“Ma’am?”
Harper turned. It was Rose, the petite redhead, with a box in her hands. “I wrapped two cups. One for each of you. They’re my design.”
“Thank you so much, Rose. You should be very proud of what you do.”
“I am. But no one’s ever appreciated our work the way Mr. Franconi does. Or you.” She had a bright, sweet face that made Harper feel years older. “Please thank him for all of us.”
“Of course.”
With a wave and a smile, Rose went back to her painting table.
For a moment, Harper stared after Rose, her mind stuck on what the girl had just said. No one’s ever appreciated our work the way Mr. Franconi does. Just as no one had ever appreciated Jeremy the way Will did.
And her. No one had every truly appreciated her.
Not until Will.
Every step of the way, he had shown her how special he was. He wasn’t some ruthless billionaire CEO who raided pension plans. People—and their happiness—were important to him. They didn’t have to be rich, they didn’t need to have something he could use or exploit. She didn’t doubt he could be a hardass when he needed to be, but Will never exploited the small cog.
He was a good man.
A man worth loving.
* * *
Soon, Harper found out that Will had done one better than even she’d imagined. He and Beacham had negotiated their contract over dinner, which Will had been very happy for her to sit in on. As if they had no secrets. As if they were partners. And he’d totally floored her—and Mr. Beacham—by adding in a stipulation about employee bonuses. The artists would earn a special commission on every piece of theirs that sold, above and beyond the generous amount he was already going to pay them to do the work.
And it made her love him even more.
She didn’t know how she could have been so blind. Or so stubborn. She loved him, and she needed to tell him. But she wanted the perfect moment. The ride back to Knightsbridge wouldn’t do. His driver would hear everything.
She’d planned to tell him the moment they entered his penthouse flat. But when Will lifted her into his arms while doing those incredible things with his mouth, she couldn’t think, couldn’t hold onto anything except how much she wanted him.
How much she needed him.
And when he took her again, holding onto her like he never wanted to let her go while stroking hard and fast inside her until they reached the peak together—the words were right there on the tip of her tongue. But she didn’t want Will to think she was only saying them because her world was shattering in ecstasy.The jet lag finally caught up with her as he gathered her into his arms, but all she could think, as sleep came to claim her, was that she needed him to know just how wonderful she thought he was.
“I love you.”
And then, utterly contented, with his lips brushing her cheek—and his own words of love echoing back to her—she slept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I love you.
Three simple words had just rocked Will’s world in a way nothing else ever had.
He hadn’t thought Harper was ready. He’d been telling himself he could wait. But when she said I love you, he’d realized he hadn’t truly believed she’d ever come around to loving him—all of him, the good and bad, the past and the present.
Just hours ago, he’d been planning to show her his favorite parts of the city, like the old pub sitting next to some of the last remaining stones belonging to the original Roman wall of London. Special places he’d found and wanted to share with her.
But then she’d said she loved him, and suddenly everything changed. It meant he could bring her back to London again and again. He could take her to his house in Paris, his flat in Sicily, his cottage in the Swiss Alps. All the places he’d never shared with anyone special except his Maverick family.
Now he had Harper. And they had Jeremy.
And everything was suddenly so much better.
Better, at least, as long as she meant the words. As long as she felt them.
He tried to relax his muscles, tried to convince himself that it was okay to believe that Harper loved him...and that he was worthy of her love. But it was hard going when the truth was that he hadn’t believed himself worthy since he was a kid.
“No one will ever love a little shit like you,” his father used to say. “Not unless you can figure out how to be faster and smarter and sneakier than everyone else. Then maybe you’ll be worth something.”
So that was what Will had done—he’d figured out how to be fast and smart and sneaky. It wasn’t until he’d finally come to trust Susan and Bob and the Mavericks that he’d figured out how to love. And of course he loved them with everything in him, even if he’d often wondered how they could possibly love a fast-handed, sneaky smartass like him.
Thankfully, the tension in his body didn’t wake Harper. She stayed right there in his arms, her skin like silk against his, her leg thrown over him, her foot between his calves. And bells were ringing.
No, not bells. His phone.
Unwilling to let her go, he fumbled around on the nightstand, finally feeling it beneath his fingers. “Hello.” Though his voice was low, it sounded sharp in the quiet room, with only Harper’s soft breaths breaking the silence.
“Mr. Franconi, it’s Benny.”
His driver Benny was shuttling Jeremy to and from work. In an instant, Will’s heart began to beat fast and out of rhythm. “What’s wrong?”