Chapter 23: The Sunlit Spark

Harper woke Thursday morning in her Brooklyn apartment, sunlight streaming through the blinds, her body still buzzing from yesterday's penthouse shower with Zane Carver. The memory of his hands pinning her wrists to the glass, water soaking her clothes, their hips grinding through wet fabric—it lingered like a fever, a heat she couldn't shake. She'd left him at the elevator, his growled You're still mine echoing as she'd fled, and slept restlessly, dreaming of his touch, his trust, the edge they'd danced on. Today, 8 a.m., terrace tweaks at the penthouse, and she felt the pull—work a flimsy excuse for the real game between them.She dressed with a summery edge: a white crop top that bared her midriff, high-waisted denim shorts, sandals—light, playful, the top teasing a hint of lace beneath, a provocation she knew he'd catch. Her tablet held the tweaks—new lounge chairs, a shade adjustment, a small fire pit—but her mind was on him, on how he'd push, how she'd push back. Coffee steadied her hands as she grabbed her bag, the subway ride to Manhattan a blur of anticipation, her pulse a steady thrum by the time she stepped into the penthouse elevator, the city gleaming under a clear sky.The doors opened at 8:02 a.m., and the space was alive—soft rock drifting from the speakers, the scent of coffee and citrus wafting from the kitchen. Zane stood on the terrace, barefoot in dark shorts and a gray tank, his hair tousled by the breeze, his gray eyes lighting up as she stepped out. The walnut table gleamed inside, flowers still drooping from their wine-soaked chaos, but out here, the sun bathed the concrete expanse—hot tub bubbling, city sprawling below—and his smirk was all mischief, a promise of trouble."Late again," he said, his voice a low drawl, tossing a bottle of water her way as he crossed to her, stopping close enough that she caught his cedar-and-sweat scent. "Sun too bright for you?""Two minutes," she shot back, catching the bottle, dropping her bag on a lounge chair with a grin. "You're still upright.""Barely." His gaze raked over her—the crop top, the shorts, lingering on her bare stomach—before flicking back to her face. "Terrace tweaks?"She nodded, pulling out her tablet, spreading the sketches on a glass table—new chairs in teak, a shade sail tweak, a compact fire pit for nights like Paris. "Warmer vibe, still sleek. Thoughts?"He leaned over the table beside her, his arm brushing hers, his breath warm against her temple. "Chairs look good—comfy. Fire pit's smart—keeps it alive out here.""Thought so." She smirked, her hip nudging his—a playful shove that sparked heat despite her intent to keep it tame. "Anything to tweak?"He grinned, snagging the water bottle back, taking a swig before handing it to her, his fingers brushing hers. "Shade could angle more—less glare. Like your top—distracting.""Distracting?" She arched a brow, sipping the water, the cool liquid grounding her as she leaned closer, her bare midriff grazing his arm. "That's your problem.""Shared burden." His hand brushed her waist, lingering on the exposed skin, fingers teasing the edge of her shorts as he pointed at the sketch. "This pit—gas or wood?""Gas," she said, her voice catching as his fingers dipped lower, brushing her hip, sparking a shiver. "Easier. Cleaner.""Good call." He stepped closer, his hand sliding to her lower back, gripping gently as he set the bottle down. "You're full of them."Her pulse jumped, his touch pulling her in, and she tilted her head, smirking up at him. "You're full of something.""Sunshine?" He laughed, low and rough, his free hand snagging her wrist, tugging her against him—chest to chest, the lounge chair bumping her thighs. "Or trouble?""Both," she shot back, shoving at his chest, but he didn't budge—just grinned, his hands sliding to her hips, lifting her onto the chair with a swift, playful hoist. She gasped, her legs dangling, the teak warm under her shorts as he stepped between them, his hands bracing beside her."Testing the chair?" she teased, her hands flattening against his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken as she pushed, playful but firm."Testing you," he growled, leaning in, his lips hovering over hers, his breath hot with sun and want. "Sturdy enough?""Let's see." She hooked a leg around his hip, tugging him closer, her hands fisting in his tank, pulling him down as their mouths brushed—not a kiss, not yet, just a hard press of lips, a tussle for dominance. He groaned, his hands sliding to her ass, pulling her flush against him, and she laughed, breathless, shoving him back only to yank him in again, a sunlit wrestle that tipped them sideways.They rolled, the chair creaking under their weight, her tablet wobbling on the table as she straddled him, her hands pinning his wrists above his head, her hips rocking against his—hard, evident through his shorts. "Got you," she panted, her crop top riding up, flashing lace as she grinned down at him, triumphant."Not yet," he rasped, bucking up, flipping her onto her back with a swift twist, his body pinning hers, the teak digging into her spine. She moaned, loud and unrestrained, her legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him tight as he ground against her, slow and deliberate, the sun beating down, warming their skin."Zane—" Her voice broke, her hands clawing at his back, tugging his tank up to rake her nails over bare skin, drawing a growl from his throat. His mouth found her neck, kissing the fading bruise, his teeth grazing as she arched, her shorts tight against her thighs, the friction sparking through her core."Harper—" His growl was rough, needy, his hands sliding under her top, fingers splaying over her bare stomach, brushing the edge of her bra as he rocked harder, the chair groaning under their chaos. She whimpered, her nails digging in, and he groaned, his lips hovering over hers, teasing, tasting her breath as their bodies moved—sun-warmed, wild, teetering on the edge."Fuck, you're a wildfire," he muttered, his hand tugging at her shorts, loosening the button, baring a sliver of lace as he thrust against her, the rhythm building, clothes a maddening barrier. She laughed, shaky and desperate, her hands fisting his hair, pulling him down, their mouths brushing—a whisper of a kiss that made her moan again, louder, the city humming below them.But then—damn it—a sharp gust of wind hit, the shade sail flapping, knocking the water bottle off the table, a cold splash that broke the spell. He froze, his chest heaving, cursing under his breath as he pulled back, his hands still on her, trembling with restraint. "Shit," he panted, sitting up, dragging her with him, water pooling around their feet."Timing," she gasped, sliding off the chair, her legs shaky, smoothing her top with trembling hands, her body a live wire of frustration and want."Always," he muttered, grabbing another bottle from a cooler, his eyes dark with hunger, watching her. "Tomorrow, 7 a.m. Office tweaks again. No chairs.""No promises," she said, smirking despite the ache, grabbing her tablet as she headed for the elevator, her hips swaying deliberately, sun warming her back. "See you, Carver.""Harper—" His voice stopped her, rough with promise as the doors opened. "You're still mine."She didn't reply, just stepped inside, the doors closing on his silhouette—tank rumpled, eyes blazing, the terrace a mess behind him. Her apartment welcomed her with silence, the couch a poor substitute for his arms, but she sank into it, her body still humming, the tussle replaying—his hands, his heat, the edge they'd teetered on. Tomorrow loomed, and she knew—damn it—she'd burn with him again.