“Back to work tomorrow,” Harper murmured later against Jacob’s bare chest. She loved to press her lips against the crisp hair there, feeling the heat of his skin and the density of muscle beneath. The lights in his suite were out, but star shine poured through the open, circular bank of windows. She turned her head slightly, brushing her mouth against him and inhaling his scent. “It seems like a month since I was at the newsroom, not three days.”
He didn’t reply. She rested her cheek on his chest, sensing his preoccupation.
“Are you thinking about work, too?” she asked him after a pause.
His hand cupped her shoulder. “No. Harper, there’s something I didn’t tell you about this weekend. I guess I should now.”
She came up on one elbow, peering into his shadowed face.
“What’s wrong? It sounds serious.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s serious.” He exhaled and rolled over on the mattress. He switched on a lamp. “Maybe it’d be easier if I just showed you.”
He rose from the bed. Harper watched him walk over to the sitting area, the dim lamplight gilding his ass and muscular back. He withdrew a newspaper from his briefcase and walked back over to the bed. Harper recalled him looking at what appeared to be the same paper in the back of the limo yesterday morning, when they’d returned from San Francisco. It was a copy of the Chronicle, a minor detail she’d noticed, having worked for that paper for a good part of her professional life.
When she held up her hands to receive the paper, he paused before giving it to her.
“Don’t be mad at me for not showing you yesterday. It was selfish on my part, but I was mostly thinking of you. I didn’t want anything to come in the way of you enjoying the rest of your holiday. Besides, there was nothing you could have done about it at that point, anyway.” He shrugged and gave her the paper. “There’s nothing you can do now, either, except to be prepared for any flak when you return to the Gazette tomorrow.”
Her brows creased in concern at his buildup. She sat up in bed, the sheet tucked around her breasts. He came down next to her.
“Page twenty-three,” he said.
Harper whipped through the pages. A moment later she was staring openmouthed at a fairly large photo of Jacob and her leaving Geb on Saturday night in San Francisco. They both looked serious. Jacob’s hand was at the small of her back. The caption read, Lattice owner and CEO, Jacob Latimer, and his escort for the evening, former Chronicle reporter and current news editor of the Sierra Tahoe Gazette, Harper McFadden.
“Escort for the evening. Charlie Nelson.” Her lip curled in bitter disgust when she saw the name of the photographer.
“You know him?”
Harper nodded grimly, skimming the rest of the brief article, which was mostly about Jacob. She rolled her eyes and folded the paper with haphazard forcefulness before tossing it aside irritably.
“I never saw any photographers that night. Makes sense that it was Charlie. That swine makes it a practice to hide behind garbage cans, where he belongs.”
“Do you think it’ll be a problem for you at work?” Jacob asked.
“It’ll certainly make it more difficult to deny that I have any inside track to you or Lattice with Ruth, not to mention Burt, one of my reporters who’s been nosing around.” She noticed his somber expression. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Because they know that you and I are seeing each other doesn’t change a thing. If anything, it should send a clearer message that what’s . . .” She hesitated in describing their relationship, realizing it was a glaring question mark. How exactly did one describe Jacob’s and her involvement—especially after their intense, amazing long weekend together? “What’s happening between us is private and not a topic for public consumption.”
“They’re going to be curious. They’re going to ask a lot of questions. Do you think your editor in chief is going to give you a hard time?”
“Sangar? No. He’s a pussycat compared to Ruth, or even Burt Chavis.” Her gaze flickered over his face. Her heart squeezed a little at how sober he looked. “Are you regretting getting involved with a reporter again?” she asked softly. His eyebrows arched a question, and she sighed. “Cyril told me you were still having doubts about seeing me because I was a reporter.”
“I’m managing those doubts pretty well. Wouldn’t you say? Just like you’re managing yours, about being with me?”
She gave a bark of laughter and rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling tired. “Damn Charlie Nelson. I’m going to call him tomorrow and let him have it.”
“It’s okay, Harper,” he said, coming down in the bed and urging her to recline with him.
“It is?” she asked incredulously as he twisted around to shut off the lamp.
She felt his shrug against her chin as his arms encircled her a moment later.
“At least you won’t have to tiptoe around the topic at work anymore.”
She rubbed her lips against his skin distractedly. “No more sneaking into the newsroom’s bathroom, now that the spotlight has been turned on.” She squeaked in surprise when he was suddenly rolling her on her back and coming down over her.
“I’m not promising anything. Being with me is risky business.”
She laughed and encircled his neck with her arms. “The reward has far outweighed the risk so far.”