“Harper?” he queried when she had difficulty looking up at him.
“I can’t believe I let you do those things,” she said, looking at her lap because the alternative was to stare straight ahead at Jacob’s crotch, and that was even more uncomfortable than meeting his eyes.
His long fingers car
essed the underside of her chin, but he didn’t force her to look up.
“You should believe it. Because I’m going to do more of those things to you tonight, and I’d hate for you to be shocked.”
She laughed. His low chuckle from above her sent another wave of warmth through her that had nothing to do with embarrassment. This time, she looked up when he urged her with his touch under her chin.
“It wasn’t just a first for you, Harper.” His stare on her was lambent, and struck her as wholly sincere, not to mention sexy as hell.
She gave a shaky laugh. “What, you got that expert with rope by tying up manikins?”
“No,” he replied, his solemn reply instantly quashing her uncomfortable attempt at humor. “I meant it was new to me, too. The way it felt.”
She found herself staring up at him, searching for the truth. Her mouth trembled as she smiled, because she was beyond assured by what she saw in his eyes. His thumb feathered across the corner of her mouth.
Across her scar.
She shut her eyes and turned her chin into his hand. What was happening to her? Maybe he sensed her swelling emotion, because he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“You’re meeting with Cyril soon, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, and she was thankful he’d changed the subject.
“Yes,” she said with fake brightness.
“Are you going to write the screenplay with him?”
“I haven’t completely decided yet. I need more information to know if I really can do it and if I have the time.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips against her temple before he stepped back. “Time is the main factor, then, because I know you could write it.”
“Thanks,” she said, flattered. Jacob was the type of man whose confidence in you counted.
“Be ready for dinner tonight at seven thirty? I’m taking you to a place that a friend of mine just opened.”
She nodded.
“Don’t look at me like that, Harper,” he said, his eyebrows slanting.
She blinked, realizing she’d been drinking in the vision of him standing before her. How could she do anything but, when he was so beautiful to her? He turned away, looking grim. Harper was glad for that, because she was far from happy at the idea of being separated from him, too, even if it was just for an afternoon.
• • •
Harper was thrilled when Marianne escorted Cyril into a salon and she saw he was accompanied by Ellie Thorton. Ellie was the young woman she’d mainly focused on for her article on San Francisco’s homeless youth. Ellie was smiling broadly at the surprise, and looked to be brimming with newfound good health. She’d put on a much-needed ten or fifteen pounds since Harper and she had first met, when Ellie was barely surviving and her “home” was San Francisco’s underground and alleyways. Her dark brown hair was cut in a cute bob that almost entirely hid the burn scar on the side of her face—the product of a sadistic, drug-addicted “friend” of her mother’s. Ellie had carried the scar since she was six. Her clothes, although not expensive, looked adorably chic on her slender figure. Harper shouldn’t have been surprised. Even when Ellie lived on the street, she’d managed to demonstrate her individuality.
“You look fantastic,” Harper said, beaming after Ellie and she hugged tightly. They’d kept in regular touch since they’d met, but recently only by e-mail and the occasional phone call. “How is college?”
“Great. My advisor says I should try to apply to San Francisco State University next fall. She says almost all of my junior college credits will transfer. And guess what she thinks I should study?”
Harper grinned at her enthusiasm. “Fashion? You’re a natural for it.”
Ellie laughed. “No, journalism.”
“That’s perfect. You’ll be a natural for that, too.”
She greeted Cyril and they made their way to a seating area in the luxurious salon of Jacob’s home.