coats and promptly escorts us to a half-moon-shaped booth. I slide in one side as Eric goes to the other and when I think we’ll sit across from each other, he scoots all the way around and pulls me close, his hand on my leg. “This okay?”
“Yes. This is good.”
“Good.” His voice is a low rasp, his eyes warm and reluctant as they leave my face and focus on the waitress. “Let’s start with drinks.” He looks at me again. “You do like wine, right?”
“Love it. Red, white, and trying new variations.”
“Then I’ll order my favorite here and you can tell me what you think.” He gives the order to the waitress and refocuses on me. “Do we feel like enemies, Harper?”
“You never felt like my enemy. And if you think taking over the company makes me see you as that, it doesn’t. The only thing that makes you my enemy is if you turn on me or my mother.”
“Your mother is aligned with my father.”
“I know. I’ve tried to get her to see that we have real problems, but she’s is blinded by love. I feel like there’s something illicit going on. She’s not involved, she’s just not helping to solve the problem. So, I’m asking you to please keep her out of this.”
“I will,” he says, his fingers brushing my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. “You have my word.”
I reach up and catch his hand. “Thank you,” I say, a wave of heat between us and I think there is something real between us, something that isn’t fantasy sex and “what if” but real.
“Your wine has arrived,” the waitress announces and we linger together, seconds passing before we turn our attention to the waitress who hands Eric a sample of the wine and waits for his approval before filling our glasses.
Once we’re alone, I sip the wine, a sweet yet oaky flavor touching my tongue. “It’s excellent,” I say.
“Glad you like it.”
I set my glass down. “About that anger.”
He sets his glass down on the table and his hand slides under my hair, settling on my neck. “I’m angry at you for making me want you so fucking bad that I had to come here.”
Those words are raw and real, vibrating along my nerve endings. “Are you going to make me regret it?”
“There are many things I want to make you feel, Harper, but regret is not one of them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Harper
Eric presses his cheek to my cheek and whispers, “Do you know how badly I want to take you to the bathroom and fuck you right now?” Heat pools low in my belly as he pulls back to look at me and adds, “Or anywhere, for that matter?”