Page 57 of The Beekeeper

Pais mentioned a few times about the dance parties she and Harper would have out by the hives or in the house while I was running errands, but I never imagined this.

She spun a little too fast and bumped into the table. Jarring her from the trance-like dance, she jolted and stopped to rub her hip. And then her head lifted, her eyes colliding with mine through the window. Fucking fuck.

I didn’t even realize my hand had drifted to the front of my shorts and I’d been stroking myself with hard pumps, watching her. Wanting her. It was only a small miracle that my waist was below the frame, so while I could see her, she couldn’t see what she was doing to me.

But somehow, it felt like she knew.

Shit. I backpedaled from the window and stalked away, needing another kind of cool-down now. I took a walk up toward the hives, and it took a good ten minutes before my dick finally softened, and even then, only reluctantly. Now, I didn’t have time for a shower. I needed to grab my keys and go pick up Pais.

In. Keys. Out. Pretend you weren’t watching her.

I walked inside with a simple plan, but as soon as I entered the living room, my feet stopped in place.

Harper’s music was lower and she wasn’t dancing anymore, but she was still filling jars with honey that matched the color of her almost non-existent clothes.

Our stares met again.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” I clipped. “Just need to grab my keys.”

“I didn’t realize you were back,” she confessed, filling the jar in her hand. She swiped some excess away with her thumb and then carefully sealed it. “You scared me.”

“I went out for a run,” I offered as some kind of explanation. “And then heard loud noises as I was walking back.”

“Oh.” She licked the drop of honey off her thumb, and my simple plan turned to shit. “How’d it go today?”

I winced. “Who knows,” I muttered. “How’d your post do today?”

Of course, I’d checked, but I wanted to hear from her. She might see my comments defending her from time to time but that was different than admitting the close tabs I kept on her socials.

Her head tipped, a strand of hair falling over her forehead. “Who knows,” she quipped.

I frowned when she mirrored my response. I could’ve left it at that—walls up, guarded answers, but I was so…frustrated, and I could only vent to Wade so many times when it was his job to reassure me.

“They interrogated me about everything. My life. My past. My career. My future. It was basically a two-hour cavity search performed with spiked gloves.”

Harper winced at the analogy. “I’m sorry,” she offered, and I watched her arms lower in increments from her chest. “The post is doing good—engagement topped all the others so far.”

“And all this?” My eyes shifted to the table.

Harper had a routine, I’d learned over the last couple weeks living with her—a routine I couldn’t help but notice that fit like a puzzle piece with mine and Paisley’s. Administrative tasks or deliveries in the morning and then either spending the afternoon at the hives or a quick walk up there followed by a few hours of jarring honey. Either of these two things, my daughter usually begged to help, and I was grateful she always said yes to Paisley.

I fantasized what it would sound like if she were saying yes to me. If she were screaming it.

Harper bit her lip, and a blush rose to her cheeks. Damn, she looked so fucking delectable when she blushed.

“My aunt’s store, the inn, and Frankie’s shop are all sold out of Cinn-sational.”

“Really?” I rasped, taking a few steps closer.

She nodded. “I’ve also had four other local businesses reach out this week about carrying my stuff in their stores.”

“That’s what we were aiming for,” I said, clearing the hoarseness from my throat. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she said but bit back a smile.

“That’s a good thing, right?”