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I was about to put a lid on a salad bowl when I stopped and gave her my full attention. For a second her comment took my breath away, and I felt a little disappointed. It wasn’t until she mentioned this that I reflected on how I’d sought her out at various points in the day when I felt a conversation drying up.
With each situation she was right there alongside me, making my job as their host easy. I was a little shocked to realize it had felt completely natural for me to rely on her. But it never occurred to me once she was only doing her job.
“What?” she asked, staring inquisitively like she’d said something wrong.
I sighed, “Nothing. I mean… thanks. You did support me, and you managed to make it look effortless.” It felt strange that I was upset her vigilance was premeditated.
Shrugging her shoulders, Harper gave me a sideward glanced. Smiling slowly, she rolled her eyes a little. “Someone had to protect you from Cressida and Francesca,” she replied, winked, and stopped tidying for a second.
“God, this heat,” she complained, groaning at the back of her throat. My dick twitched unexpectedly at the sound. “Sometimes I wish it were fashionable to wax this off like I do everything else. This humidity makes my hair go wild.”
As soon as her words were out, she looked horrified at her reference to waxing and she stared bashfully at me with her huge blue eyes, like she was trying to decide if she could cover up what she’d implied. Her referencing to waxing everywhere, along with her reaction to her own mistake, made my dick harder.
“I think I know what you meant,” I interjected, chuckling.
Our eyes locked in a stare neither of us had seen coming. Her blush grew darker then she averted her eyes and quickly turned away, as she tried to recover.
Setting the bowl in my hand on the counter, I stepped closer and placed my hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, it’s okay. You think I’ve never heard a comment like that before or the double implication? Don’t be embarrassed. I know you never meant anything by it. You’re a beautiful young woman who takes care of herself.” Although I tried to appease my mind, it went to the gutter as I wondered exactly how often she waxed and where.
Harper was a very attractive woman and I considered for the first time why she didn’t have a boyfriend already. “You should be out having fun, not cooped up in this ivory tower taking care of someone else’s kid.” As much as I never wanted Layla to lose her, the words I spoke were the truth.
As I let my hand drop, Harper shook her head, clearly embarrassed by our conversation and began scooping her waist-length dark hair back until she held it in one of her fists. The way she drew it tight behind her head triggered an erotic image of me wrapping it around my hand and tugging it. I shook my head in disbelief at the thought.
Next, she began threading her slender fingers through her long dark brown tresses—another sensual move—and worked it into a high ponytail before she expertly slid a pony holder from around her wrist and pulled it up into place. None of what she did was for my benefit, only her comfort, but when my eyes fell to her slender neck and stayed there, I became captivated by the slender curve from her ear to her collarbone. Fuck.
Furthermore, eyeing her delicate golden skin triggered memories of how Grace moaned when my mouth hit a sweet spot she had there. I swallowed roughly as my dick strained tighter in my pants. How Harper affected me was an unexpected response to a perfectly innocent situation, a raw physical reaction I’d rarely experienced from the mere sight of a woman since Grace.
“It is effortless,” Harper admitted, skipping seamlessly over my previous comment and choosing not to answer. She was oblivious to my enthralled distracted state as she picked up on the comment I’d made before the awkward moment about her shaving her hair. Was she bare everywhere else? “I love being around you guys. Nothing feels forced.”
That’s where she was dead wrong, because the lecherous thoughts in my head and the solid bulge forced painfully against my fly told another sordid story. Her reply barely registered for a moment as I stood a fraction too close to her, still in shock that I’d found Harper’s innocent move so alluringly sexy.
Normally, a situation like this could have been excused by an inappropriate response to a large amount of alcohol. Before Grace died, alcohol had usually made me feel super horny, but since I’d been home I had stayed true to my vow to live healthier, and I’d steered clear of the hard stuff.
I could hardly blame my dick’s interest on four stubby bottles of beer in a whole day. Forcing a small smile, I lowered my head and turned away, feeling perturbed at the effect she was having on me.
“All right, let’s leave the rest and get to bed. The little whirlwind upstairs will be full of beans again in a few hours. Grab some sleep. Matty will sort the rest of this out in the morning.”
Without looking at Harper again, I hastily made my way up to my room, cussing myself under my breath. The last thing I needed was to project my fucked-up feelings elsewhere, and add further complications to my life, especially with someone as important as my little girl’s nanny.
Rage threatened to roar from my belly as I almost ripped myself out of my clothing, “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I ground out angrily as I climbed into my comfortable bed. It was the only comfortable thing in the room, because I certainly wasn’t.
Tossing and turning, I lay riddled with guilt. Am I overfamiliar toward Harper? I wondered if I had reacted the way I had because I lacked meaningful female company? This wasn’t to say I was a monk on the road. My physical sexual needs had been met by a long series of ‘one and done’ hook ups during the previous couple of years. My wife may have died, but I had no urge to replace her.
A sudden new wave of grief washed over me, and I needed to see her face. Reaching into my nightstand drawer, I lifted out my favorite picture of her. The small gilt-edged frame had been a gift from Grace to me because I had been carrying the picture of her everywhere in a small padded envelope.
Stroking my fingers down the smooth cold glass, my fractured heart ached as I stared sadly at the beautiful happy face of the woman I still loved with all of my heart. Then I remembered how bright vibrant eyes had dulled with pain until they had looked haunted and sunken, until finally they bulged in her head on that final day.
Sometimes I found it hard to cry—inappropriate to cry—when my anger and frustration wouldn’t allow it. But as I lay clutching her picture, the overwhelming sadness, the nondescript feeling of despair beyond words that flooded my mind and steeled my body, brought on tears that were the hardest I’d ever shed.
A sharp pain in my chest stabbed sorely at my heart, squeezing every last flicker of movement within it until it appeared to temporarily stop. Gasping sharply, I realized I’d held my breath for too long. Not deliberately, but like the earth had stopped revolving for a moment and I was suspended in time, absorbing my hurt. Then as soon as I remembered to draw breath everything began to move again.
During the day I’d watched Layla laughing aloud, and I’d found myself swallowing back the simmering swell of grief. The most natural thing to do in that situation would have been to turn to Grace and share the same pride in Layla during those glorious moments. Instead I’d looked to Harper, and she’d taken Grace’s place… filled in the gaps in my suffering.
My thoughts turned back to Harper and how I’d felt as I tried to find a reason why I’d reacted to her in the way that I had. Why I’d made stupid comments to her as well. I had no answers.
If we’d known at the beginning the tragic journey Grace would face—that we all would face—maybe I could have done something.
