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Chapter 20
Harper slid into a slinky black baby doll nightgown that left little to the imagination, then lit a few candles. Jasper was gone for the weekend, visiting his brother in Maine, and Harper had every intention of seducing Milo. She never thought sex with her best friend would be so addicting, but here she was, dreaming about the second he’d touch her again, fantasizing about his mouth all over her body, nipping and sucking all of her sensitive spots.
The door opened, and Harper positioned herself on the couch, elbow propped, cheek resting in her palm, chest pressed out, legs bent. She felt like an idiot, but she tried to push the thoughts out of her head and attempted to be sexy.
Milo walked in, hair a disheveled mess, eyes bloodshot, and his smile wiped clear from his face as if it never existed before. A torturous pain pulled at the lines of his face. Harper gave up on being sexy, jumped from the couch, and went to him.
“Oh my God, Milo. What’s the matter?” She blew out the candles and flipped the light switch on. The room flooded with light, and she could see the blank stare in his gaze, the weariness tugging at the edges of his mouth.
He blinked up at her, a pool of hurt in his eyes so deep it drowned her. “I was robbed… at gunpoint.”
Her eyes widened, her stomach twisted, and her arms flung around him on their own accord. She held him close, needing to feel his warmth, needing to know that he was okay, and it was really him standing in front of her.
She pulled back, taking his cheeks in her hands, examining every inch of his face and glancing down at the rest of him. “You’re not hurt, are you?” Her heart battered her chest, fear consuming her. He was right in front of her, her hands on his face, feeling the warmth of his skin, but she could have lost him.
The thought sent ice through her veins, freezing her in place and making it impossible to move. She tried to utter more words, but she couldn’t get them out no matter how hard she tried.
All she could picture was the funeral home and walking up to Mrs. Garrick’s casket, except it wasn’t Mrs. Garrick in the casket. It was Milo. Knots twisted in her stomach, and her fingers trembled against his cheek. A world without Milo wasn’t a world she could live in.
She needed him more than she’d ever allowed herself to admit. She almost lost him once before, and she’d been so grateful she hadn’t. But a few days after Mrs. Garrick’s funeral, she knew how fragile life was. This was the second time Milo was almost taken from her, but what if there was a next time? And what if that next time… She couldn’t think it, but her mind went there anyway.
Air escaped her, and tears pressed against the back of her eyes. She needed to be strong. Milo had been her rock so many times, and now it was her turn to step up to the plate and be the solid force he’d always been. Except reality wouldn’t let her. The fear was relentless, wrapping around her gut and squeezing until the room tilted and made her nauseous.
He needed her, and she wasn’t strong enough.
***
Fear built in Harper’s gaze, and tears filled her lids. He didn’t want her to be scared or to cry. He let the curtain fall back into place, he inhaled deeply, and forced a smile on his face. “I’m fine. He just took my wallet.”
He rubbed the back of his head and pain sprung up from the bump he’d gotten when the guy cold cocked him. It was a cheap shot and totally unnecessary, but Milo assumed the guy wanted to buy himself time to get away.
“What happened? Did you call the police? Did he get away? Oh God, is he out there roaming the streets?” Her face paled, and her eyes widened to two oversized saucers.
He rested his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “He’s gone. The police said he was probably just passing through. Once he got my wallet he took off. Probably a drug addict desperate for his next fix.”
She shook her head. “Things like that don’t happen here.”
“There’s a first time for everything. And look at me, the first to pop that cherry.”
She shot him a look. “This is not funny.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m going to go to bed.” She nodded, and he headed to his room. He caught his reflection in the mirror and stopped, staring at himself. He looked exactly how he did this morning, if not a little worse for wear, but on the inside, he didn’t feel the same at all.
There was a fear of what could have been lingering in his mind. A deep-rooted anger for feeling so helpless and uncertain. His eyes quickly shifted into the criminal’s, and he snapped his attention away from the mirror.
Get it together.
He settled on his bed and dropped his head into his hands. It was a rough night, but he’d been through worse. He got out alive—once again—and that was all that mattered. If the tension in his neck would just let loose and the permanent lump in his throat would dissipate.
He took a deep breath and focused on his hands. His fingers still moved, his arms still worked, and this time, he walked away unscathed. So why did he feel more broken than when his bones were shattered?
The door eased open, and Harper poked her head in. “Hey.”
He straightened, resting his hands on his knees and putting a smile on his face. “Hey.”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” She moved into the room wearing her flannel pajama pants and a tiny tank top. Her eyebrows pinched together. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
