“My turn, then. Your cheeks are pink, or would that be flushed?” He made the word sound sinful. “And they match your eyes, which are heated and dilating as we speak.” He looked down at his boxers and waggled a brow. “Does that mean the boxers will impress the female board members at Lulu Allure?”
Harper rolled her eyes and then picked up her camera, bringing everything into focus, and took a few shots to make sure the lights synched up.
Good to go, and Adam looking stunning on her LED screen, she snapped several more. His hair was mussed just enough, his stubble cast the perfect shadow, and his tan skin glistened against buttery leather. He didn’t need to be told how to move or how to sit—he was the embodiment of rugged allure. A real GQ’s Sexiest Underwear Model.
A great thing for a successful photo shoot. Not so good for her elevated heart rate.
She tilted the camera slightly, stepping in closer to frame him perfectly, then pushed the button only to stop after one shot because his cobalt-blue pools locked on hers through the lens. And he grinned—one of those full-wattage, flirty grins that was part bad boy and part sex god, and completely heart-stopping.
Harper lowered the camera and looked at the boxers. “You don’t need help impressing females, and you know it.”
“Life’s too short to be ordinary, sunshine.”
And wasn’t that the worst thing to be? Ordinary.
Harper’s throat tightened and her stomach did a familiar dip down. She’d lived an extraordinary childhood, with an extraordinary mother, traveling from one stage to another—never managing to find her own spotlight.
Every cast became family, every set became home, and every time Harper threw her little self into making it fun, making people happy. Ultimately, the final performance would come, her mother would take a bow, and then it would all disappear. Her family moved on to bigger and better sets, her mother moved on to another role, and Harper felt as if she was always left waiting in the wings. Waiting to be noticed.
An irony that didn’t escape her.
“Like me?”
Adam leaned forward and took the camera, setting it on the arm of the chair. Then he took her hand in his and tugged her closer.
“Not like you,” he said quietly. “Nothing about you is ordinary, Harper.”
Around Adam she didn’t feel ordinary, or overlooked, or as if she were destined to be everyone’s go-to friend. She felt seen—not only as a woman, but as the only woman in the room. And yes, she understood, right then she was the only woman in the room. But the way he watched her and touched her made her feel unique.
Wanted.
“Whoa,” he said, giving her hand a soft squeeze. “Dating 101 states you aren’t supposed to cry when a guy pays you a compliment. You’re supposed to smile and say thanks in that mysterious way that neither confirms nor denies your interest so he’s inclined to buy you a drink in order to solve the mystery.”
She blinked back the forming tears, then bent over and kissed his cheek, the stubble tickling her lips as she whispered, “Thank you.”
“You need to hold your cards a little longer,” he said quietly when she pulled back. “Going in for the kiss with one compliment is too easy, even for me.”
She choked a little on her tears. “It was the perfect compliment and a perfectly disastrous day, so it deserved a kiss.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, repeating her earlier words.
“Not really.”
“Yeah, well, me neither,” he said. “But since I just broke every rule known to man about women and asked you, while wearing merlot undies by the way, the least you can do is indulge me.”
“It’s stupid, really.” And completely humiliating.
“Then we’ll both laugh.” He took a sip of the Scotch and handed it to her. “Which, if you ask me, beats the shit out of crying.”
A small chuckle escaped, and he was right, it did feel good. In fact, it felt so good she did it again.
He palmed her hips and drew her even closer, leading her between his legs, until their thighs were brushing “See, it can’t be so bad if you’re already laughing just thinking about it.”
Harper took a sip, then cringed as the liquid courage burned a path down her throat. When she could pass air through her chest again, she said, “Liza Miner stopped by to tell me Crafty Mamas would run a craft booth, and the elementary school is on board as well.”
“That’s great. Better than great. It means we actually have a booth filled.”
“And she’ll fill more booths,” she said. “As long as her mommy blog gets all the credit for hosting the event.”