“Oh God. Stop.” She’s giggling, though. She doesn’t look pissed off anymore. She looks...happy.
I stop.
“You want me to strip? I’ll give you breakfast and a show.”
Don’t think I didn’t plan for this. Thanks to the staying power of the Sharpie, I’ve drawn a hundred big, black, loopy bows on the Calvin Kleins I bought precisely for this occasion.
Harper slaps a hand over my mouth. “Not in my office.”
“Where?”
This seems promising. Like hot-makeup-sex promising.
“You need to go.” She starts shoving boxes of chocolate underneath her desk. She must have an early meeting.
“I’ll go if you promise to read the plan I’ve put together and go over it with me tomorrow.”
She pauses in her candy cleanup. “You want me to go over your plan?”
I go with the truth.
“You like plans. You like to know where things are going. So I made one for us.”
Honestly? What I want is for her to go out on a date with me. Make love with me. Ride with me, fight with me, love me. It’s that last part of the plan that’s most important.
She stares at me.
Pretty sure she’s trying to figure out the fastest way to get my ass out of her office because she comes to the obvious conclusions.
She gives in.
“Okay.” She scowls. “But you have to wait until Saturday. Some of us have bosses that care if we show up.”
I ignore the dig because I’m one step closer to my goal. To Harper.
* * *
Thursday the song calls for three French hens. In retrospect, I should have gone with “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” Courting would have been much simpler. Finding French hens in Vegas is every bit as difficult as you think. The only reason I don’t visit a damned pet store is that Bing would either vote me off the island or have lunch. Instead of wildlife, I send a six-pack of beer from a brewery that does a Twelve Days of Christmas series. I scribble a note that’s three-quarters picture, one-quarter words. The picture is me trying to tree three very reluctant hens in a palm. I think for a minute and then go with more truth. I tell her how much I want to be with her to celebrate all her milestones. And how I’ll be there if she lets me for the shitty days, as well, but with an even bigger beer.
Friday I up my game and actually produce four calling birds. Okay. So she doesn’t get to take them home with her, but I think she’ll like this better. I adopt four black-and-white penguins at the zoo on her behalf. Since my large check comes with naming rights, I christen them Harpsichord, Harpie, Doodle and Monster Dick.
Today, however, is Saturday.
D-Day.
And either Armageddon or the second coming of Christ when I succeed or fail at convincing Harper to take me back. And yes, I’m feeling the pressure. It may have taken me way too long to realize what I feel for Harper, but now I’m hopelessly, headlong in love with her, and she’s the only woman for me.
I pick her up and she settles behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist. See how we fit together? The way we move together as we ride down the Strip?
That’s the best fucking sign right there.
I just need to convince Harper. When we get to the Bellagio, I pull over. I’ve got a buddy who owes me and I’m cashing in all my favors.
“You’re going to get a parking ticket.” Harper’s forehead gets these cute little creases when she’s trying to figure out what I’m up to.
“Watch.” I switch places with her on the bike because I need to hold her.
Her frown gets deeper. “The fountain show doesn’t go off for another eleven minutes, Vik.”
I slide my arms around her. How can I not hold on to this woman? Not only is she fucking gorgeous, but she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. She’s organized, funny and has a dirty streak that will make me a very happy man.
“Three,” I whisper against her hair.
“You’re not singing again, are you?”
She doesn’t pull away, and I almost get distracted by the amazing way she smells.
“Two.”
I kiss her ear just because it’s there and I’m weak. Christ, I love every inch of her. Her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail that begs for me to fist it.
“One.” I bite down lightly because some things won’t change.
She rewards me with a little moan—just as the fountains explode. Timing is everything. The water soars upward, “Twelve Days of Christmas” blaring from the hotel’s speakers. While she stares slack-jawed at the show, I scoop her up and stride over to the fountains. By the time I’ve planted her ass on the railing and caged her in with my arms, she’s coming back to her senses.
“You planned this?” She sounds dazed.
Mission fucking accomplished.
“You said I never planned anything. That I never looked ahead. I just never had anyone I wanted to plan for.”
“And now?” She licks her lips. I don’t think she likes having nothing between her ass and an entire lake but me and a very thin railing. I’d like to tell you that I immediately set her back on her feet, but that would be untrue. I love having her off balance and hanging on to me. I won’t ever let her fall.
“I’m hoping I’ve got you.” I wrap my arms around her back, pulling her closer. “You’re my tomorrow and my tomorrow after that. Give me a chance to prove that to you for the next sixty years or so.”
“Vik?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“I forgive you. Can you let me down now?”
She really doesn’t like her current position, does she? I take shameless advantage.
“Wrap your legs around me.”
She does, and I can’t stop myself from patting her ass as I twirl her around in the biggest goddamned circle. Tourists are looking at us like
