Waiting for Prince Harry (14 page)

Suddenly I feel beautiful and desired in a way I’ve never felt before.

And I feel sexy enough to play this game with him.

“As it so happens, Harrison Flynn, I never acquired pool playing skills,” I say. I slide my bangle off my wrist and gently drop it on to the red felt top of the pool table.

“Pity,” Harrison says, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

Holy shit. I watch as he takes off his shirt, revealing his completely ripped abs and chest. He has the body of a hockey warrior, all muscle, all hard, completely powerful and athletic.

He casually takes his shirt and tosses it on to the pool table.

“Your shot.”

I bend down and remove my sandals, putting them on the table.

Harrison laughs. “Oh, Kylie, that’s not quite the shot I was hoping you’d take.”

I smile wickedly at him. “It wasn’t? As you would say, ‘pity.’ But I do believe it’s your turn, Mr. Flynn.”

Harrison reaches for his jeans waistband and takes off his belt. “I think,” he says slowly, unsnapping his jeans button, “I accidentally took two turns in a row.” Then he gets out of his jeans and I draw a sharp breath as he does.

He’s now in boxers, but his
legs
—I have never seen such huge, muscular legs in my life.
Skater’s legs
, I think as my heart begins pounding.

“I can already see you’re going to miss your next shot,” Harrison says deliberately, his eyes burning into mine. “So why don’t I help you?”

I feel my body tremble as he comes around to me. He takes the zipper of my blouse and very slowly drags it downward, revealing the ivory and pink lace demi-bra I’m wearing.

“Kylie,” he whispers as he stares at me. He gently slides his hands underneath my blouse, to my shoulders, and carefully eases my blouse off. “You take my breath away.”

Harrison begins kissing me, and now I feel his warm, golden skin against mine. I’m still shaking. I run my hands over his cut abs and hard chest, and he reaches for the button on my jeans. He undoes it, slowly, so slowly, and then slides my jeans over my hips.

“I,” he murmurs against his mouth, “need to see more of you.”

Oh God. My pulse is skyrocketing. My heart is pounding. I take off my jeans and stand before him in my lace bra and panties.

Harrison’s eyes move over me. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He draws me closer. This time I kiss him hard on the mouth, and he responds with a moan. My hands are in his hair, and his arms are wrapped around me, pressing me into the pool table.

Then Harrison lifts me up. I instinctively wrap my legs around him and put my hands around the back of his neck, caressing his ginger curls as we kiss.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, Gorgeous,” he murmurs against my mouth.

Heat sears through me as he carries me down the hall. I’m totally lost in him, this man who is looking at me with so much desire I can barely stand it.

I have never felt this way. Never. I need this man. Now.

We reach the master suite and Harrison lays me down on the king-sized bed. I see candles flickering everywhere and the scent of jasmine infuses the room.

He thought of this
, I think as I kiss him.
Harrison wanted this night to be sexy and romantic.

Harrison’s fingers are skimming along the lacy edge of my bra. He slides the straps down to my shoulders. Then his mouth trails down my neck, to the base of my throat.

“God I love your skin,” he whispers before moving his lips down my chest. “Your softness, your scent. Everything.”

I run my hands through his hair, lifting his head toward mine. He kisses me on the mouth, a hot lingering kiss that leaves no question where we’re about to go.

“I have protection,” he whispers in between kisses.

“Yes,” I whisper back. “I . . . I brought some, too. In case . . . you know . . . to be prepared.”

Harrison laughs softly. “You were a Girl Scout, weren’t you?” He kisses me again.

“Shut up,” I laugh against his lips.

We both start laughing but then Harrison stops. He pushes himself up for a moment and stares at me with nothing but tenderness in his eyes. “I want you,” he whispers, staring at me seriously, “all of you.”

I feel my eyes fill with tears. “And I want you. Only you.”

Harrison links my hand with his and closes his mouth over mine. And with those words, in a candlelit penthouse high above the city of Dallas, I followed my heart.

And I gave it to my Prince Harry.

Chapter 16

The Pop Quiz Question:
You have just slept with your date. You feel:

A)
Relaxed. Who doesn’t feel that way after good sex?

B) Shit, where is my bra? I need to get out of here before he wants to cuddle.

C)
Like I have finally found the person who completes me and makes me whole.

“So I have this panoramic view of Dallas all around me,” Harrison says softly, “of the twinkling lights on the skyscrapers, of the sun setting in the sky, but the only thing I want to look at is you.”

I blush as I lay cradled in Harrison’s arms. I turn and gaze up at him, the man I have just made love with, and find his eyes looking nowhere but at me.

His lips brush against mine, and I feel warmth flood through me. My God, I have
never
felt like this. When we made love, there was a connection. He’s my other half, I felt that instantly. Harrison is the man I’ve been waiting for, but never knew it. Our sex was steamy and playful, romantic and passionate. Harrison instinctively knew how to please me, and I him.

Because we’re meant for each other
, I think.
He is my Prince Harry
.

Harrison starts playing with my hair. “Today started out as the worst day,” he says softly, tucking my hair behind my ear, “and turned out to the best night I’ve ever had. All because of you.”

Tears fill my eyes as I see the tender way he’s looking at me. I love the way he’s speaking to me and touching me right now. I’m so falling in love with him, every single part of him.

“You make me feel beautiful, Harrison,” I say quietly. “I’ve never felt desired like this before.”

“I want to be the man who always makes you feel that way,” Harrison says.

“I wish we could just stay here tomorrow,” I say truthfully. “Just us. Here. Not leaving this suite.”

“Me too, but reality awaits us,” Harrison says, still playing with my hair. “I have to make a media statement tomorrow.”

“And I told everyone I would call them back tomorrow,” I say. “My phone blew up today with questions about you. My family is kind of stunned. They didn’t even know I liked anybody, and then they see me with you on TV . . .” My voice trails off, as it sounds absolutely insane to say aloud. That I, Kylie Reed, am with professional Hockey God Harrison Flynn.

Harrison shifts me over so I’m on top of him. He gently takes my hair in his hands and pushes it back to the nape of my neck.

“So are you going to tell your parents that you picked me up in a bar?” He grins.

I burst out laughing. “I did
not
pick you up in a
bahr
,” I say mimicking his Boston accent.

“Oh, so now you’re mimicking my accent? That’s a punishable offense.” Harrison quickly rolls me over on my back and moves on top of me.

His mouth closes over mine, and I melt into him. Desire is right back at the surface now, and I want him again.

“So sorry,” I whisper against his lips.

“Forgiven,” he whispers back before deepening the kiss.

Harrison then breaks the kiss, and I see the want in his eyes. “Dinner. I want to order dinner now, and then I want to make love to you again. I’m hungry for both things tonight.”

I smile flirtatiously at him. “I like your style, Mr. Flynn.” He laughs, and I move over so he can sit up. Harrison grabs the room service menu.

“Now, what to order?” Harrison says aloud.

I pull the glorious, high-thread count sheets around me and glance over at the menu. “I want a bison burger. With cheddar cheese. And sweet potato chipotle fries.” I grin at him. “I’ve worked up an appetite this evening.”

Harrison cocks an eyebrow. “Have you now?”

We both laugh, and I just love the sound—of us, being silly, laughing together in bed. It feels so
complete
.

“Okay. Normally I stick to my training menu through the week, but I’m feeling rather hungry myself. I’ll get the same thing. To drink, Gorgeous?”

My heart flutters every time he calls me Gorgeous.

“A glass of Cabernet would be nice,” I say.

“And a beer for me,” Harrison says, reaching for the phone on the end table. He places the order and then hangs up. He reaches for my hand and entwines my fingers with his.

“I still can’t believe this day ended here,” Harrison says. “That I’m here with you right now, in bed with you.”

I squeeze his hand. “When I was trying to get to you today—” I pause for a second, as the horror of that moment comes back to me, “I prayed over and over to God that he would spare you. That I would do anything if he just kept you safe.”

I watch as Harrison takes in my words. “Bargaining.”

“What?”

“You were bargaining. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross described that in her Five Stages of Grief,” Harrison explains. “It’s in her book.
On Death and Dying
. But basically when people are in the process of dying, in the third stage, they negotiate to buy more time. What I’m trying to say is that’s what you were doing.”

I stare at him, blown away—once again—by his intelligence. “How did you end up with so many gifts?”

Harrison laughs. “What? What gifts?”

“You’re so smart,” I say. “You don’t even realize it, but you’re
very
intelligent. You know so much about psychology and—”

“Anybody can do that,” Harrison interrupts. “It’s just reading.”

I shake my head. “That’s not true. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You
understand
people. I’ve never met anyone who instinctively knows how to read people like you do. You really should be a therapist, Harrison. I mean that.”

“You’re the only person who sees that. When people list my talents, they start with hockey.
Always
. Never my intelligence.”

I put my hand to his face and stroke it. “You’re more than a hockey player. You have many gifts. Hockey is just one of them. You’re
brilliant
when it comes to understanding the human mind.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it gently.

“And you understand home renovation and have a vision for that,” I say, continuing. “So that’s another gift. Then you do woodworking and—”

Suddenly Harrison puts his fingertips against my lips. “You’re my biggest gift,” he whispers.

I swallow hard. “You’re mine, too.”

I lean forward and kiss my prince.

Harrison breaks the kiss. “Thank you for purposefully falling into my lap at the Ritz, Kylie Reed.”

“I didn’t fall into your lap on purpose!” I cry, laughing.

“You did,” Harrison declares, grinning at me.

“Did not!”

Harrison bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding you. I know you didn’t.”

“How so?” I ask, curious.

“Your eyes,” Harrison says, nuzzling his nose against mine. “You had no clue who I was. I could see that instantly in your expression. And those espresso-colored eyes showed nothing but mortification when you saw my shirt was drenched.”

I laugh. “All true.”

“The best accident I was ever involved in,” Harrison says.

“Me, too,” I say.

As we kiss again, I know with all my heart that wasn’t an accident.

It was fate
.

And as I kiss Harrison, fate is telling me my destiny is to be with this man.

For the rest of my life if he will let me.

Chapter 17

The Pop Quiz Question:
You are in the early stages of your new relationship, but something troubles you. Do you:

A) Bring it up with him and confront it head on?

B) Sit on it for a bit? If it is really troublesome, and I decide I’m all in for this relationship developing, I’ll discuss it at a later date.

C) I hate burdening him with my problems this early. They really aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things . . .

“Jesus, Kylie,” Brandon says, “I go on my honeymoon, return yesterday, and all hell is breaking loose about my little sister dating
Harrison Flynn
? When did this happen? Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

I sigh as I sit in my car. I’m in the parking lot, starting the round of “Yes, I’m really with Harrison Flynn” phone calls before I go into the boutique. I’ve just gotten off the phone with my stunned mother. Now I’m dealing with my brother.

And I would rather be back at the hotel with Harrison. Just twenty minutes ago I was in Harrison’s penthouse suite, forcing myself to leave him when all I wanted to do was stay in his arms and ignore the rest of the world. Especially after what we shared last night—

“Kylie? Hello?”

“It’s recent,” I admit, refocusing on the call and reluctantly leaving my daydream. “Brandon, we didn’t want to tell anybody. We’re building something here and—”

“Kylie, you realize he is a professional
hockey player
, right?” Brandon interrupts.

Suddenly I feel my defenses shoot up by that comment. “What’s that supposed to mean, B?”

“Come on, K. Harrison Flynn is one of Dallas’ most eligible bachelors. Don’t you think there is a
reason
why he isn’t married?”

“Yes. Because he hasn’t found the right girl,” I say truthfully.

“Or he enjoys playing the field. Like most athletes do, even after they are
married
, Kylie. How many serious divorce cases do you think my firm has handled with professional athletes? A
lot
. Do you know why? Because the temptation is too much. They all cheat.
All of them
.”

I feel my face burn hot in anger. “That’s not Harrison, Brandon. That is not the kind of man he is.”

“How would you know?” Brandon asks. “You’ve known him for what, a week?”

“That doesn’t matter. He’s different,” I say firmly.

“Kylie, I’m saying this because I don’t want you to get hurt. He’s normally linked with famous women. Groupies follow him. Harrison can have it anywhere, anytime. This could be nothing more than a passing fling for a guy like him. That’s not who you are, Kylie. And I saw your picture online. You weren’t looking at him in a casual way.”

Fury shoots through me. “Brandon, do you think I’m a little girl? Well, I’m not. I
know
Harrison. He’s nothing like what you just described, nothing at all.”

I open the car door and step out. I grab my cross-body bag and sling it over my chest, pick up my tote, and close the door.

“Kylie, you know I just want what’s best for you,” Brandon says, his tone softening. “And a professional hockey player who is known for chasing models is not what’s best for you.”

“Oh, so he couldn’t possibly have a serious interest in me because I’m not a model? Just the boring, plain girl next door?”

“I didn’t say that.”

I’m about to respond but when I turn around, a handful of photographers begin flashing cameras in my face.

“That’s her!”

“Kylie, look this way.”

“Kylie, are you and Harrison serious?”

I stop dead in my tracks as the lights from the cameras blind my face. They’re snapping away, not stopping, getting very close to me and yelling at me.

My heart begins racing.
Oh my God
, I think, panicking.
They’re stalking me. They found out where I worked and waited to ambush me.

I’m so stunned I don’t know what to do. I stand rooted to the pavement, my heart pounding in my chest.

“What’s going on?” Brandon asks, jarring me from my paralyzed fear. “Who’s yelling at you?”

“I have to go,” I say, disconnecting the call.

“Is that Harrison?” a photographer shouts. “Are you talking to him?”

Now they are right in my face, taking picture after picture after picture.

Just walk
, I think.
Get to the boutique. Just get inside.

I don’t say anything. I look down and grip my tote a little tighter as I move.

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

“Kylie, look up!”

Now they are walking backward so they can face me head on, the flashes still popping, my very image about to be plastered everywhere for people to dissect and discuss—

The public is going to rip me to shreds
. I’m not a model. They’re going to talk about my hair and my weight and what I’m wearing today—

I hurry my step. The Flynnbabes! They’ll
hate
me. I have the one thing that the 300-plus members of that board want—Harrison.

I know they’ll never see me as good enough for him. Which will lead to post after post of my unworthiness for Harrison, with them questioning how someone like me—simple, boring, girl next door me—snagged one of America’s most eligible bachelors.

Oh God. Nausea rises within me at the thought of being judged and torn apart and my private life no longer existing.

I’m going to throw up
, I think, feeling the bile in my throat.

Anxiety attacks me. I need to flee. I have to get as far away from as these photographers as possible.

“Excuse me,” I say, as they are all crowded around the doors of Boutique Dallas as I try to get in. “Pardon me.”

“Come on, one smile!”

I rap on the glass door, praying that someone will let me in quickly.

I’m feeling suffocated by them as I feel them right on top of me, still flashing, still yelling.

Suddenly Mona comes into view, casually strolling through the store with the shop keys in hand.

Please hurry,
I will her.
Get me inside
.

Her eyes widen as she sees the photographers behind me. Then she opens the door, and I bolt inside as Mona shuts it after me.

“What on earth?” she asks, looking at the photographers.

Laurel looks up from the jewelry display case she is standing behind and smirks at me.

“The paparazzi want pictures of Harrison Flynn’s new flavor of the month,” she says snottily as she pulls out a tray of bracelets to inspect.

I stare at her. I’m still shaken by the paparazzi ambush, and now I have my bitchy boss knowing about my private life, too.

And it’s
none
of their business. All of them—the media, the Flynnbabes, my boss—none of them are entitled to know about me and Harrison.

But they do
, I realize as the nausea roars back.
This is my new reality.

“Did you forget coffee?” Mona asks in a whiny voice.

I stare at her. She’s got to be fucking kidding.

“You really don’t expect me to fight through the press to get coffee today, do you?” I blurt out.

“Yes, we do,” Laurel says, repositioning an Eddie Borgo bracelet in the tray. “That’s part of your job, Kylie. It’s not our concern that you have a pack of press wanting to take a photo of you carrying a tray of Starbucks, as
mundane
as that is. At least you had the good sense to wear your DVF wrap dress today so the graphic print should add some interest to the pictures.”

I’m so upset I’m trembling. How dare Laurel talk to me like this? I need to tell her off. I need to tell her to talk to me professionally and that her comments about my personal life are unacceptable.

But as the words formulate in my head, I know I can’t say them. I don’t want a confrontation with my boss, it’s the last thing I need this morning. I need to just put up with it for now. I’ll deal with Laurel when the time is right.

When I’ve been here longer.

“Fine,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’ll go get them.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Alyssa says, coming across the sales floor. “I’ll gladly do it for you, Kylie. You get settled.”

I exhale deeply. “Thank you, Alyssa. That means a lot.”

“Alyssa and I can take turns this week,” Bradley says. “This will die down.”

“Obviously,” Mona interjects. “It’s not like Kylie is the actual celebrity here.”

I grit my teeth. Yes, apparently there is no chance of me being cool or gorgeous enough to be a celebrity.

And I’m sure people think I’m not cool or exciting enough to be with Harrison Flynn, either.

I shove that thought aside and make my way to the back room. As I do, I glance over at the Men’s Department, thinking it will be good to distract myself with work today and finish the College Launch display—

I stop walking and stare at the floor.

Everything I started working on yesterday before news of the accident broke is undone. The vintage pennants are gone. The mannequins are re-dressed in summer clothing.

Mona has struck again.

I’m
pissed
. Obviously Mona couldn’t wait for me to bolt out of the store during a
crisis
so she could rearrange my whole display. Everything I’ve done—down to the smallest detail—has been removed.

“Doesn’t it look fabulous?” Mona says, walking up behind me. “I thought it would be best to finish the display instead of leaving it in a state of chaos yesterday.”

I turn to her. “What happened to my work?”

Mona wrinkles her nose. “You mean those nasty old pennants and beat-up trunk? I disposed of those.”

“You
disposed
of them?” I cry, incredulous. “Mona, I purchased those with the display budget for College Launch. I scoured eBay for hours to find what I needed.”

“Kylie, you’re new to this. Obviously you don’t understand like I do, from my vast experience, what is visually appealing and meets the
high standards
we have at Boutique Dallas for our displays.”

I nearly bite my tongue in half so I do not lose it. “Mona, with all due respect, I was hired to do visual displays here,” I say evenly.

“With all due respect,
Kylie
, you do not have the
expertise
that I have.”

Then Mona turns around and goes back upfront.

Now I’m shaking. I need to tell her in no uncertain terms that this is not her place; that I was hired to do this job without interference from the assistant manager.

But the thought of having it out with her makes me sick. I hate confrontation. I know Harrison’s right. I know I need to stand up for myself. But . . . but . . . it feels so wrong. What if I make things worse for myself by saying something? Because I’m so new to the boutique, do I even have a right to initiate a confrontation at this point? Do I have a right to even complain?

And the idea of having a heated confrontation with either Laurel or Mona is more than I can handle right now.

I head toward the back of the store. God, I want to talk to Harrison right now. I need to hear his voice, that Boston-accented voice that can reassure me like no one else can. He would want to know about the paparazzi. I want him to advise me on how to cope with that, how to deal with them, what to say, what to do. Harrison would also tell me I need to handle Mona and Laurel, and part of what I love about him is that he knows what I need to hear, even if I am not ready to act on it—yet.

I step into the back room and put my things away. I fish out my iPhone and see that I have a new text from Harrison:

Fucking hell TATS ran my HOME ADDRESS on TV. I should sue William Fucking Cumberland for this. It’s his damn network!

My heart stops as I read his text. Suddenly I remember seeing Harrison’s physical address splashed underneath the video of his house.

Oh God. Now I realize what this means. My heart lurches in pain for him. His piece of the Basque country is forever ruined for him. The house that he put so much thought into, so much work into, is now known to people everywhere. For fans to stop by and stalk, take pictures, wait to see if he comes out for his mail or to walk Cooper and Lola . . .

Another text from Harrison drops in.

I can never move back to that house now. I’ll hire someone to dig through it and pull out what is salvageable, and hire security for it, but I can’t go back there now. Not with my address out there.

Tears fill my eyes for him. I wish I could make this right for him. That I could give him back his privacy and tell him we’ll fix the house and it will be okay. But I can’t.

And I know right now is not the time to tell him about the paparazzi.
He doesn’t need that burden
, I think. I know Harrison told me to tell him when something troubles me, but I can’t do this to him. I shove all my problems aside and text him back.

We’ll recreate your Basque house somewhere else. I promise you we can.

I wait for him to reply, which he does quickly.

When you say it, I believe it, Kylie. Because of you, I can believe it.

My heart dances inside my chest. I forget everything that just happened and focus on this man, who is worth any loss of privacy I might have, and text him back.

I do believe it. We’ll do it. Together.

I hit ‘send’ and then Harrison replies:

Speaking of together, I wish you were at this press conference. I can’t help it. I keep thinking about last night, and all I want is you, with me, and for us to be alone. But I’ll settle for seeing you tonight. That is the only thought that is getting me through this day.

A sweeping, happy feeling passes through me as I read his text. He’s feeling it, too. Harrison wants to escape with me and just forget all the drama surrounding us right now. I message him back, telling him I miss him, too, and I’ll see him tonight.