She looked at the people rubbing up against each other on the dance floor. They all seemed to know what they were doing and moved like professional dancers. The club was for people in the know. And that definitely didn’t describe her.
She frowned at the man who was deliberately elbowing his way into her life. “No,” she said. “No, I’m not ready.”
“Don’t worry.” He took her hand and dragged her toward the dancers. “I promise you; this won’t hurt at all.” When they reached the edge of the dance floor, he asked, “Do you want a drink first, or do you want to dance?”
“I don’t want to do anything here. What I do want is to go home. I can’t believe you thought this would help us with our cover. It’s a stupid idea.”
“No, it’s a great idea. By the end of the night, we’ll be so comfortable with each other it will be obvious to anyone who sees us. Gotta stop that gossip, Rachel.”
She wasn’t buying that ‘we’ rubbish. He meant her. She was the one who jerked away every time he moved to touch her. It wasn’t deliberate. She just wasn’t comfortable with public displays of affection, especially ones coming from colleagues. And as much as he might want things to be different between them, she couldn’t get past seeing him as purely a colleague.
No, that wasn’t true.
She definitely noticed Harvard as a man. But she didn’t want to. Because every instinct told her that if she were to give the man an inch, he’d take everything. And Rachel couldn’t allow herself to be that vulnerable with anyone. She’d been vulnerable once, and it had been devastating.
“What will it be?” he said. “Drink or dance?”
Oh, she wanted the drink. But if she asked for one, it would only extend their time in the club. How bad could this be, really? She’d survived formal dancing in high school; she could get through this. Right?
“Dance,” she said determinedly. “Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said as he nodded to a few faces he recognized and dragged her onto the floor.
The music thrummed through Harvard’s veins, the vibrations and rhythm making him sway. He loved to dance. He loved the darkness of the clubs, the beat of the music, the mass of bodies on the dance floor. It was his happy place, and he’d relaxed as soon as they’d walked through the door. Rachel, on the other hand, looked like a rock at the edge of the ocean with waves crashing over it.
“This isn’t going to work.” She raised her voice to be heard over the music. “I studied ballet as a child, and I can waltz. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t even know what they’re doing.” She pointed to a couple in the middle of the dance floor. “I think they might be having sex.”
Trying not to laugh, he held out his hands for her to take. “Don’t panic; I’ll teach you.”
“I never panic.” Her eyebrow arched. “Do you actually know how to dance like this?”
He reached forward and took her hands in his. “Why would I bring you here if I didn’t?”
She looked genuinely perplexed. “I did wonder.”
“I think this evening will go much better if you don’t talk. Now watch my feet. We’re gonna go left to right in a straight line. Two small steps, keeping your legs under your body, don’t stretch them out, then tap and repeat it in the other direction. Got me?”
“I think I can manage to move side to side.” She could also manage a quick stamp on his toes for pissing her off.
“Okay, let’s go then.” They moved together flawlessly. “That’s great. Now loosen your hips. Look around you. See the sinuous way the other women are moving?”
Her hands tightened in his as she glanced around. “I’m not sure that’s physically possible. Are you sure these people are English? Because the English weren’t born to move like that. We have different joints. They’re stiffer. Like our upper lips.”
Man, she was funny. “I’ve seen the way those hips of yours sway when you’re walking away from me. You were totally born to move like that. Give it a try; see how it feels.”
They stepped side to side some more while Rachel focused on loosening her hips. And it was focus. She looked like she was sitting an exam—in a subject she hated.
A woman twirled close to them and beamed at Rachel. “Lo estás haciendo genial, cariño,” she said, and then she was gone again, dancing into the crowd.
“She said you’re doing great,” Harvard told her.
“You speak Spanish?” Again, she looked surprised that he wasn’t all brawn and no brain. It was just as well Harvard wasn’t an insecure man because Rachel would rip one of those to shreds.
“Yeah. Now, we’re gonna try moving back and forth together. You ready?”
“It’s walking, Harvard. I’ve been doing it for thirty years.”
“Okay, three steps forward, then back, tap behind your foot with your other toe when you stop. I’ll lead with my left, so it’s right foot forward for you. Here we go. And don’t forget those hips.”
Rachel frowned in concentration as they moved together.
“Not bad,” he encouraged. “Now let’s try some turns.” He took his time, talking her through some more basic moves. “I’m gonna spin you and bring you back against me, and then we’ll move together. Your back to my front. Okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded. Harvard spun her out and drew her back quickly. With her back pressed to his front, their hips moved in rhythm together. He flattened his right hand on her stomach while his left still held her left hand against his chest.
Her long sleek hair brushed against his arm as she gazed up at him. “What do I do with my free hand?”
“Whatever you want.” He lifted his chin toward a couple close to them, who were dancing the same way. The woman’s hand covered her partner’s on her stomach, as her face turned into his throat. They moved in perfect sensual movement, lost in each other and the beat of the music.
Slowly, tentatively, Rachel rested her hand on his. He resisted the urge to tighten his hold, to pull her even closer. Instead, he quietly talked her through some other moves, feeling the loss when they separated.
But it wasn’t for long. Harvard pulled her into his arms, in the classic hold used for a waltz, only closer, and rested one hand on her hip while the other held hers against his chest. Their bodies touched as they moved, repeating the footwork they’d already learned, but this time, fully together.
It was perfect. Rachel’s ballet lessons came back to her, and she moved easily with the music, gradually relaxing in his hold. Harvard gently tugged her closer, resting his cheek against her hair as the music engulfed them. The tension eased from her body as she sank into the beat, her movements gradually becoming more sensual and lyrical.
Feeling her soften, watching her let go, was one of the best experiences of his life so far. For the first time since they’d met, he felt like she was allowing him to see a part of her that people rarely—if ever—saw. The honor of her trust made his chest swell with pride.
Harvard was realistic. He knew that the sarcastic, cutting, painfully smart woman who tormented everyone around was who Rachel truly was. He didn’t have some misguided savior complex. There was no believing that with the right man to love her, she’d transform into someone lighter and more forgiving. No, he liked Rachel exactly as she was, bitchy tendencies and all. But he suspected there was more to her than met the eye. A soft little underbelly that she never exposed to anyone.
And he wanted to be the man she trusted enough to let him see it.
Which meant baby steps. Because you didn’t win the trust of an alpha female overnight. That took time, patience, and an ego made of Teflon.
This wasn’t like the nightclub experiences Rachel remembered from her youth. Those dark, crowded dance floors where you either moved around beside someone but never touched or fought off some guy who wanted to rub himself against you. This was different. More intimate. And…safer.
While she couldn’t explain it, she could feel the difference.
It was as though Harvard created a little box with his arms, defining how far she could move from him. It was a box that no one else was allowed to enter, one meant for them alone. A place where she could relax and let herself go. Where she was protected. Where she was secure.
She shook her head at the thoughts as her body moved to the rhythm of the music. No one looked at her; they were all lost in their own little worlds. No one knew who she was or expected anything from her. It was freeing.
And with each step she took, her muscles remembered what it meant to dance, to move in synchronicity with someone else. It wasn’t like ballet, nothing like it, although the movements were familiar. But where ballet was all about distance, comportment, grace, this was about closeness, sensuality, and expression. It was a strange new world. One Rachel found she enjoyed exploring.
As she followed Harvard’s lead on the dance floor, the rest of the world faded to insignificance. There was only the darkness, the music, and the feeling of their bodies as they touched and moved together. For the first time in years, there was peace in her busy mind.
Harvard didn’t push her boundaries, didn’t try to make the experience more intimate than it naturally was. His hands didn’t stray; his touch didn’t linger. And yet, each gentle brush of his skin against hers was a caress that sank straight into the depth of her being.
He did that thing again, where he cradled her against him, her back to his front as they moved. Her hips swayed of their own accord, feeling his strength, his solidity against her, and her eyes drifted closed. In that moment, there was only the man guiding their dance and her own desire to move.
The music changed, and Harvard turned her. “Put your arms around my neck,” he whispered against her ear.
Her arms obeyed before she made the conscious decision to follow his instruction. His hands on her hips, they moved to the new beat, and Harvard’s low voice sang softly to her. Rachel didn’t understand the language, but she understood the feeling behind the words. He was serenading her.
Her breasts flattened against his chest as her hips swayed under his hands. Eyes closed, she pressed her face into his throat, breathing in his ocean scent. He smelled of adventure. Of freedom. Of beautiful, clean waves.
“What does it mean?” she whispered, her voice so low and intimate she barely recognized it.
“It’s a love song,” he murmured. “The singer is desperately in love with his woman, and no one can understand how deep it is. It’s beyond anything ever seen before. It’s eternal. Immortal. That’s what the song’s called: Inmortal,” he finished in Spanish.
“I…like it.”
“I do too.” One of his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.
She didn’t feel vulnerable or exposed; she felt strong and courageous. Because he made it possible for her to feel that way. There was no judgment in anything he did or said, no expectation. Only delight…and promise. As though he knew he was giving her a safe space, somewhere just to be.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked. “Do you want a drink?”
For once, the experience of someone taking care of her didn’t grate. “Let’s keep dancing,” she said as she turned in his arms. She liked having him at her back, resting her head against his shoulder, feeling his arms around her.
“Whatever you want.” He nuzzled her temple.
As the music flowed over and through her, Rachel let herself be transported into an alternate dimension where she didn’t always have to be in control. A place where there was no need to be on her guard or constantly proving herself to people who should have already figured out how capable she was. Here, in this moment, with the music and the man, she could just be Rachel.
And she found she liked it very much.
They danced until close to midnight, stopping to sip water, but not saying very much to each other. Rachel was grateful. She didn’t see the need to dissect the evening. They’d come to dance and get used to each other, and that’s what they were doing. The last thing she wanted was any comment about her enjoying herself. Mainly, she was just hoping Harvard hadn’t noticed.
When he walked her to their taxi, Rachel found herself leaning into his touch instead of away from it. And they sat close beside each other all the way back to Kensington. Neither of them commented on their thighs touching.
They made their way downstairs to their bedrooms in silence but paused before opening their doors.
“Successful night,” Harvard said, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans, making her wonder if it was an attempt to keep from touching her. He’d reached for her so frequently throughout the evening that it almost felt strange to have any distance between them now.
“I’m glad,” Rachel said. “Hopefully, people won’t have any suspicions about our fake relationship now.”
“Hopefully.” His smile made her stomach flip flop. “Good night, Rachel.”
She put her hand on her door and hesitated. “You know, it might be a good idea to go dancing again—once or twice. Just to make sure we do everything we can to maintain our cover.”
He didn’t turn back to her, but she could have sworn he was smiling. “Say the word, and I’ll take you anytime you want. Anything for the mission, you know that.”
“Exactly.” Rachel walked into her room and quietly closed the door behind her.
Chapter Twelve
Over the next week, Rachel found she’d settled into a kind of routine with Harvard. They went dancing whenever she asked him to take her—purely to help them maintain their cover, of course. She let him drive her to work and home again, and during the day, he wandered in and out of her office at random times, doing who knows what the rest of the time. He’d soon made friends at TayFor, showing his skill for obtaining information from people without them even knowing it was happening.
He usually updated her on what he’d uncovered over a shared dinner. Sometimes they ordered in. Sometimes he cooked. And he was a surprisingly good cook. Rachel had begun to wonder if there was anything Harvard couldn’t do well, because the list of his skills seemed infinite.
Which irritated her no end.
“What’s up with you?” he asked as they entered her apartment.
That was another thing. She was never alone. Either Harvard was in her space, just being there, using the air. Or everyone assigned to the TayFor investigation was hanging out around her dining table, talking over their progress. Why, she didn’t know. Because they weren’t making any progress. One week after finding the memory card reader, and they still had no clue who’d put it there.
She threw her suit jacket over the back of one of her sofas. At this rate, the investigation would never end, and Harvard would have moved in with her permanently. And how was she supposed to resist him then? He was upending her whole life—a life she’d managed to arrange perfectly to suit herself. And he smiled while he did it. That damn sexy smile of his was a continual temptation.
He was driving her mad.
“Rachel,” he said in that way of his that made her name sound intimate. “You want to tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been in a foul mood since you woke up this morning, and I can’t understand it because you were fine after we came home last night.”
She rounded on him. “This is not your home. It’s my home.”
“I know that.” Harvard stared at her as though he could see right through her. “And I appreciate you allowing me to stay here for the duration.”
“That’s the thing; I didn’t allow it.” She threw up her hands in disgust. “You just moved in and took over. You’re everywhere.” She gestured around her living room.
“Not sure I understand what you mean,” he said. “I keep my belongings to the guest room. Everywhere else looks exactly as it did before I moved in.”
“It’s not. It’s all different.” Rachel stormed over to the fridge on the heels she hadn’t bothered to kick off, wishing the pencil skirt she wore wasn’t quite so tight so she could take bigger steps. Throwing open the
fridge, she pointed inside. “There’s food in here,” she accused.
“Okay, I don’t see—”
She cut him off. “There was never any food in there before you moved in. It’s like I don’t even know my own fridge anymore. And then there’s your smell.”
“I smell?”
“No. Yes. You don’t smell bad. You smell like the blasted ocean. And it’s everywhere. What do you do? Douse yourself in aftershave, then rub up against the furniture like a cat? Are you marking your territory? Because this is my territory.”
“I know it’s your territory, and I don’t rub myself against anything.” Harvard shot her a look that was equal parts confusion and amusement, which just irritated her more. “I’m trying to be a sensitive and considerate guest and keep out of your way.”
“Well stop it. It’s driving me crazy.” She glared at the kitchen counter. “You make coffee in the mornings. You stock the fridge with pastries. You cook dinner, and it tastes like something I’d order from the Savoy. Which I don’t understand. When did you have time to learn to cook when you were off being a spy? It isn’t normal. None of this is normal.” She pointed at him. “You aren’t normal.”
“Okaaaaay, should I stop cooking?”
“Yes! And while you’re at it, stop being so damned perfect at everything else.” Rachel started pacing the length of the living room. “You cook, you dance, you sing in Spanish, you smell like the beach in summer, you make friends easily, you clean up after yourself.” She came to a halt in front of him and poked at his chest. “You look like that! Muscles everywhere. Which I don’t understand because I never see you work out. And then there’s the way you dress…it’s too sophisticated. I mean, look at you. A stylist at Selfridges couldn’t have done a better job of putting you together.”
She waved a hand down his body, indicating the bespoke suit in the perfect shade of pale gray that he’d teamed with a crisp white shirt and a classic Rolex. A Rolex!
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