He's a cynic. She's a romantic. One deal, one wedding, and one gigantic secret stand between them.
**
Harper Lane wants to believe in true love. After her parents split, she began photographing evidence of it. Couples holding hands. Valentine's Day...
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Harper usually loved airports.
Heathrow Airport was — in the eternal words of Hugh Grant — the very best place to find love everywhere. Elderly couples kissing hello at the arrivals gate. Reunited friends slapping each other on the back. Honeymooners purchasing sunscreen for their beach holiday. Harper could have taken a dozen photos just in the check-in line.
But she didn't.
Truthfully, Harper hadn't touched her camera in days; it swung from her shoulder like a useless third limb. She'd blamed it on the sling at first, but now, it was obvious what the real problem was.
Lawson.
Harper sighed, wheeling her suitcase forward. That smug, charming English asshole; he was ruining her life, the same way that light exposure ruined a photograph. Or water damage ruined a camera.
And worse, she didn't want to stop it.
She thought of Lawson's face that night on the dance floor, the way his green eyes glowed like twin emeralds in the darkness. His hands on her waist. His warm breath stirring her ear. Something irreplaceable, he'd said.
Had he meant that?
A speaker chimed overhead, announcing a departing flight. Suitcase wheels clattered over the dusty floor. Harper glanced up; she was almost at the front of the line. The Delta sign drew closer, and a ball of dread knotted in her stomach.
No.
She couldn't do it. Not without saying goodbye.
Harper yanked her suitcase sideways, turning for the exit.
And abruptly walked into something.
Strong hands steadied her. Familiar strong hands, Harper thought dizzily, calloused and long-fingered, and—
Holy shit.
Lawson smiled. "Surprise?"
He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a hoodie, his socks jammed into slides, as if he hadn't been planning on leaving the house. The bruise on his cheekbone had faded, turning the shade of pear skin. She blinked.
"You— I— how?"
Lawson's smile grew. "Always so eloquent, Ohio." He released her. "Griffin told me where you were."
"He did?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry." Harper wheeled her suitcase back and forth. "I shouldn't have left Huntingdon Estate without speaking to you first. It was childish. I just couldn't..." She looked away. "I knew if I saw you, it would hurt me all over again. And I wasn't sure that I could deal with that."
Lawson's jaw tightened. "It kills me that I've hurt you."
