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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Lawson went to his room and brushed his teeth. Twice. He didn't have time for a shower, but he splashed his face with cold water, shrugging on an old maroon cricket jumper. Lawson frowned, fingering the hole in the sleeve. Should he change?
He shook his head.
Oh, sod it. It doesn't matter, Lawson reminded himself sternly, taking the stairs two at a time. She's off-limits. This is a friendly exchange.
He almost believed it, too.
Harper was sitting on a window bench in the living room. She was dressed in a pair of jean dungarees, leafing through a book. Her brown hair was tied in a knot, and several strands had escaped, curling around her chin. She looked up as Lawson approached, her eyes the colour of melting chocolate in the buttery morning light.
"Banksy?" Harper held up the book. "You don't strike me as the type to be into art."
He leaned against the mantle. "It belongs to my sister."
"She has good taste."
"Paige would agree," Lawson said dryly. "My sister tells me on a daily basis that she has better taste than me."
He watched as Harper reshelved the book, crouching down to reach the lower shelves. A tag peeked out from the top of her shirt, and Lawson had the oddest urge to tuck it back in. Which was insane. He was obviously dehydrated. Or delusional.
Harper straightened. "You look terrible."
Lawson's mouth quirked. "It's lovely to see you too, Ohio."
"Here."
Harper held out his signet ring, the silver flashing in the sunlight. Lawson arched an eyebrow.
"A proposal?" he asked. "This early on a Sunday morning? I wish I'd dressed for the occasion."
"Hilarious," Harper said, pressing the ring into his hand. "I'm Harper, by the way. You ran off before I could introduce myself properly this morning."
Lawson winced inwardly. Snuck out, more like. But if Harper wasn't going to call him on it, then he was hardly going to volunteer that information.
"I know who you are," Lawson said.
Harper searched his face. "But you didn't recognize me last night."
"No."
Obviously not. Although, Lawson reflected, it wasn't entirely his fault; now that he was thinking about it, Griffin had never shown him a photo of Harper. He hadn't shown any of the boys a photo of her. And — God help him — Lawson understood why, now.
She was gorgeous. Helen-of-Troy gorgeous.
No wonder Griffin was so protective of her.
Lawson slipped the ring back on. "You could have waited until I got home, you know."
