Chapter 71
Aria's POV
I slouched lower in my car, adjusting the seat to minimize my presence while watching the drama unfold twenty feet away. Caroline—Devon's picture-perfect fiancée—stood with mascara streaming down her cheeks, her pristine image shattered by genuine emotion.
"You have to be this cruel, don't you?" she demanded, her voice echoing through the concrete parking structure. "You know I have no real feelings for Devon!"
Noah leaned against a concrete pillar, his handsome face contorted with what appeared to be genuine pain. As heir to the Pierce Hotel Group and one of Devon's oldest friends, he usually exuded confidence, but now he looked tortured.
"What do you want from me, Caroline?" He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "This was never going to work. Devon is a good man. Marrying him is the ideal outcome for everyone involved."
"Everyone except me," she shot back, voice breaking. "Noah, I truly regret ever meeting you."
She turned sharply, her designer heels clicking against concrete as she stormed toward the elevator. Noah remained frozen, watching her departure before finally pushing away from the pillar and heading in the opposite direction.
So this was the reality behind New York's most anticipated society wedding—the bride-to-be in love with the groom's best friend. I shouldn't have been surprised. In my experience, money and status rarely brought happiness, only more elaborate ways to hide misery.
I waited until both had disappeared before sitting up straight, exhaling slowly. My plan for a discreet exit was interrupted by a sharp knock on my window that made me jump.
Devon Kane stood outside my car, his expression unreadable in the dim garage lighting. My stomach dropped as I realized he must have witnessed everything too—his fiancée's confession, his friend's betrayal. I lowered the window, struggling to maintain composure.
"Enjoyed the show?" His voice was surprisingly steady for a man who'd just discovered such a betrayal.
"I... I didn't see anything," I stammered, the lie pathetically transparent.
"Of course not." His mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. Without invitation, he walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid into the seat beside me. "Drive."
I hesitated, my hand hovering over the ignition. "Where to?"
"Just drive."
I started the car, navigating out of the garage and into Manhattan's evening traffic. The city lights blurred around us as we moved in silence, the low hum of the jazz station the only sound between us. Devon stared out the window, his jawline tense, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he hadn't slept in days.
After several minutes of excruciating silence, I ventured, "You know, being betrayed isn't the end of the world—"
"Are you trying to comfort me, Harper?" He turned, one eyebrow slightly raised.
Before I could respond, his hand shot out, encircling my wrist. His grip was firm but not painful. "Do you know there are other ways to comfort someone?"
My pulse quickened. "Mr. Kane, I think you need to cool down."
Instead of releasing me, he tugged me toward him with surprising strength, pulling me across the center console until I was practically in his lap, my back pressed against his chest.
"Let go," I said, turning my head to face him, my breathing suddenly shallow. "This isn't the solution to your problems."
His fingers traced my cheek, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "No? What about this kind of comfort?"
His lips crashed against mine with an intensity that stole my breath. My hands instinctively pressed against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. I told myself I was pushing him away, but my fingers curled into the fabric instead.
"Stop," I murmured between kisses, though my voice lacked conviction. "We shouldn't..."
His hand slid to my waist, warm palm finding skin where my blouse had ridden up. "Do you really want me to stop?"
I couldn't answer honestly. My body was betraying my better judgment, responding to his touch with embarrassing eagerness. His kisses softened, his tongue gently parting my lips. I turned in his arms, straddling him, my fingers threading through his surprisingly soft black hair.
"I shouldn't want this," I whispered against his mouth, our foreheads touching. "But..."
Devon unbuttoned my blouse with practiced ease, his fingers tracing the birthmark on my collarbone. "This mark," he murmured, "I noticed it the first time I saw you."
I closed my eyes as his mouth moved from my neck to my collarbone, each point of contact sending shivers across my skin. The confined space made our movements awkward; his watch scraped against the seat, the metallic sound breaking through my haze for just a moment.
"We should stop," I said, even as my hands worked at his belt buckle.
"Is that what you want?" His breathing had grown heavier, his gray eyes darkened with desire.
My answer came not in words but in actions as I unzipped his trousers, feeling his obvious arousal. His hands moved beneath my skirt, skillfully removing the last barriers between us. I trembled at his touch, my body reacting with a mind of its own.
When we finally joined, I bit my lip to stifle a moan, beads of sweat forming on my forehead from the intensity and the confined space.
"Look at me," Devon commanded, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see your eyes."
I opened my eyes, meeting his gray gaze, surprised by the complexity of emotions I found there. The windows had fogged with our breath, the car rocking slightly with our movements, the outside world completely forgotten.
Just before the wave of pleasure crested, Devon pulled me tightly against him, whispering in my ear, "Only around you do I feel sleepy. Have you drugged me, Harper?"
I closed my eyes tightly, my nails digging into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure washed over me, too powerful to fight.
Afterward, the reality of what we'd done settled over us like the condensation on the windows. Devon straightened his clothing methodically, then made a brief phone call instructing his assistant to bring a set of women's clothing to the parking garage.
The assistant arrived with alarming efficiency, delivering a beautifully packaged garment bag without so much as a curious glance in my direction. I changed quickly, grateful for the fresh clothes but uncomfortable with how easily he had anticipated my needs.
To my surprise, Devon didn't leave. Instead, he slid into the driver's seat and started the car.
"Where are we going?" I asked, genuinely confused.
"Too much physical activity makes me hungry," he replied matter-of-factly as he navigated through Manhattan's night traffic. The city lights painted his profile in alternating shadows and highlights, emphasizing his sharp features.
As we passed a pharmacy, I suddenly said, "Pull over."
Devon glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in question, but he complied without comment, bringing the car to a smooth stop in front of the store.
I got out, my legs slightly unsteady, and walked quickly into the pharmacy. Minutes later, I returned with a small paper bag, sliding back into the passenger seat.
"What did you buy?" Devon asked directly.
I met his gaze evenly as I removed the morning-after pill from its packaging. "Does Mr. Kane want me showing up pregnant one day, demanding you take responsibility?"
I swallowed the pill right there, while he watched. In my experience, New York's financial elite rarely took responsibility for the complications that came after one-night stands, no matter how passionate. And despite whatever was happening between us, I wasn't about to let a moment of weakness change the course of my life.
Devon said nothing, but his eyes remained on me a moment longer than necessary before he put the car back in drive and pulled away from the curb.