He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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Admittedly, Harper hadn't thought this through.
She trained her eyes on the wardrobe. When she'd smugly suggested they share a bed, Harper hadn't imagined having to actually share the bed. Or the awkward changing into pajamas scenario. Or the bathroom situation. Did they brush their teeth together? Separately?
Was there a user manual for this sort of thing?
"Do you have a side?" Lawson asked.
He was sitting on the bed, yanking off his beat-up sneakers. They were covered in mud from today's activities, Harper noted, watching as Lawson placed them carefully near the door. She hadn't noticed before. And now Lawson was— he was—
Harper blinked.
Good lord.
He was stripping off his shirt.
"What?" she squeaked.
Lawson glanced over. "A side of the bed."
"Oh." Her cheeks were flaming. "Away from the door."
She waited for Lawson to smirk. To say something witty, probably along the lines of, "Ah, I see — that way the murderer gets me first, right?" But Lawson was busy folding his shirt, the muscles in his arms flexing in a way that was unfairly distracting.
She needed a breather.
ASAP.
"Right." Harper inched toward the bathroom, gesturing over her shoulder. "I'm just going to... er..."
She made a run for it, slamming the door shut.
She splashed her face with cold water. Twice. Then she took her time flossing and brushing her teeth, trying to slow her racing heartrate. By the time Harper was putting on her vanilla-scented moisturizer, she was feeling much better. And then she looked around the empty bathroom and groaned.
Shit.
She'd forgotten to bring her pajamas in with her.
But never mind, Harper thought, pushing open the door. She'd just change quickly while Lawson was in the bathroom. That was feasible, right?
Lawson looked up from a book. "You're done?"
"Yeah."
He closed it. "Brill."
Harper waited until Lawson was safely in the bathroom. Then she began stripping off her clothes with the urgency of someone that had just doused their jeans in kerosene and struck a match. She located her flannel pajama shorts with ease. Which only left her top.
Harper paused.
Glanced around the room.
Where the hell was her top?
She flung her suitcase on to the bed, mentally cursing her past self. This is what she got for not unpacking earlier. She rummaged through cocktail dresses and towering heels, desperate for a flash of soft, faded grey cotton.
