by Kym Roberts
Unlike Castle Alainn, the nearby resort with European influences, Achilles HeAl had taken the effect one step further and brought Rome stateside.
Yet here he sat. Uncomfortable as hell. Waiting. Blowing. Because despite his assurances to the contrary, her body language had been wary. Ready for battle at any moment. There was no doubt in Ty’s mind who she was or that she’d recognized him.
Which didn’t make sense. Hell, she’d saved his life. He owed her everything, would have thanked her immediately when he recognized that beautiful face.
But once he’d seen her fear staring back at him with eyes that glistened with everything heaven was made of, he made the immediate decision to hide his memory. Because a man who didn’t remember her wasn’t a threat, right? Wouldn’t cause her to run screaming from the room and hurt that ankle he wanted to soothe. Wouldn’t make her feel the need to draw a gun, finish the job, put him in the ground once and for all.
Put him in the ground and leave him there—alone. Wouldn’t that fucking suck—to die at the hands of a scared half to death angel.
The pacing stopped. The soft fall of her tennis shoe, followed by the click-clunk of her boot, drew closer. Ty let the ball drop to the bottom, slowly. Patiently. Painfully. It was do…or die never seeing the red lace again. Agent Artino either told her Brad Williams was no threat, or she’d send him packing with some excuse that Rafe couldn’t make the appointment and she didn’t have a clue what to have him do beyond blow a stupid ball up a tube. Then she’d walk him back across the expansive lobby filled with enough marble and statues to create a mini-Rome, say they’d be in touch, and he’d never see or hear from her again.
Achilles HeAl would have a weakness.
Him.
“Well, Mr. Williams, are you ready to get started?” Ty met her gaze—the fear nowhere in sight.
The corner of his mouth rose, ever so slightly. “Yes, ma’am.” There was hope for him yet.
Chapter Nine
Ty kissed his grandmother’s cheek. Happy he’d survived the ride, yet wondering how she’d missed every bump and pothole in town.
“Why is there a devil’s gleam in your eyes?”
“What kind of grandma says Satan is reflected in her grandson’s eyes?” Ty asked as he struggled to put his arm in the sleeve of his leather jacket. Rosie reached across the seat of her Jeep to help, but Ty stopped her with a shake of his head.
Her lips rolled inward, tucking her need to nurture, but her sass refused to back down. “A grandmother with five grandsons, all of whom have a propensity for trouble. Look at you. You can’t even put your coat on after your most recent scrape with the law.”
Ty nearly choked. “Do I need to remind you that I was on the good guy’s side?”
“A scrape is a scrape. Doesn’t matter what side.” Rosie’s ponytail bobbed with emphasis.
“It does if there’s an orange jumpsuit or a grave involved.”
“Huh.” Rosie snorted. “You’ve got my blood flowing through those veins, it’ll take a Mack truck five passes to put you ten feet under.”
“Well, then I guess we know who put that devilish look on my face then, don’t we?” Ty winked at the elderly woman in yoga pants and slowly pulled himself out of the vehicle. “Enjoy your yoga class.”
“Ty.”
He turned toward the woman who had given him unconditional support for thirty-three years without ever asking a question.
“Whoever put that glint in your eyes—hang on to her and don’t let go.”
“And if it happens to have been my grandmother?” He teased, because to take her advice seriously was not something Ty could even consider. Faith was out of his league long term, but short term…
Rosie shook her head. “I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour and a half.”
Ty closed the door, hoping Faith didn’t see his driver. Not because he was embarrassed by Rosie, but because it was like revisiting his first day of Kindergarten. Anticipation. Excitement. A little fear. And if she saw Rosie, and teased him about his grandmother dropping him off—he’d enjoy it too fucking much.
He watched Rosie leave, traveling down the walled driveway while waving in the mirror.
It would be worse when she picked him up—if Faith actually met Rosie.
He turned toward the door and rang the buzzer.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Williams. Come on in.”
Ty ignored the effect her voice had on his mood. His body. Hell, his whole damned outlook on life. All day he’d been waiting to see her again, because when Faith wasn’t afraid of him, she radiated with life. Made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years.
She met him halfway across the lobby. Her long hair held up at the back of her head with a large clip. Her smile reflected in her eyes, making him feel like he was the only man on earth she wanted to see at that moment.
Ty caught himself before he believed it or reacted to it. Remember, she’s selling a product—Achilles HeAl. He cleared his throat and left his eyes flat, watchful.
Today she was using a knee walker, a four-wheeled scooter that allowed her to rest her injured leg on a padded seat while she glided across the tile with ease. But she didn’t take a direct route. Instead she zigzagged, like the veining in the tile was gates of a slalom course on the mountain. He wanted to let down his guard, show how amusing and cute he found her inability to take the easy route.
“You look like you were born to sail that thing across the lake.”
She laughed. A beautiful, genuine song that mixed nicely with Bocelli’s smooth lilt filtering through the speakers.
Geeezus. He needed to get a grip.
“I have been stuck on crutches for a week. This thing makes me feel as giddy as a kid on his first snowboard.”
Ty knew exactly what she was talking about. He’d received a snowboard from Rosie on his sixth birthday. His first trip down the hill in her backyard had ended with mouthful of snow, filled with smiles. He shared one with her now, minus the winter precipitation and watched the blush spread across her cheeks.
Good God, it was enticing.
Especially when she had to clear her throat before delivering the bad (fucking awesome) news. “Rafe’ll be out for the next couple of days with the flu, so I’ll be keeping you on track and updating him on your progress. Once you’re changed, I’ll meet you in room 3.”
Her red V-neck tank top, covered by a trim cut navy sweat suit, dared him to follow the plunge to her cleavage. Ty denied himself the pleasure. “I’ll be out in a few.”
Because dinner was just a few hours away, and Rosie would understand if he got another ride home after sharing the evening with a beautiful woman.
It was weird. Even though she had no idea who Brad Williams really was, she liked him. A lot. Despite the lack of information about his injury. Or his life. The man had spoken only a handful of words after her initial ‘freak-out’ the previous day, and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to break that record today. Yet, she felt comfortable with him at a level she’d never felt before. Like maybe he was someone she might be able to…trust.
Good God, she was thinking in terms of a relationship. They had no relationship. The man sitting in front of her was a client.
Client. Strictly professional.
“You’re doing very well with your lung capacity,” she said as he finished his last round of blowing into the spirometer. Faith took the breathing apparatus from his hand, making sure there was absolutely no accidental contact and set it to the side. “Can you lay down on the table?”
Brad nodded without a word and leaned back to grab the edge of the table as he tried to swing up his legs. His jaw flexed. His arms tightened and his eyes hardened. Faith knew better than to ask if he needed help. A man like Brad would say no.
Had said no. So she didn’t ask. She just put her hands under his ankles and slowly lifted as he turned his body to line up with the length of the table.
She ignored the hitch in his breathing and the feel
of his skin on her palms. Acted the professional, like her heart rate hadn’t just taken a leap in the air and her eyes hadn’t roamed from his toes to his eyes.
“I hope you like what you see.” His amused bedroom tone let her know she’d been caught.
Faith ignored the comment, and the feel of his strong muscular legs covered in dark wiry hair—that felt like silken threads to her touch. She refused to picture their legs entwined together, naked and bare under white Egyptian cotton sheets.
Crap. She’d actually conjured up the sheets.
And that wasn’t all she’d imagined.
But she refused to acknowledge the fantasy and made sure the heat didn’t rise to her face, like it had to other parts of her body. No, this was business. All business.
She met his gaze with encouragement. The professional kind. “You are doing very well for a man who suffered a punctured lung and had numerous broken ribs. Can you place your palms on your abdomen and take a deep breath and then cough as you exhale?” She put her hand on top of his and moved them to rest on his stomach. “Keep your hands right there.”
Brad followed the instructions, but as he began to cough his brow drew down. Most clients winced or cussed or started to cry. Brad’s brow wrinkled.
“How is your wound healing?” she asked.
“It’s good.” Cough, cough.
“Have you gotten your stitches out yet?”
“In four days.” Cough.
Not once had his gaze left her face…and she didn’t mind. The multiple colors in his eyes communicated beyond his words. When he was amused, they sparkled like a rainbow with tones of blue, green, and gold. When he was calculating, they turned grey. When he was thoughtful, green rose to the surface, and she couldn’t help but wonder what color took over in the heat of passion. Blue or gold or something else entirely. Faith had never known eyes could be so expressive…until Brad.
“Brad Williams.”
Faith jumped at the sound of her brother’s voice.
If she had continued to stare into her client’s eyes, she would have seen them turn to steel. But she hadn’t. She’d looked at her sibling, whose hard gaze was glued to her hand…resting on top of Brad’s.
She snatched her hand back. Too quickly, and she knew it. If Brad was just a client, her hand would have dropped to her side unnoticed.
No, that wasn’t exactly true. If she hadn’t felt something beyond client between them, Faith’s hand would have never lingered over the scarred and calloused hands of the man on her table. When her brother walked in, she would’ve been grabbing the timer across the room for Brad’s next breathing exercise.
“Khaos.” The guilt in her voice made it squeak. Crap.
“Agent Artino.” Brad’s voice, however, felt as cold as the outside air.
“I told you not to touch.” Khaos sneered.
“I wasn’t touching, but I’m not sure we ever discussed this, did we?” His eyes roamed the room, and then landed on Faith.
“Touch what?” She asked, unsure if she really wanted the answer.
Her brother hid behind his evasion. “Anything in my town.”
“I didn’t realize this was your town.” Ty retorted.
His response full of hidden meaning, like maybe she belonged to her brother. Which in a way, she supposed her brother probably thought she did—but not in the way Brad thought.
“It’s my state.” Her brother replied, testosterone boiling over.
“I take it you two know each other,” she tried to return the heat to a simmer.
“No.” They said in unison.
“Then—”
“His name isn’t Brad Williams.” Khaos spat.
“That’s the name you gave me.” Brad—NotBrad’s voice held the cynicism of a man who’d lost everything, and somehow that pain radiated toward her soul.
“To protect the innocent.” Khaos countered.
Brad—NotBrad laughed, a hollow ugly sound that took her off guard. “The Service is hardly what I would call innocent.”
“My office doesn’t have a blemish on it.”
“You mean like me.” His own distaste was palatable. Brad—NotBrad liked himself less than her brother.
“Yes, like you. What are you doing at Achilles HeAl?”
Brad—NotBrad’s arms went wide, showcasing the room like a male version of Vanna White turning letters on Wheel of Fortune. “I think that’s a little obvious.”
His forehead began to bead with sweat. Only Faith knew what it took for him not to show the pain that movement cost.
“Not to me.” Her brother’s chest puffed even farther. If that was possible.
Faith decided it was time to turn off the flame and let the heat die a sudden, painless death. “Mr. Williams is the client I told you about. Adam recommended him.”
Brad—NotBrad laughed. “Adam?”
“Adam Holder, your attorney,” she clarified. His humorless laughter died, and Faith knew she’d made an error.
“Adam’s not my attorney.”
“Oh, I just assumed…” she started.
His eyes lost their rainbow.
Brad—NotBrad sat up, refusing her help with a cold silver slap of a glance. She’d blown it. With four simple words she’d sliced the bond they’d shared ever since she’d gotten off the phone with her brother the previous day when she found out Brad—NotBrad wasn’t a threat. Khaos had said Brad Williams was not a nice guy. But he was wrong. She knew deep down in her gut that Brad—NotBrad was the nicest man she’d ever met.
Yes, he still scared her, but that was a matter of her own self-preservation, and had nothing to do with him. Khaos may not like finding this guy at his sister’s business, but if he’d truly thought Brad—NotBrad was a threat to her in any way, he would have stormed down her driveway the night before. He would have been waiting for Brad Williams to arrive today. He wouldn’t have even let him through the privacy gate, and yet he hadn’t done any of that. And Faith had let her guard down. Let Brad—NotBrad walk into her business, her home, her heart.
Which was insane. She’d known him all of twenty-four hours—total. Including the chunk of time they’d spent on a terrifying snowmobile ride to the hospital in a freaking blizzard, as Brad—NotBrad had whispered the name of another man while he tried not to die in her arms.
“Adam is my cousin,” Brad—NotBrad explained. “Who told me Agent Artino here had arranged for my rehab to be at Achilles HeAl through the Victim’s Assistance Program. I assumed Agent Artino chose this place out in the middle of nowhere so he could keep me away from his precious citizens.”
“I didn’t send you here—” Khaos interjected.
It was Faith’s turn to laugh and both men just looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was.
“It seems Adam may be playing a little game between the two of you.” She gave all of her attention to Brad—NotBrad. “Adam made the appointment for you, not Khaos.”
Opera music filled and bounced off of every nook and cranny in the room. the delicate flow underscoring the tension flowing between her brother and her client. Faith hoped both men had strong teeth, otherwise the grinding was going to fill the wallets of a couple dentists. Neither man was taking the news of being played very well. But she had to give Adam credit, the ploy was smooth.
It was Khaos, however, who looked like he was planning to tear his friend into bite size pieces. Faith focused on Brad—NotBrad. “Adam and Khaos roomed together in college. Khaos is my brother.”
Brad—NotBrad’s face drained the little color it had. “Khaos? I thought your name was Danny Artino?”
“It is.” Her brother’s voice turned rabid.
Faith put her hand on his bicep and explained to Brad—NotBrad. “It’s Daniel Khaos Artino. I call him Khaos; that’s what our dad used to call him.”
But instead of calming down, Khaos bit. Ferociously. Tearing his words like fresh kill. “Since we’re sharing, let me tell you who Brad Williams really is.” He paused, wait
ing for his prey to run.
Faith tried to stop the slaughter. “Khaos—”
“Don’t hold back on my account.” Brad—NotBrad dared, but behind the bravado Faith saw his disappointment laced with an apology before he joined Khaos in his staring contest.
The music ended. The conversation stopped. A beat of silence filled the room. Then two…and three. Faith looked at her brother and then at Brad—NotBrad. She knew the name wasn’t real from the moment she’d met him, but the only name that could be worse than Brad Williams would be a name attached to the death of their parents—and there was no way Brad—NotBrad was linked to that.
“Faith, I’d like you to meet Ty Beckinsale…former special agent for the Secret Service, who single-handedly brought the D.C. office to its knees.”
The name seeped into her brain with cold calculating precision and told Faith just how wrong she could be. Just because a name wasn’t attached to the deaths of her loved ones, didn’t mean it couldn’t destroy her. In fact, if the media found out that Ty Beckinsale was recovering at Achilles HeAl, her business was as good as dead.
Chapter Ten
“I’d like you to continue to hum for at least two to three minutes. Then you can stop.”
It was time to end the torture and humiliation. He couldn’t do this…not with her knowing the truth. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re right I don’t. You do.” She wore that business smile, the one she’d placed on her face the day before—before she made the phone call and found out he wasn’t the boogeyman. Except now, the boogeyman was back in her eyes.
“I mean it. I should go.”
“Your bill has been paid for six months,” she insisted, half-heartedly.
“Adam paid for six months?”
“He did.”
Air escaped through his nose. Then his mouth spewed the garbage his mind held. “Then that’s the price he has to pay for fucking with people.”