*Damien*
Harper sits across from me on the jet, barefoot, her legs tucked up under her like we’re on her beat-up couch instead of a leather seat that probably cost more than her apartment. She fits in my world about as well as a paint-splattered easel in a corporate boardroom, yet I still find her absolutely irresistible. I love the way she cracks me open, lets in sunlight where there used to be nothing but polished surface and empty space.
She catches me staring and grins, her hair a messy halo around her face. “What? Did I spill soy sauce on my shirt again?”
“No.” I sip my scotch, savoring the burn, the way it sharpens my focus. “I’m just admiring the view.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a blush rising to her cheeks, and it kills me how easily I can get under her skin. No one else
