CHAPTER 3

Harper 

With his lips still pressed hard against mine, his hand tightened around my waist, erasing whatever tiny pocket of space remained between us. 

I reached up and gripped his broad shoulders, my fingers twisting into the expensive fabric as he pulled me away from the wall. He must have felt the sudden stiffness in my frame, because he paused, caught one of my fumbling hands, and guided it flat against his chest before devouring my mouth all over again.

His shirt was incredibly warm beneath my palm. I could feel the powerful, steady rhythm of his breathing, and the sheer intimacy of being this close to him made a violent blush burn across my cheeks. When he finally pulled away, his eyes lingered on my face, dark and unreadable. 

"Come with me," he murmured. He didn't wait for an answer. He simply took my hand and led me toward the adjoining bedroom.

I followed him in total silence, the sharp click of my high black heels against the floorboards sounding prominent in the quiet suite. The bedroom was sprawling, dominated by a king-sized bed wrapped in crisp white linens, flanked by dark wooden furniture and another massive window that looked out over the glittering cityscape. 

Soft, recessed lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, throwing long shadows across the walls. Asher stopped right beside the bed and turned back to face me. I stood there awkwardly, the sudden shift in environment making me feel entirely too exposed to his scrutiny.

Without his tailored suit jacket, his presence felt even more imposing. His shoulders were broad beneath his fitted dress shirt, and he had pushed his sleeves up to his forearms, revealing strong hands and sun-bronzed skin. His dark hair was no longer perfectly styled; a few loose strands had fallen across his forehead, breaking his usual cool, professional demeanor.

I snapped my gaze downward the second I realized he’d caught me staring, my face burning with embarrassment. But Asher didn't let me hide. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger catching my chin to gently lift my face, encouraging me to look at him again.

Then he kissed me. A quiet moan escaped into his mouth as my hands instinctively found their way up to his muscled shoulders, pulling him closer. He smelled incredible—something subtle, sharp, and expensive, laced with the intoxicating warmth of his bare skin. 

One of his large hands flattened against my bare back, while the other brushed a stray wave of hair away from my face, his fingers settling securely at the nape of my neck. He didn't seem bothered by my lingering nervousness at all. Instead, he just kept kissing me with a slow, deliberate patience until the tension drained from my muscles, and I finally stopped overthinking where my hands were supposed to go.

When he finally drew back, his thumb brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Relax, sweetheart.”

The casual endearment made my heart skip a violent beat. My eyes flew up to meet his, but before I could process the feeling, he caught my lips again, deepening the kiss until my fingers tightly curled into the fabric of his shirt. 

Lost in the sensation, I closed my eyes as he slowly guided me backward until the mattress pressed against the back of my knees, and I sank onto the edge of the bed.

He stood towering in front of me for a long moment, looking down at me before his hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. He undid them without a hint of haste, parting the fabric to reveal a broad chest and sharply defined muscles beneath his sun-bronzed skin. Intimidated by the view, 

I looked away almost immediately. A quiet, low laugh escaped his throat. 

"Shy?"

I gave a small nod, utterly embarrassed that I couldn't come up with a smoother response. He didn't tease me further. Instead, he leaned down, pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, and planted one on the palm of my hand, while looking into my eyes. That single, surprisingly gentle gesture eased the suffocating tension in my chest, anchoring me to the present. He bent low, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of my shoulders. 

He held my gaze for a tense, breathless heartbeat before capturing my lips in a kiss that was deeper and far more heated than before. My heart stuttered violently. It’s just one night, I reminded myself, chanting the phrase like a shield as he gently guided me back onto the bed. But as his mouth moved seamlessly against mine, the thought began to splinter and slip away.

One hand anchored me properly against the mattress while the other reached for the strap of my bra. In one swift, practiced motion, he unfastened it, releasing the constraint. A sudden rush of cool air hit my skin as my breasts sprang free.

He stared down at me, his gaze holding an intensity that made everything else fade away. In that moment, the reality of the situation felt incredibly complex, unlocking emotions and reactions I didn't know I possessed.

The rest of the evening unfolded in a quiet succession of shared warmth and hesitant, trembling movements. His absolute confidence met my heavy uncertainty until the awkwardness finally melted out of my limbs. He was intensely attentive, and whenever I started to freeze up or get trapped in my own head, he would draw me close enough that I completely forgot my anxieties.

Eventually, a heavy stillness settled over the room. The distant city lights cast a fractured glow through the towering windows, and the expensive sheets rustled softly beneath us as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his embrace.

---

I woke to the low, distant hum of morning traffic and a pale grey light filtering through the heavy curtains. For a few disoriented seconds, my brain couldn't quite place the high ceilings or the expensive scent in the air. Then I turned my head on the pillow.

Asher was asleep beside me.

His dark hair was completely tousled, and one of his thick arms rested heavy across the space between us. Stripped of his usual fiercely composed expression, his features looked softer, younger, and far less intimidating. The sight made me freeze, a strange ache tightening in my chest before the brutal reality of the room crashed back over me. I remembered where I was. I remembered why I had come here. A cold knot twisted in my stomach.

Moving with agonizing caution, I carefully lifted his arm aside and sat up, pulling the crisp sheets against my chest. The suite was entirely silent, save for the faint, steady breath of the air conditioning. My burgundy dress lay discarded on the floor beside the mattress, and my cheap handbag sat near the armchair exactly where I had dropped it the night before.

I scrambled out of bed and began gathering my things as quietly as humanly possible.

But my movements were hurried, panicked, and clumsy. My hands shook so violently that I nearly dropped one of my gold birthday earrings onto the floorboards while trying to fasten it, and I fumbled blindly as I reached behind my back to drag up the zipper of my dress. Heart hammering against my ribs, I stole one last, terrified glance toward the bed. He hadn't moved a muscle.

I had to leave right now. I couldn't handle the inevitable awkwardness of a morning-after breakfast, the looming threat of personal questions, or the suffocating discomfort of sitting across a table from him pretending this was just an ordinary day. I fumbled for my phone and checked the lock screen.

Six forty-three.

The agency’s guidelines had been crystal clear: the arrangement was officially complete the moment the overnight booking ended. The payment would be processed automatically according to their standard terms. There was absolutely nothing keeping me in this room.

I slipped my feet back into my high black heels, my eyes scanning the pristine suite for anything I might have accidentally left behind. Suddenly, Asher shifted slightly beneath the heavy duvet, and I completely froze, my heart leaping into my throat. It was only when his breathing synchronized back into a deep, steady rhythm that I finally released the breath I’d been holding.

Needing to leave some sign of departure, I reached for the small leather-bound notepad on the bedside table. For a long moment, I just stared at the stark white page, my mind completely blank. Writing thank you felt absurdly transactional, and offering an apology seemed entirely unnecessary. In the end, I penned the only thing that felt safe.

Mr. Hayes,

I had to leave early. Thank you for last night.

Harper.

I read the lines twice, the ink looking incredibly small against the paper, before setting the note on the nightstand where he’d find it the second he opened his eyes. 

It was brief, polite, and completely impersonal—exactly what a contract required. I gripped the strap of my handbag, stole one final, lingering look at his sleeping frame, and slipped out of the room. The heavy suite door clicked shut behind me, sealing the night away, and I didn't look back.