Waiting for Prince Harry (10 page)

I can’t help it. My heart leaps at the way he is looking at me, and I know this is utterly
insane
, every advice article I have ever clipped would advise against this line of thought, but I can’t help but picture myself in Spain with Harrison next summer. Walking hand-in-hand on the beach, exploring the local markets, with him picking up things for dinner and me searching for vintage textiles—

“All right, I need to start cooking,” Harrison says, taking a sip of his beer and putting his glass down on the island.

Oh, Jesus
. I mentally slap myself for thinking what I just did.
It’s dinner, Kylie. Be calm. Do not go researching villas to rent in Spain just yet. KNTBC.

Refocus. Now.

“Wait,” I say, shifting my train of thought. “Before you do, I have something for you.” I pick up my gift bag and hand it to him. “For having me over for dinner tonight.”

Harrison looks stunned. “What’s this?”

I smile at him. “Well, Mr. Flynn, the normal procedure is to open it and find out.”

Harrison unties the ribbon I have carefully cut and curled around the bag handles. He removes the tissue paper and pulls out a bag of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.

“You remembered,” he says, his voice reflecting utter surprise.

“Of course I did,” I say quietly. “And I know you like to go out and get it, but if you don’t feel like it one morning, you could make it at home. But there’s more.”

Harrison looks back down and lifts up the bag of vanilla macaroon granola I had tucked in with the coffee.

“I love that on Greek yogurt for breakfast with berries,” I say. “I don’t know if that is your kind of thing, but it’s excellent with coffee.”

Harrison stares at me, and I can tell I caught him off guard with my gift.

“Kylie, this is really thoughtful. Thank you so much.”

“Making dinner for me is thoughtful,” I say honestly, staring at him. “So you’re more than welcome.”

We stare at each other for a moment. I can feel my heart pounding inside my chest. Harrison walks around to me, where I’m sitting on the tall stool, and stands in front of me. He slowly puts his hands on my face, cupping it, stroking it with his fingertips. I feel the now familiar sensation of his skin against mine, slowly tracing his fingertips along my cheekbones in a very sensual way.

“You’re different, Kylie,” he whispers, staring into my eyes.

Oh God. I really can’t breathe. The way Harrison is looking at me, the way his vanilla and spicy scent wraps around me, the way the roughness of his skin feels so masculine against my face—

“I hope,” I say, my heart racing, “that’s a good thing.”

Harrison’s fingertips now reach up to my temples, slowly sliding down through my hair and tucking it behind my ears. “It is,” he whispers, as his fingertips now dance along my jaw line and toward my chin, “a very good thing.”

Harrison tilts my chin up. He leans forward and ever so gently presses his lips against mine.

Chapter 11

The Pop Quiz Question:
How does he kiss?

A) He has to be good at it, or I’m not staying around.

B) It’s good, but I’m not feeling fireworks.

C) I have never been kissed like this. It’s pure magic . . .

His lips are warm and simply linger over my own for a moment. Just a sweet brush of his lips, a simple hesitation hinting there could be more—

Harrison lifts his head back up. His hands are back on my face, caressing it as he stares into my eyes.

Oh, Jesus
. My body is on fire from that simple, sweet, innocent kiss. It doesn’t matter how the man kisses me, but there is something sensual about the way he moves, the way he touches me, that is totally new and thrilling and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.

“Does that answer your question?” Harrison asks, continuing to touch my face.

“What?” I say. “What question?”

Harrison smiles at me. “That different is good.”

“Oh,” I say, laughing. “Yes. It does.”

“Good. Now let me get dinner started.”

I take a sip of my wine, as my heart is still hammering inside my chest and my pulse is sky high, and try to get back to some form of calm.

“What kind of beer are you drinking?” I ask, as Harrison moves to the sink and washes his hands.

He looks over his shoulder and flashes me a sexy grin. “Why do you ask? Did you taste it on me?”

Gah! I feel my face burning wildly in response to that very true accusation.

Quick, Kylie. Think of something smart, something sexy to say. He’s flirting. Flirt back.

“Maybe,” I say slowly, swirling my wine around in my glass, “I wondered what possible beer you could be pairing with salmon tonight. That kiss wasn’t quite enough to detect the flavor notes, I’m afraid.”

Ah ha! I somehow pulled that response out of my brain rather than the usual blank whiteboard that exists when I’m put on the spot.

Harrison’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Yes! He wasn’t expecting that one.

“I see, S
enorita
Reed,” he says, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel that is tossed up on the countertop. “It’s all about finding the perfect match, isn’t it?”

We’re talking about beer but we’re so not talking about beer right now.

“Well, some things pair better than others,” I say, feeling my stomach flip flop with excitement.

“Something you learn through trial and error,” Harrison adds, staring at me while he dries his hands.

“Until you find one that has the perfect balance,” I say, my pulse jumping.

“Not just balance, but a pairing that
complements
each other,” Harrison says, upping the ante.

I stare at him, my heart pounding. He looks back at me, his eyes intense.

Harrison then clears his throat to break the moment. “But this is actually a Spanish beer called
Estrella Damm Inedit
. I also have a beer to go with dessert.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Beer with dessert?”

“I promise it’s good,” Harrison declares, opening the fridge. “You’ll just have to be brave and trust me on that.”

“I don’t know,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.

“Come on, Kylie,” Harrison says, taking out a plastic bag with salmon in it. “Try a little gourmet chaos tonight.”

I laugh when I see the teasing light in his eyes.

“Okay, but just a sip,” I say firmly. “Because I’m not a beer drinker.”

“And I would never want to change who you are.”

I can see the sincerity shining in his emerald eyes, I know he’s telling me what’s in his heart. Harrison does like me, Type A and organized and nerdy and all of that which makes me who I am. And happiness floods through me as a result.

We gather up everything we need to make the meal and go outside. Harrison has cedar planks for the fish prepared so they’re ready to go. And luckily he has misters on so the heat isn’t as oppressive as it normally is on a summer Dallas evening.

I help him by trimming the asparagus and tossing it in olive oil, and we chat easily while he cooks. Cooper and Lola are running in the grass along the deck, and this just feels so incredibly
right
—me being here, us preparing the food together, chatting and flirting and getting to know each other better than we already do.

While the salmon is grilling he begins whisking up a salad dressing using no recipe. I watch as he tastes and adds and adjusts. God, the man might have wicked good skills with a hockey stick but he has them in the kitchen, too. Of course, I have to clean up behind him as he goes, which cracks Harrison up but something I’m compelled to do.

Finally we are ready to eat. We go back inside and sit down at his kitchen table, and while Jessie Ware sings in the background, Harrison lifts his glass to me.

“Cheers,” he says softly in that Boston-accented voice. “To a perfect summer evening.”

“Cheers,” I say happily, clinking his pilsner with my wine glass.

I take a sip and put the glass down. Then I try the salmon, and I swear I’ve just eaten the best piece of fish I’ve ever had in my life.

“Harrison,” I say, “this is
fantastic
.”

I watch as his face lights up. “Really?”

“It’s incredible,” I say honestly. “The glaze is delicious, the salmon is cooked perfectly. You’re an amazing chef.”

“Chef,” Harrison laughs. “I’m not even close to that.”

“I strongly disagree,” I counter, taking another bite. “My roommate is a chef, so I know what chef prepared food tastes like. And this is it.”

“Well, thank you. But on a different note,” Harrison says, “I’m meeting with the architect next week for renovation designs. After seeing my office and my kitchen drawer, are you sure you’re up for the challenge of managing my renovation project?”

“Will I be allowed full organizational control of contracts, blueprints, swatches, files, and paperwork?”

A huge grin lights up his face. “What’s a file?”

I burst out laughing and so does he.

“Yes, I’m up for the challenge.”

“Good,” Harrison says. “I’m meeting with him in the afternoon, so maybe I’ll swing by Boutique Dallas and show them to you. If I drop a couple grand on clothing Laurel won’t mind if I interrupt your workday.”

“Don’t you dare. I’m entitled to a break in the afternoon. I’ll just take it when you get there.”

So we talk about the renovation and how Harrison is glad he’ll have something to keep him busy if hockey goes on strike, which is looking very likely at this point.

“Since I was three, my whole life has revolved around hockey,” Harrison explains, putting down his fork. “I play hockey. On off days, I train for hockey. In the summers, I skate and run and lift weights and watch my diet to keep in shape for hockey. So the idea of no schedule to play come October . . .” He pauses, and I notice his facial expression changes. He rakes his hands through his red hair, making his curls get a bit unruly as he touches them. Then he exhales. “It makes me realize this isn’t going to last forever.”

“That you’ll face a life without hockey someday,” I say softly, seeing the conflict on his handsome face.

“Yeah. Not right away, I’m only 27, after all, but someday that will happen. And I don’t know what to do after that.”

“What do you
want
to do?” I ask gently.

Harrison sighs. “I don’t want to be a coach, or do TV work, or get some cushy organization job the Demons give me just because I’m Harrison Flynn and not because I’m qualified for it. There are more things outside of hockey in this world. I just don’t know if I’m able to do what I want to do without—”

I swallow, as I can tell he’s not comfortable going here with me. But if the truth were to be told, I don’t think Harrison is comfortable going here himself.

“Anyway, enough about that,” Harrison says.

“Harrison,” I say softly, “anytime you want to revisit it, I’ll listen.”

I watch as he takes in what I’ve just said. His eyes almost look surprised for a moment, and then they soften.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “I know you mean that.”

We finish eating, and while I start on the dishes—as I can’t stand dishes in the sink, even if they’re not mine—Harrison gets dessert ready.

“For dessert we have chocolate mousse,” Harrison says, taking some cartons out of the refrigerator. “And this I didn’t make, as my chef skills do not expand to the dessert field of expertise.”

“Ah, there is something I can do that you can’t. I love baking.”

Harrison puts the mousse down on the counter next to me, and then sets down a bottle of beer beside it.

“And what is your specialty?” he asks as he opens a cabinet and takes out two plates.

“Sea salt dark chocolate chunk cookies,” I say. Then I smile at him. “I’m obsessed with chocolate.”

Harrison grins. “Then you will love the beer pairing with this final course. Double Chocolate Stout is on tap tonight.”

Ugh. That really sounds horrible. Suddenly Harrison bursts out laughing and I know my distaste must be showing on my face.

“Come on, Kylie. Gourmet chaos,” Harrison teases. “You have to try the chocolate beer or walk away from that sink right now and leave the dishes there. You’re playing on my home ice now. You can’t exist in my world without some chaos.”

I feel my breath catch in my throat as I look at this man—this amazing, smart, thoughtful, sexy man, who wants to be with
me
tonight. And suddenly, for the first time in my life, a little chaos feels like exactly what I need.

I turn off the water. “Okay. Fine. I’m in.” I grab a dishtowel and dry my hands.

“First, you have to eat some of the mousse,” Harrison says. He hands me a spoon and I take a bite of it.

“Mmmm,” I sigh happily. The mousse is airy and rich all in one bite. “That’s delicious.”

Harrison takes a bite himself and nods. “Now, the complement.”

He uncaps the stout and pours a little bit in one glass, passing it to me, and pours himself some, too.

“Now this should enhance the chocolate flavor,” Harrison says, picking up his glass. “Cheers. To chaos.”

I giggle and tip my glass against his. I put the glass to my lips and taste it, and to my surprise, I do taste chocolate. And the beer is creamy and smooth.

“That’s actually like chocolate,” I say, surprised.

“I know,” Harrison says, drinking his. “Chaos is fun, isn’t it?”

More than you will ever know
, I think, staring at him.

“I still can’t believe that beer tastes like chocolate,” I declare, shaking my head. “That’s just crazy.”

“Unexpected,” Harrison says, taking another sip of it. “I like that.”

He’s all about chaos and the unexpected, so completely different from me and my organization and cautious approach to life.

And I’m finding I like a little bit of chaos and the unexpected when it comes to Harrison Flynn.

After we finish dessert, Harrison extends his hand to me. A million butterflies take off in my stomach as I know we’re approaching a different point in the evening now. I give him my hand and he wraps his large hand around mine, squeezing it tightly in his.

I don’t even trust myself to remember to breathe the second he touches me. He leads me to the living room. Harrison sits down on the couch and pulls me down into his lap.

“This,” Harrison says quietly, “is what I’ve wanted to do all night.”

Now his fingertips are trailing up and down my arm, just barely touching it, in a feather-like graze.

“Is that so?” I whisper back, barely functioning now that I feel his skin against mine.

“Kylie, do you remember how I said I didn’t want our first kiss to be what it was?” Harrison whispers.

“I do, but I didn’t mind that.”

Harrison laughs softly. “I know you didn’t. But it’s not how I wanted it to be.”

I swallow hard. “How did you want the moment to be?”

Harrison stares at me. He lightly runs his fingers up my arm, across my shoulder, and gliding them up my neck to my cheek, stroking my face again and making every nerve I have jump with desire.

“Gentle,” he whispers. “Like you.”

Harrison slides his hand to the back of my head, cradling it as he moves my face closer to his.

“You have the most beautiful eyes,” Harrison whispers, staring deeply at me. “I see everything I want to see when I look into them.”

I’m melting from the way he’s looking at me, the way he’s talking to me, the way he’s touching me. Harrison’s caressing the nape of my neck now. I lift my hands and wind them around the back of his neck, and I finally touch his ginger curls. They feel like silk against my fingertips, and my nerves jump again in response.

“What do you see right now?” I whisper to him.

“I see,” Harrison whispers back, his fingertips dancing up and down the nape of my neck, “a gorgeous woman who wishes I would kiss her.”

Oh God. Oh God. I really don’t think I can wait another second for this kiss to happen—

Harrison presses his lips against mine. They linger there for a second, then he eases my mouth open with a slow, sensual kiss. His hands are in my hair now, caressing it as his mouth gently explores mine.

This is the kiss I’ve waited for. It’s gentle and slow and very, very, sexy.

I move my hands to his face, feeling the slight hint of stubble beneath my fingertips. I inhale his now-familiar cologne; I taste the chocolate stout on his lips.