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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Harper ran.
Twisting corridors unfurled before her, a labyrinth of dark shadows and oil paintings, and Harper chose a direction at random. Air. She needed air. Music drifted out from the ballroom, a swell of violins and piano, accompanied by tinkling laughter. The party had moved indoors. Someone was singing, loudly and off-key; it sounded like Alisdair.
Harper picked up her skirts, hurrying down the stairs. A starless void was opening in her chest, choking the air from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. A terrible burning sensation pricked at her eyes, and she rushed for the door.
"Harper!" a voice called.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Harper squeezed her eyes shut. She would have recognized those footsteps anywhere. Blind. Delirious. Nearly dead. They haunted her dreams; she was more likely to forget her own name than the sound of those steps.
She leaned against the door. "Just leave me alone, Lawson."
"Wait," Lawson said breathlessly. "Please."
She could feel the heat of him, so deliciously close and tantalizing. He touched her shoulder, tentatively at first, and Harper half-closed her eyes. She should push him away. Logically, she knew that.
She just wasn't sure that she was strong enough.
"Don't." Harper hardly recognized her voice. "Please don't make this any harder."
"Will you look at me?" Lawson asked softly.
Slowly, Harper turned.
Lawson was looking down at her, his eyelashes the color of soot. His black tie was coming undone, and his cheeks were flushed from running. He looked unfairly beautiful, Harper thought, a lump rising in her throat; even now, she wanted to photograph him. To save this moment in film.
"I do like you," Lawson murmured. "I've never liked anyone as much as I like you, Harper. But I don't know how to give you pieces of myself." His hand slid to cup her neck. "It scares the shit out of me."
That ache in her chest turned raw. "Oh, Lawson."
"I just need some time." Lawson searched her face. "To sort things out."
"Time," Harper echoed dully.
"Yeah."
"Without me."
It wasn't a question. Lawson's fingers brushed the back of her neck, and it struck Harper as slightly unfair that you could be standing so close to someone and still feel a million miles away from them. She steeled herself.
"Lawson," Harper said. "I can't just wait around for you to make up your mind. I deserve someone that thinks I'm the greatest thing in the world." She held his gaze. "And if you don't agree with that, then you don't really respect me."
