“Did they hurt you?” She couldn’t bring herself to say torture, but that’s precisely what she meant.
“Yeah.” His smile was rueful. “And now you know something that no one outside of the US government knows about me.”
Rachel pretended she didn’t notice that her arms had unfolded and her hand had sneaked across the table to cover his. “And I bet you were far too stubborn to tell them what they wanted to know so they’d let you go. Honestly, that stubborn streak of yours is a danger to you and everyone around you. I should know.”
The corners of his mouth quirked as his hand turned over to clasp hers and, again, she pretended it wasn’t happening. Because Rachel Ford-Talbot did not hold hands in public. Especially with a fake fiancé.
“Next time, I’ll seriously consider just giving in and spilling the goods,” he said. “Although Al-Qaeda isn’t known for setting prisoners free if they cooperate. Just sayin’.”
“Well, how would you know if you didn’t even try?” Her hand flexed in his, squeezing tightly for a second. “We’ll never know the answer to that anyway, will we? Because you aren’t a spy anymore?” Had that last part come out as a question? No. It was just her mind playing tricks. She didn’t care if he still worked for the US government.
“No.” His voice softened as though reassuring her, which was just silly. “No, I’m retired from all that.”
Rachel knew she should leave it there. Harvard’s business was none of hers, but she couldn’t help asking, “Why did you retire? Do spies age out of the CIA?”
“I got fed up being alone,” he said, staring into her eyes. “It’s hard to have a family when you’re traveling the world, putting yourself in danger, and being forced to lie about it. Some try, but I wasn’t one of them. I want honesty in my relationship. And I want to be home with the woman I love.”
The room around them disappeared as Rachel fell into his gaze. Her heart raced; her mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to run or surrender. And she wasn’t sure why she felt she needed to do either.
“This is so romantic,” a female voice gushed, snapping Rachel’s attention back to their waitress.
She pulled her hand from Harvard’s and folded her arms as she sat back in her seat. What on earth was she doing, pretending there was a relationship between them when they were purely colleagues who’d had a physical slipup? The man was infuriating, and she couldn’t help but think he was using some tricks he’d picked up in the CIA to lull her closer to him.
Well, she was onto him. And it was stopping now.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the waitress lied as she clearly showed no remorse. “I have your order.”
Once the woman was gone, Rachel helped herself to some food from the assortment of tiny dishes that held everything from olives and roasted mushrooms to lamb strips and prawns.
“I’d like to be clear,” she said as she dished calamari onto her plate. “As soon as we’re finished here, I’m going home, and I’ll be sleeping alone tonight, as usual.” She took a bite of the calamari, her eyes going wide.
“Good?” Harvard asked.
It was delicious. “I’d rather have had takeaway.”
Harvard just smiled.
Rachel lasted until one a.m. before she couldn’t stand being alone in bed any longer. No matter how hard she tried, the images from the photos entered her mind unbidden and refused to leave. It made her furious to feel so helpless—as though her own brain was working against her.
With a growl of pure irritation, she got out of bed, donned her robe, and stalked across the hall to the guest bedroom.
When Harvard opened the door a few seconds after she’d thumped the hell out of it, she glared up at him. “Don’t. Say. A. Word,” she threatened before turning on her heel and stomping back to her room.
It never once occurred to her that he wouldn’t follow, which was good because she didn’t have a backup plan if he decided to go back to his own bed and ignore her.
She tossed her robe onto the armchair and climbed into the side of the bed farthest from the door. Harvard was already in the room, closing and locking the door behind him.
He put his phone on the bedside table and got in beside her. Lying on his back, he curled an arm around her and drew her into his side. Rachel wrapped her arm around him and threw a leg over his thick thigh as she settled her head on his shoulder.
Slowly, gently, and without saying a word, Harvard stroked the bare skin of her upper arm, and she felt herself relax. The images that had filled her mind were now gone, replaced by the all-consuming awareness of the man holding her.
This couldn’t go on. She couldn’t rely on him to chase away her demons forever. Could she? No. She was being stupid. It was tiredness that was making her think such foolish thoughts.
“I’m not weak.” Even to her own ears, she sounded belligerent.
He kissed the top of her head. “No one would ever think that of you.”
With the rippling blue light of the pool washing over them, they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Rachel’s eyelids became heavier as she sank into his heat.
“I have nightmares,” Harvard said softly, dragging Rachel back from the brink of sleep. “I can lash out, thinking I’m still there, in the hole they kept me in between beatings. Sometimes the dreams are about betrayal or things I’ve seen. There’s a lot of shit in my head. Stuff people shouldn’t see in several lifetimes.”
Betrayed? Kept in a hole? Rachel’s arm tightened around him. “You aren’t weak either.” It was all the comfort she knew how to give.
“No.” His hand smoothed down her back and came to rest on her hip. It was a proprietary touch, but she found she didn’t have it in her to object. “Still, if I start shouting or thrashing around, just wake me up, okay?”
She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his skin. “I’ll look out for you.”
“Thanks.”
With that one word, he assured her they were in this together. Partners in dealing with the residue of their respective trauma. And Rachel didn’t feel so weak anymore.
“Go to sleep,” Harvard said. “We’ve got another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“Please promise me one thing,” Rachel murmured as her eyes closed.
“What?” His bristle-roughened jaw nuzzled her hair.
“Let me pick the restaurant tomorrow. I have a headache from the décor of that tapas place.”
Listening to the deep sound of his chuckle rumble through her, she fell asleep, feeling safe and comfortable in Harvard’s arms. But knowing it wouldn’t last. Friday was coming. Her blackmailer’s deadline loomed. And there was no way of knowing what it would bring.
Chapter Twenty
Thursday came and went with no word from Harry about what he’d found on the server, which Harvard took to mean he’d found nothing. There were no further incidents at TayFor, so it seemed the thief was either laying low or blithely carrying on with their set schedule. The Benson Security staffers they’d brought in to follow Samantha, Charles, and the Gucci loafer brigade had reported nothing out of the ordinary. They were in a holding pattern, waiting for the board meeting on Monday, when they could get their hands on everyone’s phones and check for the apps used to steal from TayFor.
In the meantime, they had to get through the rest of Friday.
Harvard checked his wristwatch—half an hour until they could go home. It was thirty minutes too long. All day, the tension had built as they waited for something to happen. Waiting to see how the blackmailer would make good on their threat, as Rachel had no intention of quitting TayFor before the day ended. It had them all on edge. There was only so much time a person could spend in the brace position before they lost their minds.
As Harvard waited in Rachel’s outer office for her meeting with the research division to finish up, he looked out over the grounds, studying every corner for something out of place. Anything that would give him a clue as to what was coming. But there was nothing.
He turned his back on the rain-soaked scene and leaned against the windowsill. Elle had gone home early to do some more work on the photos the blackmailer had left for Rachel. But she didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything.
There were one or two leads Harvard could have chased, but he didn’t want to leave Rachel’s side. She was far too exposed at TayFor, and he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he knew what they were dealing with.
Her office door jerked open, and a half dozen shell-shocked and pale-faced scientists scurried out. Clearly Rachel was in full ‘charm’ mode.
“I’ve had enough.” Rachel sailed out after them, handbag hanging from the crook of her arm. “I’m going home.”
Harvard pushed away from the window, glancing toward the door to make sure no one was listening. “Check your bag first.” He crossed the room and closed the door.
She let out a huff of air. “It hasn’t been out of my sight all day.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Nor yours. Must you follow me so closely all the time?”
“Yeah. Now check the bag.”
“Whatever.” She smacked the bag onto Elle’s desk before emptying each pocket.
Harvard watched her intently. “Wouldn’t it be faster just to turn it upside down?”
“This bag is a limited-edition Hermes. It deserves to be treated with respect.”
“Rachel, when you say things like that, people think you’re a snob.”
“I know,” she said absently while placing the contents on the table. There wasn’t much: a small notebook and pen, her ever-present iPhone, AirPods, tissues, lipstick, her wallet, and the small handgun Callum had given her, which she carried everywhere. Despite it being well known that she was a crap shot with it.
“I thought women were famous for filling their bags with everything they could stuff in there.”
“Really, Michael? That’s such a cliché. I expected better from you.”
His heart skipped a beat at her calling him by his given name for the first time since they were together in the pool. “I’ll try harder.”
She gave him a cool look. “You do that.”
“What about your pockets?”
“Nothing. I’ve already checked.”
“Your desk drawer?”
“Only contains a stapler.”
It didn’t make sense, unless… “Maybe they’re playing with us. Getting us stressed, then doing nothing.”
“I’m not stressed,” said the woman who’d practically slept on top of him for the past two nights while mumbling about photos in her sleep.
“You know you don’t have to be tough around me,” he said softly.
He expected her to tell him off or make some cutting remark, shutting him down. Instead, she suddenly looked lost. “I don’t know how else to be.”
“Damn, Rachel, you drive me crazy.” He cupped her nape and pulled her into him, pressing a hand to the small of her back as he held her tight.
“This is the office,” she snapped into his chest, but her arms slid around his waist.
“We’re getting married; no one would be shocked to find us showing affection.”
Again, she surprised him. Instead of reminding him that their relationship was fake, she said, “My family would be.”
She was off her game, which meant she was far more worried about her blackmailer than she’d let on. Understanding Rachel required a masterclass in reading body language and a superhuman ability to understand subtext because, on the surface, nothing was what it seemed with her.
“Whatever’s coming, we’ll handle it together.” He stroked her back, breathing that heady hothouse scent deep into his lungs.
She looked up at him. “But we aren’t together.”
Did she honestly think that? Or was this just her ability to live in denial, reformatting the world around her to suit herself?
“Rachel,” was all he said, feeling her name straight to his soul. There was no point in arguing with her; she had to reach the conclusion on her own. Instead, he could show her what they were to each other through every action. Every touch. Every word. He could show her that they were meant to be together. Call it destiny, call it fate, call it chemistry. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they belonged.
Before she could object, he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. For a woman who insisted there was nothing between them, there was no hesitation in her returning kiss. Her arms snaked around his shoulders as she melted against him. Tasting of pure sensuality and utter temptation. She was a tiger caged, a flame contained; she was a tempest in a beautiful china cup.
She was Rachel.
And Harvard loved every facet of her to distraction. Even the ice-queen side that the world knew. She’d burrowed under his skin, like a tick that couldn’t be removed. Not the most romantic of descriptions, but he was sure she’d appreciate the humor in it. If he ever managed to tell her without making her run for the hills.
Slowly, he broke their kiss. He watched as her heavy eyelids gradually lifted, and she looked up at him through thick black lashes. “Feel better now?” she asked in a husky voice that made his blood run south.
Man, she was funny. “Much better, thanks.”
She straightened and tugged down the jacket of her black pantsuit. “Good. Can we go home then?”
“Come on.” With a shake of his head, he headed for the door, opening it and checking the corridor to make sure it was safe before motioning for her to follow him out.
“You do realize the bodyguard thing is only a cover too, don’t you?” she muttered to him as he locked her office behind them.
“Your safety is more than a job to me.” She was much more than a job to him.
“I honestly don’t understand you,” she said as they headed for the elevator. “It’s as though you come from another planet. And I don’t just mean America.”
“It’s okay.” He pressed the button for the ground floor. “I don’t plan on going anywhere, so you have plenty of time to figure me out.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said in that snippy voice she used to intimidate her minions.
“Too late, they’re already up,” he drawled, making her roll her eyes before pointedly staring at the doors.
Honestly, there was no arguing with the man. He seemed to have an unnatural knack for getting the last word in and a strange logic that only he understood.
But, he could definitely kiss.
Rachel took a deep breath and forced her mind away from such treacherous ground. It would be far too easy to become addicted to those kisses. And it was getting harder and harder to lie beside him every night without stripping him naked and climbing all over him.
It had gotten to the stage where she was taking care of business by herself in the shower rather than give in to temptation. But that wouldn’t last. Because she didn’t just want relief—she wanted Harvard.
As the doors opened, her cell phone sounded with her mother’s ringtone—which was just a classical music intro. Rachel didn’t do humorous ringtones. She took her phone from the pocket in her bag and put it to her ear as they exited the lift.
“Hello, Mother,” she said as Harvard used his security pass to open the doorway into the main reception. “This had better not be about my avoiding Samantha and her ridiculous idea that we go wedding dress shopping together.”
A teary gasp on the other end of the line stopped Rachel in her tracks. Her hand shot out and curled around Harvard’s arm, clinging to him with a death grip that would probably leave bruises. He instantly went into full-alert mode, aware of everything and everyone around him, while still managing to focus on her.
“It’s your father,” her mother said. “He’s had another heart attack.”
Rachel’s gaze fixed on Harvard’s. “Where are you?”
“We’re at the Royal London Hospital.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No.” The word was shaky. “Rachel, darling, your father
is going to be fine. But the reason for the attack…oh, my darling, I’m so, so sorry.” Her mother sobbed. “I should have known. I should have been there for you. I should…” It was impossible to make out anything else she said.
But Rachel knew exactly what she was talking about. Her mother knew. This was what she’d been waiting for all day long. This was how her blackmailer planned on getting to her. Through her family. As the floor dropped away beneath her, Harvard’s strong arm wrapped around her waist.
“Breathe,” Harvard ordered as the line went dead.
Had she hung up? She didn’t know.
A security guard called out to Harvard, but Rachel couldn’t hear over the roar of blood rushing through her veins.
“No,” Harvard barked. “I’ve got this.” He backed Rachel against the wall, shielding her from prying eyes. “Breathe in and out with me. Put your hand on my chest. Feel it rise and fall.” He matched action to words, moving her hand and gently placing it inside his jacket, over his heart. “In, out. In, out.” He kept his gaze locked with hers, holding her in place with his will. “That’s it. You’ve got it. That’s better.”
Once the rushing noise in her ears began to fade and strength returned to her legs, she wet her lips with her tongue. “I’m okay now.”
“Yes. You are.” He took a step back, still holding her hand to his chest as he shielded her from the world. “What did your mom say?”
Rachel swallowed hard, but with each passing second, she felt the walls inside her rebuilding, brick by brick. “Father’s had another heart attack. They’re in central London, in hospital. She said he was going to be fine, but…”
He leaned in to murmur against her ear. “Give me the ice queen, Rachel. That’s who you need right now. Let me see her. I’ve got your back, and you can handle anything. I know it. You know it. Let’s show the world.”
She nodded, and he backed up again. Rachel straightened her shoulders and took her hand from his chest. “I suspect my blackmailer may have shared some photos with my father,” she said, pleased that her voice sounded even and strong.
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