Rich: Benson Security 5

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  “How can you even afford a Rolex? You worked for the CIA.” She stopped talking as a thought occurred to her. “Please tell me that this perfect version of you isn’t real and that you made your money being a double agent.” She held her breath, waiting for the answer. Hoping her guess was right.

  “You want me to be a traitor?” The look in Harvard’s eye made it clear he was worried about her.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “I want a sign. Just one sign. That you aren’t so perfect that you practically come wrapped in the original packaging.”

  She watched his muscles flex while he hung his suit jacket over the back of one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

  “So, let me get this straight.” He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt. “You think I’m too perfect, and it’s driving you nuts. Is that right?”

  He rolled up the sleeve to just below his elbow, and it was mesmerizing. And sensual. Why was it sensual?

  Watching him do the same to his other sleeve, she licked her lips. “Yes. Being around you is frustrating.” Watching a man roll up his shirt sleeves shouldn’t be sexy. “And stop doing that too.” She pointed at him.

  Harvard froze mid-roll. “Fixing my sleeves?”

  “Yes. You’re deliberately flirting with me when there’s no need. We’re alone. We don’t need to protect our cover. Stop being so sexy.”

  They’d unintentionally worn matching gray outfits for the day, although Rachel had teamed her gray skirt with a pink blouse. Along with everything else, the matching aspect annoyed her. They weren’t the bloody Beckhams. They were nothing to each other except colleagues. Annoying, irritating, always-together colleagues.

  “We need some new rules,” she said. “No more dancing. We’ve danced enough. No more cooking for me. I can order food in. And get rid of that aftershave, or deodorant, or whatever it is. In fact, I’ll buy you a new one. One that smells terrible. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Harrods is still open; I can get one there.”

  As she strode past him to fetch her handbag, Harvard’s hand shot out, and he grasped her arm. He twirled her into his hold, the same way he’d done a thousand times while they danced. Suddenly, Rachel found herself pressed back against his body. His hand on her stomach as his scent and warmth enfolded her.

  “What are you doing?” She sounded breathless. Her heart raced out of control, and she felt as though she were frozen in amber, waiting to be freed.

  “I’m fixing the problem,” he said as he nuzzled her hair with his jaw. “I’m gonna address each of your issues for you. First”—he held her left hand in his as he swayed to music only he could hear—“I’m far from perfect. I can be arrogant and manipulative when I want something bad enough, or when it comes to my job. I don’t like anyone messing with me professionally. If they do, there are always repercussions.”

  Rachel sank back against him, her body already trained to relax against his from the few evenings they’d spent dancing.

  “Second, I can only cook about half a dozen meals real well,” Harvard’s deep voice rumbled. “After that, it’s hit or miss. And the coffee you drink every morning? That’s delivered. My coffee sucks.”

  She angled her head to look up at him. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

  “I’ll wake you tomorrow before it arrives. And that’s the third point on my list. While you’re still sleeping, I’m working out in the gym in the basement or running around Hyde Park. These muscles require an effort to maintain, and staying in shape for my job is important to me. Having you pay attention to them doesn’t do my ego any harm either.”

  “It wasn’t like I was studying you,” she huffed. “The muscles are big, and you’re often in my line of sight. It would be impossible not to notice.”

  He brushed a kiss against her hair. “And lastly, the deodorant that offends you? That’s gonna have to stay, because I don’t think it’s offense you feel, Rachel. I think you like that scent a little too much.”

  She started to shake her head, but he spun her out and back into him. This time, their bodies were pressed front to front, his palm flat against the small of her back.

  “As for my imperfections, they’re too many to list,” he said softly, holding her gaze with his.

  “Try,” Rachel ordered, but there wasn’t the same demand behind it as usual. She was more interested in the sensation of his shirt under her fingers as she stroked his chest.

  “Okay then, gotta tell you that I’m a bed hog,” he said, gently moving them to a silent rhythm. “I also poke my nose into everything that interests me. I’m stubborn. It’s well known that I don’t have much of a temper, but there have been occasions where I’ve punched first and asked questions later. And, although it may look like I’m the master of self-control, I think I’ve reached the limit where you’re concerned. As for me being too sexy, whatever I’m doing, I intend to keep on doing because I want to tempt you. I want you to touch me.”

  Harvard lowered his head until his lips were against her ear. A shiver went through her at the feeling of his breath against her skin, and she felt like she was melting inside. “We’re never gonna stop dancing, Rachel, not if I have my way. So you can forget about that rule. As for your other frustrations, I’m pretty sure I have the solution for those too.”

  Damn, he was far too cocky for her own good. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  His cheek brushed against hers, and then their mouths were touching. Just a whisper of a touch. Yet it was enough to make all of her concerns disappear. She waited, aching to know what he’d do next. Hoping it would be everything she needed to calm the raging unrest within. To still the hunger inside of her that had been there since Joe’s and Julia’s wedding in Peru, when she’d first told Harvard to go to hell.

  “No, Rachel. I haven’t been sure of anything since I met you.” His words were butterfly kisses against her lips. “All I know is that I’ve been waiting forever to kiss you.”

  As her knees weakened, she was glad his hold on her was firm and strong. “You’ve only known me a few months.”

  “And yet, I’ve been waiting a lifetime.” And with that, his lips gently brushed over hers. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  It was the same order he’d given on the dancefloor, and again, she found herself complying without a second thought. “What now?” she whispered.

  “Whatever you want,” was the reply.

  “Then show me if you kiss as perfectly as you do everything else.”

  “When you put it that way, it makes me feel as though I have to screw this up to get you to like me.”

  “Poor you. Such a dilemma. Now stop talking and kiss me.”

  Her eyes drifted closed as she felt his smiling lips against hers. And then, while they swayed in place in the middle of her living room, his mouth moved over hers. Sweet, gentle, teasing kisses. Small playful nips with his teeth. The sensual slide of his tongue against hers before the kiss turned languorous, and the world disappeared entirely.

  Rachel’s hands stroked up the back of his neck, caressing the bare skin at the base of his skull where hair would normally be. Even that was sexy. She felt his muscles flex as he deepened the kiss. Heard herself whimper with delight as their bodies moved together in a sensual dance. Those strong, capable hands of his traced over her back. And that scent. The one that haunted her in every single room of her house. That scent made her heady with desire.

  Slowly, reluctantly, he eased them apart, and Rachel rested her forehead on his chest. His hands flexed on her hips as they stood motionless together.

  “You even kiss perfectly,” she accused. “Which means we can never do that again.”

  “You wanna tell me why?” Harvard said softly, sounding as distracted as she was.

  And because her brain was scrambled and her focus still on the hum of pure ecstasy vibrating through her body, she gave him the truth. “Because you make me feel out of control and exposed.”

  He didn’t reply; they just stood there qui
etly in each other’s arms for a few precious moments.

  “Go get changed,” he said, breaking the spell he’d woven around her. “The team will be here soon for our meeting.”

  Feeling both reluctance and relief, Rachel stepped away from him to retrieve her handbag. “I’m going to chalk up what just happened to the stress of this investigation,” she said as she headed for the staircase. “Let’s never talk about this again.”

  “No, talking definitely isn’t what we need to do,” he said with heavy meaning.

  Rachel didn’t answer. All her focus was on walking away without letting him see just how unsteady she was on her feet.

  She managed to project an air of cool indifference until her bedroom door closed with Harvard on the other side. Sagging against it, she brushed her fingertips over sensitive lips. Dumb. It had been so dumb to kiss him. And yet, all she wanted was to do it again. But how could she? When each step that took them closer to each other also made her feel more vulnerable. Flattening a hand over her stomach, she fought the anxiety-induced nausea that spiked. One kiss would have to be enough. She couldn’t risk more.

  It was time to put that kiss behind her and get on with the rest of her life. Which meant another damn meeting about their elusive thief. But first, she planned to shower, change, and empty her handbag, so it was ready for the morning. She took the bag to her bed and emptied the contents.

  And that’s when she found it.

  A second photo.

  It was in the open-topped pocket on the rear of her bag. Anyone could have slipped it in there at any point during her day.

  The photo fell to the silk-covered bedspread. And the shock of seeing it on her bed made her gag. She snatched it up and hastily backed across the room. The photo shaking in her hand, a strange feeling of detachment overtook her as she stared at the image.

  It was a younger version of herself with two men she didn’t know, their faces hidden while they did unspeakable things to her body.

  Closing her eyes for a moment, she concentrated on steadily breathing in and out until the nausea passed. And then, she turned her attention to the message written in blue ink across the white border at the bottom of the photo.

  You have until Friday to get out, or you’ll regret it.

  As cold resolve steadied her, Rachel shook her head in denial. No, she wouldn’t be the one to regret her choices. Not this time. No matter what it cost her. No matter what it took. This time, things would be different. Because she wasn’t the same person she’d been when that photo was taken. Now, she was stronger, scarier, and had the resources of Benson Security at her back.

  She wasn’t a naïve university student who trusted too readily. She was a formidable woman who didn’t scare easily. In other words, she was the bitch who was going to take them all down with her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harvard laughed at Ryan and Elle as they bickered over which Chinese dish was best. He wasn’t sure why they were arguing. Or whether Ryan ever ate anything slow enough to register how it tasted in the first place. Hearing a sound behind him, he turned to include Rachel in their conversation.

  And stopped dead; everything within him instantly on high alert. Because this wasn’t the same woman who’d gone to her bedroom not half an hour earlier.

  Instead of changing into lounge pants and one of the camisole tops that she liked to wear at home, she was still dressed in the gray skirt and pink top she’d worn to work. More telling, her feet weren’t bare; they were clad in the mile-high silver pumps she’d donned for the office.

  She was wearing her business armor.

  With her shoulders back, chin held high, and absolutely no emotion showing on her face, she made her way to the end of the table farthest away from them all, holding an envelope in her hand. Suddenly, the table was as much of a barrier between Harvard and Rachel as the distant expression on her face.

  Slowly, Ryan and Elle realized that the atmosphere in the dining room had changed. Become tense and expectant. They lowered their chopsticks and gave their attention to Rachel.

  She didn’t even glance at them. Instead, she focused on Harvard. “I’m being blackmailed.”

  As Ryan froze and Elle gasped, a jolt of shock shot through Harvard’s body, ensuring that every inch of him was focused fully on Rachel. “Go on,” he said without any sign of the inner turmoil he felt.

  “Before I tell you all this, I must insist that none of you get emotional. It really isn’t worth it. And I would appreciate it if you’d wait with questions until I’m finished talking. Am I clear?”

  Ryan and Elle murmured their agreement, sounding worried. The tension in the room shot up by about a million degrees. Nothing good could follow a warning like that. Nothing. Fighting the urge to walk around the table and hold her while she talked, Harvard said instead, “We’ll be professional.”

  It must have been enough of a reassurance for her, because she nodded and took a visible breath. “Ten years ago, I spent my summer break from university living at home and interning at TayFor. While out one evening at a nightclub, I was drugged and raped by several men.”

  What the fuck?

  Ryan shot to his feet and started pacing. Elle covered her mouth with her hands.

  As for Harvard, the world as he knew it exploded around him. Years of training in tamping down his emotions kept him from reacting to the flying shrapnel and out-of-control blazes that only he could see.

  When he didn’t move a muscle, but instead kept his eyes glued to hers, Rachel let out a long, very controlled breath that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been studying her so intently. “I don’t actually know how many men were involved.” Her voice was flat, as though she were reciting London’s underground schedule. “Thanks to the drug they used, I have no memory of the actual assault. Sometimes, I have the faintest of flashbacks. Usually when I dream, more recently, when I’m awake.”

  For a split second, the tip of her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. “After the incident, I woke up in a strange hotel with photos of the assault lying beside me, and a message demanding I never return to TayFor, or the images would be made public.”

  Ryan cursed under his breath, and a muffled sob came from Elle. But Harvard remained outwardly calm and strong—for Rachel. He didn’t dare break eye contact with her, as he suspected that focusing on him was giving her the strength she needed to tell her story.

  “I destroyed the photos and took myself to the hospital. I didn’t file charges, as there was no one to file them against. Even in the photos, the only recognizable face was mine.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and he could only imagine how dry it must be.

  “Ryan,” Harvard said in a calm, steady voice, “get Rachel a bottle of water.”

  Rachel kept her eyes fixed on Harvard as Ryan stalked to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, opened it and gently handed it to her—all without saying a word.

  After she drank, she continued, “The drug used on me that night was from TayFor. I know this because it was in the note my attackers left behind. Clearly, if that information came out, along with the photos, the resulting media attention would destroy the company. And my parents.” She took another drink without taking her eyes off him. “I didn’t tell anyone in my family what happened. When I got out of the hospital, I went straight back to university in Glasgow. I asked Harry to hack the hospital and the police to remove any records concerning me or the attack. And then I made him promise never to tell a soul.”

  Elle made a little moaning sound, filled with agony, while Ryan continued to pace, fury emanating from his every step.

  Harvard buried his emotions deep. The rage and pain he felt weren’t what Rachel needed from him. She needed his usual steady, even approach to life. She needed an anchor. And even if every muscle in his body snapped from being held so damn tight, he would give her what she needed.

  She cleared her throat. “I had intended to work for TayFor once I graduated, but as that was no longer poss
ible, I went to work for Harry’s tech start-up instead, and I heard nothing more about the attack.” The water bottle shook slightly as she took another drink. “Until last Monday, when I found this in my desk drawer.”

  She reached into the envelope she’d placed in front of her and took out an old Polaroid photo, which she slid across the table to Harvard. He didn’t look at it but focused instead on the woman who was ripping him up inside. The photo could wait until she was done telling her story.

  His teammates did look. Elle let out a gasping sob, and Ryan slapped a hand down hard onto the table, the sound echoing through the room.

  Rachel didn’t even seem to notice their reactions. “Tonight,” she said, “I found a second photo tucked into the pocket of my handbag.” Another photo joined the first.

  Now Elle was sobbing hard and had given up trying to hide it.

  “For fuck’s sake, Rachel,” Ryan exploded, agony lacing his voice far more than rage. “Why didn’t you let us go after these bastards years ago?”

  She didn’t answer him, but Harvard suspected Ryan hadn’t expected her to.

  “I had intended to ignore all of this,” Rachel said to Harvard. “Mainly because it occurred to me that the person doing this must work at TayFor. And one would assume they wouldn’t want to ruin the company that employs them. Also, we’re in the middle of an investigation, and if this and the thefts were to be made public, it would be the end of TayFor. A pharmaceutical company is only as good as the trust their customers have in them.”

  It sounded like the measured, responsible response a politician would give after a crisis, and Harvard couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Gentling his voice, he asked, “Why tell us about it, then?”

  “Because this latest warning gives me three days before something else happens. I don’t know what that will be.”

  “No.” Harvard leaned forward, closing the distance between them. “Why tell us about it now?”

  She blinked several times, her bottom lip trembling for a split second before she got it under control. “I emptied my handbag onto my bed,” was all she said.