Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

She took a step back. His eyes roamed her killer body, and in the background, the elevator dinged in the lobby. A couple walked by, but still, she didn’t look away from him. She took a step back.

  He took a step forward. “I don’t want you to, Beth.”

  Her fiery green eyes welled with tears. Of the million possible things she could do, that hadn’t been on the list of reactions to kissing him. One fat tear fell, and she turned, leaving him confused and standing like a moron with a boner in the lobby.

  A doorman walked out from a back room. “Can I help you, buddy?”

  Roman turned on him, wanting to put his fist through a wall. The doorman shrank back. Smart. But he needed an outlet. Fast. Roman’s gaze tracked to the elevators, but she was gone.

  Screw it. He had places to go, with chicks that wouldn’t fuckin’ react that way. Whatever that was. “No worries, dude. Just leaving.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The elevator ride took too long. Beth would rather have climbed the walls than trap herself in a tiny box, but it’d been the fastest escape plan. Roman’s kiss lingered on her lips. She could smell him on her, could still remember how he towered over her, pressed against her… How could she forget after she’d clung to his body like a woman starved for a man’s touch?

  And what had she been thinking? Flirting was fine. She’d decided that long ago because completely ignoring him was impossible. But kissing him? No, no, no. So bad.

  A conversation with Nicola was needed ASAP. She wasn’t going to answer, probably too busy ditching Beth and hanging out with her husband, but Beth still pulled out her phone and dialed. It was just as she thought. No answer. The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out, dialing again.

  Come on. Answer.

  Nothing.

  Okay. New plan: stop the crazy redials and confess everything via voicemail.

  Beth let it ring once more, ready to enact her new tactic. “Nic. DEFCON five. Red alert. Serious trouble and I’m sending out an SOS. Stop whatever it is you’re doing with that sexy beast of a husband and call me back. Now. Please and thank you.”

  Beth threw the cell back into her purse and walked down the long hall. Why wasn’t Nic calling back? They could go somewhere to meet up. They could grab dinner, hash it out. Everything would be fine.

  Seriously, DEFCON five and a promise of gossip deserved an immediate call back after multiple calls. No dice. Instead of continuing to her condo down the hall, Beth pulled her phone out again and texted Nic.

  Mayday. SOS. I kissed Roman.

  Nothing. Beth growled and continued walking. Normally, the building didn’t bother her. She could ignore the caged-animal-in-a-museum feeling. But nights like tonight, the place was too stuffy, too prim and proper. Too not her. She dropped her head, feeling like a fool, hanging out in the hall alone, and—

  The phone rang. Thank you, Jesus. Nic’s smiling face danced on the screen under “incoming call.”

  “What took you so long?” Beth all but screeched into the phone. “I’m in a full-fledged panic.”

  Nicola was laughing. “Oh, my God.”

  “Nic. Seriously. This is so bad.”

  More laughing. Even a little snort-laugh. “Finally. That’s all I’m saying. Hang on.” Nicola whispered off the phone—Beth’s guess—to Cash. “Okay. I’m back. So that’s good. You guys are finally over—”

  “No! He kissed me. Like seriously kissed. With fireworks and sparklers and stars.” She groaned, leaning against the hallway wall. Her cheeks heated just thinking about it. Lots of things heated when she recounted that hard hunger of his kiss. “But then I ran from him. Like fell back, stuttering, and ran from Roman.”

  Nicola’s laughter never stopped. “Oh no, you didn’t.”

  “I swear I did, and you better stop laughing. You know exactly why this is a bad idea.”

  Nicola giggle-whispered off the phone again.

  “Nic, stop talking to Cash. This is an emergency.” Beth resumed walking down the hallway. The more she thought about it, the clearer her stupidity became. “I’ve ruined everything.”

  “Don’t create drama where there isn’t any. Roman probably didn’t notice.”

  “Didn’t notice me sprinting away? After I climbed his chest like he was Mt. Everest? I am so embarrassed. Seriously, dying.”

  “Maybe this is, ya know, a go-ahead to start moving forward with life again.”

  “No,” Beth snapped, annoyed that Nicola did remember the root cause of all of Beth’s fucked-up shit. Not just concern about Roman having a once-and-done attitude.

  “Seems like all the stars aligned. This was bound to happen. You have to move—”

  “Let’s not talk about that. Please…” Beth shut her eyes and remembered the stare Roman had levied on her, demanding she not touch Naydenov. She slowed to a near crawl before she turned down the last corner in her hall and leaned on the edge. “Plus it was a little more complicated than that.”

  “Yeah? How so?”

  “This would be a ton better in person.”

  “Beth, c’mon.”

  “I got a job offer. But it requires… a little something-something. I told Roman. He freaked out and demanded that I not.”

  Beth stopped at her apartment door. A small package leaned against the door jamb. That only happened when a job had been set into motion. But she hadn’t agreed to Naydenov yet. Was the CIA moving forward as if she had agreed? Or was this another event, another party where she had to smile and listen? God, she hated surprises. Unless she was the one surprising people.

  “Beth? You there?”

  Dreading what she would find, Beth picked up the package, unlocked her door, and walked into a polished, perfected, designer explosion of white. White marble, white walls, white granite, white in a million shades. All stupid white. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Did you hear anything I just said?” Nicola was dead serious. “Do you want me to come over?”

  Beth crashed onto the couch and tore open the package. A red ribbon. A violent contrast to everything in the room. But it held meaning. Fancy dress and hobnobbing somewhere. There was a single printed word. Now.

  Shit. How long had this been here? Whoever her damn handler was on this project could’ve arranged for a heads up. She thought about the black town car waiting in front of her building and knew there was a game already in play. She sighed. “Not right now. I think we’re a go, whether I’m ready or not.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Nicola asked quietly.

  Beth bit her lip. “My job.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Red ribbon in hand and hopping into her blush-nude silk peep-toe slingbacks, Beth let the door slam behind her. She rushed down the hall, wishing to hell she’d had a little warning. Downing half a pot of black coffee and getting into an evening gown at warp speed wasn’t good for her mood.

  With no idea who she was to meet or who the handler was on the project, Beth took a calming second as the elevator opened into the lobby. The town car was still waiting. She guessed she’d find out the answers to all her questions soon. Maybe she should call Jasper and say something about his assumption that her answer would be yes.

  She jumped into the car, and without a word, the driver pulled away from her complex. At least she recognized him. Looking around, she saw no folders. No reports. Not a single clue. They hopped on the interstate. Black tie and headed toward DC? There was the first lady’s birthday soiree that people would kill for an invite to. Beth hummed. That was a stretch and had probably started hours ago. Maybe an after-party?

  But they passed every hotel and after-party spot she could think of and headed straight toward the White House. Well, shit. Go big or go home.

  They slowed at the gate for the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, far from the gate guests used to enter. The driver parked, left the car, and opened her door. She didn’t have a clue what was going on and didn’t see anyone in the late-summer falling night.

  “Thanks for the lift.” Sh
e gave a wave to her driver and walked toward the dark wrought-iron gate.

  A tuxedoed man came from the shadows and took her arm. “Miss Tourne.”

  “Hello…” She didn’t know or recognize him.

  “Come with me.” The gate clanged open then closed behind them as they moved quickly through the guard shack with a minor already-arranged hello.

  They ducked into the staff entrance of the White House and continued silently through dark, narrow, low-ceilinged hallway. Scared to death her heels would slide on the floor, Beth tried to keep up while holding the navy floor-length sheath dress away from her feet.

  The guy who had said a total of five words gave her a look and pushed open a hidden door. “Here we go.”

  They went through and walked out of an alcove. Suddenly, they were milling about in the White House and heading toward what sounded like party central. Laughter filtered through the closed doors.

  Beth leveled a stare at the man who had nearly made her run while wearing haute couture. “Care to explain what we’re doing here?”

  The man pivoted, trailing his eyes around the empty hallway. “Naydenov’s date for the evening quietly left due to a personal issue.”

  Yeah, Beth bet she did. Poor girl. What did they do? Threaten her friends, family, and loved ones? Poison her? That would be easy enough. The threats and actions that were lawfully issued, under the dirty disguise of justice, never ceased to amaze Beth.

  But back to the tuxedoed man in front of her; she focused on what he was explaining. Gregori’s date was out, so she was in. Got it.

  He motioned to a Secret Service agent as they got ready to enter the room. “I’m a close friend of Naydenov and plan to make introductions as the event lets out. We’ve got about two minutes.” He glared at her. “He hates—”

  “To be without a girl on his arm.” Beth wanted to spit back that had anyone told her she would be on the clock tonight, she definitely wouldn’t have been making out with Roman. “I know enough about him to—”

  “No.” The condescending scowl on the man’s face pinched even more, aggravated. “Naydenov hates to be without a pretty girl on his arm who plays the part well. He loves to catch time in front of the cameras and will surely have plans to hit several of the after-parties. Build that relationship. Work your contact.”

  Her eyes shifted, but he was right, whoever he was. Tonight was a job, and she’d do what it took to complete her mission. “Understood.”

  The man’s lips flattened into a telling frown. “Look, Jasper mentioned you weren’t officially on board yet. But we had an opening. I took it. I hope you’re good with that.”

  “Jasper was right to move forward.” Even though the decision had been made for her, it was still the same one she would have come to in the morning after a good night’s sleep and a reassessment of her long-term goals. “I’m glad we’re a go. Are you my point of contact?”

  He nodded. “Evan Nathaniel.”

  “Nice to meet you, Evan.”

  That time he gave her a real smile. “It’s nice to meet you too, Elizabeth.”

  The guy didn’t even know what to call her. “Beth,” she corrected.

  “Beth.” He tilted his head. “I understand you didn’t have much time to get ready.”

  Understatement of the day. Actually, the understatement of the day was Roman saying that he’d changed his mind, saying no when she almost begged him to bed her. Then he’d kissed her. Her stomach bottomed out. Everything about tonight confused her, so she focused on Evan. “Not a lot of time at all, but I’m glad to hear I pulled it off.”

  His eyes flicked to the doors as applause boomed. “Ready?”

  People filtered out. Immediately, Beth and Evan were surrounded by the who’s who of the first lady’s friends. Evan took her by the arm, leading her upstream into the crowd. Dead ahead was Naydenov. Pictures didn’t lie. The guy had a definite GQ look to him. Strong jaw and great hair. Probably the kind that felt thick between fingers. Funny how, with all those perfect attributes, when he caught sight of Evan approaching, Naydenov had a crooked, boyish smile that was almost endearing.

  “Greg,” Evan called over like this was a chance meeting. “I want to introduce you to Elizabeth Tourne.”

  “Beth.” She stepped forward, extending her hand and adding a little bit of sex to her smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Beth,” Naydenov repeated in the beautiful accent of which she’d recently learned the roots. Her name sounded like a sweet caress as it rolled off his tongue. “How very beautiful.”

  Evan continued, “She’s an attaché for the Smithsonian, and it occurred to me you’d have interests in common.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows rose. His large hand took hers and shook it with confidence. “Lovely to meet you. What’s your specialty?”

  Well, shit. This is where a well-planned operation would come in handy. The CIA had moved her on paper throughout the Smithsonian enough that she could claim just about any job, and she knew enough to cover her butt in most situations. But what would she focus on for Naydenov? She gave a look to Evan, who should’ve given her more information than he had. “A little bit of everything.”

  Evan stepped up. “Don’t play your talents down, Beth. She specializes in Mesopotamian relics. Amazing, really, to hear her stories.”

  If Naydenov had looked interested five seconds ago, he looked positively ready to explode now. His cute smile now beamed. “Is that so?”

  And there was a smoothness to his accent. It made her sway under its power. “Not a very exciting job to most, but it’s important.”

  Now that she registered all the attributes that made him a talking, walking piece of man-candy, she tamped down her reactions and got her head in gear. What the hell did she know about flippin’ Mesopotamia, other than what Jasper had mentioned in his office? Something about it being the beginning of time, where civilization had started. Iraq, Iran, Kuwait, Syria. That part of the world.

  His enthusiasm radiated. “Important, yes. But on the contrary, I find it riveting. The creation of man, the forming of the world’s first cities. It’s fascinating.”

  At that moment, she realized there was a very real chance she could work him over and not sleep with him. Gregori Naydenov might’ve been a money launderer for the worst of the worst, but the guy had a hard-on for history or maybe art. That was her closed-legged way in. It was far more important to be an asset to his interests and hobbies than it was to be a warm body he could screw before moving on. Time to own the history–art connection.

  “Beth.” Greg stepped closer to her, and she could feel a dozen eyes on her back—curious people wondering who he would walk out with. “Not often I find someone with the same interests.”

  No kidding. It sounded boring. But then again, not a lot of folks would understand her fascination with shooting guns or collecting shoes. But she did it. So to each his own. Gregori Naydenov wanted to have a boring hobby. It could be worse. Like a kinky hobby.

  She sent a quick glance at Evan, and his quiet smile said more than she expected. Did he realize as well that she might have the ability to gain access without sleeping with Naydenov? Maybe Evan would be a good handler.

  He put out his hand to shake Greg’s. “I need to catch up with a colleague.” They clasped hands, and Evan turned to her. “Elizabeth, will you be okay if I leave you with your new friend? I hate to run…”

  Why did he insist on using her full name? “Of course.”

  Greg laughed. “I’ll take good care of her. Might even pick her brain. I have a very specific project coming soon that I could use expert insight on.”

  “Thank you, Evan.” She waved goodbye then focused on her mark. “Mr. Naydenov.”

  Evan patted her mark on the back like they were boys, then he walked away.

  “Greg,” he corrected her. “Mr. Naydenov is for my staff, not someone like you.”

  “Me?”

  He leaned forward, a boyish smile hanging on a face tha
t was used to getting his way with women. “Gorgeous and intelligent who I can share my inner history buff with.” Again, the crooked grin broke across his perfect face. Crystal-blue eyes twinkled at her. “I like ancient pottery.” Then the guy winked. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  Oh, he was good. She could see why his reputation preceded him.

  Greg guided her through the near-empty ballroom as the last remaining guests from the party left. They stepped around the scattered chairs and abandoned tables, then Greg cleared his throat with an impossible cool that Beth thought only Roman had. “Beth, I have invitations to every after-party there is.”

  “Popular guy.”

  His hand found the small of her back. “I’d love for you to join me, if you’d like to continue this discussion.”

  Imaginary fist pump because she… was… in. “I’d love to.”

  “Excellent. Shall we?” He took her by the arm.

  She was familiar enough with how these things worked that she knew their next move. It was time to exit the main gate and walk by the paparazzi and news cameras who were waiting to cover the event.

  Greg kept his hand on her back. They wove in and out of the milling crowd and headed for the red-carpet exit. More than a few jealous glances were cast her way as they hit the first step. Onlookers didn’t know how he made his money. He didn’t have a nasty vibe, nothing that made him seem like a dick. He came off as a catch, and if Beth hadn’t known better, she’d easily see how someone could become smitten with the massive wealth and boyish good looks. Add on the accent and, yeah, she understood his effect on ladies.

  “Did I say gorgeous before?” he crooned in her ear as they breezed down a walkway. His arm cupped around her waist as they hit the first round of reporters and DC paparazzi. Greg paused, posed, then headed for the next round.

  She thought about his “gorgeous” comment and didn’t happy-sigh from the purr of his words. There were no tingles. No tummy flips. Nothing when it came to him, and that might’ve been the most attractive thing about the guy.

  After the last round of cameras, he motioned to one of many limos waiting for their pickups. “Ready?”