Waiting for Prince Harry (11 page)

My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure Harrison can hear it. His hand moves up my leg, brushing against the side of my thigh, lightly stroking his hand back and forth over my jeans.

I slide my hands down from his face to his neck. Harrison moans against my lips in response. I instantly know I’ve found a place he likes to be touched and my pulse leaps.

Give him the unexpected
, I think. So I break the kiss and move my lips to his neck, kissing him there.

“Mmmm, I like that,” Harrison whispers sexily.

“Good,” I murmur against his neck.

I get near his jaw line and Harrison cups my face in his hands, pulling me toward him. He gives me another slow, exploring kiss, and then breaks it.

Harrison smiles at me and gently presses his lips against my forehead.

“That,” he murmurs, “is more what I had in mind.”

I run my fingers through his gorgeous hair. “I still can’t believe I’m here,” I admit quietly.

“You’re the only person I want here, Kylie,” Harrison says, nuzzling his nose against mine as his hand caresses my leg. “The only one.”

Then his mouth finds mine and we kiss again.

And this is how we spend the next few hours—kissing and talking and being in each other’s arms. With each kiss, with each touch, every word exchanged, I find myself falling harder and harder for him.

Finally, when it’s really late, and we’re now entwined together on his sofa, I know I need to go home.

“Harrison,” I say, between kisses, “I should go home now.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he says, kissing me back.

“But . . .” I kiss him again, “I should. It’s late.”

Harrison breaks the kiss and holds me in his arms. “Can I persuade you to stay?”

I laugh softly. “Yes, you could. But I should go.”

Harrison nods. We get up off the couch, and I retrieve my purse. Harrison holds my hand and takes me out to my car. When we are there, he leans me up against the door and wraps his arms around me.

“Thank you for tonight,” he says, dropping a kiss on my lips.

“Thank you for having me over,” I say.

I hear nothing but the sounds of crickets chirping in the still Texas night. There’s a full moon out, and it’s shining right over the top of us, illuminating Harrison’s red curls and golden skin.

“When can I see you again?” Harrison asks.

I laugh softly. “You’re seeing me on Tuesday, remember?”

He flashes me a grin. “That’s too far away.”

“Isn’t there some guy code you’re breaking with this?” I ask, flirting with him. “Aren’t you supposed to leave me waiting for days for a text or phone call?”

Harrison stares seriously at me. “The only game I’m interested in playing is hockey. I would never play games with you.”

Ooooooh!

“So,” Harrison says, sliding his hands up to my face again. “Tell me when I can see you again, Kylie Reed.”

Chapter 12

The Pop Quiz Question
: So the first date went well. Your mindset for Date Number Two is:

A)
Let’s just see where this goes. It’s only the second date, after all. But I see potential here.

B)
Date Number Two with who? I’m keeping my options open.

C)
I would never admit this to anyone, and like that Carly Rae Jepsen song, “Call Me Crazy,” but I have finally found The One.

“How beautiful is this?” I ask excitedly. It’s a stunningly gorgeous Sunday morning. A major storm has passed through earlier, dropping the temperature into the 70’s range. Harrison texted me and suggested we grab coffees and head to the Dallas Arboretum right when they opened, and I eagerly agreed.

After all, I’d just seen him yesterday, when he came over with Thai takeout and we watched
The Holiday
at my place. Even though he left after midnight last night, I was more than ready to see Harrison again.

And now we’re walking under a glorious archway of bright pink crepe myrtle trees, along the wet path, holding hands and enjoying being outside together.

“Very beautiful,” Harrison says. “But I’m not looking at the trees.”

He’s staring right at me. He leans down and gives me a sweet kiss on my lips. I feel as though my heart might burst inside my chest. “This was the perfect idea, Harrison. I love the Arboretum, but normally it’s too hot in July to really enjoy it.”

“I know. The summers here are brutal. I’m starting to get used to them though. And this,” Harrison pauses, and waves his Dunkin’ Donuts cup toward the trees, “is one of the few places in Dallas that I’m not really recognized. So I knew it was safe to bring you here. Nobody expects to see Dallas Demon Harrison Flynn hanging out amongst the flower beds or gazing out over White Rock Lake.”

I nod. Harrison explained to me last night that he wanted to take things slowly with us, while we are in this early stage of dating, because his celebrity has been known to cause problems in the past. People interrupting dates, people taking pictures—Harrison said he didn’t want to scare me off with that. That we deserved this time to be about us—not about the persona the rest of the world wanted a piece of.

But as we stroll here in this glorious garden, as I feel his strong hand around mine, I can’t imagine anything ever scaring me away from him.

“There are a lot of landscaping ideas here,” I say as we walk. “We could use some of them for the renovation project. At least we know anything we see growing here will survive the Texas summer. Like these zinnias.” I stop and take my iPhone out of my shorts pocket. I focus on them and snap a picture. “They’re so bright and cheerful and just happy, you know?”

“So are these some of your favorites?” Harrison asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

I nod. “I love them.”

“Then zinnias are in the flowerbed,” Harrison says, smiling at me.

Okay, when he smiles at me like that my heart does cartwheels.

We continue our stroll, down paths, across grasses, amongst gorgeous flowers. Finally we reach a spot that just takes my breath away every time I see it. The lush lawn goes sloping down toward White Rock Lake, and on the other side of the lake sits the historic Hunt Mansion, sprawled out across a sweeping green lawn in all its glory.

I stop and sigh with content. Then I glance up at Harrison, who pulls my back into his broad, muscular chest and holds me as we glance out over the water.

“This is the best Sunday ever,” I say softly as a breeze comes up off the lake and blows across us.

“I wish every Sunday could be like this,” Harrison says. Then he clears his throat. “Kylie?”

“Mmmmm?” I say, content to stay snuggled into him.

“Promise me something,” he says seriously.

I wiggle around and look up at him. Harrison is wearing a serious expression on his face.

“What?”

He reaches up with his hand and gently brushes his fingertips over my loose chignon, playing with it.

“If my celebrity starts to overwhelm you, or frustrates you, please be honest with me,” Harrison says quietly. “Right now it’s all good, because we haven’t really ventured out in public much, and I don’t plan to do that right away, so you can make sure I’m worth fighting through all the crap that comes with dating me. But don’t hesitate to tell me when you have feelings that bother you, okay?”

I stare up at him, touched by his concern for me. Harrison absolutely wants to take this slowly, on all levels, to make sure I’m ready for the leap with him if we both agree that’s what we both want.

But I know, without a doubt, I’m ready to take the leap for this man. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.

“I promise,” I say firmly. “Just like I promise I haven’t Googled you since that night of the fashion show. Right now this is about you and me.”

“And seeing where this could go,” Harrison says, still touching my hair.

“Yes,” I say, my heart fluttering.

Harrison kisses me again, gently, sweetly, his fingertips of his free hand stroking the nape of my neck and sending shivers down my spine.

“So,” he murmurs between kisses, “are there any questions Google didn’t answer for you that you would like to know?”

I laugh against his lips, and he laughs, too.

Then I step back. “Actually, yes.”

“Oh, then by all means,” Harrison says, grinning. “The floor is yours.”

I take a breath, as I’m not comfortable asking him the question I’m about to ask, but I really need to know the answer to it.

“Have you only dated famous women?” I blurt out.

Harrison stares at me. “No. Let’s walk and I’ll explain.”

So hands entwined, we head back up the lawn. Harrison clears his throat. “Let me go back for a second. You have to understand, Kylie, my parents—they didn’t want a hockey player for a son.”

I’m surprised by that comment, but let him continue.

“They’re in . . . education,” he says slowly. “So having a hockey-playing son with no college education . . .” Harrison’s voice trails off for a moment. “Well, saying they were disappointed is the understatement of the century.”

“I know that feeling,” I say, thinking of how my parents freaked out when I said I wanted to go into fashion.

“I know you do,” Harrison says softly. “Except you listened to yours. I rebelled against mine.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, here I was, this 18-year-old kid with no education, and one of the biggest rookie contracts in hockey history in my hands. All of a sudden it hit me—I didn’t know shit about anything. And I was scared to death. So I went to my dad, who said this was the only wise decision I had ever made, and he sent me to the family financial advisor. He laid out an investment plan, told me I could live well without going crazy, etc.

“So I got that all squared away, so to speak,” Harrison continues, “but suddenly I’m thrust into this world of famous people, elite parties . . . and for a guy who only thought about hockey during his teen years, it was a pretty fucking big deal to have a model ask you for your number.”

I try to wrap my head around what he is saying. Harrison sounds so real, so normal.
The guy I fell for,
I think, gazing up at his handsome profile,
is a real man living an extraordinary life.

“Anyway,” Harrison says, “I dated the people I met. Models, actresses, singers. But I never found what I was looking for, so I gave that up. There are always girls wanting to meet you—the fans—but they don’t even
know
me. They see me on TV and say they love me. Very misplaced attachment.”

I smile. I love the way his brain goes into psychology mode at any given moment.

“Yes, Dr. Flynn. Misplaced attachment,” I tease.

Harrison laughs and pulls me into him as we stroll amongst the blooming flowers.

“Or girls love my bank account. That happened the last go around,” Harrison says. “And I got to the point a year ago and thought, ‘Fuck this.’ I’m going to live my life and if I’m meant to live it with someone, it’ll happen.”

We reach A Women’s Garden, a formal garden with manicured lawns, gorgeous trees, and an infinity pool and breathtaking view of White Rock, and Harrison stops. We have long pitched our empty coffee cups at this point, and now he wraps his arms around me.

“And maybe,” Harrison whispers, stroking my face with his hands, “the right girl just happened to fall into my lap.”

I stare up at him. “Maybe she did, Harrison.”

“Did we really just meet eight days ago?” Harrison asks.

“It feels like much longer,” I say, entwining my arms around his strong body.

“I know, for me, too,” he whispers. Then he lowers his mouth on mine for a kiss in this very romantic setting.

“Perfect,” I whisper against his lips.

“What?” Harrison whispers back.

“The perfect place for a kiss,” I say.

Harrison laughs against my lips. “Well, we should perfect perfection then.”

So we kiss again.

Then we snuggle together and stare out at this amazing garden in front of us, and I can’t believe how simple this moment is, but the most joyous one I’ve ever had. I have nature around me, creating this most romantic setting, and I’m sharing it with the most amazing man I’ve ever met.

And this
, I think closing my eyes and listening to his heart beat through his Brooklyn Bridge T-shirt,
is just the beginning
. There are some things you just know. And my heart is telling me—despite what my head should be overruling—that this is just the first of many romantic memories I will be making with Harrison Flynn.

I practically float into Boutique Dallas on Monday morning. I have my tray of ridiculous coffee orders from Starbucks, but that didn’t even bother me today. I’m still wrapped in thoughts of yesterday—of spending all morning with Harrison at the Arboretum, then going back to his place to make lunch and watch some TV. And make out, make out, make out some more—

“Kylie, did you make sure to get extra hot this time?” Laurel asks.

I pause for a moment. Wait a second. How did Laurel know that making out with Harrison was extra hot?

Oh dear God. She’s talking about her coffee.

I feel my cheeks burn the second I realize what I just did. Shit, I’ve got to find a way to put Harrison thoughts on pause while I am at work or I’ll get nothing
done.

“Um, yes, it’s extra hot,” I say, handing her a Starbucks cup marked with her crazy stupid order on it.

Which does describe my Ginger Boy
, I think as I absently pass Mona a cup of coffee.
He’s extra hot
.

“Ugh! Is this plain coffee?” Mona snaps.

I blink. Oh, shit, I just handed Mona my coffee by mistake!

“Sorry, Mona. That’s mine,” I ramble, quickly switching out the cups.

Kylie Needs To Focus On Things Other Than Harrison.
KNTFOTOTH. No. That’s too long to remember.
Kylie Needs to Focus On Work.
KNTFOW. Better.

I concentrate really hard and manage to get Bradley and Alyssa the correct coffee concoctions from hell. Then I go out to the floor to survey how Mona has re-arranged my work from last week. I start with the Men’s Department. Okay, she re-dressed a mannequin in summer clothes after I put on first launch fall. Fuck. Why am I even here if this is going to be allowed?

I push that thought aside as the thought of confronting her nearly gives me hives.

Instead I think of the design I’m going to implement today. Since we are launching pre-fall, and back-to-college themes, I have found some fantastic vintage varsity pennants from SMU, TCU, Oklahoma, and The University of Texas. I was going to fold them over a retro packing trunk with the kinds of clothing the typical college student needs, etc.

Suddenly Bradley walks up to me, his face ashen.

“You . . . you’re friends with Harrison Flynn, right?”

Something about the way he looks alarms me. My throat grows tight.

“Yes,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s on the news,” Bradley says, waving his hands about as he does when he’s nervous. “A crane has fallen over on to his house. Like straight through his house.”

I start to shake. I saw that crane in his neighbor’s driveway. It was huge. His home could be destroyed by that—

“Wait,” I say. “Did the reporters talk to Harrison yet? Did you see him?”

Bradley stares at me, his eyes large. “Kylie, nobody has been able to reach him. Rescue crews are looking for him inside the wreckage.”