Being Harrison Bloom’s Girl

He would take whatever way he was offered to make that happen.

As if he had conjured up a solution to his problems, his phone beeped.

Harrison went still.

He couldn’t stop his heart’s initial leap of hope that it might be Leigh – Leigh, telling him that she had been wrong, that she would be his, after all.

But it was a matter of strength to quell that hope, and he felt some sense of accomplishment as he did it. When he did check his phone, he frowned.

The face on the phone was that of a very beautiful blonde with piercing green eyes, and he knew that she had a body that could make a man weep with the wonder of it.

Diane Masters, the only woman other than Leigh that he had ever really dated. Diane Masters, the only woman who had, at least for a time, helped him forget about Leigh.

Diane could help a man forget about anything. She was just that skilled at just about everything she put her mind to.

They had been only twenty-two when they’d met, and he’d still be struggling for his big break.

For the first time in years, he let himself sink back into those memories.

“Hello, cutie. I find my glass empty. Would you like to do something about it?”

He’d been at a bar he couldn’t really afford, after a meeting with an investor that he thought had done well. He’d been about to go home and celebrate with something he could afford better, but there she was, in that skintight dress that didn’t play at modesty or coyness, looking so absolutely gorgeous that he knew that every man in there envied him in that moment.

It had almost been enough to make him blow the rest of the month’s peanut butter budget on a fancy drink with a little pink umbrella in it, to keep that blonde bombshell with siren’s eyes as luscious lips next to him for a while longer.

But he’d always had enough sense to know when he was batting out of his league.

“I would like to, but I can’t, if I’d like to make rent. And I do enjoy having a roof over my head.”

She had tilted her head just a little, making her curls sway around her face, and her lips had curved in an intrigued smile.

“I think you might be the first man to ever turn me down. At least since I turned sixteen. For that, I must buy you a drink.”

She had slid on to the stool next to his as if she belonged by his side, grinned at him, and ordered him a whiskey – an excellent whiskey – and herself another margarita.

“There, now you have to stay and talk to me. Tell me your story, handsome.”

Harrison had smiled, and shrugged.

“My story is nothing special.”

“Well then, we should make it something special, shouldn’t we? What’s the point of living if every moment isn’t a part of a special story? I’m Diane Masters.”

Harrison had raised his glass to her.

“I’m Harrison Bloom. Here’s to an excellent story, Diane Masters.”

“I like how you’re thinking now. Here’s to all the stories in the world, and may they all be excellent.”

Harrison came back to the present and looked down at the phone, to find that it had gone dark. Diane had made him laugh, and pushed him to take chances he might not have otherwise. Of course, she had been a rich woman, at ease in places like that bar where he had met her. She had worn that privilege as easily as she would a designer gown, but she had done so without any of the pretensions that had always driven him mad.

Maybe it wasn’t surprising that, once they’d been thrown together, they had found in each other something they’d needed. Diane had needed a distraction from the life she led, where the only accomplishment expected from her was to marry well.

Harrison had needed a release from the nerves and tension of trying to build his own business. He had discovered that the skills involved in building an app came more easily to him than the skills needed to sell it – or the idea of it, which was what he had been doing then.

Of course, he had learned. Experience is a very tough teacher.

But he had needed a release and a distraction, and an outlet for some of the frustration that simmered just under the surface, so dangerously.

Diane had become that.

He had no illusions about the kind of relationship they’d shared. It had had nothing to do with love. Neither of them had pretended that it did.

It had had plenty to do with need, compulsion, even a fair range of obsession. They had embraced it, unhealthy or not, and had, in turns, brought out the best and worst in each other.

Then he had found his funding, sold the app, and found himself with more money than he’d ever wanted. He had lost the edge of desperation, and Diane had lost interest.

The parting hadn’t been amicable. There had been fire and ice. But time dulled all things, even resentment that had burned in him so deep and hot seven years ago.

So, why had Diane Masters called him?

Diane didn’t simply cross bridges. She burned them. They both knew that.

She only left behind people she could do without. For all her flaws, and she had plenty, Diane didn’t go back on her word. She had told him that he would never have her again.

So, why was she calling him now?

Curiosity made his finger hover over the button that he could tap to call her back. To be honest, it had been a shock to see that old photo of hers again. He had taken it himself, once day, after a night out on the town that had nearly ended in them both getting arrested for public indecency.

It would’ve been worth it, she had declared, and he had agreed.

Impulsively, he made up his mind and hit the button.

The phone rang, once, twice, three times, and he was about to cut the call when she answered.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Harrison Bloom.”

The reaction to her voice was visceral. It hadn’t changed in seven years. Her voice felt like the caress of soft lips touching him everywhere, promising him pleasure beyond anything he could possibly imagine.

Diane’s voice had always made the promises that she never made. She had always been so careful not to make any.

No, he would not think of Leigh. He would not compare.

“And if it isn’t Diane Masters. Turning up like a bad penny?”

Diane chuckled.

“You used to say that to me quite often. I’m afraid that’s what bad pennies do, Harrison. I see you’ve made something of yourself.”

“You’ve been off the radar.”

“I married a baron in exile and decided that Europe would be my playground.”

Harrison smiled. Of course she had done that.

“I’m surprised that Europe isn’t burning.”

“It’s too wet to burn, Harrison. You must know that. Or you would, if you decided to travel a little. I just got back in town. I’m no longer married to the baron, and no longer in exile. How about a drink?”