More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

“Can you tell me what it’s about?”

“No. I told you, I’m not prepared to discuss it.”

“Tina—”

“Harris,” she interrupted impatiently. “Drop it or leave. On second thought . . . just leave. Please.”

“What if you have another nightmare?”

“I won’t.”

“Tina. About us—”

“Not the time, Harris.” Her words were delivered in a no-nonsense tone of voice that brooked no argument.

“I’ve changed my mind about leaving tomorrow.” The words were out before he’d even realized he’d made the decision, and she had a moment’s hesitation before gracing him with the tiniest of smiles.

“Good.”

He felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and he exhaled on a slow, shuddering sigh. And there it was again, irrepressible and steadfast.

Hope.

He didn’t trust himself to speak; instead he nodded and pushed himself up, gathering his clothes and dragging them on quickly and efficiently. When he was done, he captured her eyes with his determined gaze.

“Try to get some sleep.”

“I will.”

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, and her eyes flickered and dropped to his crotch. The dip in her gaze was so fast that, if he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed it. But it had happened, and it fed his ever-increasing hope. He felt it expanding in his chest, warming him from the inside out.

“N-no. Thank you.”

She folded her arms over her chest, giving off some unmistakable “keep away” vibes, and he made an animalistic sound in the back of his throat—shocking himself in the process—before deliberately ignoring the defensive body language and closing the distance between them. He bent and dropped a hard kiss on her mouth.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” Even Harris wasn’t sure if his words were a promise or a threat.

Chapter Eleven

He was sitting on the porch steps—coffee mug in hand—waiting for her the following morning, and Tina fought to keep her expression neutral. Difficult, when all she wanted to do was grin like an idiot. She hadn’t felt capable of dealing with his presence immediately after her nightmare, but that didn’t mean she never wanted to see him again. Not after everything else that had happened last night.

“Morning,” he said in greeting, his eyes uncertain and his voice lacking that usual cocky confidence.

“Hey. There’s fresh coffee in the pot if you’re interested,” she offered insouciantly and was rewarded with an eager smile.

“Fantastic,” he enthused, tossing the contents of his mug to the grass below the porch before leaping agilely to his feet. He was in and out of the house, with a freshly filled mug, in thirty seconds. Instead of heading back to the step, he sat down next to her and placed his arm behind her shoulders along the back of the swing.

Tina didn’t say a word, snuggling to his side and dropping her head on his shoulder with a soft, contented little sigh. God, he smelled divine. She buried her nose in his neck, allowing the earthy masculine scent, reminiscent of green forests, sandalwood, and expensive leather, to envelop her entirely.

He tensed for a microsecond before he relaxed and dropped his arm over her shoulders. His fingers inevitably found her hair—he did seem to love toying with her hair—and idly wound their way through some of the fine curls that had escaped her ponytail.

They said nothing for a long time. Harris sipped and sighed as he drank his coffee, and Tina found herself comforted by the now-familiar sounds of enjoyment he made. She kept her eyes on the horizon—clear for the first time in days—and allowed herself to believe, just for one perfect moment, that this evanescent thing between them was sustainable.

“Pretty,” Harris said quietly as they watched the sun put on a spectacular show of light and color for them.

“Yes,” Tina agreed, not feeling particularly chatty this morning.

“It’s going to be a nice day,” he continued.

“Yes.” It did look like it would be a good day: mild temperature, with not a cloud on the horizon. There was no trace—other than the wonderful fresh, wet smell of grass and glittering drops of moisture on the leaves and plants—of yesterday’s rain.

“Tina—”

Sensing that he was about to steer the conversation in an unwanted direction, Tina pushed to her feet. “I have to get ready for work,” she said, and he scowled, not bothering to hide his disappointment and frustration from her.

“You can’t evade the subject forever,” he said.

“I sure as hell can give it my best go,” she said flippantly, then instantly regretted her attempt at humor when she saw the muted anger in his eyes. She shut her eyes and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not great at talking about stuff.”

“I’m not either, but I think . . . if we want this to work. We have to make exceptions.”

“Harris, there’s too much history between us for this to be anything other than what it is right now.”

“And what exactly is it?”