Page 41 of Take the Blame (Seaside Mergers #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

ALTA

One day.

Please tell me I could go one measly day without wanting to be pinned under Harper.

I honestly wish that was the case, but if I said so, it would be a lie.

I came to this devastating realization as I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling on Friday night. Wide awake .

Harper had ruined me. Ever since we broke the seal so to speak, I hadn’t been able to string together two coherent thoughts without inserting him in the middle.

The man had already been on my mind more than any other guy before this arrangement began, now he was on my mind more than anything else period.

It was infuriating. It was exhilarating. But it was torture not knowing how to act on it.

Tossing and turning had plagued me for the better part of two hours.

As it neared midnight and my mood graduated from mildly uncomfortable, to grouchy, to just plain over it.

Now, after finally giving up and peeling my wide-awake eyes apart, my heart was beating like a bass drum as I contemplated doing something that had the potential to turn out embarrassing.

With extended arms, I held my phone above my face as I laid back in bed.

The screen was blank. I was looking at nothing.

I didn’t need to scroll aimlessly or kill time.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do, who I wanted to contact.

It was my traitorous heart that was stopping me from just going for it.

Before I could change my mind, I pulled up my text messages. With my lip between my teeth, I surveyed them. The only other messages in this thread were ones that had to do with work. But our dynamic had changed recently, so it might be okay if I changed that too.

Tapping swiftly, I forced myself to hit send on the message I’d been thinking about all night, ripping it off like a piece of duct tape Ceci put over my mouth when we were kids.

Me:

Are you sleeping?

Me:

This is Alta.

No more than a couple minutes later did a response come through.

A. Harper:

Is this a “u up” text, Boss?

A. Harper:

Scandalous.

A. Harper:

And I have your number saved, Alta. You don’t have to announce yourself.

Me:

Oh.

Me:

Well, hi.

Me:

I can’t sleep.

A. Harper:

Jesus, even your booty calls are sweet.

Me:

I’m not booty calling!

A. Harper:

You are so booty calling. I know a booty call when I see it.

A. Harper:

You’re supposed to ask what I’m wearing too.

A. Harper:

Maybe add a “send nudes” text while you’re at it.

The corner of my mouth pulled at his teasing. It didn’t get to me like it used to, because lately I was coming to know that he wasn’t teasing because he didn’t take me seriously like I previously thought. But what about in this context? Was it to deflect from something?

I know a booty call when I see it.

I frowned. Of course he did. Girls probably called him left and right. He was attractive, and mostly nice and obviously good at… things. Oh, what was I being shy for, I was alone. He obviously knew how to make a girl come.

Was I stupid for thinking he was alone on a Friday night? Was I stupid for not thinking far ahead enough to wonder who he spent time with when he wasn’t with me?

Was I stupid to care?

I laid my phone face down on my chest.

Me:

I was just wondering if you were sleeping, that’s all.

I had to be stupid. Of course he wasn’t sleeping. I was having a conversation with him. And of course he wasn’t thinking about me in his free time. I was just some deal he worked out. I wasn’t like a girlfriend or even a real hookup. I was actually pretty pathetic, clinging onto him like this.

I should just turn over, go to sleep, and let the poor guy get on with his weekend. I should have never messaged him.

The phone buzzed.

My heart pounded. I didn’t want to look at it. Yet, all I wanted to do was look at it.

A. Harper:

I’m up, sweetheart.

If someone could explain why my heart was beating so fast, so hard, so wild in my chest, I’d appreciate it.

My explanation came in the form of another message lighting up my screen, a little map with a clickable link expanding in the chat and another message following quickly behind it.

A. Harper:

Come be up with me.

I contemplated getting dressed before driving over to his place. I contemplated doing my hair, putting on makeup, or taking a shower, even though I’d taken one before bed only a few hours ago.

Instead, I opted to pull on the pants portion to my white lounge set, put on those cozy boots with the fur on the inside and stash an extra pair of underwear in my tote purse in case the ones I was wearing became…unwearable.

Invitation or not, what I said before was still true. I wasn’t Harper’s girlfriend, I wasn’t even his midnight booty call. I was just some girl he knew that he offered a hand to.

Oh, that sounded vulgar .

Who he offered his help to. And when this was all over, I would let myself feel stupid and desperate about it then.

But while it was still fun—while my heart still fluttered when he sent simple text messages and my body still ached to be touched by him every second of the day—I would just let it be fun.

And “just fun” didn’t obsess over how they looked when he’d basically already invited me to his bed. So I didn’t change or do my make up or shower again. I didn’t do anything.

Well, maybe I did one small thing.

Harper’s home was surprisingly magnificent.

It wasn’t one I was familiar with, as the Ferguson’s controlled a lot of the land and real estate close to the boardwalk.

The townhome was built straight up over a small overhang that overlooked the water.

Under it, I knew a secluded part of the boardwalk stretched.

The location was far enough from town to offer privacy but near enough to be very close to the tattoo shop. And to be very, very expensive .

Clues the size of army tanks were starting to reveal the truth that Gus Harper might have left some things out in the ‘ tell me about yourself ’ arena. I assumed the shop did well, I never imagined it did this well, and I still wasn’t quite convinced.

I also didn’t care.

Don’t get me wrong, I cared to know more about Harper. I actually cared to know as much as he would tell me. But whatever he said wouldn’t determine what I thought about him.

I would still be walking up to his doorstep regardless of his circumstances. If him inviting me to his home meant that maybe he would start to share some of that with me, it was just icing on the cake.

Standing out in the cold I looked down at myself, momentarily rethinking my outfit.

Should I have worn this coat? It was big and puffy with cream colored Sherpa lining the front…

So, not sexy. The hat and gloves that protected my extremities weren’t the greatest markers of sex appeal either.

But it was cold out, so I needed to cover up…

Maybe I should’ve at least done something, though.

Whatever. I was already here. And look! The fluffy white gloves protected my knuckles as I knocked on the door. It was a win-win.

The door opened and closed quickly. Flurries of motion the only thing I could register, playing out a little something like:

Door swings open, Alta sees Harper looking tousled and pillow worn in his gray sweats and no shirt, Harper pulls Alta inside, Alta is pressed against the now shut door.

Big hands were like my guides as they framed my face and guided my lips to his.

Heavy weight was like a welcome as it pinned me gently to the door and welcomed every inch of my arrival with every inch of him in greeting.

Lastly, he offered me his voice in the form of my favorite rumbling groan as he kissed me.

Making me feel wanted, needed, as if I was some delicious dessert rather than just Alta.

He kissed me breathless, and when the press of his lips drove me near dizzy, he pulled away, just far enough to rake eyes over me. They looked a little dazed and a lot hungry. But they also looked confused as he took me in.

He started at my gloves. They were actually mittens, but they were cute and they did not deserve the look he gave them or to be ripped off and discarded on the wood flooring like they were trash.

He gave my bag and my hat the same treatment, before he spun me out of my coat, causing me to use the door to hold myself steady.

“Off.” A soft tapping on the side of my shoes told me he meant those. Slipping them off, I thought I might as well slip down my thin pants too, since he seemed determined to get me naked in the doorway of all places. He liked that, humming his approval and reaching for me again.

Lifting my chin up, he kissed me with my back still to him, my head thrown back over my shoulder to reach him. His fingers trailed downward, dancing along my jaw and rubbing smooth lines along my neck. My anticipation spiked up, the need for him to move lower, touch more, take whatever, got hotter.

Down, down, down he explored, rubbing me until he had a palm full of me and was exploring it vastly.

I was so wet already. Which he found out the moment he stuck his other hand down my panties. The animalistic growl he let out told me that he liked that too. His fingers dipping deep and causing me to moan loud into his mouth, told him that I liked the same.

I whimpered at the ache of need spreading throughout my sex, and pressing back into him, I could feel his own need heavy in his erection as it grinded against my butt.

Pulling away from me, he rested his forehead on the back of my head, his chest flush against my back as he panted.

“Permission to be rough, Boss?” Harper asked.

My heart sang.

I didn’t know I needed it—something familiar from him to reassure me that I was dealing with the same man. Since I arrived he’d turned me on, but in the back of my mind he made me worry a little too. Like he actually had me mixed up with some regular booty call.

But no, he called me boss and was still the same Harper I knew him to be. He just wanted me like this.