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His probing gaze is compassionate. Genuinely caring. “Don’t move.”

He goes back into the penthouse before retuning with a sheaf of papers he hands to me.

“What are these?” I ask, flipping through the pages.

“A list of clubs with contact information. These are my competition. They’re not all as shortsighted as the one you spoke with today.”

I didn’t come here for him to fix it. I came here to yell at him, but I can’t. Now that I’m here, that’s not what I want at all.

My chest tightens, and I step closer, folding the list in half and tucking it into my bag. The backs of my eyes burn.

“It’s not fair.” I sound like a kid but can’t bring myself to care.

“No. It’s fucking not.”

He threads his fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck—to comfort, not to arouse. When he pulls me to his chest, I don’t resist.

His arms go around me, and I can’t deny how good it feels to be held by him.

Maybe I didn’t come to yell at him. Maybe what I wanted even more was to look him in the eye and have him tell me I matter and all the reasons we shouldn’t be together don’t matter.

“Come inside,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “My meeting ran late. I’ll end it now.”

“You don’t have to. Your calendar is full, and?—”

“It’s only business.” His mouth brushes over mine. Soft, not clinging.

“Never be ashamed to ask for what you want. If I can give it to you, it’s yours.”

“She’s not answering,” Harrison mutters from where his head’s stuck in the cabinet. Phone glued to his ear, he searches out the perfect pan.

“Let me look online. There’s got to be a good paella recipe.”

“It’s not the same. Natalia used to make it for us as boys. Ash loved it as much as I did, even helped make it.” Harrison rises from his crouched position, bumping his head on the counter on the way. “Fuck.”

I head to the freezer and pull out some ice, wrapping it in a towel.

He accepts it with a grimace. “I’m a dangerous man.”

“It’s occasionally sexy. Why don’t you wear casual clothes?”

“I used to, but my father told me before I went to boarding school as a teenager, ‘If they’re going to catch you with your pants down, at least ensure your cufflinks are fastened.’”

I turn that over. “Well, no one is going to see you here. At least lose the dress shirt.”

He peels it off, leaving an undershirt beneath. “Better?”

Now I’m staring. “You could put something else on.”

“No. No, I think you’re right. You should take something off too.”

“Strip cooking isn’t a thing.”

“Just because it hasn’t made it to America…”

“Oh. It’s all over GBBO?” I roll my eyes and tug off my jeans. My underwear is a pair of plain black bikinis since I didn’t plan on being here, so I’m basically still covered everywhere that counts. “There.”

Harrison’s gaze tracks unapologetically south, skimming the curves of my legs before lingering at the apex of my thighs.