The Allure of Dean Harper



It was painful to walk away from Dean. I’d thought it would feel good to take Jo’s advice and give him a taste of his own medicine, but it left me on edge. What if that was it? I’d wanted to push a little, but what if I’d pushed him away for good? Was I prepared to see him with another woman? Prepared to never share another night with him?

I grabbed a linen paper towel from the club’s bathroom sink and wiped my hands, steering my gaze clear of the mirror. I knew if I looked there it’d be harder to ignore my true desire. The makeup, the dress? It was all for him. I’d told myself it was for the job, that I needed to look my best for the meet and greet, but mostly I’d just wanted Dean to eat his words. I wanted him to see me for the asset that I was and beg for one more night with me.

I shook my head free of those thoughts and pushed through the bathroom door. I could smell Hunter’s cologne before I saw him. It was a heavy, spiced scent that felt the same as secondhand smoke when it hit my nostrils.

“There you are, Lily,” he mumbled, practically licking his lips.

I sneered. He was one of the few people that made my hair stand on end whenever he was near, and I took it as a sign to stay away from him.

“What do you need, Hunter?”

He stepped forward and the top half of his drink slipped out over the edge. That’s when I picked up on his heavy eyelids and half-untucked shirt—the man was three sheets to the wind.

“Lily. Lily. Lily. You’re so beautiful. It’s so painful to work with you every day.”

I swallowed and stepped to the side, toward the end of the hallway. The club was packed, but the small alcove with the bathrooms was annoyingly empty. I didn’t think Hunter had it in him to attack, but even so, I wanted to get away from him and his waterlogged words as soon as possible.

“Thanks Hunter,” I said with a flat tone. “I’m going to head back out there now.”

He frowned and reached into his shirt pocket.

“Wait. Wait. Lily, here. Take this.”

He shoved a piece of paper into my hand before I could flinch back.

“It’s the room I rented for us. Nobody has to know. Come find me later, baby,” he said, trying his best to smirk. At best, it looked like some sort of grimace. At worst, it looked like his lips were falling off.

I shook my head and glanced down at the piece of scrap paper in my hand. On one side of it, there was a logo for Ivy & Wine—a restaurant name I didn’t recognize—but when I turned it over, I saw the numbers he’d scrawled. It looked like two 8s and a 4. Or it maybe a 6…oh, Hunter.

I tossed the paper into the trash and set off to find Nick. Or was it Rick? Shit. He was a food critic from San Francisco and I’d been putting up with his terrible breath for the last two hours in the hopes that he would feature one of Dean’s restaurants on his website.

I searched through the club to no avail. Nick-Rick was gone and I needed another drink if I was going to get through the rest of the meet and greet. I’d already handed Dean more than enough names, but I wanted to go above and beyond anything he could imagine. I needed him to know how valuable I was.

The lights in the club changed colors every few seconds, flickering in and out in a rainbow effect. Blue, green, yellow, red. Each moment that passed painted my skin a different hue.

What was Dean doing?

Who was he talking to?

I wedged against the bar and was waiting for the bartender’s attention when I felt his hand on my hip. Not Nick-Rick. Dean.

His hand gripped my waist, branding me through my dress. I glanced down and his hand skimmed an inch lower. I hated how happy I was that he’d come back. He wasn’t done. I could push and push and push, and he would just pull and pull and pull me back.

“You’ve proved your point,” he whispered in my ear.

“Excuse me?” I asked, barely getting the words out without a stutter.

“You’re punishing me,” he said, his hand biting into my hip. “Enough.”

The bartender slapped his towel down onto the bar and met my eye.

“You gonna order or what?” he asked.

“She’ll have a lime juice margarita.”

“Wrong. I want a dirty martini.”

The bartender shook his head, annoyed with the two of us. He bent to retrieve a glass and I was left alone with Dean once again.

“Let go of me,” I huffed over my shoulder. “Nick will be back soon.”

“Fuck Nick.”

I inhaled a sharp breath, registering his anger. He was a nine on the Richter scale and I knew if I pushed him any further, my world would shake because of it.

“You and I are nothing, Dean. We had sex—“

“Mind-blowing sex,” he corrected.

I swallowed and chanced a quick glance over my shoulder. He was right there. That jaw, those lips, the scent of his body wash—I wanted it all.

“But as you’ve clearly shown, we’ve moved on,” I continued.

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