HARD LINE

by Justice, A. D.

  “We are.”

  That’s it? No elaboration? No explanation? Only a confirmation of what I’ve already witnessed for myself. They’re close.

  We reach the entrance to the hotel, and I open the door to let her go in first. “After you.” Then I follow her inside the elegantly decorated space.

  “Thank you. And I should have said this before—thanks for carrying the man-purse for me. It was a little heavy.” She doesn’t even try to hide the smug grin this time.

  “I have no shame in carrying the man-purse for you. I’d even drive to the store and buy the biggest box of tampons they have if you asked me.”

  “As always, you’re too kind.” She pushes the button for the elevator then quickly turns to me. “Oh, I forgot I need the room keycard inside the elevator.”

  She unzips the bag and starts rifling through the interior pockets while it is still on my shoulder. She’s so close to me—her face is so close to mine. All I want to do is press my lips against hers right now. To feel the softness. To taste her one more time. To take back every fucking thing I did and said that ever hurt her.

  Instead, I only watch her, unable to tear my eyes away from her face.

  Just like my assessment of Rafael being undeserving of her smile, I don’t deserve her kiss.

  I haven’t earned her affection.

  Yet.

  The others surround us as we wait for the doors to open, carrying on their conversation as usual. Silas asks Rafael about any enemies who feel strongly enough to act on their anger, before urging him to return to the US—apparently not for the first time since Rafael’s response is a little terse. “I can’t do that, as I explained. My business comes first. That’s why I have a security team in place.”

  Nick is chatting with someone about the details of the wreck and the altercation afterward, asking a million and one questions. Blake has yet another side conversation with the only other woman of the group. The additional security members chime in here and there, adding tidbits of information that may or may not come in useful later. But in the several seconds we all wait for the elevator car to arrive, I feel the unmistakable sensation of angry eyes burning a hole through me.

  When I abruptly turn to confront the glare like a man, Tony quickly averts his gaze and suddenly finds the adjacent wall riveting. Undeterred, I continue to stare and wait for him to grow a pair. The elevator doors open, and even though he knows he’s being watched, he refuses to make eye contact with me again. We move into the elevator, Tawnee uses her card to access the resident floors, and the doors slide closed.

  The silence inside the confined area is conspicuous and uncomfortable—for some. But I use it to my advantage while observing the other members of the security team. Beads of sweat gather on one guy’s forehead. Another man shifts awkwardly, unable to stand still from nervous energy. A single glance at Silas, Nick, and Blake confirms my assessment. Their postures are relaxed and calm, and they remain completely still. No fidgeting whatsoever.

  When we reach his floor and file out into the hall, Rafael’s security team jumps into high gear, sweeping his gigantic royal suite before allowing him to enter.

  “Wow, this place has multiple levels. I’ve never been in a hotel room quite like this one before.” I look around the entryway, astounded at the ornate marble stairway leading up to the next story.

  “I need ample space to stretch out.” Rafael doesn’t bother with the common courtesy of looking at me when he speaks to me.

  Personally, I think he’s compensating for something with this oversized suite for only one man. He must have a micropenis the size of a Tic Tac.

  “Rafael, do you have any business deals in the works with the potential of putting you in harm’s way?” Nick asks, getting straight to business as usual.

  “My business ventures don’t exactly invite new best friends, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt me—especially someone with Arab connections. Tony and I have had long discussions about this over the last couple of nights, going through all my recent acquisitions. But nothing has stood out to either of us so far.”

  “We need to review that information as well. There may be names on that list of business associates we recognize.” I appreciate how Nick doesn’t really ask for what he wants. He just says how it’ll be, and that’s the end of the story.

  “Absolutely, we can arrange that right away. Any help you can give is very much appreciated. Where are you staying?”

  Nick gives the name of our hotel then goes into full agent mode, talking with Rafael about hotel security, his security team, and a barrage of other questions. Silas and Blake join in when the rest of the security team rejoins us, and we’re finally able to enter the main sitting area. While they’re busy talking, I take advantage of the opportunity to steal some time with Tawnee.

  “Which way is your bedroom?” I pat the side of the beach bag I’m still carrying.

  “My suite is on the next floor down. I’m not staying in the same room as Rafael.”

  “Do you want to head downstairs to your room and change? I’ll escort you.” I gesture toward the door with my head, hiding my satisfaction at knowing she has her own room.

  “Why would you assume I need an escort to my room?” She pierces me with her angry eyes as they narrow at the corners.

  I cock my head to the side and draw my eyebrows down, trying to find the words to answer her. “Tawnee, I didn’t mean it like that. I saw your face when Nick started questioning Rafael, and I know there’s something you haven’t told anyone yet. I thought maybe you wanted to talk about it in private.”

  She folds her arms over her chest, shakes her head, and rolls her eyes at me. “You know me too damn well, Roman Scott.”

  “Apparently not well enough to know why you’re withholding vital information when you know how dangerous that is.”

  “Lower your voice, Roman.”

  “You’re right—you know how pissed Silas will be when he finds out you haven’t said anything about it yet. But I’m the one he’ll take it out on. I suggest you come clean to me first, so I can help mitigate the damage.”

  “Fine, but only because I want to get out of this bathing suit and into real clothes. Come with me.” She steps forward into the room and gets everyone’s attention. “Roman and I will be back in a few minutes.”

  Rafael doesn’t appear pleased at all with her announcement, but Tony looks downright pissed off.

  Chapter 6

  Tawnee

  My thoughts and feelings are all over the place when Roman and I step outside of Rafael’s suite. Seeing Roman again immediately erased the three years we’ve spent apart, and I feel as if I’m right back at the moment when we split up. I mentally force my thoughts back to the present several times, trying to leave old memories and unresolved feelings in the past where they belong. We’re in the middle of the most dangerous situation of my entire life, not to mention my career, and I’m distracted by a former flame like a foolish schoolgirl.

  If anyone on my team knew how their head of security reacted when faced with a hostile opponent from her past, they’d band together and have me committed for losing my mind.

  I wouldn’t be able to blame them either.

  This behavior isn’t like me at all.

  “Man, this hotel is so far out of my league, I’m afraid to even ask how much they charge per night.”

  “Well, Rafael’s room is obviously more upscale than the rest of ours. His is around twenty-grand per night. Mine is much more economical at almost ten thousand a night.”

  Roman stops walking and gawks at me for a few seconds. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Not at all.” I can’t help but laugh at that typical Roman response.

  “You’re talking US dollars, right? Not pesos or some fucking obscure denomination that equates to a hundred dollars a night.” Roman pushes the elevator button, and we wait for the car to arrive.

  “US dollars, yes.”

  “And y
ou’re here for how long?”

  “A month.” We step inside the elevator and move to opposite sides.

  “Fuck me. I’ve never known anyone that rich before. Seriously, how do you amass that much wealth without being involved in some seriously shady shit?” While I’m almost positive Roman didn’t mean that as a direct insult to Raf, I still feel the need to defend my employer and friend.

  “I’m sure that’s true for a lot of people, but Rafael made his money by learning the stock market inside and out, watching the signs, and getting in on the ground floor of stocks that paid huge dividends when the company took off. The more he made, the more he invested in his vision. It took years of hard work, losing large sums of money, and facing almost certain bankruptcy before he turned it all around. But that wasn’t by doing anything illegal. He took a long, hard look at himself and his missteps, then he never made those mistakes again.”

  Roman simply watches me, his blue-gray eyes assessing my body language while he processes all the information I just dumped in his lap. But it’s the intimate sensation his eyes evoke that rattles me to the core. The doors slide open and I step out of the elevator first, but I can feel Roman hot on my heels. The arcs of electricity are still there when we’re near each other—regardless of how inconvenient or unwanted they are. One thing our relationship never lacked was sexual chemistry. Even now, my senses have kicked into overdrive from his closeness, and all my nerve endings are firing relentlessly.

  It’s as if my body craves him on a purely carnal level, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

  My hand shakes when I lift the room key to open the door. As I should have expected, it doesn’t work when I first attempt to open the door. It also refuses on the second try. After the third time, now I’m pissed off at the door, at Roman, and at the world. All for no reason other than I’ve allowed this man to affect me to the point I can’t even open a fucking door.

  Roman’s hand slowly moves toward mine. I feel his chest barely brush my back, but the contact is enough to send chills down my spine.

  “Let me try. Probably just needs an easy touch.”

  His mouth is too close when he speaks. The deep timbre of his voice combined with the feel of his lips brushing against the shell of my ear nearly makes my knees buckle underneath me. His fingers slide across my hand until they reach the room key.

  All while I remain as still as a statue because I can’t fucking move. Not that I’d ever admit this to him, but I’m equally afraid of brushing against him more… and not being close enough to him. My entire body is on fire in the best way—and this is a sensation I haven’t felt since I was last with him. It’s been three years since I’ve felt this alive.

  He takes the card from me and tries it.

  Naturally, it opens the first time for him.

  “Oh, look, it opened for you. I warmed it up for you.” I’ve got to dispel the mounting tension inside me with a little humor before I whirl around and mount him right here in the hallway.

  “You certainly did.” His voice is too low… too close… too intimate. “From the first second I saw you in that itty-bitty hot black bikini on the beach.” He steps around me and holds the door open. The desire I see in his eyes not only matches mine, but reaches out and grabs me by the throat, making it impossible for me to say anything witty in return.

  When I finally step across the threshold, he closes the door behind me but motions for me to stay put. Much like the security team did for Raf’s safety, Roman silently moves through my suite, checking every possible hiding place for potential intruders.

  “All clear, sweets. I thought I’d read this hotel had complimentary butler service to cater to your every need—even unlocking your doors for you.”

  The half-second hesitation in answering is only because I haven’t been called “sweets” in so long, it hit me like a blast from the past. That was always his pet name for me. “Yes, they normally do. But for obvious security reasons, we declined the service. We like to know exactly who has access to our rooms at all times.”

  “I concur—I’d like to know who has access to your room at all times too. Let’s make a list right now.” He smiles from ear to ear, so proud of his little funny.

  “You know my rule on that, Roman. It doesn’t matter which hotel we stay in; I only allow them to make one key for my room, and I know where it is at all times. That way, if it’s ever missing, I know not to return to the room alone, and I’ll change rooms for added measure.”

  “Yes, I do know you—better than anyone else does. Want to tell me what you’re hiding now? I have a sinking feeling I’ll beat Silas to the punch and go ballistic before he even has the chance.”

  “I’m going to shower and get dressed before we have this conversation. But I will say one thing about it and leave you to ruminate on it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You have good intuition. You should go with it.”

  “Fuck, Tawnee. I fucking knew it.” He drops his chin to his chest and stares at the floor, keeping his hotheaded temper under wraps. He’s trying to, at least.

  I’ve got to give him credit for that—the old Roman would fly off the handle and pop off with something smartass. Then we’d end up in a huge argument because I’m every bit as stubborn as he is.

  “You have a few minutes to digest it and come to terms with the terrible unknown, then we can speak calmly about it.”

  He nods, not making eye contact, but also not destroying the room in a fit of rage.

  Baby steps.

  “Is there any beer in the fridge? I’ll probably need twelve or thirteen to get through this.”

  That makes me smile. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there’s a twelve-pack in there. Don’t tell anyone, though—I don’t normally share my beer.”

  He finally looks up at me again, and what I see in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat. Here I thought it was anger simmering just below his skin, waiting for the right moment to unleash hell on earth, when it was essentially deep-rooted fear he was fighting to control. Fear for me.

  “You’d better call down and have another twelve-pack delivered before you’re finished with your shower if you plan to drink any.” The slight upturn of his lips betrays his halfhearted sarcastic jab.

  “I’m not worried about it. I mean, technically, it’s almost considered contraband here. But I have my sources if we need more.”

  “It’s the butler you dismissed, isn’t it? He’s your beer source.”

  “Damn, you really do know me too well.” I point toward the kitchen area. “Help yourself. There are snacks in there too.”

  I leave him to rummage through the suite and find whatever he wants while I head toward the master bedroom. When I’m standing under the hot water in the massive shower, my thoughts once again return to the problems in our relationship instead of focusing on the more pressing issue at hand. Since those thoughts won’t leave me, I let them run rampant to get it out of my system so I can do my job.

  His last words to me the day we broke up were to ask if I was either on my period or pregnant since the only reason for my outburst must have been hormone-related. I’ve never wanted to shoot someone before or after that event—but the fleeting thought was there. In my military and security careers, I’ve been required to shoot, but those instances were all about self-preservation and nothing related to revenge. In the heat of the moment with Roman, I finally understood the meaning of “crime of passion.” Questioning my sanity and what I was possibly capable of doing haunted me for months after that encounter.

  But it forced me to do a lot of soul-searching and being entirely honest with myself. The reason I reacted so strongly—and borderline violently—was because his flippant response to my legitimate heartbreak confirmed the facts I’d chosen to ignore for far too long. I loved him much more than he loved me, and that made me feel much too vulnerable and nowhere near good enough for him. His player days weren’t far enough in his past to satisfy me, and h
is commitment phobia only reinforced the thoughts that constantly plagued me in those days. I couldn’t shake the notion he was always waiting for someone better to come along… that I was only his “Miss Right Now” instead of his “Miss Right Forever.”

  Over the last three years, I’ve tried persistently to avoid comparing Roman and Rafael in any way. But there’s no way around it. The stark differences are there in my face every day. One of the reasons I’ve been so loyal to Raf, even when he makes outrageous demands—such as going to the beach so soon after a deadly threat—is because of how well he treats me. Before he shocked me by professing his feelings for me, I knew the deep-rooted respect between us was mutual. I felt it, saw it, and we both appreciated it, never taking it for granted.

  I’ve never felt as if my heart were in danger of being shattered into a million pieces with Rafael. With Roman, I waited for the other shoe to drop every day. Every time Roman started a conversation with the dreaded phrase, “We need to talk,” I just knew it was to tell me he’d fallen in love with someone else. When Rafael says we need to talk, I feel no qualms about the unknown topic. The understanding that whatever we’re facing, we’ll face it together, is simply ingrained in our working relationship.

  Until today, our relationship has been strictly platonic with only harmless flirting and innocent teasing. The line we crossed today put us in an all-new territory, and I’m not sure how to handle it. Roman showing up right at that moment only complicates the situation further, though my rational mind knows that’s silly. It has been three years, for crying out loud. He shouldn’t still affect me like this.

  With my eyes closed and my head leaned back, I drop my hands to my sides and let the pouring water from the rain-like shower head rinse the conditioner out of my hair. My heart is racing, and I can barely catch my breath. When I saw Roman on the beach, looking at me with his dangerous and feral expression, the flush I felt had nothing to do with the temperature outside and everything to do with the desire that immediately engulfed me. He looked delicious enough to eat in his dress slacks, button-down shirt, and blazer.