Sometimes Harry questioned Simon’s business sense in naming Amber as vice president of operations of SiJo. Simon’s confidence and recommendation undoubtedly secured her future with the board of directors upon Simon’s death. As much as Harry liked Simon, the man definitely thought more with his heart, or perhaps other parts of his body, than he did his head when it came to women. The fact he’d spent eight years waiting for Claire was another example of Simon’s emotional handicap. It sure as hell wasn’t a mistake that Harry planned on repeating.
As CEO, Amber McCoy often surprised and delighted her brother. She’d definitely learned from Simon’s intuition. Now, with John, the company was once again making waves throughout the gaming world. Granted, they were little ripples, but movement nonetheless.
The knock on his condominium door brought Harry to present. He was expecting someone from the San Francisco field office. They were coming to pick up the boxes of research. When he opened the door, it wasn’t a fellow FBI agent, but Liz.
Harry scanned her work clothes. He liked the skirts that got all tight at the waist and stayed tight until her blouse, emphasizing her round breasts. Noticing her black high heels, Harry tried not to think about other times she’d worn those and not much else. Unable to hide his sly smile, Harry said, “Hi, come on in.”
She took a few steps, scanned the stacked boxes, and raised her eyebrows. “You’re really moving on to other cases.”
Harry gently clenched Liz’s shoulders, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek. “Between you and Amber, I don’t know who has more difficulty remembering I can’t talk about it.”
Liz grinned. “I know, or you’d have to kill me; but hey, this case almost cost us—us. So to say I’m glad you’re moving on is an understatement.”
Going into Harry’s kitchen, Liz opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. Harry was close behind when he asked, “Even if it means that I’m traveling?”
Liz shrugged. “I like it better when you’re here. How much of your schedule can I know?”
Leaning against the counter with his faded jeans, tight black t-shirt, bare feet, and messy, blonde hair, Harry grinned. “I can tell you when I’m home.”
“But not when you’re coming home.”
He stepped toward her, put his arms around her waist, and pinned her against the counter. Inhaling deeply, he took in the sweet smell of her perfume. As he exhaled, his warm breath bathed her neck. Before he spoke, his lips caressed her shoulder and his fingers traced the edge of her scoop cut blouse. Liz tilted her head back, giving him full access and involuntarily moaned. His words were spaced and breathy. “No” “not when I’m coming home” “I promise” “when I’m home” “I’m all yours.”
Liz sighed, momentarily allowing her hips to be pulled toward his; however, when his hands lowered to her round behind, Liz pushed away. “Well, I think we need to talk. I mean, what’s this relationship anyway? What am I?”
Harry lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Are we dating again, or just having sex?”
Running his fingers through his hair, Harry sighed. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I don’t want you stuck in some holding pattern. It could be a few days or a few months. That’s not fair to you.”
Liz set the bottle on the counter with enough force to allow droplets of water to escape onto the granite top. “Fine,” she said as she turned toward the door.
Harry grabbed her arm and turned her back toward him, pulling her into his strong embrace. Looking down into her light blue eyes, he softened his tone. “What is this? I thought we’d been through this. You know it’s my job.”
Liz nodded into his chest. “I do. I just don’t know what that means.”
Harry lifted her chin. “Why are you suddenly upset?”
“It’s not suddenly, Harry. It’s still!”
Exhaling, Harry took Liz by the hand and led her to his sofa. “It was a job. I let it get out of hand. It’s over. She’s remarried. She’s having someone else’s kid!”
“You told me it was over with her after you found out about the kid not being yours.”
Harry’s voice became louder. “It was! We’ve, you and me, have been back together since then. What is this?”
Liz stood and paced about his living room pretending to have interest in all the things lying around. Finally, she answered, “I want to believe you. I do. I can do the whole secret-agent girlfriend thing. Christ, Harry! I was kidnapped and forced to watch some assholes beat the shit out of you!” She inhaled deeply and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “I kept my mouth shut the whole time that stupid slut was here.” She turned her eyes to Harry.
He knew she was waiting for a reaction. Luckily, years of training allowed him to remain stoic.
Liz continued, “I did! I smiled and played nice, even after Amber told me you two were sleeping together.”
Harry exhaled. Damn his sister! He knew she’d been the one to inform Liz, but hearing it reminded him how Amber needed to learn to keep her mouth shut! Agent training summoned, Harry stood and walked to Liz. Lifting her chin, he kissed her lips once again softly and slowly. “I’m sorry. The whole thing put you in a terrible place. Is this something we can ever get past, or will I hear about it every time you’re mad at me, for the rest of our lives?”
Her lips curved upward. “The rest of our lives?”
“Or until you tell me to hit the road.”
Her blue eyes closed, and her lashes fluttered on her cheek. “You’ve never talked about the future, even when we were living together.”
Harry shrugged. “The whole kid thing.” He pulled her close. “Sorry, but it made me realize I might want that.” He felt her breasts against his chest. The tighter he held her, the harder her nipples became under her blouse. “Then, when Jillian was threatened, I thought about her. She’s beautiful and happy. She doesn’t need me showing up in her life, but another kid…” His lips brushed hers. “…maybe, I’m growing up?”
With her hand in his, he again pulled her toward the sofa. Leaning over her, their lips met. Harry gently pulled her blouse from the confines of her skirt. Within seconds, his hands were under her blouse and bra, caressing the firm, round breast he’d moments earlier been imagining. When his thumb began to trace circles around her nipple, Liz’s head fell back and a moan escaped her lips.
“Harry… Harry…”
Later that evening, while they lingered in Harry’s bed, Harry watched Liz sleep. With his head on his elbow, he took in her beautiful features. Everything about her said California, from her blonde hair to her tan skin. She grew up in southern California and moved north after college. Working at SiJo wasn’t her lifelong dream; she’d shared her desires for her future. That was part of her allure: they had a past. He and Liz had lived together, had good times together, and made mistakes together. It was real, not created by the FBI. She even knew what he did for a living and still wanted to be with him. Damn, hearing her talk about being kidnapped pulled at Harry’s heart. As much as he wanted a future with her, he had every right to worry about her safety.
As it was, Ilona and Jillian had only recently been allowed home and still had surveillance. Ilona had been much more understanding than Harry ever expected. Now that Harry was off the Nichols/Rawlings case, the bureau believed the threat to his ex-wife and their child would soon be gone; however, in Harry’s mind that attack still didn’t make sense.
About a month ago, Harry made a visit to the Rawlings estate. He had to see Ms. London in person. He fully monitored every one of her reactions. The first came when Harry introduced himself as Harry Baldwin, Claire’s ex-boyfriend and friend of John and Emily Vandersol. London appeared genuinely surprised to learn Claire had dated anyone else while in California. She offered her condolences regarding Claire’s disappearance. She also promised to contact him or the Vandersols if she learned anything. To make the conversation more believable, Harry mentioned Emily and how upset
she was about her sister, especially with her emotions running high, due to her recent pregnancy.
Never once during the conversation did Harry get the feeling she knew of Claire’s location or that she knew anything about him. That reaction begged the question, why would Catherine London order an attack on him or threaten his family? Obviously, the person who did it knew him, knew he was FBI, and knew about Ilona and Jillian. Even though the deputy director had reassigned Harry, he knew that he couldn’t let go of this particular piece of the puzzle. One day, he’d learn who threatened his family, his life, and his investigation.
Liz stirred, murmuring as she rubbed her cheek against his pillow. Her blonde hair and soft skin pulled him closer. He wanted to be honest with her, he really did; nonetheless, it wouldn’t do either one of them any good for her to know that he still thought about Claire from time to time. Sometimes when he’s alone he remembered what it was like to be with her. It wasn’t just the sex. He thought about how scared she was when she first moved to Palo Alto. Every time he remembered her buying her first cell phone, a smile came to his lips. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but he felt his cheeks raise. When he first met Claire, she was like a frightened fawn exploring the world on her own. He was drawn in by a need to protect her from all the dangers including Anthony Rawlings. Even before Harry knew the details, he knew that she’d been hurt. Looking into her emerald eyes, he knew that it was something he didn’t want her to experience again.
Harry cared about Liz. He could even see spending the rest of his life with her. She was different than Claire—so strong and independent. How many women would take him back after what he’d done? Granted she gave him hell about it; he deserved it. Harry admired her strength and strong will. With an appreciative smile, he knew he also admired her ingenuity. Never once did she blow his cover with Claire or the Vandersols, yet her jealousy played a significant role in his and Claire’s first big fight. When Amber received the call, at the last minute, about Rawlings being at the gala, Harry knew Liz had withheld the information on purpose. He even told Amber.
Watching her sleep peacefully, Harry moved her soft blonde hair away from her neck. Damn, he loved that neck. Fighting the urge to wake her, he smiled.
There was no doubt that he was pissed during the night of the gala. He was pissed at Liz and at Claire; however, now Harry had to give Liz an A for effort. She took the cards she’d been dealt and played them. She played them very well.
“Why are you smiling?” Liz asked as her eyes opened.
“I was just thinking about that sexy neck of yours.” His fingers went to her collarbone and traced a winding path over her neck and down to her breast.
Liz reached for his hand. Momentarily, their palms touched and their fingers intertwined. “Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“One more question, and then I’ll drop it. I promise.”
He exhaled and laid his head on his pillow. “Go ahead.”
“How do I know that if you run into her in the future that you won’t still have feelings?”
“I don’t know. Some couples have this thing called trust. I realize I’m the one who needs to earn it back.” He lifted his head and allowed his lips to lightly trail over her neck. Breathlessly he whispered, “I will.”
“In Venice?”
Harry lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “In Venice—what?”
“Did you want to be with her again? Did you sleep together? Or anything?”
“No!” Harry pulled the covers back and abruptly left the bed. “Why are you on this kick? No! She was planning on meeting up with Rawlings.” Pacing nude by the bed, Harry lifted his arms. “I screwed up. All I can say is I’m sorry.”
Liz moved to her knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. With her face lifted, she cooed, “I believe you. I can tell you’re upset. I’m sorry. It’s just that after I saw that picture of the two of you holding hands… well, I guess I needed to know.”
“You saw the picture? How?”
“Amber showed it to me.” She lifted herself on her knees, kissed his lips, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressed her breasts against his hard chest. “I believe you. If you say it’s over, it’s over.” She moved slightly away to look into his eyes. “Oh, please don’t tell Amber that you know I saw the picture. She just wanted me to be sure that I knew everything so that I could make an informed decision.”
Her grin widened as she pulled Harry back down on the bed. When his head hit the pillow, she leaned over him. The warmth of her flattened breasts covered his wide chest as their skin united. Liz continued, “She told me not to tell you.” Her words came between butterfly kisses to Harry’s cheek and neck. “I probably shouldn’t have. But Agent Baldwin… now that I know… my decision is informed… and… I don’t want… to let you go… again!”
Harry flipped Liz onto her back.
Before he could speak, she begged, “Please, Agent, can you show me how much you’ll miss me? Please?”
Harry couldn’t resist her begging, her flushed cheeks, her trusting gaze, or her disheveled hair. It was more than he could take. Any thought unrelated to becoming one with the woman below him momentarily slipped away.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Focus on things you can control
—John Wooden
“Monsieur?”
Tony pulled his gaze away from Claire and looked toward Madeline. In her arms, she held a stack of towels and sheets.
“We need to clean her and cool her.”
Tony nodded and reached for a washcloth. After going to the bathroom and saturating it with cool water, he folded it in thirds and gently placed it on Claire’s forehead. His soft tone resonated through their suddenly cavernous suite. “I know you haven’t been sleeping well.” Thunder shook the house. Tony continued, unfazed, “If you need to sleep now, it’s all right, but pretty soon, our little one will be here. He or she needs their mommy.” Tony fought the emotion boiling in his throat. “Claire, I need you. With you I’m someone I’m proud to be. P-please don’t leave me.”
The pressure of someone’s hand fell on Tony’s shoulder. He was on the edge of a dark abyss. Fear pulled at him, inciting emotions he couldn’t control. Anthony Rawlings controlled everything and everyone. The sudden impotence filled his world with red. Other than Claire, he was surrounded by employees. Didn’t these people know anything? They didn’t address him without a title, and they didn’t touch him! Tony inhaled and looked toward the touch. His gaze met Madeline’s as she smiled a sad smile. Instantaneously, the red faded. Tony covered Madeline’s hand and relished her support.
Madeline said, “Monsieur, Madame el, she’s not gone. She’s resting. The island cure I gave her is helping her. She needs her strength for your baby. We must make her comfortable.”
Tony didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to do. It was an uneasy situation under normal circumstances. With Claire’s life on the line, Tony felt completely helpless. Swallowing his pride, he asked, “H-how can we make her comfortable?”
Madeline explained her plan. Once Tony approved, she put it into motion. First, she instructed Francis and Phil to carry a chaise lounge in from the lanai. Rain covered the floor when they opened the door and brought the long lounge into the bedroom. Madeline immediately dried the moisture from the floor and from the lounge cushions; then she proceeded to cover the chair in towels and sheets.
Phil and Francis went back to the hall and kept silent vigil, while Madeline and Tony removed Claire’s wet clothes. They cleaned, rinsed, and dried her with cloths and towels from the bathroom. Once she was dry, Tony gently lifted her to the lounge chair where they dressed her in a nightgown and covered her shivering body with a clean sheet. The chase lounge was much lower than a normal bed; however, since the mattress of their bed was saturated, it gave her a clean place to lie.
No longer did station matter. Madeline was no longer house staff or an employee—Tony willingly submitted to her control of the situation. If s
he told him to jump, it would be he who asked, how high? For the first time in his memory, Tony didn’t want power. He knew nothing about giving birth. Without a doctor, Madeline was their best bet. She was the dealer. She controlled the deck and had his full respect and attention.
As the sky darkened and nighttime came, Tony did the only thing he could. He sat by Claire with one hand on their unborn child. When he’d feel the baby move, he’d tell Madeline, “I felt something.” His other hand continually touched Claire. It may have been her hand, her cheek, or her forehead. He didn’t care where they connected—as long as they did.
Throughout the night, Claire’s pulse remained steady, and their baby continued to move. It wasn’t until dawn when Claire began to wake. At first, it was the incoherent mutterings of earlier. She pleaded, “Tony… no… gone… Tony… no…” Eventually, the pleadings morphed into tears. With each outburst, another piece of Tony’s heart broke. Claire was fighting a battle only she could see. He would’ve said, paid, or done anything to bring her relief. He couldn’t.
All he could do, was offer himself. Never leaving his wife’s side, Tony repeatedly wiped her tear-coated cheeks with a soft handkerchief, and each time she’d mutter, in his calmest tone, he’d reassure, “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. No one is gone…” He didn’t know if she could hear his words; nevertheless, saying them brought a sense of comfort to their suite.
By the time the sun rose behind the still billowing clouds, Tony’s head rested quietly on the side of the chair. There hadn’t been a change in hours. He didn’t intend to fall asleep, but the rumbling of thunder, rhythm of rain, and constant in Claire’s condition allowed him to slip into a false sense of security.
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