“I don’t understand you.”
“I know. I don’t understand me, either, half the time. It’s just that my past . . . Clint Jefferies . . . the work I do. None of it is relevant to this.”
She nodded, recognizing he was right. Why had it hurt so much when he’d refused
to open up to her about his past? His past wasn’t what counted. She touched his hard midriff through the T-shirt he wore. The moment felt very fragile. Then he dipped his head, and their mouths met, and she felt the frayed threads of their connection touch. Reweave.
Coil tight.
A minute later, he led her back to his bedroom suite and secured the door. She didn’t say anything when he guided her to his bed and removed her robe.
There was something tenuous and temporary about their association with each other. But when they touched, something ignited. It was a chemistry so powerful, it obliterated all common sense. It reconnected them, even after an awkward, severing exchange.
Maybe the moment was enough . . . as long as the minutes and hours continued, anyway. Because he took her places in those moments, places that temporarily obliterated the realization of how alone she felt in the world.
• • •
“Stay the night,” he rasped near her ear after they’d made love again, and she lay awash with warmth and satiation in the circle of his arms. “I’ll have a surprise for you in the morning.”
“I have to work in the morning,” she whispered at the same time she ran her lips over his whiskered jaw.
“I’ll get you up early. One of my drivers will get you home in plenty of time to get ready for work.” He leaned over her, taking her deeper into his embrace, pressing his lips to her hairline. She shivered in pleasure. “Trust me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
And there it was again. It didn’t feel like his words were smoke and shadows. It didn’t feel like her agreement to them was.
She really did trust him, no matter how guarded and elusive he was.
• • •
When he wakened her, it was still dark. She squinted when he turned on a bedside lamp. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, dressed in workout clothes—different ones than he’d worn last night. His hair was mussed and he looked a little sweaty . . . not to mention extremely sexy. She glanced around, disoriented.
“Is it still nighttime? Did you just work out?” she asked in sleepy confusion.
“Yeah. It’s my routine, five days a week.” Well, that certainly explains the rock-hard body. He brushed her hair back from her face, and she shivered. “So is this next part. You’re coming with me for that. Here’s your robe.”
She rose groggily and scurried into her robe. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. It’s nice.”
That’s all he’d say as she followed him down the grand staircase and through the great room. They walked out onto the cool terrace, and Harper saw the pink glow of sunrise over the mountains to the left.
“Good morning, Mr. Latimer,” a woman said.
“Hi, Gabby. Shelly, thanks for coming on short notice,” Jacob said.
“Not a problem at all. Happy to do it,” Shelly said.
They approached two women who were standing near a lit outdoor fireplace. They wore white smocks and pants and were smiling. Harper noticed the massage tables that had been arranged near the fire. Shelly and Gabby both peeled back the linens and blanket on them invitingly.
“You get a massage every time after you work out?” she breathed out quietly, for Jacob’s ears alone. “An outdoor massage at sunrise?” she added, glancing out to the spectacular panoramic view of the blazing sun peeking over the top of the mountains and sending rays of fire into the glittering jewel of the lake. She noticed Jacob’s wry expression and laughed softly. “Of course you do.”
The masseuses turned away while they undressed and got under the blanket. Harper was faster than Jacob, since she wore only a robe. She watched him with her cheek turned on the soft sheet as he shucked off his clothing and tennis shoes and came facedown on the table, the gold and red of the sunrise gleaming on his bronzed skin and body. He caught her staring as he drew the sheet up over his ass, but she didn’t look away. Maybe it was the novelty of the situation, or the warmth on her skin from the nearby fire, but she didn’t hide the admiration in her eyes, either. He noticed. Their gazes held and stuck, even as the masseuses approached their tables.
Harper had the flickering thought that she was glad Jacob got Gabby, who was middle-aged and stocky, but strong-looking, while Shelly was younger and attractive. As soon as Shelly began her massage, though, Harper couldn’t have cared less if it was a supermodel that occasionally massaged Jacob’s gorgeous body in the romantic setting. The woman was talented. Jacob clearly hired her for her skills, not her looks.
The massage in combination with the warmth from the fire had Harper as limp as a cooked noodle by the time Shelly finished.