Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  Roman took her hand in his, locked their fingers together, and closed his eyes as he repositioned.

  Beth bit her lip. She’d been silent for at least an hour, which must’ve been a record, but she couldn’t do it anymore. “You know, when Nicola called me to find you, I was working. I ignored her calls. Then she sent me a text message. There’s an accident. Can’t find Roman. She didn’t mean to terrify me. But I started shaking. All I could think was that something had happened to you. I made them turn the car around, and I walked away from a meeting.”

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  “No, there’s no reason to apologize. You just need to know that.”

  He turned his head. “Why?”

  Good question. “I don’t know.”

  He pressed her knuckles to his lips, sighing over her skin. How much tension had he bottled up? At least it seemed somewhat alleviated.

  “Are you better?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I just couldn’t breathe before.”

  “And now?”

  “And now…” He turned his head, and his dark eyes flared. Something intense and beautiful moved in where clouds had been. “I can.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It was a new day, bright and chilly, and the fresh air gave Roman a new perspective. At least his mind tried as best it could to let go of the funeral that had taken place days ago. The truth was, that was mostly due to Beth, not to the weather or sunlight or sheer willpower. Admitting she had that kind of sway over him was an eye opener. Coping through the darkness hadn’t been so bad when she was there to hold.

  As good as that news seemed on the surface, it had the potential for disaster. It meant he was letting her in. He should’ve backed off the Naydenov job, or at the very least met her at the private airport to head overseas in Naydenov’s fancy-schmancy jet. But they needed a few minutes to iron out the last-minute details.

  Whatever. Roman couldn’t fool himself. If Beth was going to play arm candy to a dickhead for God only knew how long, then Roman wanted alone time with her now.

  The doorman to Beth’s building had apparently been given the green light to let him in. A casual wave and Roman headed toward the elevators. He needed to go through their Naydenov plans one more time if he was going to be comfortable with Beth working the guy over in front of him. As of right now, he just wanted to kill the dude.

  “Beth.” Her door had been left ajar, and he was going to have to talk to her about that. Forget the fact that the girl lived in a pricey museum; she was vulnerable without a lock in place. That wasn’t going to work for him. “Babe?”

  “Still packing,” she called from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

  He wandered into the living room, wishing this job required tactical pants and Kevlar instead of khakis and a button down. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he glanced around the place. Pretty nice stuff, though none of it was Beth. He found it interesting how far the Agency went to make sure everything looked its part, and also that the more he got to know her, the less Beth seemed like her cover. He looked up as she rolled a suitcase into the living room.

  She parked it beside one already standing by the door. Next to them was a purse the size of his ammo bags.

  He eyed all the luggage. “You know we’ll be there about a week, right?”

  “Yup.”

  God, the woman hit the looks lotto. He shifted in his shoes, wishing they were boots, and tried to keep his urges to himself. “How much longer is this going to take you?”

  “Not much. Have a seat or look around.”

  He shrugged. “Where’s the remote?”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “Over there.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You.”

  “What?”

  “There’s gotta be a million dollars’ worth of history lining the walls—art, books, whatever—and you’re going to try to find Duck Dynasty or something?”

  “First, there’s nothing wrong with Duck Dynasty. Second, I’m not Rocco. So if you’ve confused me with my reality-TV-watching teammate, we’re gonna have problems.”

  “Suit yourself, big boy.” She rocked back on her heels but didn’t leave. “You look very nice, by the way.”

  He shrugged again. Get a compliment, return a compliment. But as his eyes took her in, nothing polite came to mind. He could hike that skirt up and be in heaven. They’d never get out of her condo.

  “Roman?”

  Busted. “Nice…” Tits. Face. Pussy. Mouth. “…dress.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “Nothing that’d get us out of here on time.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “M-kay.”

  Seriously, he’d have that white dress over her ass, her bent over her fancy white couch, or up against the snow-white wall. Maybe on her too-white carpet. Christ, he wanted the real Beth to come out and play, not this CIA–sculpted version, all whitewashed and controlled. Everything was blasé except for the art and books and crap that someone else decided needed to stand out in a boring mecca to a colorless color.

  “You want something to drink?” She headed toward the open white kitchen.

  “Let me guess, white wine?”

  “What?” She tilted her head.

  He narrowed his eyes at her then at all the old crap that was set up to act as a pristine showboat. “Say you had a million dollars to decorate your place…”

  “I did—”

  “Nope, you didn’t choose this stuff.”

  “Of course—”

  “Stop it, party girl. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

  “I’m not.”

  He walked over to a muddy, dirty-lookin’ piece of a bowl—not even a whole bowl—sitting on an immaculate perch. “You picked this?”

  “It’s a—”

  “Nope. Did you pick it?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “No.”

  Then he walked over and selected a random old brown book from the annoyingly white shelf. “And this one?”

  “First edition—”

  “Don’t care. Did you specifically ask for it?”

  The raised eyebrow fell. “What’s your point?”

  “That none of this is you.” He spun in a circle, gesturing to all the things and ignoring the start of a raging boner. “It’s all for show.”

  She crossed her arms, and, teetering in ridiculous heels that made her ass look like God’s gift, she strode to the couch. “Alright, Roman. Surprise me.”

  Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  “I have a million dollars and no constraints. How do I decorate?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged.

  “You seemed so sure.”

  Because he was.

  “Roman? Impress me.”

  “Already have.”

  The corners of her mouth ticked up. “Then prove your point. How would I decorate?”

  How would she…? “Pictures. Of real people. Your friends. Real life, not this meaningless history.”

  “Some of this meaningless history is from the beginning of recorded time, the birth of humanity. Pretty significant, if you ask me.” She pivoted on a heel that made his eyes crawl up her legs and skim over her curves. Even if it was white, her dress was unlike everything else in her apartment. There was something spectacular about the way it made her look. That, and she’d likely chosen the dress herself. Very Beth, even when she was in hiding.

  Then his gaze landed on her face. Green eyes popped like emeralds.

  “None of you is in here, Beth. And the more I learn about you, the more I know you have a history that’s way more interesting and significant than a dirty piece of a bowl.”

  Her lips parted, but she stayed silent then looked away. “Other people do pictures, I… don’t.”

  He crossed his arms and watched her wander around her condo as if there were something she was trying to do. There was nothing personal there. The more he looked around, the more he
resented her place. She could get away with a few personal items. But it was all so clean.

  He took out his phone, walked over, and pulled her close. “Smile, party girl.”

  The phone clicked with the picture, and he checked it. Beth was annoyed, glaring, and smiling all at the same time.

  She gave an uncomfortable laugh. “What was that all about?”

  “You need something that’s not so contrived.” He handed her the phone. “That’s a great fucking picture.”

  She looked at the screen then handed back the phone. “We’re not even looking in the same direction.”

  “Man, you’ve got your skirt too tight or something.” His hand laid over hers as he went for the camera.

  “Meaning?” She pulled her hand from his, but her cheeks were tinged pink.

  “Putting a little bit of yourself on the job isn’t the worst thing.”

  “I think we both know that I’ve volunteered to put more than a little bit of myself into this job.”

  His forehead bunched. “Don’t be like that.”

  “Then leave it be.”

  “Why are you acting like—”

  “Never mind,” she huffed.

  “You do have pictures somewhere.” He went room to room with her following him. Each one looked like the last, all canned and very well thought out and befitting whoever the CIA wanted her to be. “Show me.”

  “Give it a rest, Roman.”

  Roman flipped the lights on and off, covering a lot of ground in the surprisingly large place. “I want to see your secret stash of Bethness.”

  “There’s no secret stash of anything.” Her gaze lasered on him, and in that second, he knew it was a lie.

  He stopped his bull-in-the-china-shop approach, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against her perfect wall. “I won’t get rid of my tattoo. ’Cause I don’t want to forget.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Wh-what?”

  “I could easily change it. Fix it. Nicola’s alive. Little sister was a spy. I get it, and when I had this done, I needed the sting. I had more and more added on because I wanted to feel it. And when there was nothing more to add, I looked at it more than I should. Because it hurt. Because it was a reminder. And now… Nicola’s been back for a while. I still use it as a reminder of what I went through and how deep I hurt.” He had no idea why he’d shared any of that. Really, he hadn’t verbalized any of that to anyone, ever.

  Beth rolled her bottom lip into her mouth and stared at his biceps as if she could see his ink through his shirt. Finally, she turned and walked away, heels clicking down the blond hardwood floor. She walked into a room, and he followed her.

  Her bedroom.

  The room was expansive, the majority of the walls covered with floor-to-ceiling windows behind gauzy white curtains. He passed the meticulous furniture, the perfectly made bed, to the walk-in closet where Beth had kicked off her shoes, hiked up her skirt, and was climbing the built-in shelving. She jumped down with a box in hand and walked by without saying a word.

  “So…” She sat on the floor, using her bed as a backrest, and Roman did the same, dropping to the floor and staring at her.

  “This is my tattoo, I guess.” She opened the top, and inside were pictures, a ton of them. She started to shuffle through them, and he caught a glimpse of a couple. They were of Beth. Younger. Freckles not so hidden by makeup, curly hair wild and loose.

  She handed some to Roman. “Here. That’s him. Logan.”

  That might’ve been her husband, but that was absolutely her —the real her he was certain must still be buried deep inside. For a second, Roman was jealous of a dead man who had taken his own life. That guy had been with Beth in all her glory, nothing held back. But then Roman’s gut twisted at the darkness the guy had to have been struggling with to walk away from her and give up.

  Beth took the stack, skipped through a few more pictures, then stopped again. Roman shifted closer to her, for the first time connecting how similar their pasts, and maybe their problems, were.

  “It wasn’t a million dollars, not even a thousand,” she whispered. “Maybe a hundred if I was lucky, but you want to know how I’d decorate if it were just me deciding? Well, this was me. My first house with my husband. No picket fence, but it was as close as we could pull off.”

  Roman took the picture and studied it. In her old house, there were pictures on the walls and on the shelves. He knew she was a picture person. And whoa, there were bright colors. The room matched her eyes, and above all, Beth stood in the forefront, glowing.

  Roman had no words to offer, nothing that could make her picture stack come back to life. Compared to what he held in his hand, her current place was… cold and emotionless. His heart hurt for her, and, unable to conjure up an appropriate word, he put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

  They stayed there until he stood, pulled her up, and patted her on the butt. “When we get back, tell the Smithsonian you’re sending their shit back. You and Sugar have similar tastes. She will bitch and complain and love to go shopping.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Heart thumping sadly, Beth stood, replaced her box, and stared at Roman. “My pictures. Your tattoo. We’re even. Right?”

  His jaw flexed. “Babe, I wasn’t trying to—”

  “I know.” She scrunched her face. “I just didn’t know what to say after a moment like that.” And it had been a moment, heavy and expectant.

  He covered the ground in a way only Roman could—super alpha, very manly—and pulled her into his arms.

  Sometimes it was nice just to be held. “Thank you.”

  His lips danced over hers. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

  Because maybe he thought she needed to cry? Collect herself?

  Odd, but now that their sharing session was in the open, she wanted to stay in his arms and call in to work, not run away from him and bawl. So, shoes in hand, Beth walked into her bathroom, hopping into each heel.

  Roman had been right, and she’d seen Sugar’s style in action. Maybe they would go shopping. Or maybe she could dump this condo if she could change gigs at the Agency. She wouldn’t have to pretend to be a party girl.

  Her cell buzzed, and Greg’s name appeared on the screen. He was late, which was unlike him, but she couldn’t complain. It had given her and Roman time to share something not even Nicola had seen.

  She answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Beth, dear.”

  “Hi, Greg.” She leaned against the wall, wanting to get Roman and hide away from the world.

  “There’s been a change of plans. I’m running late, so I wanted to apologize.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “The jet is still waiting for you, though. I thought you might like to continue without me and start the evaluation, plus I promised you schmoozing time.”

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  “I’m right behind you. Go ahead—wait. You were set up with security, correct?”

  “Yes, you met Roman.”

  He laughed. “Ah, you’re bringing an attack dog. Interesting.”

  She grinned. “I believe the term is ‘colleague.’”

  “Beth…” He let seconds drift by. “Are you scared of me?”

  Not a chance. But his ego probably wouldn’t mind her cowering before his money and power. Plus, there was something more to his question. A hidden meaning behind his voice. Like maybe he questioned if she knew anything about the real Gregori Naydenov. “Should I be?”

  “No.”

  “Do you do scary things?” she teased. “Have hidden, scary secrets?”

  “No,” he repeated playfully.

  “Then I guess you’re not scary, and I’m not scared. We can continue to call Roman my colleague. And if there’s nothing to be concerned about, he’ll have to suffer through a boring few days with us.”

  “Very well.” Greg laughed. “I’ll be there soon, at most half a day behind you. You’ll have a
driver meet you in Abu Dhabi. Enjoy your time until I see you.”

  She didn’t trust Greg at all, but she did trust Roman completely. If plans were going to go rogue, she was glad he was by her side. She checked her reflection in the mirror one last time, and a sudden bubble of excitement grew. She’d be kicking it G4-style with Roman. Holy butterflies…

  “Roman?” She went in search of him and found him on the couch, kicked back in the middle and surfing through her television channels. “Guess what?”

  He muted the TV. “Tell me.”

  “Just you and me on the way over. Flying high for hours.”

  “No Naydenov?” His eyebrows rose, a sly smile playing on his face that made the dimple on his chin deepen.

  “He can’t make it until late tomorrow.”

  “I think I can handle that. So no rush…” His eyes dropped to her heels and slowly moved up her legs, her dress, lingering over her chest, finally landing on her face. “C’mere.”

  God, he didn’t say a seductive word, but all of her bubbly excitement changed into something hot and bothered. “M-kay.”

  His eyes hadn’t left hers, but her heart thumped harder with each step.

  “Closer.”

  Finally, she stood in front of him, his gaze drinking her like she was a sight on display. His button-down shirt was loosened at the neck and wrists. His thighs looked powerful, even hidden beneath khaki pants. She loved the Titan badass garb, but this was another side of him, all clean shaven and perfectly mussed hair, and it was sexier than she ever could’ve guessed.

  His body greedily took up most of couch. The air had charged, turned intense. And every sexual fiber of her body was aware of the growing bulge in his lap.

  “That dress, those shoes…” Roman leaned forward and put his hands above her butt, then tugged her to stand between his thighs. Slowly, his hands ran over her backside, letting his fingers flex. “They’ve made my dick hard since the second I walked in.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  “And those pretty little lips. Perfect fuckin’ tongue.” His right hand rose from her ass and cupped her chin, thumb running along her bottom lip and pulling it down. “What I wouldn’t do…”