Waiting for Prince Harry Page 8

  I feel a huge lump rise in my throat. I watch Harrison, and I can see everything Laurel sees. He’s happy to talk to Cynthia. Harrison is smiling and laughing and using his hands in an animated way—

  And Cynthia Burke—and Ashlea Kelly—are the kinds of women he should be with—successful, famous, gorgeous . . .

  Because, I think painfully, they are everything I’m not. They’re everything I can never be.

  While Harrison did say we had endless possibilities, he never said for what. And as I watch him with Cynthia, I realize my own feelings no doubt caused me to misinterpret what he was saying. There’s no way, absolutely no way, he can look at Cynthia, who wants him just as much as I do, no doubt—and then see me in that same light.

  Oh God why do I want to cry?

  I need to get out of here. I need to leave. I don’t want to face the humiliation that’s coming my way.

  “Laurel, is it okay if I go? I’m getting a really bad headache.”

  Laurel looks up from her iPhone. “I bet you are,” she says knowingly, glancing at Harrison and Cynthia. Then she turns back to me. “But that’s fine, I completely understand. Heartache, headache, whatever.”

  Is it wrong that I totally want to punch my boss in the face?

  And send Cynthia to work at ESPN in Bristol?

  But since neither idea is an option, I hurry through the crowd to the Employees Only area. I take off my headset, put it away, grab my clutch, and hurry out of there.

  I fight through the crowd of people, slowly making my way to the front door. Finally I do and I step out into the searing summer night. I move down the sidewalk, blinking back tears. I see my car in the parking lot, and I head toward it when suddenly I hear my name.

  “Kylie!”

  I freeze. I turn around and Harrison is running toward me. My heart stops. I am rooted to the ground, and I can’t believe he’s coming up to me.

  “Kylie, where are you going?” Harrison asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I saw you walk out, and Laurel said you were leaving. But why, Kylie? Without saying anything to me? Why weren’t you going to meet up with me, like we planned?”

  I study his face and see nothing but confusion in his beautiful eyes.

  “Harrison, I don’t think you need a bodyguard tonight,” I say softly, trying my best to be his friend. “I saw you with Cynthia, and I figured I’d slip out. You seem to be having a good time.”

  Harrison’s eyes narrow for a second. “So you weren’t going to wait for me? You were leaving because I was giving an interview to Cynthia?”

  “Harrison, I was going to text you that I left,” I say honestly. “But it’s okay. I understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “We’re just friends. It’s okay if you want to talk to Cynthia tonight and hang out with her. I get it.”

  Harrison’s expression completely changes. And I must be losing my mind or getting really good at projecting what I want to see because I swear he looks hurt by my comment.

  “Of course,” Harrison says slowly. “Friends.”

  “Besides, she’s your type,” I say, forcing a smile on my face.

  “My type? How do you know what my ‘type’ is?”

  “She’s like all the other girls you’ve dated,” I blurt out. Fuck! I want to put the words back into my mouth as soon as they’re out there.

  Then I see it. His eyes flash with recognition. “Wait. You fucking Googled me, didn’t you?”

  I anxiously pull on the end of my ponytail, wishing the pavement would somehow swallow me up.

  “Harrison, I—”

  “Damn it!” Harrison suddenly yells, going from confused to hurt to pissed off in a matter of seconds. He throws his hands up and puts them on his head. “You were supposed to be different. You didn’t know me. And you didn’t seem to care who I was—”

  “I don’t,” I cry.

  “Then why the fuck did you Google me?” Harrison snaps, dropping his hands out before me. “You do know me! The guy you talked to at the Rattlesnake Bar is me. And now you’ve filled your head with all that bullshit you read on line and now you see me differently.”

  “No, that’s not true,” I cry, my heart slamming inside my chest. “I . . . I just wanted to know more about you. And . . . I just saw the kinds of girls you usually go out with, and Cynthia is like that—”

  “Did you see how long ago I dated celebrities? Models? Did you?” he interjects.

  I don’t answer him.

  “Well it was a long fucking time ago. And I’d prefer you’d ask me about it instead of reading a gossipy article and jumping to conclusions about my ‘type.’”

  Then he turns around and stalks away.

  Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I have just totally screwed this up.

  “Harrison!” I yell after him. “Harrison, please!”

  But he keeps walking.

  Tears fill my eyes. I turn around and head toward my car. The expression on his face when I said we were friends. The way he looked so hurt and betrayed when he realized I had researched him—

  He likes me, I think, full on anxiety taking over. And I totally fucked this up—

  Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and Harrison is storming right up to me.

  “You know what really pisses me off about this, Kylie?” he snaps, his eyes flashing. He strides right up to me and cups my face in his hands. “All I could think about during that fashion show was one thing. That was getting through that show and the interviews and the pictures and autographs so I could do the one thing that I’ve wanted since the moment I met you.”

  I’m shaking now. I swallow hard. “What’s that?” I manage to say.

  “This.”

  And then Harrison’s mouth is on mine.

  Chapter 9

  The Pop Quiz Question: You are kissing someone for the first time at the end of the evening. How do you like to be kissed?

  A) Just a sweet peck. I like to take things slow.

  B) Give me some tongue! I like kissing!

  C) If the chemistry is off the charts, and the first touch is electric, I don’t ever want him to stop kissing me.

  The second Harrison’s mouth touches mine every nerve I have in my body is on fire. For a split second his soft lips just linger against mine, and I think he is about to give me a simple kiss, but then he kisses me with intensity. I feel his hands against my face; I feel his mouth burning against mine with desperate urgency. I’m excited and shocked and kissing him back like I’ve never kissed anyone in my life.

  I’m acutely aware of only Harrison—the way his warm, spicy vanilla scent wraps around me; the way his lips taste of celebratory champagne; the way the skin of his hands feels rough and sexy against my face.

  I slide my hands around his back. The second I touch him I feel nothing but hard muscle, the body of a professional Hockey God, and my heart rate accelerates in response.

  Harrison moves his hands to my arms and pulls me closer, still kissing me frantically and passionately and not giving a damn that we are standing in a parking lot. I’ve seriously never had a hotter kiss. I love the way Harrison is kissing me, making me feel desired and wanted and—

  Suddenly he rips his mouth away from me and pushes me back.

  I gasp for breath and stare at him, and see nothing but torment etched on his beautiful face.

  “No,” he snaps.

  “No?” I ask. And just like that my stomach bottoms out when I see how unhappy he looks right now.

  “Oh, fuck, this—” Harrison takes a breath and puts his hands to the back of his head, “I . . . I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What?” I gasp, stunned. “You shouldn’t have kissed me?”

  “I’m still pissed off!”
Harrison blurts out. “I’m sorry. I never should have kissed you just now considering the way I feel. This is not how I wanted this evening to be. I . . .” Harrison takes his hands and rubs them over his face. “I need to go back. I have autographs to sign. I . . . I can’t deal with this right now.”

  Then he turns to walk away.

  Something inside of me is lit. That kiss was more than a kiss. It meant something. And it’s completely out of character for me, and lord knows against every woman’s advice magazine I have ever read, but I need to make Harrison understand.

  “Let me get this straight,” I yell at his back. “You’re pissed because I Googled you, yet it’s okay for you to Google me? You never would have found me, Harrison, if you hadn’t done the exact same thing.”

  I hold my breath. Harrison stops walking. He turns around, his brow furrowed.

  “That’s completely different.”

  I move closer to him, my heart beating a mile a minute. “Is it? You Googled me to find me. So you have one set of rules for me and one set for yourself?”

  His green eyes flash angrily in response to my accusation.

  “Every mistake I’ve ever made, down to the shoes I choose to wear or the girls I date, is recorded and blogged and dissected on fucking Tumblr or fan forums,” Harrison snaps. “Everyone else can have mistakes and a past and it’s not there for the whole world to read. If I choose to share those things, I want to be the one to share them with you.”

  “So if I were famous, and you found tons of things about me online, you wouldn’t have read one article about me? Not one?” I ask, knowing I’m playing a dangerous hand of cards here.

  Harrison’s eyes flicker angrily. I can tell I’m hitting a sore spot with him, but maybe, just maybe, I can get him to see I didn’t do this out of an invasion of his privacy.

  “No, I wouldn’t. Because I know how it feels to be treated like a research subject,” Harrison says, his eyes never leaving mine. “And I would never do that to you.”

  Then he turns around and walks away.

  Somehow, after tossing and turning all night and getting zero sleep, I’ve managed to not only make it into work, lugging all those ridiculous coffee orders with me, but to actually begin the process of launching the first wave of transitional fall clothing now that the fashion show is over.

  I swallow hard. Of course, I have nothing left to focus on except for work now that things with Harrison have gone completely from endless possibilities to zero possibilities.

  How is it that a man I met less than a week ago has turned everything in my life upside down? With Harrison I had the best conversations I’ve ever had with a man; the greatest physical attraction I’ve ever felt; and, God help me, the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced.

  And Harrison also gave me the worst feeling in the world when I saw the hurt look on his expressive face before he turned and walked away from me last night.

  I begin shoving an ottoman in the women’s section across the floor to make room for the new display I’m going to put up. But none of that matters. Harrison is pissed off and disappointed in me and, lord knows, has a million other girls to choose from. I was nothing more than momentary diversion for him anyway—

  “Kylie.”

  I turn around and find Laurel standing behind me, holding a Starbucks cup out toward me.

  “This was awful. Take it back and make them re-do it.”

  I stand up. I take the cup from Laurel and feel that it is nearly empty.

  “Laurel,” I say, confused, “you drank most of this. I can’t take it back.”

  Laurel narrows her gaze. “Yes, you can. I drank that awful beverage because I would have gotten a ridiculous caffeine headache waiting for you to go back and get a proper one. So make them re-do it. Now. I have a million things to do today and don’t need to waste time arguing with you about a coffee.”

  Then she spins on her Prada heel and storms off.

  I take a deep breath. Laurel is beyond ridiculous. I mean, she drank it. I will not have Starbucks remake it. I’ll just buy her another one out of my own pocket rather than humiliate myself at Starbucks. Where I’m already humiliated on a daily basis by having to place four insane orders five days a week.

  I go to the back of the store and grab my clutch. I put on my sunglasses and head through the store, to the front door and out into the bright Texas sun. It might only be 10:30 AM, but it’s already steaming hot outside.

  I start walking down to the Starbucks when suddenly I stop dead in my tracks. My heart jumps. My chest draws tight. I can’t breathe.

  Because Harrison is coming right up the sidewalk.

  The second he sees me he stops dead in his tracks, too. I feel my heart pounding with anxiousness as I look at him.

  Harrison approaches me, and the second he is standing in front of me, I find it impossible to breathe.

  “I . . . I was just coming to see you,” Harrison says softly. “Are you leaving?”

  He’s wearing this impossibly sexy pair of aviator sunglasses, which normally I would love, but right now I wish I could see what his eyes were telling me.

  “I have to get Laurel a new cup of coffee,” I say, trying to keep the nerves out of my voice. “I was just headed down to Starbucks.”

  “Can you give me a few minutes? I have no right to ask you that, but I am.”

  I do not trust my voice so I nod. We walk over to a bench under a tree and sit down.

  Harrison tugs on the baseball hat he is wearing—this time a purple one with the TCU Horned Frogs logo on it—and clears his throat.

  “I owe you an apology,” he says slowly. “I overreacted last night.”

  I swallow hard. “I understand why you would,” I admit.

  “I . . . I just don’t want you to read something that would change the way you see me,” Harrison says quietly. “I want . . . I want you to know me from me. Not from an article, not from a Tumblr post, not from people projecting my thoughts and feelings in a fan forum. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, it does,” I say. “And I’d rather get to know you that way, too. If you still want to get to know me, that is.”

  “Of course I do,” Harrison says. Then he clears his throat. “And while that kiss we shared last night was wicked, it’s not exactly how I wanted it to be.”

  Oh Jesus. I feel my face burn as soon as he says the word kiss.

  “No?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair.

  Harrison flashes me a smile, one that shows his beautiful teeth, the one I have only seen him give to me. Butterflies instantly shift in my stomach as a response.

  “No. I had something different in mind for the night and that wasn’t it.”

  “What did you have in mind, Harrison?”

  Harrison laughs. “Something a little more gentlemanly, that’s for sure.”

  I laugh with him and suddenly I know we are back to a place of endless possibilities. Here we are, sitting on a bench, and I know without even being able to see that his eyes are crinkled up in the corners from the way he is smiling at me.

  He turns his head for a moment and then looks back toward me. “Um, there are people across the way taking my picture with a cell phone camera. Do you mind if we go into a store or something?”

  I instantly turn my head. Sure enough, two shoppers have their cell phones turned directly on us.

  “Oh, Harrison,” I say, alarmed for him.

  Harrison stands up. “No, it’s fine, I understand, but it just makes it hard for me to talk when I’m being snapped. Not for me, but for you. I don’t want it to bother you, Kylie.”

  Okay, my heart just totally melted.

  We get up and step into the store next to our bench, which happens to be a fancy stationery and candle shop.

 
As soon as the door closes behind us, Harrison moves over to a candle display on a large round table and takes off his sunglasses. He clips them onto the collar of his shirt, while I push mine up on the top of my head. Now we can see each other’s eyes, and Harrison’s green eyes are sparkling at me.

  “That’s better,” Harrison says, smiling at me.

  “I agree,” I say, smiling back at him.

  “Hello, can I help you find anything?” a saleswoman asks.

  Harrison looks at her, but then glances back at me. “I think,” he says, “I’ve already found what I need.”

  I rest my hand on the edge of the table to keep myself steady, because the way he’s staring at me right now makes me almost dizzy with excitement.

  “Oh, wonderful,” the saleswoman says.

  “Yes, it is,” Harrison answers, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Well, please let me know if you need anything else,” she says before walking away.

  Harrison then looks straight at me. “I do need something else.”

  Ooooh, I really love this place where we are right now.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Well, obviously I need to buy one of these candles now,” Harrison says, picking up a Seda France box.

  “Perfect. These are my favorite candles,” I say smartly.

  “Are they now?” Harrison says, raising an eyebrow.

  Okay. Candle shopping is an extremely hot activity. Who knew?

  “Yes,” I say, picking up one to inhale. “Would you care to smell Japanese Quince?”

  Harrison nods. I extend the candle toward him and he wraps his hand around mine, so we are both holding the candle.

  And any nerve I had left just completely imploded the second his hand wrapped around mine.