Arundel Castle - Control | Harm

Saturday, August 20, 1921
5:45 PM
<3

"You look beautiful, love."

A soft kiss on his wife's cheek and he offered her his arm, leading her from their private rooms and down the stairs into the foyer.

Amelia, as always, was the picture of a duchess. Hair perfectly in place, a tailored dress that fit her perfectly and his late-mother's jewels sparkling on her neck and ears. She was stunning, to say the least. Newly turned thirty, his wife had taken on the role she was never supposed to have in stride. It was always meant to be Edith, standing alongside his brother. Amelia was an arrangement, but meant for quiet support; charity work maybe in the shadows and a pretty face to greet the townsfolk during walk-abouts.

Tonight, while appearances mattered, it was the social game that took precedence.

The thought settled in him with the familiar, dangerous ease of a trusty well-worn wand.

Harper was not merely an ally, nor merely a mind he trusted when others disappointed him. Harper understood leverage the way James did, instinctively and unapologetically. She had teeth, and she knew when to show them. Their conversations were never idle. Every word between them carried weight, intention, possibility. If there was attraction, he kept it folded neatly away, pressed flat beneath discipline and ambition.

Desire was only useful if it remained controlled.

Across from her would sit Monty Campbell, immaculately dressed, devastatingly astute, and very, very uninterested in women. Which, James thought dryly, made him the perfect match for Harper. Power recognized power, after all, and Campbell’s influence ran quietly through half the Ministry’s funding channels like an underground river.

This dinner was not about romance. It was about alignment.

James felt Amelia’s fingers tighten just slightly on his arm as they reached the foyer, the sound of approaching voices filtering in from beyond the doors. She knew this too, even if she would never say it aloud. Knew her role tonight was to be impeccable, distant and untouchable. The duchess at his side, proof of the stability they were aiming to mold their new world in.

He leaned in just enough to murmur, low and precise, “Last link in the chain,” before lifting his gaze and twisting his expression into something warmly aristocratic. Amelia remained stoic, aside from the slight smirk that played at the corner of her red bow-shaped lips.

Pieces were moving into place.

And James Laurence, ever the architect, was quite pleased with the arrangement.

As Fidèle announced Campbell's arrival, James extended his free hand. "Good to see you. I'm glad you were able to make it on such short notice." Amelia smiled, offering only her hand for the man to kiss.

"No trouble at all. If we're going to make this arrangement, better sooner than later, wouldn't you say, Laurence?"

James grinned, offering a slight nod. "If all goes well, I daresay you'll be married by Christmas."

"Miss Knightley has just arrived, sir."

The house elf bowed as he opened the doors to the entry again.

The hem of her dress swished quietly, twirling around her legs as she landed with a soft plop before the Laurence's Castle. Gaze lifting, Harper took in the imposing structure. One last moment before she'd face the man she would be arranging a marriage with, would have to live with, would have to surrender her name and independence to.

Marriage. Just thinking of the word turned her blood rancid. It was a fate she had successfully evaded for over a decade and now it had caught up with her nonetheless. A woman's most restrictive cage. There had been no shortage of coupling attempts, concocted by her mother and always without her daughter's knowledge, but none had ever surpassed the introductory stage.

Apparently, Harper had scared them all away.

Tragic.

At some point, her mother had given up, replacing her hopeful arrangements with theatrical sighs of disappointment and longing. As though having an unmarried daughter was the hardest of fates a mother could possibly endure.

And who would have thought it'd be a man in the end who'd manage to convince her after all? Quite differently than anything her mother had ever tried, and all the more fruitful for it. An unavoidable hurdle standing between herself and what she wanted, a necessary sacrifice she was willing to make. With her own rules and conditions.

It was all well and good. Things could be worse and what it all boiled down to was a transaction. A joining of aligning agendas and a stepping stone for each and every one of them.

Who knew, maybe Mr. Campbell was even...tolerable.

Harper straightened, head held high and gaze ahead as she approached the opening doors, calming professionalism settling over her like a cloak. She didn't deign to acknowledge the house elf greeting her. Silently and with her usual determined strides, Harper walked past and joined the already gathered group a moment later.

"Mr. Laurence," she greeted with a faint smile and a nod, finding his wife next. "Mrs. Laurence. It's nice to meet you."

At last her eyes settled on Mr. Campbell, taking in his angular face, his eyes and neatly kempt back hair.

Well, at least he wasn't ugly, she supposed.

Tilting her lips into a small smile, she extended her hand. "Harper Knightley. I've heard great things of you." James had made the man's usefulness clear enough.

While graces and deference weren't something James and Amelia required of their peers, often leaving such things to the responsibility of their family members - pecking orders were important in that aspect - there still lay the expectation of propriety.

James knew good and well he was pretentious, in the ways that actually mattered. Blood purity stood for power, elitism, wealth and status. It showed that his family had the privilege to dictate and deign who they mingled with and for what reason. It meant that people scrambled and clawed their way into their social circles and clung to any relevance that would keep them from being flung back out.

While James tended to keep his pureblood rhetoric to himself, discussing it only within the confines of his own family, his actions and behaviors did little to persuade anyone that he felt differently. He mingled with those like him, did business deals with those like him and socialized with his own.

He was an intelligent man, and also recognized that this limited him in his ambitions to lead the British wizarding world. If he was untouchable to all but the purebloods, if he didn't feel approachable or that he had all of his people's best interest at heart, he would be overthrown as quickly as Merrow was no-doubt about to be.

That was where Harper came in.

Harper had an edge into halfblood circles that he hadn't touched. She knew what made them tick, what they wanted out of life and what sort of agendas would be important to them to keep them happy. She understood what their support looked like and what it didn't, and what would make a pureblood minister - a duke no less - more relatable or likeable than a halfblood woman running the show by his side?

She walked in, commanding the room with the same strength as any self-assured man.

"Miss Knightley."

It was all his wife offered, curt but warm enough. Amelia wasn't of the same mindset in having a halfblood hold such a powerful position on the road to their ambitions, but she also didn't possess the same wiles and edge that James, Julia and Edith did. While Amelia was kind-hearted she was also young and short-sighted in many ways, whereas Julia and Edith bent and pivoted where it mattered.

He could feel her tense at the title of 'Missus' and not 'Lady', but she was far too polite to correct Harper. James saw no need.

He offered Harper a smile from the edge of his mouth as he briefly took her in. A deep green dress that brought out her eyes and accentuated the red in her hair. Lovely, as always. If Monty were a man that preferred the female form, James assumed he'd be thrilled at his prospects.

As it stood, he was not, though like Harper, he understood the importance of his role.

"Stunning," the man said, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on top, "Beaumont Campbell. Friends call me Monty. I'm sure we'll be such in no time."

There, everything was so polite. At least it hadn't started out poorly.

"Shall we then?" James said, beckoning the guests down the foyer and into the formal dining room while Amelia shot him a look he quickly brushed off. She'd expected him to do the correcting for her. In time, his wife would learn there were more important things than commanding superiority in polite company.

He needed to see to it she stopped spending so much time with Gretchen.

When seated, Fidele hurried about, filling everyone's glasses with Château Pétrus. "I take it you'll have a drink this time, Miss Knightley?" He didn't dare call her by her first name in front of everyone. Still his grin was unmistakable.

James didn't allow the wine to linger as idle ceremony. “This marriage,” he began evenly, resting his glass against the tablecloth, “is not social.” His gaze moved between Monty and Harper with deliberate inclusion. “It is structural.”

A beat.

“It cements four positions that are strongest when aligned.”

His gaze shifted between Monty and Harper, calm and deliberate. “My office will handle policy. Amelia secures continuity and respectability. Harper expands our reach beyond the insular circles that have kept this government stagnant.”

A fractional pause before he looked directly at Monty.

“And you make the public believe it was their idea.” There was no flattery in it. Only clarity.

Monty inclined his head slightly, absorbing rather than reacting.

“A consolidated front,” he replied. “The public doesn’t need to be convinced of our cause. They need to see themselves reflected in it.” The man turned to the woman who would be his betrothed.

"I assume James briefed you on the trouble I've found myself in?"

Harper held a lot of respect for pureblood families, their traditions, their values and the value they gave in turn, back to their community. One might call it admiration, not quite yet worship, but definitely devotion. She certainly thought her chance to work with one of Britain's most esteemed and prestigious men an honour, a privilege to help enable the implementation of a more traditionalist wizard-oriented agenda.

Now, nobility on the other hand...

It was quite a bunch of rubbish. Why wizards had to adopt a muggle concept was beyond her.

Naturally, she had never mentioned such opinions in James' presence and likely never would. He luckily didn't insist on the proper use of titles befitting his station or even something as ridiculous as curtsies. Harper hadn't expected his wife would either but that terseness suggested otherwise.

Perhaps it was solely due to her lower blood status.

Either way, Harper paid it no heed. Mrs. Laurence wasn't the one who needed to see the value in her. Her husband already did and it was all that mattered.

Monty played his role convincingly enough. Hadn't she known of his preferences, she wouldn't have guessed there to be anything out of the ordinary. "I'm sure we will," she returned with a dip of her head, following James' beckoning into the dining room.

"I take it you'll have a drink this time, Miss Knightley?"

"Certainly," she smiled politely, gracefully settling in and careful not to let the spark of amusement show in her eyes as she caught his. "It is a special occasion after all, isn't it?" Her tone betrayed none of the sarcasm banging fists against the inside of her skull, suggesting nothing but mild enjoyment.

James, no doubt, would know.

He didn't let the conversation stall, moving them straight to the point -- the making of a bonding of sorts. A strategic union of four people, goals that overlapped, capabilities that complimented and completed.

Qualities that smoothed out each others' shortcomings.

"I assume James briefed you on the trouble I've found myself in?"

Harper inclined her head, gaze briefly flicking to James before landing it back on Mr. Campbell -- Monty, she supposed. "He has. And I assume, in return, he has briefed you about my ailment of being an unmarried woman in pursuit of a high political office." There was no use in beating around the bush. They were here for a reason and she had no intention of dragging things out.

"The way I see it is as such: we will provide a proper image for the public whenever needed, a cover up for our respective...flaws. No further obligations besides upholding the illusion the people need to believe." Her brows softly rose, expectant gaze unwavering as it remained on her soon to be husband.

A special occasion it was.

He held Harper's gaze, his expression betraying none of the amusement he felt brewing beneath his chest. As much as this connection was needed - especially if Harper was going to be taken seriously within political circles - the man was always able to find levity in a situation.

Monty was in trouble. As much had been made clear to Harper. The advertising executive needed this marriage as much as she did.

James needed his prowess for propaganda. It wasn't ideal for any of them, but sometimes deals needed to be made in the dark to bring forth the light.

"The way I see it is as such: we will provide a proper image for the public whenever needed, a cover up for our respective...flaws. No further obligations besides upholding the illusion the people need to believe."

He couldn't have said it better himself. Whether Monty and Harper made a real go of a marriage, deciding to settle into wedded bliss or simply playin the part made no difference to him. All that mattered was the optics and that everyone got what they wanted out of the arrangement. James would have two power-players at his back. Monty would have the rumors cast aside. Harper would be legitimized on the world stage.

What did it matter what was real and what wasn't? He felt his wife's hand on his thigh. James met Amelia's eyes, a light spark behind them as a barely noticeable smile curled at the corner of her lips. His hand trailed from the table to cover her own, giving his wife's hand a small squeeze, urging her on.

"My sisters-in-law and I have all the best connections in London," Amelia offered, turning her gaze to Harper, "You'll need them if you're to be accepted into pureblood society." Something Harper absolutely would need. Acceptance. Perhaps not on the same level as a pureblooded woman would have been, but it was better than outright snubbing. "Next week is a high-tea with the Yorks and Percys. You'll join us, I assume?" Better to get Harper in at the top and work their way down.

"And we'll connect you with our designers and planners in London. They'll be able to help you put together a proper wedding. It'll need to be the society event of the year."

James shook his head lightly. The women in his family certainly understood optics, if nothing else. He supposed it was what made them so successful within high society, aside from their names. They all knew how to play the game immaculately.

"Monty, you and I will need to discuss how to get our names in front of people, and quickly. I want them thinking of us for the roles before we even announce our interest." Monty nodded. "In the meantime," James said, "It would be good for you two to be seen out and about with each other regularly. Start getting tongues moving early."

That matter was settled easily enough. It wasn't hard when all of them were on the same page to begin with.

Monty smiled at her as she finished, briefly raising his glass in cheers. "An agreement simple yet effective, allowing the room for one's own...concerns." He smiled knowingly, inclining his head. "I am sure it will serve us all to great measures."

And maybe things wouldn't be all that bad after all, Harper allowed herself to think as she caught the sly twinkle in Monty's look. She met it with a soft tilt of her head, lips curved in understanding.

"My sisters-in-law and I have all the best connections in London." Harper turned her gaze to Mrs. Laurence. "You'll need them if you're to be accepted into pureblood society."

It was a barely veiled jab, despite its verity, aimed at her halfblood status and one that hit the mark right on. Her bloodstatus had always been her greatest flaw, the unjust label stamped to her name through birth the one thing that held her back most fiercely. Harper had always believed she deserved a title that befitted her intellect and instinct, the value and virtue of what she stood for and represented — that of a pureblood.

The law that denied her that, her true potential — by one measly generation — had been a thorn in her side since her days at school. But she had every intention of righting this wrong.

Harper met the woman's offer with a thin-lipped smile, straining around her eyes and betraying her affront. "It will be my pleasure to attend," she confirmed nonetheless, truthfully. It was the chance she had worked for, after all. To be accepted into the circles she should have been part of from the start.

"And we'll connect you with our designers and planners in London. They'll be able to help you put together a proper wedding. It'll need to be the society event of the year."

Wedding preparations and the endless planning they entailed might be the part of all of this that she dreaded the most. 'Every woman's dream', as her mother had tried to sell the concept to her time and time again, had always sounded more like a months-long torture session to her.

And yet, Harper understood it was important. The image, the press, the optics. Playing the pretty bride-to-be and parading for the masses' entertainment and approval. All of it was part of the show, of their spiel to overturn this government, bit by slyly manipulated bit.

Being female in a world made for men was her second biggest flaw.

But she smiled and nodded gratefully, confliction grumbling beneath her chest. "I'm looking forward to it," she consented. "I will make sure it's all that the gossip magazines will report on. My mother's fashion gazette will come in handy, I'm sure." Who knew the woman would actually be of use for once. Harper wouldn't even have to ask. Barbara Knightley would trip over her own two feet running to the editor's room.

"Monty, you and I will need to discuss how to get our names in front of people, and quickly. I want them thinking of us for the roles before we even announce our interest. In the meantime it would be good for you two to be seen out and about with each other regularly. Start getting tongues moving early."

Harper flicked her gaze to James, conveying the words she couldn't say. Little shit. He knew she'd hate all of this, and she bet he was having the best of times revelling in her annoyance over there.

She took a moment to sip at her wine.

"Indeed,", Monty agreed, addressing Harper. "It would be my pleasure to invite you to dinner this coming week. I so happen to have made reservations at Hogsmeade's finest restaurant for Wednesday evening." How very convenient.

Harper quirked a brow in amusement.

"We can arrange the presence of some of our photographers as well," he added, nodding at James.

Later That Evening

The discussions had gone well enough. Monty, having made his date with Harper had finished dinner with them all before excusing himself for another engagement.

James hadn’t bothered to ask what sort. He didn’t care or want to know.

Amelia had retired for the evening, wanting to fuss over Claire and help put her to bed rather than let the house elf handle it all. She was a hands-on mother, dedicated fully to their little family, and James admired her for it. He couldn’t have asked for a better wife or mother to raise his children, and while there was no sign of a boy yet, he was certain one would be on its way soon.

Promising her he’d be up shortly, and only needed to go over a few things with Harper before seeing her off, he’d kissed his wife goodnight and escorted Harper out to the grounds for a brief walk through the gardens before he’d see her out.

With her arm linked lightly through his, they walked, silently for a bit, before he spoke.

“Your thoughts on your betrothed?” He waited until she looked at him before smiling, an ease washing over him now that the difficult part of the evening was over. The two seemed to like one another, if not, at least being willing to politely tolerate each other for the end they all had in sight.

He reached over, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear, his eyes finding hers only momentarily before they shot forward again.

“Too bad he’s gay,” he said with amusement. “What a waste of a stunning dress.”

The cool evening air felt good against her heated skin after hours of conversation and negotiation. Harper was practised to sit through much longer and much more taxing meetings but still she welcomed the quiet of night and the soft scent of the garden as it engulfed her. When it was her own future on the agenda, it seemed it took a toll on her more noticeably.

But against her expectations, what lay ahead didn't seem just as bothersome as it had before her arrival to dinner. Most everything was working in her favour. Even the sacrifices she would be making didn't feel as heavy anymore.

“Your thoughts on your betrothed?”

Her head turned to look at James, a soft smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Serviceable," she mused slyly, voice gently serene. "Beneficial and proficient." Her opinion on the man personally, frankly, didn't matter. What mattered was their plan and how the people they brought aboard contributed in their endeavours.

And Monty sure contributed.

The slight breeze tugged at her hair, loosening a strand that James reached out to brush behind her ear. Amusement twinkled in her gaze as he met it for just a split second before looking ahead again.

Always so casual and nonchalant. It made her smile deepen by a fraction.

“Too bad he’s gay. What a waste of a stunning dress.”

Harper hummed a soft chuckle. "At least someone noticed," she quipped, her eyes still on him. She flicked a brow, giving his arm a teasing squeeze with her hand.

"Serviceable. Beneficial and proficient."

James couldn't help the laugh that rose from his chest. "Oof," he said with a slight shake of his head, his amusement only growing with every moment that passed. Harper was a tough one, who seemed to rarely let anything get beneath that thick skin of hers. He'd seen little glimpses of annoyance or perturbance here or there, but she usually managed it well. “God help the man,” he murmured, voice smooth with mirth, “that’s about the kindest thing anyone’s ever said about him.”

Knowing Monty, he wouldn't give two shits whether Harper actually liked him or not. As long as the optics resulted in the outcomes he wanted, the details didn't matter. In that way, he and Harper would make a great pair.

"At least someone noticed."

He could feel her eyes on him but he didn't return her gaze until she squeezed his arm. His free hand moved then, intentional in a way that erased any illusion of accident. His fingers brushed lightly along the line of her sleeve, down to her wrist, as though inspecting the fabric, the craftsmanship - or was it her - with a kind of idle curiosity that didn’t quite match the weight behind his eyes.

“Which makes it all the more unfortunate,” he added, almost idly, though the faint curve of his mouth suggested he was enjoying himself far too much, “that the man you’re about to marry won’t have the sense to appreciate what’s been placed directly in front of him.” No, Monty preferred the sort of company that James would never understand, or try to.

His gaze dipped briefly, restrained, but undeniably aware before returning to her face, sharper now, and much more focused. “I imagine,” he went on, quieter still, “you’ll find that…frustrating.”

The word hung there, doing more work than it should have. Then, just as easily, he let it all slip back beneath the surface. The tension, the edge, the implication. It all folded neatly away behind composure like it had never been there at all. It was the way of things, wasn't it? A little tease, a little dangle, before the carrot was snatched right back.

A game he rather enjoyed partaking in.

He straightened slightly, guiding their path forward with effortless ease, his tone smoothing back into something more appropriate.

“But,” James said, as though concluding a far more innocent thought, “we’re not in the business of indulging frustration, are we?”

A beat passed, his eyes flicking to her again.

Harper smiled complacently, gorging on the amusement that rolled off of him, like it was a trophy she had earned. A rather odd feeling and one she didn't linger on.

Someone else might have described Monty as kind, attentive, maybe even charming. All those things didn't mean anything to her though, none of it was important. The only important thing was his usefulness, his mutual interest in changing their country for the better, and how well he'd manage to play his part.

After tonight's dinner, Harper didn't doubt James had chosen the right person. The low sense of success warming her stomach outshined even the most bothersome parts of their deal.

It would all be worth it.

Besides, Monty's disinterest in her only served to her advantage in more than one aspect. And James' as well as it seemed.

The trail of his fingers sent a spark of tingles into her core, a rare but pleasant occurrence and one she was sure he enjoyed to play with. Not that she ever let it on. She always kept it carefully hidden, the subtle shimmer that entered her eyes, the faint tilt of her lips always the only sign of a reaction.

But James was a man of chess, and Harper had been playing too. And in the safety of the shadowed gardens it was a game easily indulged in. She let the dip of his voice caress her skin, shamelessly drinking in that look in his eyes that could doom them both, should anyone ever make assumptions. But wasn't that part of the fun? The conscious decision to try and seduce a married man above her social standings?

Her nails gently grazed over the fabric of his arm.

Frustrating. Harper chuckled softly, watching with amusement as he stowed away what had begun to pull taught.

“But we’re not in the business of indulging frustration, are we?”

Harper let the beat pass, smile deepening. "No need to worry, Mr. Laurence," she quipped, brow lifting. "I know well enough how to deal with frustration." Her head tilted teasingly, eyes idly moving over the features of his face before coming back up to meet his gaze. A sharp edge curved her lips, glinting in her eyes. "And do you?"

"No need to worry, Mr. Laurence. I know well enough how to deal with frustration."

The emphasis on the formality of his name wasn't lost on him. Harper rarely called him 'James', despite his insistence in calling her whatever he pleased. He never veered from a gentleman, but where her indulgence of propriety persevered, James was more of a mind to balance the tightrope.

He enjoyed the game of it all. The danger. The unknown. The skill it took to walk such a narrow edge and never fall over. It was one of his talents, he mused, never falling - only choosing to jump when the timing was right.

"And do you?"

"Better than you know," he said without hesitation, his strides remaining languid and casual, even as their eyes met again, shades of brown illuminated under moonlight. James wouldn't call Harper 'dangerous' per say, not in the way he knew and acquainted himself with many dangerous men. But there was something unsettling about her, in the way she knew how to maneuver herself beneath his skin.

It was rare anyone did, but there it was. The man couldn't say he disliked it.

But he was wary of it. And all the problems it could cause later on down the road if he weren't careful.

Vulnerabilities could only be exposed and leveraged when given the opportunity. While Harper was his ally now, time would only tell how long that illusion of loyalty would remain.

On either of their sides.

As they passed one of the greenhouses, James tugged against her arm, spinning her around and nudging Harper up against the wall of the building where curious eyes wouldn't see. He took in her expressions, her soft scent, the way her eyes bore into his with the same challenge he held for her.

He leaned in, his hands pinning her against the wall by her wrists as his nose brushed lightly against hers. His lips curled upwards into that familiar grin as his voice broke low between them.

"You wear control beautifully. Though I imagine that's because no one's ever taken it from you."

"Better than you know."

Their eyes met and the tension resurfaced. It warmed the cool night's air, thick as it pressed against her skin. Like something that had slumbered and prowled in the shadows of desire and temptation for months, finally dared a step out its cage. She felt it settle low in her belly — dangerous, familiar, welcome.

They had been in these places before. A comment by him answered by a look from her. A tease and a brush of skin, never quite accidental but always restrained. Brief moments, over before any sense of temptation had the chance to arise.

And yet, the darkness seemed to whisper.

He moved as they rounded the greenhouse.

One smooth tug on her arm and before she could draw a full breath, the bulk of his body pressed her against the wall, still warm from the day's sun. His hands wrapped around her wrists, pinning her into place and for a moment her breath hitched, caught in her throat as his scent filled her lungs, as his nose brushed against hers, as his body trapped hers underneath.

Harper refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect of it, locking her eyes to his and letting the tease of a smile resurface.

"You wear control beautifully. Though I imagine that's because no one's ever taken it from you."

His voice was almost gravelly, rolling over her like a slow wave.

Harper tilted her head back, enough to meet his gaze through lowered lashes, eyes molten. She arched away from the wall, subtle, deliberate, pressing a fraction closer. "Is that a dare, Mr. Laurence?", she murmured silkily, smile stretching into a tantalizing curve. "Or a promise?"

"Is that a dare, Mr. Laurence?"

Her grin met his own, a mirror in the game he’d initiated. She had the innate talent of it, never shirking or shying away from his challenges, instead rising to the occasion nearly every time.

James thought he understood. Harper had always wanted to be seen as his equal, and she matched his every move with her own soft charms. Were he not a married man, were she not a halfblood, he’d imagined she’d be exactly the type of woman he’d chose for himself had he ever been given the privilege. While Amelia played the part of duchess beautifully and fulfilled the role of his wife without flaw, she wasn’t the woman he would have picked for himself.

He liked women that were unafraid. Women that understood their place but weren’t afraid to push those boundaries within the confines of his ambitions. Would Harper have made a good duchess? She certainly wasn’t the unquestioning, obedient type. She fell in line well enough but only as far as her own desires allowed.

Amelia was selfless. Harper was ambitious.

"Or a promise?"

His hands tightened slightly at her wrists, his senses drinking in the warm velvet of her words. “I don’t make promises,” his lips painted lightly over hers, his nerves buzzing over the touch that he’d withheld for months.

He didn’t kiss, but he could taste the evening’s wine on her lips, the softness of her breath promising tantalizing sensations if he’d only give in to the temptation.

He smiled against her lips before he pulled back, taking his teases with him. He released her wrists, but didn’t bother to put space between them yet. Something dangerous gleamed within brown orbs, as they drifted over her expressions, taking in the subtle freckles on her cheeks and the way the edge of her lips curled upward.

“Do you?”

No. James Laurence didn't make promises, men like him never did.

It wasn't what she wanted anyway. What she wanted was this — the challenge gleaming in his eyes, edging the curve of his smile. Something to intrigue her like things so rarely did, to keep her looking and playing. An opponent in a game that neither intended to lose.

The grip around her wrists tightened. It was the subtle tell Harper had aimed for. His small reactions that belied the air of unaffectedness he carried like a crown. The ghost of his lips over hers was not quite touch but it sent a ripple of heat curling into her core. It spread, warm and smooth. Controlled. Always controlled.

Her smile deepened as she lingered in it. Revelling in the suspended temptation of almost having him, toes poking over the edge of the cliff. The desire to give in but to stretch restraint thinner instead. Feeling the thread pull taut but pulling it impossibly tauter still. Staying motionless.

James pulled back, not by much, and the shadows of night framed him in luring danger. Her arms lowered to her sides but her hips shifted deliberately forward, closing the distance, the lightest touch. She hummed softly, smile deepening.

"Promises are fickle things," she mused lowly, her voice like lace and silk. Her gaze slid downward, away from his eyes, travelling over his lips, languid and unhurried as she raised one hand. The tip of her nail came to rest against the top button of his shirt.

"Unreliable." Slowly, she let her nail drag down, gaze following.

"Volatile." Her nail clacked against button after button.

"Weak."

Without breaking the flow of her motion, Harper slipped her finger behind the waistband of his trousers, hooking lightly. Her gaze flicked back up to his.

"I prefer action."