All he had to do was figure out why and he’d have them.
“I’m very good at puzzles,” he told Rachel’s family. “It’s why the CIA recruited me. I’ll figure this out.” It was a vow.
Before anyone could say anything else, the door swung open and Rachel walked in, a tray of takeout cups in her hand. “Oh good, we’re finished with the hugging part of this visit. You’ll be glad to know that there wasn’t a spot of liquor to be found on the premises. The best I could do was coffee all round.” She handed out the cups. “Except for you,” she told her father. “You get orange juice and a lecture.” She glared at him. “I had a word with your doctor, and apparently you’ve been a very naughty boy.” She looked at her mother. “Did you know he’s been sneaking bacon behind your back?”
Roger cringed as Francesca’s face turned to thunder and Jonathan shot to his feet. Harvard sat back in his seat, sipping his coffee as he watched Rachel’s family show their love for each other by shouting, threatening, and making demands. They seriously needed a calming influence in their ranks.
They should thank their lucky stars they had him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I’m having a bath and then going to bed,” Rachel announced as soon as they were in her apartment.
They’d stopped for food on the way home, and Harvard had listened patiently to Rachel while she ranted about all the different ways she wanted her blackmailer to suffer. She was furious, and scared. He suspected the latter was mainly for her family rather than herself.
“I’m going to check in with Harry.” Harvard shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of her white sofas.
“Are you planning to leave that there?” she demanded.
“Are you trying to pick a fight?” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Because I can think of other ways to work off your tension. Much more pleasurable ways.”
“You”—she pointed a talon at him—“have a one-track mind.”
“True. But it isn’t just sex. It’s all things Rachel.”
She blinked at him, as though trying to figure him out. “I don’t even want to know what that means,” she said at last. “I’m taking a bath.”
He watched her sashay away, moving like mist over rocks in those heels of hers as her long straight hair swayed across her back. Sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
As soon as she was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and called Harry. He wasn’t used to dealing with someone like the tech genius. He was used to his teammates checking in and keeping him up to date with their progress. Harry, meanwhile, had dropped off the radar entirely.
“Harvard?” He sounded distracted when he answered.
“Yep. What’s happening? You got anything for me yet?”
The answering silence stretched so long that Harvard wondered whether Harry had put down the phone and forgotten about it.
“I’ll call you if I find anything,” he said eventually.
“Do you think there might be something there, or are we chasing fog?”
“No, there’s something here,” he muttered, almost to himself. “There’s some corruption in the memory systems. It’s as if somebody tried to cover their tracks by deleting the information, but they did a cack-handed job of it. I just need a little more time to see what I can clean up. It doesn’t help that I’m not dealing with the original data storage. The server was updated years ago and the information stored in it copied over to this one. But, maybe if I—”
The line went dead. Harry had lost interest in the call—if he even remembered it was happening.
But still, the programmer had given Harvard something to go on. The next person he contacted was Elle, and he did it as he made his way downstairs to the guest room.
“Before you ask,” she said instead of hello, “I’ve already started going over the photos and envelope Rachel’s dad couriered to me. It’s too soon to report on whether I’ve found something or not, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know.” There was a silent but unmistakable now stop bothering me at the end of that sentence.
Elle had obviously gone to the same charm school as Harry. “That’s not why I called. I just spoke to Harry, and he mentioned that there’s corrupted data on the server, as though somebody had been trying to cover their tracks. Which means, someone from IT or security was definitely involved in Rachel’s attack. I need you to dig out personnel information for that period.”
“One of the guys Rachel had fired worked security back then.”
“Yeah, but those two were fired long before the drug was stolen.” Harvard kicked off his shoes beside his bed before bending over to tug off his socks. “We need to question anyone else working around the time Rachel was attacked.”
“I’ll get you the names.” She took a deep breath. “Is Rachel okay?”
“She will be—once everyone involved in this is out of the picture.”
“You mean behind bars, right?”
He meant completely out of the picture, and he’d be more than happy to make it happen. But the authorities tended to frown on that sort of thing. “I need to call Ryan. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Try not to kill anyone before then,” she said drolly before hanging up.
With a smile, Harvard called his last team member. “Are you eating?” he asked as soon as Ryan said hello.
“I don’t always eat, but yeah, I have pizza.”
Harvard chuckled. “Did you check in with the surveillance team following our suspects?”
“Absolutely.” There was the sound of a can opening and then Ryan taking a drink. “Samantha’s out on a date this evening, with a young movie star who’s barely out of nappies. They’ve gone clubbing, and their tail thinks they called the paparazzi before they left her condo. Charles is in Kent, checking his wife into rehab yet again. Word is she was running around their garden naked trying to catch imaginary bubbles with a bucket.”
“Okay,” Harvard said. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“I don’t think her neighbors were either,” Ryan said around a mouthful of food. “Then there’s the shoe guys. What are they called again? Can’t remember the name of the shoes. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, Preston went home to his wife, had dinner, watched the news. Boring. Marcus spent the evening with his mistress, but his wife expects him home later—apparently, he’s got a late emergency meeting. And Rupert’s in the Hippodrome Casino, but he isn’t gambling. Word is, he’s wandering around stroking the tables and slot machines.”
“Stroking?” Harvard arched his brows.
“I only report what I’m told, and his tail said there was definite stroking and he’s resisted all attempts to get him involved in a game. The tail said he looks kinda sad.”
Harvard pinched the bridge of his nose as the craziness of Rachel’s relatives sank in. “Were any of them anywhere near Roger’s house this afternoon when the envelope was delivered?”
“That’s a negative. But then, they wouldn’t have to be. I asked Elle to hack into the CCTV cameras on the road leading into the property and look for couriers.”
“What about the cameras on the Talbot estate?”
“They’re only on the main house and public grounds. Seems the family don’t like cameras on their residence.”
“I need to have a word with them about that.” It was a dumb thing to do for people in their position. No matter how much you valued your privacy, safety came first. Harvard unbuttoned his shirt. “Keep surveillance on everyone over the weekend. In the meantime, prep what you need for Monday’s board meeting. Hopefully, we can get some answers then.”
“No kidding,” Ryan said.
“Michael,” Rachel’s voice came from the doorway, “what are you doing in here?”
He turned to answer and froze. She stood there, hands on hips and completely nude, and not showing even the slightest sign of being self-conscious about it.
“You there?” Ryan said in his ear, but Harvard could barely he
ar him over the sound of all the blood in his body rushing south.
“Have we stopped sleeping together?” Rachel demanded. “I don’t remember telling you to go back to the guest room.”
“Harvard?” Ryan called.
Harvard ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bed. For a man who was known for being cool under fire and having an answer for everything, there were no words in his head.
“Are you coming?” Rachel glared at him before turning on her heel and stalking back across the hall.
For a second, all he could do was watch her go as his mouth watered and his pants grew uncomfortably tight.
“Michael?” she snapped as she disappeared from sight.
And with a grin, Harvard answered her summons.
Honestly, just when you thought you had a man trained, they wandered off and did their own thing. Hadn’t she made it clear they were sleeping together? What would be the point in him going back to his own room?
A thought occurred to her as she rounded the bed. “Are you trying to be sensitive because my father had a heart attack?” she asked him as he walked through the door. “Because it was only a mild one, and it was mainly due to the amount of bacon he’s been scoffing in secret.”
Harvard locked the door before staring at her. “You’re naked.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. That was the kind of astute observation she expected from an MIT graduate—not. “Yes. I am. I thought we might have sex. But you were in the other room.”
He shook his head as if dazed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re ordering sex the same way you’d order a pizza?”
Now he really was irritating her. “Have I misread the signs? Do you not want to have sex with me? Is the erection you’ve been sporting these past few days purely a medical issue? Do I need to take you to the emergency room? Because walking around like that surely can’t be healthy.”
His gaze flickered between her face and her breasts. “I know what you’re doing, Rachel. You’re picking a fight so we’ll have angry sex and you can keep some distance between us. Well”—he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it onto the chair, exposing an expanse of muscle that should be illegal—“I have news for you. I’m not going to help you. If you want to make love, you’ll have to ask me nicely and make me feel like you want me and not just a body to use to ease your tension.”
“Oh, for the love of Gucci.” She threw up her hands. “When did men become all sensitive? It’s only sex. If you don’t want it, feel free to go back to the guest room.” She tossed back the covers and climbed into bed, leaving him the side closest to the door.
“Yeah, you’d like that. Because you like distance. You don’t like up-close and messy emotions. And you definitely don’t like feeling vulnerable.” He took off his trousers and underpants and stood, naked and proud, hands on hips, staring at her. A beautiful, thick, long erection pointed in her direction. Which was very distracting.
“Thank you for your analysis,” she said, dragging her eyes from his hard length. “I could have saved thousands in therapy if I’d just met you sooner.”
As usual, her comments didn’t derail Harvard. He remained irritatingly calm. “Relationships are messy. They’re emotional. And they don’t work if one of you refuses to be vulnerable and trust that the other person will take care of you.”
“This. Isn’t. A. Relationship.” She lay on her back and tugged the bedcovers up around her, then tightened them at her sides by slashing her arms down hard. “I don’t understand why that doesn’t sink in. I’m beginning to think it would be easier to train a cat.”
“You don’t train a lover, Rachel.” He lay down on the bed and mirrored her pose, but without covering his body. Instead, he lay there like a cake buffet outside a Weight Watchers meeting.
“You aren’t my lover.” Damn, she sounded hoarse and achy. “Right now, all you are is a house guest who’s in the wrong bed.”
“That’s not the way to get me to make love to you.”
“Stop calling it that. It’s just sex. A bodily function. Nothing more.”
He turned onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, and she practically salivated at the sight. “It is way more than just sex when two people have feelings for each other.”
“The only feeling I have for you is irritation.”
“Well, then. All of this”—he waved a hand down his body—“is off-limits until you admit we’re in a real relationship. If you want to go further and admit you actually have feelings for me, then that would be great too. But I’d settle for you admitting we’re in a relationship.”
Never, in all the years she’d lived in her apartment, had Rachel entertained the idea that the glass bottom of her pool might crack and flood her bedroom. But in that instant, she almost hoped it would, and that the smug, stubborn, annoying man beside her would drown.
Keeping her eyes on the water, she said, “I’m going to sleep now.” And then she grabbed the remote and turned off the lights, leaving only the glow from the pool above.
Forcing her eyes closed, Rachel tried to keep her mind from the naked man beside her and go to sleep. This was ridiculous. Why did he have to make such a big deal out of things? They were in the same bed. They touched. They spent time together. What difference would it make putting a label on whatever was happening between them? He was just trying to drive her crazy.
She took a few slow breaths, trying to calm her mind and relax. That’s when she felt the bed move—rhythmically. Her eyes snapped open as she turned her head toward Harvard. And stopped breathing entirely.
He lay on his back, the soft light caressing his dark skin. One arm lay behind his head, the other…
She found it difficult to swallow as her mouth became suddenly dry.
“What are you doing?” she croaked, her eyes glued to his large hand wrapped around his stiff erection, sliding slowly, almost absently, up and down. Like a switch had been flipped, the tension that consumed her became a desperate desire to touch. To replace his hand with hers. To caress, taste, kiss.
“I’m trying to relax,” he said.
At his low, rumbled words, her eyes shot to his. The sensuality in his heavy-lidded gaze had her clenching her thighs together.
“Well do it some other way,” she told him. “I’m tense too, and you don’t see me with my hand between my legs.”
His eyes turned blacker. “I’d like to.”
As a rush of pure adrenaline raced through her, she had to fight to stop from reaching for him. Her attention kept straying back to his slow, steady movements as he stroked himself. Why, oh why, was watching him do that such a turn on?
“Find another way to relax,” she ordered, sounding breathless.
“I’d like to, but you’re being difficult. All you have to do is say what I need to hear, and I can make all your tension fade away.” His hand clenched the base of his erection, and he let out a low moan.
Rachel’s fingers curled into the bedspread. “I don’t know why I have to say anything.”
“Rachel,” he purred, “no more lies.”
His thighs widened as he continued to stroke. This was torture. Pure, utter torture. “Fine,” she snapped. “We’re in a temporary relationship. Happy now?”
“No.” Harvard’s thumb slid across the crown of his penis. “There’s nothing temporary about this. It’s a relationship, period.”
“Rubbish. No one knows how long something will last when they get into it.”
“You can’t use that as an out. I know you. You think you can admit there’s something between us right now, then say it was good while it lasted come morning. No. We’re in this together, and we aren’t searching for an end date. It’s a proper, normal relationship. And if you want my cock, you need to admit it.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable,” she snapped.
“Then I guess I’ll just carry on, all on my own, over here.”
Was there ever a more annoying man? “Fine. You win. We’re
in a relationship.” The words almost choked her.
His hand stilled. “For how long?”
“As long as it lasts,” she gritted through clenched teeth, thinking it would most definitely only be until the morning.
“I want to hear you say that you don’t plan to sabotage us and that you’ll give us a chance.” He stared at her. “Which means no dumping me in the morning to prove a point.”
“Whatever.” Could he read her mind now? “We’re in a serious relationship, and we’re going to see where it leads. Happy now?”
“Honestly? I’m a bit worried that you’ll smother me in my sleep, but otherwise, well done.”
She let out a feral growl. “Can we have sex now?”
“No.” Harvard rolled to his side, propped himself up on an elbow and slung his other arm over her waist. “But we can make love.”
And then, at last, he kissed her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Harvard woke up to a very naked Rachel draped across him and the sound of buzzing coming from the apartment intercom. Gently shifting her onto the mattress beside him, he reached over to answer the buzzing phone.
“Yup?” Rubbing a hand down his face, he glanced at the clock and noted it was seven a.m. It was a sleep-in for him. Usually he’d have been up, running and working out hours earlier. Yeah, he could get used to waking up late with Rachel.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” the concierge said, “but I thought you’d like some warning that Mr. Harry Boyle is on his way up.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Boyle has a key, and we have standing instructions from Ms. Ford-Talbot that he may enter her apartment at will.”
Obviously, the guy thought Rachel’s other lover was about to walk in on them. “Thanks. Harry’s welcome anytime. I appreciate the heads-up though.”
“Of course,” the man said before ending the call.
Harvard swiveled around to see Rachel lying on her front, her hair covering her face. The smooth, pale skin of her back proved too much of a temptation, and he stroked a caress down its length. Next time they made love, he was going to concentrate on her back, and the round, plump curves of her ass. His dick liked that idea a whole lot and decided it was time for it to wake up too.
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