by Tawny Weber
If intel hadn’t confirmed Nathan Maclean was the guy’s kid, Diego wouldn’t believe he was or had ever been a part of their lives. Even if he applied Harper’s bedtime story to Ramsey, he still couldn’t make it all compute. His financial records claimed the guy paid child support, that he sent money at Christmas. There should be a money trail.
But Harper’s records didn’t reflect any of that.
Diego flipped through the papers neatly stacked in a crystal tray. Notes, to-do lists, penciled sketches of room designs. He paused when he came across one with a phone number, noting the Southern California area code.
“Need a number checked,” he murmured after tapping his comm open.
“Reel it off—I’ll reel it in.”
It took Lansky only a moment to come back with, “Burner cell. God dammit.”
Diego gritted his teeth.
God dammit, indeed. People who used throwaway cell phones were usually up to no good.
“Finish the electronics” was all he said.
A burner phone. That she’d left the number laying out, that she’d even had to write it down, said she was clueless. But clueless didn’t negate what might be proof that Harper was involved in something. In what shape or form wasn’t entirely clear. But Diego’s driving need to find out just intensified.
“What are you going to do?” The question snapped through his ear.
“Contact Savino. Tell him we need to talk.”
He couldn’t contact his commander himself. Savino’s communications were likely being monitored, and Diego didn’t have the equipment—or, truth be told, the skill—to bypass whatever NI had in place. Lansky did.
In the meantime, Diego knew what he had to do.
And he’d do it.
He’d up his game to get to the truth. He’d push Harper.
He’d been ordered to keep watch and wait for Ramsey to appear or for Harper to let something slip over the course of friendly conversation.
He’d use his advantage of being in her bed to get her to divulge more.
To get her to tell him everything.
“When the hell are you going to confront her? Make her tell you what she knows?”
His body tight, his mind racing with one furious thought after the other, Diego tried to reel in his emotions, tried to bypass the sense of betrayal.
He’d been so sure about Harper.
But even faced with proof that he might be wrong, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—believe she was dirty.
“I need to talk to Savino.”
He could feel Lansky’s irritation beating at him. Could hear his frustration at the situation. His perception of Diego’s failure was coming through loud and clear.
Just as loud were the weighted expectations of the entire team. The men were counting on him to find out the truth. Their reputations—his career—were all on the line.
“Did you pull anything on that burner yet?” he asked.
“Manufactured nineteen months ago in Taiwan, sold three months ago in San Diego. Cash sale.”
“That doesn’t prove it’s connected to Ramsey.”
Still, Diego’s frowned slid into a scowl. “But it doesn’t prove it isn’t. Dude, what’s the problem? You’ve been sitting on your ass for days, and this is the first piece of evidence you’ve found. Now you’re trying to dismiss it. What’s the deal?”
“How about the truth? Isn’t that why I’m here? To figure it out.”
“How much figuring can you do when your mind’s closed to the very real possibility that the Maclean woman is dirty?”
“How much are you doing when your mind’s closed to the very real possibility that Ramsey is ash?” Diego shot back. “What proof have you found?”
“The only thing I’ve found are big, glaring question marks aimed at the blonde. Financials, contacts, discrepancies. She’s got them all.”
Even as fury and frustration tangled in his gut, Diego knew that was why he was here.
Harper was the key.
He’d use her to unlock this disaster.
Just as soon as he talked to Savino.
A faint creak overhead sent a warning tickle down the back of his neck.
“Neutral approaching,” he murmured into the comm.
“Distract or deploy. I’m in too deep to stop now” came the response.
Diego considered the computer. It didn’t have a separate monitor to turn off; putting it to sleep would shut MacGyver down. And leaving the light on in a darkened room would alert Harper that he was investigating her.
He moved quickly, carefully, making sure everything was exactly as it had been. He adjusted the stack of papers to be sure the one with the incriminating phone number was tucked away where he’d found it.
“Can you remotely shut down when you’re done?” he asked quietly.
“Affirmative.”
Diego waited, but nothing else came through his comm. No stupid jokes, no smart-ass remarks, no clever quips.
That was it, then. Like he didn’t know fuck you when he heard it wrapped in an affirmative?
Well, fuck Jared right back if he wasn’t satisfied with the progress or with Diego’s methods. He didn’t report to Lansky, and he didn’t have to justify his choice to defer to their commander.
He had his orders. He knew his job.
And right now the job was heading his way.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CALLING ON YEARS of training, Diego bottled the anger churning in his gut and tucked it away. He sidled out the office door, pulling it closed behind him with a quiet snick. He moved toward the great room, sticking to the shadows as the cut-glass chandelier above the stairs gleamed on.
Grabbing the wineglasses he’d set out as cover for being downstairs, he moved back to the foyer, checking for tells as he went.
After he’d noted it was all clear, he glanced up.
Harper stood at the top of the stairs, wearing only his shirt. The faded black fabric hit her midthigh in vivid contrast against her pale skin, offering a mouthwatering view from his vantage point below. His pulse picked up, his body reacting to the memory of how soft he knew that skin to be, there, just between her thighs.
With a lot of effort, he pulled his eyes higher, appreciating the way the worn cotton molded to her flat belly, highlighted her full breasts.
Tousled hair tumbled around a sleep-flushed face, flowing over a shoulder covered with his tee, the left side temptingly bare by the wide collar.
He knew what that silken shoulder tasted like. He knew what her delicate skin felt like. He knew the feel of those supple thighs wrapped around him, gripping him with sensual strength.
He knew the power of losing himself in her body. Of pounding into that welcoming heat. Of pouring himself into her, making them one.
Damned if he wasn’t ready to know it all again.
Even with the changed intel, even with that suspicious phone number still etched in his brain, he wanted her.
Was that because she was the most incredible woman he’d ever met? Or was he simply betraying himself the same way someone had betrayed the team?
“Diego?”
“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as the night.
“Hey,” she said back in a voice husky with sleep. “What are you doing?”
Prepared for that question, Diego lifted the two wineglasses in one hand, snagging the open bottle from the waist-high table behind him.
“Round two.”
Eyes glistening, a shy smile spread, wide and delighted, over rosy cheeks. She held out one hand, the long fingers beckoning him to join her.
He’d thought she was incredible when he’d watched her poised over his body, daring him to make her come again and again.
How coul
d she be more tempting now?
“Let’s go to bed,” he suggested when he reached her, lifting those fingers to his mouth to brush a soft kiss over her knuckles. “And after we finish this round, you can tell me another one of your stories.”
* * *
SO THAT’S WHAT great sex was all about.
Harper’s body hummed. But now it was with nerves, not passion. She’d have thought a night of soul-slamming, mind-blowing orgasms would wear her out, but Diego had shown her otherwise this morning in the shower.
Now, moving around the familiarity of her kitchen, she felt totally unfamiliar in her own body. She ached in ways she’d forgot were possible. She tingled with pleasure in ways she’d never imagined.
A part of her waited for the weirdness. Shouldn’t she feel strange having a man she barely knew sitting in her kitchen wearing just a pair of jeans while she made him a breakfast of bacon and waffles? Of course, given that she’d had the same man sliding into her body wearing nothing but skin while he made her scream with pleasure, maybe it wasn’t so strange.
It was awfully complacent, though. Here she was, having her first fling, and there was nary a worry in her mind.
“Did you want juice?” she asked, her focus on the bowl of batter she was stirring.
“This coffee is enough. It’s great.”
She glanced over to see him lift the cup in a toast and then take a healthy gulp. Gratified, thrilled that he seemed so, well, satisfied, she smiled and flipped on the round Belgian-style waffle maker. She moved to the stove top to turn the bacon, easily avoiding the splatters as it crisped.
“You’re good at that,” Diego noted.
“At making breakfast?” Tugging the sash of her robe a little tighter, she leaned against the counter to sip her own coffee. “It’s Nathan’s favorite meal. We love Sunday breakfasts. Waffles or pancakes or an omelet, depending on his mood. Or if we have company.”
“Company?” His tone didn’t change. His body stayed relaxed with his legs thrust out in front of him, one arm wrapped around the back of the chair while the other lifted his coffee to his lips. But she’d swear that his eyes sharpened.
Why?
A giddy sort of delight curled in her heart. Was that jealousy?
“Company. Like, sometimes Nathan has friends for sleepovers and we do a big manly breakfast. Every once in a while Andi stays or comes over early to join us for brunch.”
There it was again. That look.
She wasn’t good at jealousy games, had never seen any benefit in playing with emotions. But Harper couldn’t stop the small smile from working its way over her lips.
“Andi spends a lot of time here. She’s my best friend.” She tested the waffle maker. Deeming it ready, she gave the batter one more stir.
“Andi’s a chick?”
“Andrianna,” Harper confirmed absently as she poured batter into the waffle iron. “She’s with her family right now in Greece celebrating her grandmother’s birthday, but she’ll be home in a few days. She’s going to want to meet you.”
Harper grinned as she imagined Andi’s expression when she got a load of Diego and realized that, yes, indeed, Harper had finally done the deed. She’d be so proud. Actually, Harper realized, gauging the pleasure still tingling through her body, she was pretty proud herself.
“A woman like you, I’d think you’d have guys lined up for breakfast.”
Lined up? Why? Because she’d been an unwed teenage mother?
Harper’s jaw set as tension flashed behind her eyes. Her reflex was to tell him that breakfast was over and push him out the door. But that wasn’t ladylike, definitely wasn’t classy. So she’d offer him a damned waffle, then kick him out of her kitchen.
She turned the iron handle with trembling fingers and forced herself to take a deep breath. She didn’t have any practice at the morning after. Maybe this was standard. The exchange of sexual history to get to know each other better after getting naked together.
She was tempted to confess that she’d had only a single lover in her entire damned life, and that’d been eight years ago. But it didn’t take but a blink to realize that while the fact might tamp down the jealousy, it was probably the sort of thing that freaked a guy out.
She’d initiated sex between them, she told herself. She’d wanted a distraction. So she turned to give Diego a smile. It was chilly, she knew, but hey, it was a smile.
“Just because they line up doesn’t mean they get breakfast.” She waited a beat. “Or anything else.”
“So that means I don’t have to share?”
* * *
DAMN. WHAT WAS he doing asking dumb-ass questions like that? Not only was that on the standard morning-after blacklist, it was a lousy way to get intel on Ramsey. Ignoring the jealousy knotted in his gut, Diego’s mind raced to find the right angle. The one that would garner the information he needed while putting him and Harper back on the right track.
“Do you have an objection to sharing?” Harper asked, her words slow and measured. As if she’d weighed each one carefully before using it.
There it was. A nice, tidy opening to push on the Ramsey issue. Even as he prepared to do just that, Diego realized he was pushing for himself, too.
He needed her. And dammit, he wanted her. Bad. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman more. But that was secondary. Priority, always, was the mission.
“Maybe that’s something we should have talked about before last night. I’m not a sharing kind of guy. So if you’ve got someone else in your life, a guy in the background or whatever, I’d like to know.”
Hell, yeah, he’d like to know.
Harper didn’t say anything as she finished plating the waffles. The sweet scent of them crossed the room before she did. He watched her face as she sat, noting the shyness in her eyes, wondering at the color washing her cheeks.
“There’s nobody else,” she said after a moment. “I haven’t wanted there to be. My focus, my priority, is Nathan.”
“I get that. I know being a single mom’s rough,” he said with a nod. “Juggling work, the kid, life itself, I know it’s a demand. Especially when a lot of fathers don’t pull much weight.”
Diego’s gut clenched when something flashed across her face. Was she thinking of Ramsey? Did the man add weight to everything she had to juggle? Before he could push for more, she urged the platter of waffles toward him.
“Should I ask how you know so much about being a single mom?” she teased.
“All I know is what I learned from watching my own mom,” he admitted, watching Harper’s face as he cut into his breakfast. “My father was what you’d call a bad influence. He even tried to pull her into his crappy choices, into his crimes. He had this huge personality, made it really hard for anyone—especially my mom—to say no when he got rolling.”
“Did she get pulled in?”
“Maybe peripherally,” he admitted, both because it was the truth and because he wanted to keep the parallel going, to build that common ground. “But for the most part, she walked the straight and narrow. She tried to teach me to be a good person. Mostly she just wanted me to grow up to not be like the people around us.”
“And was she satisfied that you did?”
“I think she would have been,” he admitted as pain slapped at him. The same pain he always felt whenever he thought of his mother being gone. Of what she’d been like, of what she’d faced. Of what she’d missed.
“It sounds like you had a rough upbringing,” Harper said quietly, her eyes filled with empathy.
“Rough for my mom, yeah.” As much as he liked the admiring look in her eyes, he knew she deserved the truth. “I was probably worse on her than my father was, though. My mom, she was a good woman. She worked hard to give me a good home. But I followed my old man instead. Because it was
cooler. Because it was easier.”
“What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do time like he did.” Maybe that was his only saving grace. “I was a gang initiate before I hit puberty, though. I ran on the streets. Hell, I ran the streets. I lived the ugly life.”
“What changed?” she asked, leaning toward him. Her expression wasn’t disgusted. Instead, she seemed fascinated. “Something obviously changed since you provide security now instead of breaking it.”
Provide...oh, yeah. He almost smiled at her take on his cover.
“I got shot.” He expected her gaze to shift to his chest, but while sympathy filled those big blue eyes, they stayed locked on his. Damned if that didn’t make him want to dig deeper. “Laying there in the hospital, I realized I didn’t want to go down that way. I wanted to make a difference. To be more than what I saw growing up. To be more than anyone expected me to be.”
“And that led to working for a security firm? Did you ever consider anything else?”
Nope. He’d seen a clip of the SEALs on TV, and that’d been it for him.
“I tried a few things on for size, got some training here and there,” he said as he dug into his breakfast. “Security work, it just fit.”
“Because you love it?”
“I’m good at it. I like the structure of it. There are protocols and rules, standards that have to be met,” he said softly, playing with her fingers as he thought about the structure of the military.
“Is there a bad side to it?” she wondered, pushing her hair back before nibbling on a strawberry. “For instance, I love decorating, but sometimes trying to meet the client’s vision is painful. Not everyone has good taste.”
She gave an exaggerated eye roll that made him laugh.
“The good side is the bad side, I suppose. It’s not a nine-to-five job. It involves a lot of travel and a lot of risk. Which means there’s not much room for a relationship.” Or more to the point, not many women who’d tolerate taking the backseat like that.
“I’d think that if it’s the right woman, the right relationship, how much room there was wouldn’t matter. You’d just make it work.” Looking suddenly uncomfortable, Harper dropped her gaze to her bowl of berries. She looked sweet with her cheeks all pink like that.