In Pursuit Read online

  “Wait, found what?”

  Sean reveals a feminine black dress Sarah gave me for my last birthday. The silk crepe falls around my body like a dream, while pin-tucks create a playful texture on the tank dress.

  “Wake up and stop thinking about his dick, hmm?” Sean says, waving the garment in front of me. “This is perfect to dress up or dress down. My work here is done.” He grabs my hand and drags me back to the bed, where we flop back against the pillows.

  “I can trust you to pick out your own shoes, right?” he asks as he begins flicking through the channels again.

  “Yes, sir,” I snap.

  Whack! A pillow smacks me in the face.

  “That’s probably what you’ll be saying to him tomorrow night when he is doing you on his terrace, overlooking the city.”

  I glare at him in mock outrage, then we both burst into uncontrollable laughter til we grasp at each other to cease the chuckles.

  Less than two weeks into my Chicago life, and I’m on my first date. Luckily Claire has a date with a hedge fund wunderkind (her description, not mine) and will be home depending on “how fuckable he is.”

  So while I am carefully curling my hair into beachy waves and applying makeup for my own date with her brother, the apartment remains blissfully quiet. If my date goes well – I really, really want it to go well – then I will broach the topic with my roommate. With my mouth hanging open I apply my mascara. I can’t break this habit of gaping lips, but I read on the internet that it’s commonplace, so it must be true. Right?

  My cell phone chirps with a text from Sean, wishing me good luck. After I respond to my friend, I review an exchange Harris and I had earlier.

  Harris: Good morning elusive Eddie

  Eddie: Good morning hungry Harris

  Harris: I am hungry for something, but not food.

  That pretty much stumped me, so I didn’t respond for twenty minutes.

  Eddie: Dress code for tonight?

  Harris: Mm – you don’t want me to answer that. Wear what makes you happy.

  Now that it’s nearly time to see him, I’m a bundle of nervous energy, trying to get myself ready with shaky hands and bees of excitement buzzing in my belly.

  Just as I’m dabbing perfume on my neck, there’s a knock at the front door. I glance at my watch. It’s seven twenty five, and I’m not wearing shoes or lip gloss. I jog to the entrance, anxiety nearly bubbling over. Whoever this is needs to go away fast. Without looking through the peephole, I pull the door open.

  It’s him.

  Masculinity flows off him in tantalizing waves. In a pair of faded jeans that mold to his thighs (probably his amazing ass, too) and a crisp white button down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows revealing muscular forearms, he looks, in a word that he used to describe me once, edible. I drink in the sight of him, enthralled by the beat of his pulse at his neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Boat shoes and a well worn brown leather belt finish his ensemble and I realize, looking down at my own attire, I’m overdressed.

  Before I can utter a word, he steps forward and sweeps me off my feet into a fierce hug. My cheek presses into his muscular chest and I reach up around his back to hold him close to me. His arms completely encircle me, making me feel protected and safe. I revel in the affection, cherishing the moment.

  He splays his hands across my lower back, touching the top of my ass. I nearly shiver at the contact, but manage to hold it together when his very apparent arousal begins to grow against my abdomen. He feels this, too.

  His lips are next to my ear when he whispers, “I think hugs are appropriate for second dates, don’t you?”

  I nod against him, this contact rendering me unable to speak. We stay like that for another few beats, clinging to one another like the sun is exploding outside and this is our last chance to be together on this earth.

  Almost reluctantly, he lowers me to the ground, but I can’t let go of this feeling, so I grip on to his biceps.

  “Hi.” I’m completely breathless.

  Harris smirks confidently. “Hello. Are you ready?” He eyes my shoeless feet.

  “You robbed me of my grand entrance,” I say accusingly, but soften it with a smile. Then I release my grip on him and walk back toward my bedroom.

  “I liked that greeting very much, but we can try it again if you like?” he says from behind me.

  Inside my room, I quickly give my lips a coating of a gloss called Sex Goddess. Then I buckle on my sandals with nearly four inches of heels.

  Tucking my clutch underneath my arm, I walk back to where Harris is staring out at the cityscape, hands shoved into his pockets. When he hears the clicking of my heels on the hardwood floor his eyes jump to mine.

  “Edith, you look,” he runs a hand against his scalp and shakes his head, “like a treat I couldn’t possibly deserve.”

  “Thank you.”

  I respond simply, because I’m not sure what else to say. Truthfully, his comment makes happiness blossom on every pore of my body. He strides toward me, looking so intent on doing something, that I take a step back. There’s no gentleness in his eyes now, only a burning intensity that frightens and excites me at the same time. He plucks my hand from my side, leading me out.

  Just before the elevator doors whisk open he turns to me and asks in his husky drawl, “Do you remember the last time we were here together?”

  Only every time I enter and exit the building, I think. There are three people already in the elevator when we get on. Harris walks to the back left corner, putting his back against the wall. He turns me so that I am facing forward and pulls my back to his front, wrapping his broad arms across my chest. My nipples tighten at the contact. The heat flourishing through my body at his touch ignites a new type of sensual response.

  Then, with just a few words, he sends my mood plummeting.

  He dips his lips next to my ear, whispering so only I can hear. “I wanted to turn you around and fuck you up against the wall. I think we’ll have to try that later. Perhaps in my building?”

  My heart beats a loud drum in my chest, pounding and pounding until it’s the only thing I can focus on. Is that why he asked me out? I want to sleep with him too, of course, but I also want to get to know him better, and find out if this connection I see between us is tangible. The elevator reaches the lobby and Harris releases me, only to link our hands together again. I feel like heavy weights are strapped to my sandals, and lifting my feet becomes a chore. Now I want to hide back in my apartment, because I thought this was a real date, not just a quick lay.

  When we reach his perpetually ready car, Harris lifts me in again. This time, the sensation isn’t thrilling.

  It’s after he pulls away from the drive that Harris observes my distress. “Are you alright? You look like you're on your way to a root canal.”

  I close my eyes and tell the tears building to wait. Thankfully my voice doesn’t falter. “Are we just going back to your place to fuck?”

  That would explain his casual dress.

  “What?” he barks, slamming on the breaks. An angry car horn behind us makes itself known, but Harris ignores it. The driver of a white sports car zooms around us, honking all the way. “Why would you say shit like that?”

  My hands start to tremble and I stare at him, wide eyed. “Because of what you said in the elevator.”

  His shoulders drop and he exhales slowly. “That comment – no, fuck this, I won’t take that back. I want you, but not just to sleep with. I want to be around you and take you to dinner and get to know you. I want to spend time with you when I’m not working and when I'm working I want you just a text message away. I want all of you, and yes, sex is included in that.”

  In a swift motion, he leans across the console and dives his fingers into my hair. He gently cups my skull in his palms, locking his eyes with mine. The intensity is still there, but it’s not hostile.

  “I’m rough around the edges, Edith, but give me a chance. Please.”<
br />
  The word hangs in the air between us. His minty breath blows lightly against my face.

  I don’t second guess what I’m about to say next, it just flows naturally. “I want you that way, too.”

  I close the gap between us and press my lips lightly against his in a delicate kiss. Harris has other ideas, as soon as our lips touch he lunges into me, pulling me as close as he can. His hands tilt my head at a slight angle as he parts my lips with his tongue.

  It’s blissful, lusty, warm, comforting, sensual. It’s everything I never knew a kiss could be.

  Within the span of ten minutes I went from anxiety to sadness to... heat. A whimper escapes and Harris groans, pulling me into him closer. Nothing exists except for this moment, our bodies crushing together. My hands squeeze his biceps again, reveling when they flex beneath my grip. His arms are frantically moving down my back, stroking me when another startling honk breaks us apart. We’re both breathing heavily.

  Silently, and only inside my head, I pat myself on the back for initiating the first kiss. I lean back into the supple leather seat.

  “What’s for dinner?” I ask in an even tone. Who am I? Sexpot extraordinaire! The passionate kiss evaporates in the air of the car, and I regain some of the control I sought earlier.

  He snaps out of his dazed expression, flashes me a smug smile, puts the car back into drive and cruises out to Chicago Avenue where he turns left, taking us west. “Farm to table place in Wicker Park. My assistant says it’s the hot spot.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I say, turning my body so I am sitting sideways and facing him.

  In the background, Alex Clare sings Hummingbird. I feel like that bird, so invigorated that I could take flight into the balmy night sky with Harris by my side.

  Several minutes later, Harris pulls up to a valet who opens the passenger door and offers his hand to guide me out of the vehicle. I accept his help, but my hand is pulled from his immediately as Harris wraps a possessive arm around my shoulder and slides me into the empty space between us, fusing our bodies together. He glares at the helpful valet, making me giggle.

  Without leaving a sliver of air between us, Harris and I walk into the restaurant called Wagner. Several patrons gather around the hostess stand seeking a table. As soon as we stroll forward, she politely disentangles herself from the people trying to nab her attention and greets Harris.

  “Hello, Mr. Grant. Thank you so much for joining us. We’re so happy that you are dining with us tonight.” The tall, precariously thin woman with lovely caramel colored skin looks over me like I’m not there. I feel myself retreating into my shell when Harris leans down and brushes a kiss on my forehead.

  “Edith and I are equally happy to be here, aren’t we?” His eyes are on me as he speaks and I grin happily up at him.

  “Ecstatic.”

  “That’s one I haven’t tried out yet,” he says softly.

  I look up at him quizzically. “What’s that?”

  “Ecstatic Edith.”

  “Not yet,” I tease him, bumping my hip against his.

  The hostess, obviously irritated with our show of affection with her flat smile, indicates that we should follow her. Harris pulls out my chair for me, and we settle in across from one another. The first thing he does, once he places his napkin across his lap, is reach for my hand, which I gladly give him. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. Fizzles of energy slither up my arm at his touch.

  With my free hand, I pick up the menu and peruse the selections. According to the paper, the head chef sets the dishes based on the fresh ingredients he finds at local farms. Each dish ̶ they’re plates meant for sharing ̶ looks better than the last. As a reflex, my tongue comes out and wets my lips in anticipation.

  Harris groans. “Really? How can I not kiss you when you do things like that?” His voice is all grumbly, and I grin in response. Still holding my hand, he moves across the table and presses a swift, sweet kiss to my lips. I lick them again, tasting him.

  How did we get from ‘Who the FUCK are you,’ to this? I’m just happy that we did. I open my mouth to ask Harris his thoughts when a waiter arrives at our table. He launches into a description of the specials when Harris stops him.

  “We’re adventurous eaters,” he raises his eyebrows at me and I nod my confirmation. “Just bring us whatever you think is enough food.”

  The waiter nods respectfully and leaves the table at once.

  Now that we’re alone again, I can’t help myself. “Honestly, I thought my little, um, attraction to you was one-sided.”

  “What gave you that impression?” His voice doesn’t waver.

  “Some mixed signals.”

  His face becomes remorseful and he tangles our fingers, applying firm pressure to capture my full attention. “I was going to wait until at least the entree to talk about this, but since we’re eating tapas style tonight…”

  The food runner arrives with a hot pot of monkey bread and dipping sauce. The warm, yeasty aroma makes my mouth water.

  Despite the warning that the dish is hot, Harris releases me and tears off a piece. Before handing it to me he blows on it gently, his eyes meeting mine. The ways his lips purse, blowing air out slowly over the bread jolts me, sending a delicious tingling sensation between my thighs. He dips the bread into the melted butter and mouths, Open. My lips part for him and then he’s sliding the warm, decadent morsel into my mouth. The moan that escapes my lips isn’t just for the delicious food. Dampness creeps into my black lacy thong.

  Harris clears his throat and my eyes pop open. He’s smiling knowingly, and my cheeks heat in response. I’m as transparent as a ghost. He takes a bite, too, and then that charming grin appears.

  “You’re right, this is good.”

  In an attempt to gain some semblance of control back, I steer the conversation. “You were saying?”

  “When I told you that you humble me, I meant that.” He looks away from me and sighs. I nibble at another piece of bread while I wait. “You’ve dredged up feelings I didn’t know were possible.”

  His words immediately ground me, as I think of his younger brother and the guilt he might be carrying.

  “I can’t ignore them, they won’t shut off, no matter how damn hard I try. I can’t stay away from you.”

  A forlorn look crosses his face.

  “I can’t shut off my feelings toward you, either.”

  His smile returns. “I prefer to be in control of my emotions, and when I’m with you it’s not possible.” His eyes, now the color of heavy rain clouds, return to mine. “I’m fucking this up. Does any of that make sense?”

  I nod quickly. What I understand is that two normally reserved people are both unsettled by the energy that crackles between us. Moving from a solitary existence toward a person that may force you to self-reflect terrifies us both.

  “The rational part of me shoots out directions, but somehow they get lost up the chain of command and, well, you know the rest.”

  Another plate, this time with a kale salad, allows us to take a break from this topic. Apparently, Harris wants some information of his own. After he serves me some of the greens he goes straight to the deep stuff.

  “Edith, you’ve never mentioned your mother and I can’t help but wonder why not?”

  The fork in my hand trembles slightly as I study my plate. This isn’t a new question, but every time, it’s a painful one.

  “She died in childbirth,” I murmur, then quickly shovel some of the appetizer into my mouth. “Delicious,” I say when I finish chewing.

  He nods in agreement and studies me, considering his next question.

  “And your father?”

  Guess I’m not getting out of this that easily. “He’s a lieutenant for the Arlington County police.” Pride radiates in my tone. “Never remarried,” I say before he can ask. Never even went on a date. I decide it’s time to forcefully change the subject.

  “You know,” I make my voice sound te
asing because this topic stuff needs to end. “We are getting a little hairy for a second date. Maybe we can talk about something a little less claustrophobic.”

  With a comforting hand, he tucks a wayward brown wave behind my ear. “For the record, I’m only tabling this conversation for now.”

  “Fair enough.” Good, now’s not the time to talk about my daddy issues.

  “But do you find the topic of my romantic feelings too much?” He quirks an eyebrow and shoots me a playful grin.

  I bite down on my lower lip and tilt my cheek into his hand that still rests behind my ear. “No, we can do more of that... But I want to know more about you. Like, hm, how old are you?”

  “Thirty-four. Too old for you, Ms. Neff?”

  “Just right,” I retort and remove his hand. “But is a twenty-six year old too young for you?”

  “If you asked me that about two weeks ago, I would have said that’s too close to my sister’s age. But seeing you that Sunday morning, radiant with those big purple eyes, age became completely irrelevant.”

  I flush in appreciation.

  “Speaking of Claire,” I say as casually as I can, while more plates are placed on our table. “Did you mention to her that we were going out tonight?”

  He twirls some bucatini onto a fork. Once again, he instructs me to part my lips so he can feed me before he answers. A burst of flavor dazzles my taste buds, but that’s not what has me nearly squirming in my seat in delight. No, it’s the man sitting across the table from me, eyes darkening with lust. I close my lips around the fork, letting him slowly slide it out of my mouth in a way that probably looks pornographic to anyone observing us. He carefully places the utensil down, watching as I slowly chew my food.

  He lifts his hand again, using the pad of his thumb to brush the remnants of the portion off my lips. He brings his finger back to his own lips, using his tongue to swipe the flavor off.

  “Edible Edith was right.” The low timbre and husky quality of his voice makes tiny shivers erupt all over my body. “Yes, we talked about it at lunch today. She said if I harm one hair on your head, she’ll make sure I never get my favorite bagels from the bakery.”