Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  She could hear the creak and spin of the rope, an instant auditory recall whenever she least expected it. When would it stop haunting her? Probably never. “He hung himself in the garage when I went to the grocery store.”

  Roman blew out a long sigh. “Fuck, Beth. That’s rough.”

  “Yeah.” Unshed tears burned again as her voice cracked. The terror from that day bloomed in her chest. And the panic. What was she supposed to do? Help him? Lift him? Hurt him? She wanted to beat him senseless, but he’d been dead, and she could do nothing more than collapse to her knees screaming.

  “I’m sorry life shit on you. But if anyone’s going to make it through that, it’s going to be you.”

  She sniffled. “Me?”

  “Hell yeah, look at you. Smart. Lucked out in the looks department. A spy.” He made his voice drop like he was telling a secret. “You’ve got it going on. And you’re strong. A survivor. You can take on anything. I have a knack for shit like this. I know.”

  Her mouth opened to rebut him, but her phone rang.

  “Swear to Christ, if that’s Naydenov…”

  Instead of recounting the thousands of ways Roman was wrong, she rolled out of his arms and grabbed her phone. Gregori Naydenov. “Save your threats. He’s not worth it.”

  But she let it go to voicemail. Roman stared, and the way he looked at her, she was safe and hunted all at once.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Now that you’re fixed or whatever, you going to run out and screw every guy senseless? I mean, I might if I were you.”

  Disappointment rushed through her veins, and a sudden, sad heaviness hung in her arms. She painted on her practiced casual smile and shook her head. She wasn’t “fixed.” It was the guy, not the act. Only Roman. “Nah, too much work to do.”

  He chucked a pillow at her. “Don’t sleep with him.”

  She laughed, but her heart hurt.

  “I’m serious. Don’t do it.” His jaw muscles flexed.

  Still wearing the smile he’d never see through, she climbed out of bed and started to dress. “Why?”

  A minute passed, no answer. Roman stood and walked to her. He tucked her under his arm, squeezing her close to his bare chest. “Come on. I’m starved. All kinds of stuff in my freezer. Take your pick, and I’ll microwave it just for you.”

  He leaned over and kissed the top of her head as they wandered down the hall, and somehow she knew this was something that would never happen again. She’d shared too much. There was no sex after a confession like that. As long as it didn’t affect their hanging out as pseudo-friends, it wouldn’t totally destroy her.

  But… what if…?

  She bit her lip. What if they worked together?

  Pieces of a plan clicked into place. She was supposed to have security on her trip. Jasper had said someone from the CIA’s pool of able bodies would fill in, but Roman could do it. He was built for the role, knew how to act the part. Plus, if she had to bet, Roman would want to insert himself into that job. The guy’s overprotective nature wouldn’t say no.

  “Hey, Roman.” She pulled him to a stop. “I have a proposition for you. All you need is an open mind and a little time away from Titan.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Greg’s body itched. He’d hit redial what felt like a dozen times, and his pet project was ignoring him. Which made him want her all the more. In planning his strategy to put Beth on his arm, he realized that he had to slow down his cocaine consumption. Easy. He was a man of willpower. But right now, his skin itched, and his muscles twitched. His mouth watered, and his anxiety was high as the fucking sky, especially when what he really wanted wasn’t answering the damn phone.

  Switching tactics, he scrolled through his contacts and found Evan’s name. Evan had the hookup on the two things Greg craved. He hit Send and waited.

  “Greg?” Evan answered on the first ring.

  Thank God. “How often do you talk to Beth?”

  Evan laughed. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Beth,” he snapped.

  “Okay. We know each other, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”

  Unacceptable. “Get to be friends with her.”

  “Get to be? Greg, if—”

  “I don’t ask a lot from you.” He shifted back and forth, jonesing for a hit of something, ideally Beth. “We each have our… needs. I have a need now.”

  Evan laughed casually. “Say no more, friend. I’ll get you what you need.”

  The line went dead. By the time he dropped the phone, Greg didn’t care if it was stolen art, cocaine, Beth, or a whore. He needed something to dull his cravings.

  ***

  Maybe Beth should’ve thought out her plan of attack when extending this offer to Roman. She probably only had one shot, and standing in his hallway, when they were pulled from bed by her work phone calls, he might not have been in the best mindset.

  Still shirtless and wearing jeans she’d decided were made for his perfect backside, Roman hitched half a grin and nodded. “Alright, what’s the deal?”

  What was the worst thing he could do? Laugh in her face? He could shake his head and see through her pathetic let’s-work-together scheme as a sad excuse to stay around him.

  She followed him into his kitchen. “CIA’s having someone around to assist with my Naydenov project when we travel.”

  Roman pulled several boxes out of his freezer and started opening them. “Someone around? Meaning?”

  “Meaning I get to have a helper bee.”

  He chuckled, using both his microwave and a toaster oven to heat several thousand deep-fried and frozen calories masquerading as legitimate food options. “Helper bee, huh? And what does that person do?”

  “Travel with me to Abu Dhabi.”

  His eyebrows rose. “All I have to do is not beat the piss out of Naydenov?”

  “You’d have to act like you’re a bodyguard or private security. Which wouldn’t be a stretch. Evan would have to sign off, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “And who the hell is Evan?”

  “My handler.”

  He growled.

  “Are you going to be moody any time another man is mentioned?”

  He looked at her sideways. “Pretty much.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged, swapping out microwaved food for another plate full of microwavable munchies. “Plates are behind you. Grab us some.” He snagged a stack of napkins and sat at the table. “You’re telling me that you want me around the guy you’re going to sleep with for work.”

  Instant heat crawled up her neck. “Roman!”

  “I’m just clarifying what your expectations of me are. Don’t kill the guy? No fucking his world up until you accomplish whatever your objective is? Then it’s game on?”

  She put the plates down on the table then her hands on her hips. “You don’t want me spending time with another guy?”

  “Ha. Spending time?” He tossed a couple mozzarella sticks onto their plates before standing and backing her up until she pressed against the wall.

  As fast as that happened, her heart pounded, and she couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat. “Roman?”

  His eyes narrowed as though he were analyzing her. Tracing her jawline with his fingers, he slid his hand down the slope of her neck then down her arm until his fingers tangled with hers. They didn’t interlock, just touched. Fingertips kissing fingertips, and she wanted those fingers to run over her whole body.

  “What are we doing?” he asked.

  “Snacking.” She looked away, playing down everything she wanted and failing to make a joke through the thick tension hanging between them. “Wasting the afternoon away.”

  “Bull, pretty girl.” He kissed her throat.

  She couldn’t keep her eyes open. They drifted to the side when his tongue touched her skin. She wanted to say something, but no words came. Only sounds of suffering. Prisoner against the wall, she realized it wasn’t just how she craved his kis
s. But rather, Roman could compete with the memory of Logan, and she liked it.

  Maybe even more than liked it.

  His teeth scraped where his tongue had just been. “Whatever this is, I like it.”

  “Whatever you’re doing…” She groaned when his teeth did it again. “That’s not fair. Can’t think when you’re biting me.”

  “Fair isn’t fun,” he whispered.

  Roman’s arousal pressed against her. His breaths were hot on her skin, mirroring her cadence. His hands ran into her hair, down her sides, and she wrapped her hands around his neck. He pushed against her, somehow rubbing her breasts and between her legs, and she was throbbing.

  Now that she could feel alive, her body was instantly addicted and every sensation, screamed at her to make up for lost time.

  In the background, a buzzing started, and she tore away from this embrace. Her phone.

  “Ignore it.” He bit her neck.

  She nodded, mouth agape. It stopped ringing anyway. That was a sign that they should abandoned their frozen food smorgasbord and go back to bed.

  Until the phone started again. Shit.

  His skilled hands moved to her pants zipper with such smoothness that she wanted to smack him. Practice made perfect, and she didn’t want to be some stupid plaything. But his fingers loosened the waist enough to grab her ass—rough calloused hands and all. Her complaint that he was too skilled was stupid.

  “You are such bad news.”

  “The worst.” He tugged her pants down just an inch. Maybe two. The fabric scraped across her skin, creating white, delicious lightning that made her see stars.

  Her phone started up again. What the deuce?

  Roman stilled. She had to step back from him. Maybe walk away, take a breather, something. Because that had to be work calling. It was the only option really, and she had never not jumped when they said to. Except when they suggested she sleep with Gregori Naydenov. Damn it. Choosing herself over the job had never happened before, and now it seemed that was all she was doing.

  Still keeping her pinned against the wall, Roman grabbed her purse and handed it to her. “Hating this job.”

  “Right about now, me too.” She dug until the culprit was found. Cell phone with missed calls. Again, her phone started to ring. It was Evan. Hoping she didn’t sound like the man of her dreams had her against the wall, she answered, “Hey, Evan.”

  “Where the hell have you been? Gregori Naydenov is looking for you. Looking for you. Do you understand what that means?”

  She did. There was a lot to do, and she had a very close relationship to build with Greg in a very short amount of time. “Yes, I—”

  “Get your act together, Beth.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She shrugged out of Roman’s hold and headed to the hallway. “I miss a couple of phone calls and you—”

  “Unless you’re on your knees in front of the guy, you answer the damn phone.”

  Red rage blinded her. “Watch yourself.”

  “I should say the same for you. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “This is an art project. A waste of time, of money, and my damn talent.”

  “Find Naydenov. Be his friend. Be his fuck. Do whatever it is that you have to do, but keep that invitation to that auction.”

  The line went dead. What the hell kind of handler was Evan? She glared at the phone, fighting the urge to throw it. She should’ve called Greg. But instead, she spun, wanting to find respite in Roman’s arms. She slammed into a wall of angry muscle.

  “That’s your handler?” He held her by the shoulders in a grip that was rigid and would have been scary if it weren’t for the unnamable quality burning in his eyes. “Prick has an attitude problem.”

  She painted on her picture-perfect party-girl smile. “All those Farm boys do. Used to it.”

  He rested his chin on her head, and she could feel his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around her. “You said I made you feel something inside. That you hated it, but you didn’t.”

  Well, shit. He was a listener. Heart in her throat, she partly wished her bout of honestly had never surfaced. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Beth?” He forced her to look at him. “I didn’t want to like you. You knew my sister when I thought she was dead. You were all smiles and sunshine while I’d suffered through some of the darkest years of my life.”

  Her mouth opened. “I’m sorry—”

  “But I get a kick out of you.”

  “Sweet,” she joked and rolled her eyes. That still semi-protected her heart, too.

  “I’m inherently distrustful. You”—he shook his head—“aren’t what you seem. Every time I get past a layer of you, it makes me wish…” He released her from their hug and ran his hands through his hair. She stayed there until his arms dropped back down and held her. “It makes me wish I were something more than I am.”

  “What?” she whispered. “I don’t know what that means…”

  “You don’t know how amazing you are, do you?”

  She gave him a placating grin, avoiding wherever he was going. “I know enough to get by.”

  “Don’t play it down, babe.”

  Beth hated the truth in his eyes, hated how she liked that he saw past her walls. “I get a kick out of you too, Roman.”

  Deep, dark eyes brooded, and the dimple in his chin appeared. “Good. Glad we’ve reached an understanding.”

  “That we amuse each other?”

  “That I don’t want you to sleep with Naydenov.”

  “Ah,” Beth said. “We’re back to that. Full circle.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I like your freckles.”

  “What?” Her self-defense protection mode wasn’t set to avoid sincere, off-the-wall compliments about the real her. Besides, she worked way too hard at hiding those.

  “You have a couple on your shoulders and your nose.”

  He’d noticed? Her cheeks flushed, and she wished he’d focus on something that wasn’t considered a flaw. “Not my most flattering feature.”

  Roman laughed. “I like them.”

  Beth bit her lip. She had no comeback for that one.

  “Call Evan the asshole back, and tell him you’ve got your bodyguard.”

  “We’re going to work together?” A rush of excitement flooded her. She wanted this for all the wrong reasons. But she also wanted him to know she was more than arm candy on the party scene. “I’m going to nail this assignment, ya know.”

  “Yeah, pretty girl. Wouldn’t miss it. Or a chance to make sure everyone’s friendly money launderer keeps his hands off you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  An hour later, Roman sat alone at his kitchen table, rolling a beer bottle back and forth in his hand. Given what was in his freezer, he’d made the best meal he could think of—which wasn’t much—then spilled his guts.

  Inherently distrustful?

  That losing Nicola was the darkest thing that’d ever happened to him?

  His life had been ideal before Nicola had died. His baby sister gone, he had filled the days with war, with sex, bleeding for his country, fighting for what was right. It all came down to not wanting to look back. He’d joined the Army to survive and to keep his thoughts disciplined.

  What he’d found had been a lifesaver, giving him the ability to cope. Structure. Repetition. A band of brothers. Then his home for life with Titan Group.

  And then when Nicola came back? He had learned she’d been living away from their family. It wasn’t right, even though he understood her motives. There were dark days after she was home. And Beth had had those years with Nicola. If anything, Beth should be the poster child for why he couldn’t get close to anyone. Look at what had happened to him, to her…

  But he could fall for Beth. Maybe he had already. Maybe not. She was a challenge, and he didn’t lose. But when he was with her, he wasn’t just coping.

  He was living.

  Roman scrubbed his face. What did it matter?
Frozen food summarized his life. The only certain thing was his uncertainty. Jared would call him, say they had a job, then Roman would walk away from whatever he was doing—whoever he was doing—and head to who-the-hell-knew where, staying for however long it took to get the job done.

  So life wasn’t conducive to fresh produce. Or a steady woman.

  But fuck, man. The girl who had just walked out of his house had left with a piece of him.

  Add on that she was working over a dude Roman didn’t trust or particularly want her around, and his gut churned. The whole thing was indigestion inducing.

  Sometime today, he’d have to tell Jared he’d volunteered to work on a CIA job without running it by Boss Man first. That would be a great conversation. Roman rubbed his temples.

  This was a serious case of hormone-driven overprotectiveness, and he ticked off the reasons Beth should walk away from her operation. Naydenov would kiss her. Fuck her. Hurt her. She’d like him too much. She’d be too impressed with the high-roller world. She’d get sucked in. Her cover could be compromised.

  Yeah, he needed to stop thinking about what could go wrong. Draining his beer, Roman tossed it in the trash and wandered to the window. His phone rang and, as he answered it, Nicola was already talking.

  “Slow down, Double Oh-Seven.”

  She huffed in his ear. “Would you please tell Cash to come home? That’s an order, not a question.”

  “He’s not—” He heard what he assumed was Cash’s Wrangler pulling into the driveway. “What? You two get into a fight?”

  “No. Just send his butt home.”

  “Maybe.”

  Nicola growled, “The doctor said he shouldn’t drive.”

  “Well, he’s not driving. He’s parked. Sending him home would be the wrong thing to do if that’s what the doc said.”

  “Roman, I swear to God, you listen to me.”

  “He’s at the door. He’s fine. Call you back. Love ya, girl.”

  “You both drive me insane.”

  He laughed as she hung up. Opening the door, he shook the phone at Cash. “A little warning before the Mrs. calls looking for you.”

  Cash’s brow furrowed as he passed Roman and headed to the kitchen. He slammed to a standstill, taking in the whole freezer-food explosion. “What, did you have a Stouffers-DiGiorno buffet all to yourself? Man alive, why did you nuke all that stuff?” Cash grabbed a now-cold slice of pizza. “And why the crap do you eat pizza with pineapple on it? Though it’s a lot better than raw food.”