Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  She stared at his chest, letting the silence answer.

  He bobbed his head. “I get those sometimes.”

  “I haven’t had one like that… in a long, long time.”

  He remained quiet for a few minutes.

  “Are you mad at me?” she asked.

  “What? No.” A tight line appeared across his forehead. “I shouldn’t have let us fall asleep.”

  Beth shrugged. “The nightmare probably would’ve happened anyway.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I feel like an ass. Probably look like it, too.”

  “If that’s as close as you get to looking like an ass, you’re doing alright.” He pressed his lips to her hair then set her to the side. They both leaned against the headboard. “I’ve done a few things in my time that would earn the asshole designation, so count me as an expert. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

  “M-kay.”

  “What… happened there?”

  She shrugged again because there wasn’t any way she’d go into details. “Oh, God. We need to get on that damn jet.”

  He chuckled humorlessly. “One-track mind: the Agency.”

  Kinda true. She used her job to block out life and avoid discussing her full-out panic attack in the nude while the man who caused it watched.

  “Do you think I’m insane?” she asked.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. The tattoo glared at her, mocking and urging her to confess the nightmare to Roman. Why, she had no idea. Maybe her subconscious was a sadist.

  “No. Not insane, crazy girl.”

  “Then what?”

  His tattoo flexed when he moved his arms—definitely mocking her.

  “How about…?” Roman rubbed his arm. “Look. I get it. It’s the same reason why I won’t get close to anyone. We’ve both lost people.”

  For the fiftieth time that day, Beth’s stomach churned and sank. This time not because she was remembering Logan, but at the reminder that Roman wouldn’t get close to anyone. That hurt. Which it should. Because just like her dream had pointed out, falling for someone else was wrong.

  “Okay, how about this?” He turned to her. “You put your fancy clothes back on. I’ll do the same. We hop on your ride to Abu Dhabi and get this show on the road.”

  “Is it that simple?” Because it didn’t feel that way.

  “I think it has to be.”

  She had no idea what that meant. “Agreed.”

  Roman threw an arm around her and gave her a kiss on top of her head. “Get your cute butt up, my friend. We have a private jet waiting for us.”

  My friend. He’d called her his friend. Not that she was looking for a title, but she didn’t want any subtle confirmation that she was meaningless sex. Though that might make her nightmares go away. At least there was that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The days were noticeably shorter. Cool air swirled. Roman took Beth’s arm and guided her onto the private airstrip. She’d finally called to let the flight crew know they were on their way, only about six or so hours late. The jet was waiting, the lights in the cockpit and cabin door shining in the darkening night. Her throat tightened. The crew must’ve been watching because a flight attendant greeted them with a cool smile at the top of the stairs. They also must hate Beth for the obnoxious delay.

  But as Beth and Roman boarded, the flight crew said their cheery hellos, and no one scowled at their rudeness. Nor could anyone apparently see what felt like a neon sign blinking over Beth’s head—Skanky, Traitorous Bitch. So they were either closet haters or they were paid handsomely regardless of when the flight took off. Once Beth thought about it, the latter was the more likely option.

  If only the flight crew’s chipper attitudes were contagious. She and Roman had been skirting serious tension. Way for her to ruin a decent thing.

  Beth shook her head, wishing there were a way to rewind the day and edit out the bad parts. She’d keep the screaming-hot sex and falling asleep under his bulky body. Maybe even keep the part where he held her after her little incident in the bathroom. But the nightmare and crying-heaving fit had to go.

  Roman’s hand touched the small of her back. “Ready?”

  Such an innocent touch, except that was not how her libido took it. Every girly part she owned jumped to life, chanting, “Roman! Roman! Roman!”

  She did not want to be just his friend.

  Then she felt like shit.

  Logic and emotion battled. Logan was dead. He had abandoned her. She knew suicide was so much more than that, but that was how she felt. He’d never clued her in, never had asked her for help. Nothing. And since the day she’d found him hanging lifeless, she’d recounted every conversation, fight, homecoming, and redeployment, wondering how she could have fixed what he’d been hiding.

  But besides all that, she’d stood in front of God and family and given him her heart, promising it for eternity. Eternity sucked now that she was all alone.

  Except she wasn’t.

  Her eyes met Roman’s, and it was like he knew what turmoil she battled.

  “Miss Tourne,” an attendant said, stealing her attention.

  Roman moved away from her, acting his part as hired security.

  “Hi,” she responded, but she kept her eyes on Roman.

  He stowed her carry-on bag and stepped over to another crew person. He motioned at a window, most likely mentioning her obnoxious amount of luggage in the town car, and then disappeared from sight.

  “Did you want to come in?” the attendant asked, maybe for a second time, as Beth remained near the cockpit, staring numbly.

  “Sure,” she said.

  The attendant followed her, readying for a flight that would take twelve hours, plus or minus. Given the late hour, Beth could sleep on the ride there. In a seat far, far away from Roman, because now that they were on the job and her feelings were hurt about his friend-status clarification…

  She rounded a door and came face to face with Gregori Naydenov. An obviously pissed-off Roman stood beside him.

  “You are stunning.” Greg’s voice boomed through the small space as he walked toward Beth, hand extended. “When I heard that you weren’t flying until late tonight and my schedule had unexpectedly cleared, I thought a surprise might be in order.”

  “Surprise.” She painted a grin onto her face. Stupid surprises. Life had dealt her too many in the forms of Logan and Roman. In no way did she want one from Greg.

  He clasped her hand and leaned forward with bright eyes that looked a little too excited. Or maybe the look was knowing? They were a little red and a bit glassy, but still very beautiful.

  Knowing what? she wondered. That she’d just been with Roman? That she was CIA? That her entire purpose for traveling with him was to use him and, eventually, take him out? Several possibilities crossed her mind, but none mattered if she didn’t get her ass in gear and work over her asset.

  “This is a great crew,” he said, still holding her hand.

  “Awesome.” As if she cared about the crew. As long as they flew safe, they were cool with her.

  Finally, she dropped his hand, and he bantered about whatever, playing the innocent card well. The guy didn’t look as though he associated with the likes of world terrorists. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe they were wrong, and his work was legitimate transactions.

  “I took the liberty of opening a bottle of champagne when I saw your car arrive.” He turned and looked toward the back, where a flight attendant with a perma-smile on her face teetered, holding a flute for Beth. The attendant passed Roman, who rocked a perma-frown.

  “Would you like anything else before we take off?” he asked.

  Beth shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Really.”

  “And your… coworker?”

  She glanced at Roman as Greg walked her down the aisle with his hand on her back. The touch was placed higher than Roman’s had been, but she felt nothing. That nothingness was wonderful because numbness was her normal. An attractive guy who
smiled, touched, flirted, but who she never felt a thing for was her typical type, minus the friend-of-terrorists issue.

  Her eyes searched for Roman’s against her will. The beautiful, massive hulk of a man who was brooding in a jet, readying to kill everyone. For her. Oh God. Her stomach turned again, threatening to pull a dry-heaving show again. Her pulse quickened in her neck. She wanted that Greg-like numbness more than ever.

  “He’s fine, but I’m exhausted. I’ll just pick a seat—” far away from both of you “—and cuddle up for the night, if you don’t mind.”

  “You can cuddle all you like.” Greg winked.

  Roman hadn’t seen the wink; otherwise, he would’ve come barreling over. Maybe everyone needed time in their corners. She certainly did.

  Greg took a long drink from the champagne flute, and Beth eased past him, feeling Roman’s stare. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—look over again. She found a seat that would recline and took the proffered blanket and pillow from the attendant. If she could sleep through the overnight flight, maybe she’d be stronger tomorrow.

  Her phone buzzed in her purse as her eyes drifted closed. Probably work, but maybe it was Nicola. The phone buzzed again, and resigned to answering it, Beth dug it out. Roman. Excitement surged, and she hated how fast she opened the message screen.

  Roman: Lots of smiling over there. A plane and champagne make him interesting all of a sudden?

  Oh my God. Roman was jealous. Excitement morphed to aggravation.

  Beth: Just doing my job.

  A buzz announced his reply. After the last one, she didn’t want to read it, but she couldn’t ignore him.

  Roman: He’s a prick.

  Predictable and irritating. Maybe bringing him had been a terrible idea.

  Beth: This again?

  Roman: Just pointing out the obvious.

  Beth: That you’re acting jealous over something you want no part of? That’s on you, buddy.

  She could pull the friends card too. Buddy. Nothing sexy about that.

  Roman: There’s a difference b/w being overprotective and jealous. No news that I’m overprotective.

  Beth: Fine.

  Roman: I want no part of what?

  Well, shit. She should’ve thought that through before sending it. Reminding him that he wanted nothing to do with her, other than handing out orgasms, wasn’t conducive to texting.

  Roman: Beth? No part of what?

  She stared at the screen for a long time, refusing to look up, though his gaze burned across the belly of the plane. Fuck it. What did she have to lose?

  Beth: Me.

  Send. But now that it was out there, the text looking back at her and his lack of response meant only one thing. That revelation was the wrong thing to share. She should’ve just ignored him, even though she could feel him staring. She wouldn’t look at him. Nuh-uh, no way. He pitied her… or even worse, regretted her.

  Eyes pinched closed, she tried to sleep as the plane began to move toward a runway. She repositioned in the seat, pushed off the blanket, tugged her pillow into a ball, then redid her blanket-pillow combo.

  Her phone buzzed, and as much as she didn’t want to see what he had to say, she had to. Nicola. She sighed. Not Roman.

  Nicola: Hey

  Beth: You feeling better?

  Nicola: Yeah about that…

  Beth: hmm?

  Nicola: I don’t have the flu

  Beth: Then get your cute ass back to work.

  Nicola: I can’t

  What? Nothing stopped Nicola. Ever. Beth had seen firsthand, the girl was unstoppable.

  Beth: ? I don’t get it.

  Nicola: I *can’t*… Like CANNOT go back to work. I do NOT have the flu.

  Beth stared at the phone, her mind turning the text messages over. Was she…? No. Couldn’t be. Surely that wasn’t shared via text message. But it was Nicola. Nothing was conventional. What else could it be?

  Beth: ? Um… ?

  Nicola: Pls figure this out. I can’t tell you. Not until I talk to Cash.

  Beth: oh…! Are we talking about the same thing…?

  Nicola: Yeah, think so

  Beth: Really? Are you sure we’re on the same page?

  Nicola: Hoping so (SQUUEEEE)

  Beth: OMFG

  Nicola: Surprise

  Maybe she didn’t hate surprises.

  Beth: I thought you all weren’t trying

  Nicola: Yeah, we weren’t

  Beth: ……

  Nicola: ……… yeah

  Beth: Holy. Shit.

  Nicola: No one knows yet. Just had to tell someone. Gotta go. <3

  Okay.

  Okay? Okay. Whoa. Okay.

  Nicola was pregnant? A baby? Beth couldn’t wrap her head around it. But then again, a little Cash-Nicola baby? Oh my God. Beth was going to explode at the thought of all that blond hair and cuteness. Probably dressed in little pink-camo onesies. Or if it was a boy? Following his daddy around? This was almost too much to handle. She had to talk to Nicola. Like that second.

  The captain came over the PA system. “Sorry about the wait, Mr. Naydenov. Looks like we’re next in line to take off.”

  Beth saw Greg watching her while he was on a phone call, and she realized she was stupid-grinning, the kind of smile that made her cheeks hurt and let the world know that something crazy-awesome was happening. She tried to tamp down the smile, which only made Greg narrow his eyes and tilt his head.

  And Roman. She absolutely could not tell Roman. Even if he figured it out on his own, Nicola might never forgive her. Okay. So she needed to redirect her mind to something else.

  The only other thing that popped in her head was Roman. Well, shit. She should go to sleep. Go to sleep. She burrowed again, looking for the correct blanket-pillow combination. Frustrated, she counted to one hundred, named the capital cities of various countries, and reviewed every place she’d handled a CIA job. As soon as they were airborne, the lights would go down and the white noise would knock her out. Until then, nothing worked. She wasn’t comfortable.

  She heard him before she opened her eyes. Roman loomed over her. “You and me, party girl. Time to talk.”

  Party girl. Not pretty girl. Noteworthy, given their text messages. She hugged her phone close for some absurd reason, as if he’d read somehow read her Nicola texts. Then her eyes darted around to find Greg. He was still in a far corner, ignoring them, phone pressed to his ear and magazine propped on his knee.

  A growl came from Roman. “I don’t give a fuck about him, and I won’t say a word that messes up your shit. But you and me in that bathroom. Now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Frustrated, Roman didn’t know what the fuckballs he was doing. Whatever ground rules they had established, they hadn’t accounted for Beth having a nervous breakdown in her bathroom and deciding that he, along with Naydenov, was the enemy. They needed to touch base, get new ground rules, and figure out what the hell had gone wrong before they were wheels up.

  She turned her head. “Go away.”

  “Not a chance in the world, babe. Ass up and in the head. Now.”

  Her smirk did little to quell the urge to rake his fingers into her hair. Restraint was nearly impossible. “Not playing.”

  She came out of her blanket cocoon and led the way into the teeny-tiny lavatory without a single verbal complaint. But the attitude radiated in waves.

  He shut the door. “Beth—”

  “What do you want?”

  There was barely any room, and as the plane gained speed, they both shifted on their feet.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with your sudden attitude problem, but you’re gonna get us fucking killed.”

  “I—”

  Knock, knock.

  “Excuse me, but we’re about to take off.” The poor flight attendant had seen them both go in and probably assumed the worst, but Roman had no interest in explaining what they were doing to anyone and definitely not through a door, especially when he had no fu
cking clue himself.

  Knock, knock. “Sir?”

  “Back off,” he growled. Given his frustration level, taking Beth hard and fast against the wall would at least calm him down. It was worth thinking about. “Beth.”

  “What?”

  “What is your deal?”

  Tart lips pursed together. There it was. She was thinking it over, knowing she’d fucked up. It was written on her face. “Fine. I got in my head. I’m not going to get us killed.”

  “So you’re good?”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  “Now explain your text.”

  Her brows pinched. “That was nothing. Like I said, I got in my head, but—”

  “I want no part of you? Explain that.” Because right that second, he wanted every part of her. Preferably naked. On her knees. With his dick resting on her tongue.

  “Oh. That.” Shaky laughter punctuated her irritating avoidance.

  “What’s going on with you, Beth?”

  She shook her head. “Forget what I said before.”

  “Why?” His chest rumbled as he leaned over her, one hand above her shoulder, caging her in.

  “Well, shit, Roman. Why not? Isn’t that what you want? Friends? It works for me, obviously. I’m a bit of a whore. I get it.”

  What? His mind reeled. Whore?

  Her eyes didn’t house their trademark fire as she kept going. “You want simple. You want—”

  “Stop.” He inched closer, making the small bathroom feel even smaller. “Say that again, and you’re gonna have bigger problems than worrying that Gregori Naydenov thinks you’re fucking your security in the bathroom.”

  Her gaze shot to his. “I’m—”

  “Careful. Say something unkind about the girl in my arms…”

  They both shifted again as the wheels went up, angling them. He braced them by holding her against the wall—stomach to stomach, chest to chest. He could smell her shampoo and the light scent of perfume. The force of their ascent pressed them even closer, and he needed to hold her. Stop her. Fix her. Whatever was running through her head, if it could just pause while he held her.