Page 21

21

HARPER

I fume the entire time I sit beside Ford at the dinner table.

I hate that his lasagna is so fucking delicious, that his hand is on my thigh like he owns me, and that he smells like sex and sin and my worst, most intoxicating mistake.

I clench my fork harder as he leans over and whispers, "Eat your dinner, baby."

A thrill of pleasure rockets through me at the term of endearment, but I crush it down with pure, seething rage. "Shut up before I stab you in the dick with my fork."

"Oh, kinky." Connor laughs from the other side of me. "You better be damn fast with that fork. Your man’s reflexes?—"

The fork is already moving toward Ford’s leg, but he catches my wrist in a tight grip before I even get close.

"Nice try, baby." His fingers tighten just enough to make my pulse skitter under his touch.

His thumb drags over my wrist, slow and deliberate, like he’s feeling my reaction.

Like he’s memorizing it.

Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me .

My breath shudders as he leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "You really wanna stab the part of me that made you scream less than an hour ago?" His voice is silk-wrapped steel. "Harsh, baby."

My stomach flips.

A hot pulse of need slams through me, my body betraying me so completely, I want to scream.

He watches my pupils dilate.

Smirks at me before he lets me go.

I snatch my arm back like I’ve been burned, heat crawling up my neck.

Across the table, Gram smirks. "I’d listen if I were you," she says, casually popping a bite of lasagna into her mouth. "He’ll do it."

I growl, gripping my fork so hard it might snap. "I can’t believe you’re okay with this."

Gram cocks her head, studying me intently. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

She rests her elbows on the table, leaning in closer. "You aren’t as upset as you pretend to be."

My stomach drops.

The words hit so hard, I forget to breathe.

My body betrays me again, a shiver racing down my spine, an unwelcome thrill of pleasure pooling low in my belly.

My eyes skip away too fast .

That’s my first mistake.

My second is looking at Connor, who grins like a damn Cheshire cat.

My third?

Turning to Ford.

Because that motherfucker?

He’s gloating.

Fucking bastards.

Every one of them.

I stab my fork into the lasagna, shoving a bite into my mouth just to keep from screaming.

Meanwhile, my mind frantically searches for ways to poke holes in Gram’s theory.

"I’m pissed," I say, through gritted teeth. "And I have every right to be. He’s taking away the ability to make my own decisions."

As if I didn’t just speak, Ford leans back in his chair, totally unbothered. "I want you with me in the city. You’ll have to quit your job."

He turns his attention to Connor. "Isn’t Mary Beth leaving since she’s pregnant?"

Connor snaps his fingers. "Oh, shit. You’re right. I forgot about that. Harper could handle the PR for the team. Fresh ideas from an outsider."

Ford nods, excited. "She’s a fast learner. Combined with her fresh outlook, she could liven up our PR."

My mouth hangs open.

What the actual fuck just happened?

I was just trying to stab Ford with a fork, and now my entire future is being planned over a fucking plate of lasagna.

I close my eyes, exhaling long and slow, willing my head not to explode.

When I open them, Gram is watching me.

Like she already knows I’m losing this battle.

Like she already knows I’m his.

"See how much he loves you?" she says. "He’s already lining up a job for you. It’ll pay far more than what you’re currently making."

I feel a rush of warmth for Ford, but I slam it down.

Hard.

"I happen to like my job." I stab the lasagna again, hating how good it is.

The man can cook, is amazing in bed, hotter than hell, and adores me like he was born for that role.

And now, he’s offering me a dream job with a six-figure salary like it’s nothing.

I feel a thrum of excitement.

A deep, dangerous kind of thrill.

I try to kill it.

Try to smother it.

If Gram or—God forbid, Ford—notices, I’m fucking sunk.

Because as mad and stunned as I was about being kidnapped and told I was going to marry the unhinged, hotter-than-hell hockey center….

The idea is secretly appealing as hell.

Ford’s hand drops onto my thigh again, casual as hell.

His palm is warm.

His fingers flex just enough to make me squirm.

My whole body betrays me .

My thighs clench .

Heat crawls up my spine.

Fuck, Harper.

Don’t do this.

Do not fall in love with your kidnapper.

Do not fall in love with your kidnapper.

Ford’s hand squeezes.

His thumb rubs over my thigh.

Pleasure shoots down my spine like an electric current.

Fuck.

And the worst part?

He knows it.