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Harper slumps backward onto the desk, her ragged breathing echoing in the silence of the room. She runs an arm across her face, trying to process the physical and emotional shock she has just endured.
Victoria stands between her legs. A slow smile spreads across her face, filled with overwhelming, triumphant satisfaction, as she brings her fingers to her lips and slowly licks away the traces of Harper’s pleasure, without taking her eyes off her for even a second.
The gesture causes Harper’s breath to catch in her throat once more.
“I’m not going to listen to you next time you say we should stay and work,” Harper manages to say in a broken voice, trying to prop herself up on her elbows as she gasps for air.
“Well, for me, it’s been perfect,” Victoria corrects her, stepping forward to cup the back of her neck and place a soft, almost tender kiss on her swollen lips. “Need I remind you that we’re only just beginning to catch up?”
Harper looks at Victoria, feeling fear and admiration intertwine once more in her chest, but this time, under the dim light of the desk lamp, the idea of losing herself in her again no longer feels like a defeat.
Chapter 14
Night has finally swallowed Manhattan by the time Victoria manages to breathe with relative normality again. She’s lying on the carpet in the shared office, still all too aware of Harper’s scorching heat beside her and the mess they’ve left behind in barely half an hour.
Documents are scattered near the table leg, and her designer jacket—the one that just a few hours ago looked impeccable on her shoulders—now partially covers both of their torsos like a makeshift blanket.
She should be worried. Organized and perfectionist as she is, the prospect of a member of the cleaning crew opening the door, a security guard making the rounds, or Eleanor Sterling herself deciding to indulge her predatory instincts and return at midnight to check whether the newsroom is still trembling under her rule should be killing her with anxiety. Yet Victoria Vance can’t bring herself to move a single muscle. And Harper doesn’t seem to be in the least bit of a hurry to do so either.
Harper is curled up against her side, her head resting near Victoria’s shoulder and one hand on her belly. The rhythm of her breathing is gradually slowing. Victoria feels the lazy brush of Harper’s fingers against the silk of her unbuttoned blouse and senses something infinitely more dangerous than the unbridled lust that had slammed them against the desk just minutes ago.
She feels peace. An unexpected and utterly out-of-place peace.
Over the past few years, Victoria has associated the name Harper Brooks with the darkest period she’s ever endured—with calls she didn’t dare make and memories that crept into her mind whenever they pleased. Even after her return to New York, every interaction in the conference rooms has been a kind of battle with herself—trying to navigate between what she feels and the work she must do.
And now Harper is in her arms, her hair tousled, her lips swollen from their kisses, and her clothes in disarray. And worst of all, Victoria feels that, for the first time in a long time, she wants to stay there a little longer.
She raises a hand and runs her fingertips along Harper’s neck, feeling the beat of her pulse. Harper narrows her eyes with a sigh of satisfaction but doesn’t move an inch. The high ceiling of the office, where the shadows cast by the skyscrapers on Fifth Avenue trace golden patterns in the dim light, is a beautiful sight that adds to the scene unfolding beside her.
“Objectively speaking, this has been very unprofessional,” Victoria murmurs, her voice still hoarse from exertion and desire. “If Eleanor walked through that door right now, I wouldn’t know which would be harder to justify: the damage to the furniture or… this.”
Harper laughs against her skin. The vibration travels through Victoria’s chest with an astonishing warmth that makes her heart skip a beat.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t regret it one bit.”
Victoria turns her head, meeting that gaze she knows by heart.
“We also have to admit that Eleanor must be proud of the work we’ve done—we’re already more than halfway there,” Victoria agrees, kissing the tip of her nose. “If this isn’t a job well done, I don’t know what is.”
“Maybe we’ll actually get that promotion after all.”
Victoria watches her in silence. Harper’s hair is delightfully tousled, her cheeks flushed with a rosy blush, and she has a wonderful expression, devoid of the sharpness she’s used to shield herself with ever since Victoria set foot in the newsroom again.
“Hmm, I’m surprised you don’t seem the least bit regretful,” Victoria remarks, lazily running her fingers through a strand of Harper’s hair. “And coming from the woman who swore this would be a mistake, it baffles me a little.”
Harper raises an eyebrow and relaxes even more than before.
“What about you?” Harper counters, running her thumb over Victoria’s hip through her clothes. “Do you regret it? I need you to tell me before I start getting ideas that don’t match reality.”
The answer should be easy, especially given their history. Yet the words get stuck in Victoria’s throat. She looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the illuminated heart of Manhattan. The contrast between the city’s vibrant chaos and the suffocating bubble of this room is almost unreal.
“No,” she confesses, looking into her ex-wife’s eyes. “I don’t regret it. And maybe that’s what scares me a little. Because instead of thinking about the possibilities that might lie ahead… I just want to stay here with you for ten more minutes.”
Harper is silent for a few seconds. The weight of her statement settles over the carpet.
“I don’t regret it either. And if neither of us plans to use exhaustion or stress as an excuse… that means there’s no turning back now.”
Victoria stares at the ceiling, feeling something trapped inside her struggling to get out. Maybe it’s exhaustion, the intimate atmosphere they’ve created in here, or the simple fact that she’s sick of pretending nothing has changed in her heart. Her fingers continue to stroke Harper’s shoulder.
