by Ally Blake
Evie stilled, imagining his next step would be to throw his hands up and pace away from her, railing at the gods in French.
Instead he threw back his head and laughed.
It was a hell of a thing. Rich, rough and sexy as hell. It was also more unexpected than the flinch. Because he’d let himself go. The containment field that protected him gone, leaving her feeling heady, weak, as if the bottom had dropped out of her life.
“Maybe this is a huge joke to you,” Evie said, “but it wasn’t to me. I don’t just go around kissing random people.”
Random. Good one. Make it sound as if you haven’t been crushing on him for weeks.
“And,” she continued, “while I’d put money on the fact that you are perfectly happy to slink back into your metaphorical cave, I’m not. I don’t run from my mistakes—I face up to them.”
The laughter slowly fled from his eyes as a new kind of darkness followed in its wake. Not a scary darkness, oh, no. The kind of darkness that sucked you in and tumbled you about and you didn’t mind a single bit.
“You believe it was a mistake?” Armand asked, his voice deep and rough and devastating.
“Isn’t that what you just said?”
Armand watched her with that darkly quiet way he had about him. She felt giddy, as if the spinning hadn’t quite come to a stop. And the look in his eyes, those dark, stormy, intense, beautiful, warm, engaging eyes—
Then someone bumped them. And another person.
Another train had pulled in, the early-morning commuters swarming over the platform like water bursting from a dam. Jostling them apart.
His fingers curled away from her arms, the skin left behind turning cold, the nerves sharp.
And, seeing daylight, she turned and hustled towards work. And this time he didn’t try to stop her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVIE KEPT HER head down as she barrelled through the Bullpen so as not to get stuck chatting games or algorithms with any of the boys.
And they were boys. Boys who lived on pizza and hamburgers, who she knew would live in places any right-minded landlord would condemn.
Growing up with her granddad and his friends, she’d known men who could roof a house, cook a decent meal and talk about everything from historical Russian literature to modern-day Russian politics.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed being around actual grown-ups until she’d met Armand. For he was serious. Experienced. Despite his stubborn determination not to enter the electronic age he was the most intelligent man she had ever met.
And there was no running away from the fact her feelings for Armand had well and truly tipped from playful crush to “it’s complicated”.
So much for not dating fellow employees. Not that they were dating. Ha! They could barely hold a civil conversation without disagreement or culture clash or retreating to their own corners to lick their wounds. Or holding one another. Looking deep into each other’s eyes. Kissing.
Evie was up the stairs and halfway down the hall when she pulled up to a dead stop.
There was only one thing for it. She had to ask to be put onto another project. For she couldn’t lose this job. Working for Jonathon Montrose was the pinnacle—being fired by Jonathon Montrose a career death knell. If it ever came to that she may as well hang up her shingle and go home.
She’d kept the farm after all—renting it out to cover rates repairs and not much more—in case her granddad ever wanted to return.
In that moment she realised how desperately she wanted to stay. This city had got under her skin. She wanted this. Melbourne was her dream. She was not a farm girl any more; she was already home.
She paced back to Jonathon’s door, raised her hand to knock. Stopped herself just in time.
He’d ask why. What could she possibly say? The truth? Her eyes slammed shut and she let out a sob.
“Evie?”
Evie flinched and opened her eyes to find Jonathon standing beside her, coffee mug in hand, Imogen peeling off to her office.
“Hi, Mr Montrose. Good morning.”
“Did you want to see me? Everything okay?”
No. Everything’s not okay. The man you’ve lumped me with is like a dormant volcano and I can’t be sure if I’m in lust with him or so burnt by my last twisted working relationship I’m building castles in the sky.
“Everything’s great!”
“Glad to hear it. How’s the project coming along? Any chance it’ll be wrapped up soon?”
Evie thought of the knot she’d tripped over in the programming the night before. The one that had had her staying late in the first place. Until the little carpet picnic with Armand had scrambled her brain.
“I’m getting close. I can smell it.”
“Just you?”
“I mean we. We’re getting close.”
Real close. His lips touched mine and I saw stars.
“Close to finding the problem, I mean.”
Her boss’s eyes narrowed, though she could have sworn his mouth twitched with a smile. “Excellent. And the other things we spoke about?”
Despite the fact she wasn’t feeling all that delighted with the man right now, she still wasn’t about to turn on him with Jonathon.
“I can handle him.” Evie backed away, then turned on her heel and fled.
Thankful her thumbprint now opened the lock on the first try, she ducked inside and shut the door.
After inhaling a few deep breaths she darted over to her desk, dumped her backpack, hung up her beanie and opened up the program, determined to have good news for Jonathon soon. For the sooner this project was over and done with, the sooner she and Armand would no longer be stuck in a tiny room together. She’d have hopefully impressed Jonathon enough to keep her on. And Armand could get on with his life of international intrigue.
Armand arrived on cue. He lurked darkly in the doorway. All scruffy hair and intense energy.
Evie turned up the music in her headphones and got scrolling, still hyperaware of the man as he dropped his briefcase to the floor with a thud, picked up the phone and proceeded to bark down the line in French.
She didn’t bother trying to translate. Instead she did what she should have been doing the whole time and got to work.
She managed another minute and a half before Jonathon’s voice suddenly filled the room. “Evie. Armand.”
“Jeez!” Evie cried, tearing off her headphones, gaze darting about the room. “What the heck was that?”
Armand glanced at his phone, pressed a button that had lit up red and said, “Is this the great and powerful Oz?”
A beat went by before the disembodied voice once more boomed into the room. “You know damn well who this is, funny guy. You both need to clear your schedules tomorrow evening. Cancel plans. Postpone any dates.”
Evie couldn’t help herself. She glanced towards Armand, only to find him determinedly not looking her way.
“Anyone with eyes can see that the two of you are still butting heads.”
Well, that was one way to put it.
“You two need to find a way to be in the same room together without it ending in tears.”
Oh, God, was that what he thought? “Jonathon, we’re getting along just great. At the very least, Armand has never made me cry.”
Then she looked to Armand, who was staring at his desk as if trying to burn a hole in the top. She whispered, “Have I made you cry?”
Armand finally lifted his gaze to collide with hers. His eyes filled with humour and regret. Heat and sorrow. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do first—hug him or kiss him. Probably easiest to simply do both.
Jonathon went on. “I’ve organised a team-building exercise.”
Evie’s gaze shot to the phone as her entire body clenched in response. Not the horror of a grown-up “truth or
dare” session. Or “two true things, one false thing”. And the trust fall? The thought of having to fall into Armand’s waiting arms in front of people was too disturbing for words.
“You can both wipe the grimaces from your faces,” said the voice.
Evie looked frantically around her, searching for hidden cameras. She’d been there, after all.
“Jonathon—” Armand began.
But Jonathon had the luxury of not being in the room and cut him off. “Imogen has sent you both the details. I look forward to hearing your effusive thanks next week.”
Armand’s finger slowly lifted from the phone. It was moments before his gaze finally lifted to connect with hers.
“We don’t really have to do this, do we?” Evie asked.
“I have found in life that we don’t have to do anything. Only that which we feel we should. Or that which we truly want.”
Evie swallowed, heat curling in her belly like a creeping vine in fast motion. No two guesses as to why she’d kissed Armand. Though she couldn’t be certain as to why he’d kissed her back.
Either way, now that she’d promised Jonathon they were close—close to finding the answer, that was—her position at Game Plan felt more precarious than ever.
“Maybe he has a point,” said Evie. “Maybe if we got to know each other more we could make more efficient use of our time.”
Even in the low light she could see Armand’s eyes narrow. Was he agreeing? Or was he imagining the same ways of “using their time” she was?
Evie broke eye contact by grabbing her phone. She scrolled through her mail till she found the team-building details. “There’s just an address. A time. And a dress code: comfortable for freedom of movement.”
No matter what Armand said, it was hardly as if she had a choice.
“I’m in if you are,” she said, wondering if everything she said from now on would feel like a double entendre.
Armand said, “So be it.”
* * *
At six o’clock the next evening, Armand found himself standing outside a corrugated iron door covered in graffiti reading “Escape Room Challenge”.
“Is this what I think it is?” he asked, not bothering to disguise the lack of enthusiasm towards the endeavour.
Evie’s big, dark eyes roved frenetically over the list of rules posted beside the door: “No one with heart conditions... No pregnant women... No children under sixteen years...”
This vision of energy and light had kissed him.
And he’d kissed her. He could still taste her on his lips, feel the way she had sunk into his body. Her body soft and pliable. Completely trusting.
He should have put a stop to it then. Knowing that their attraction couldn’t go anywhere. He’d seen too much darkness. Was bitter. Brittle. While Evie was endearing, charming, lovely from the inside out.
His time in Melbourne had been restorative. As if the smaller cracks were beginning to smooth over. Much of that was thanks to her. But some scars went so deep they leeched colour from a man’s soul.
He’d meant it when he’d told her to find someone who knew her worth. But that person was not him. Could not be him. He struggled to reconcile with the regrets of his past. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her.
“What the heck was Jonathon thinking?” she asked.
“I often wonder the same thing.”
“You do realise he’s merely moved us about to go from one small room to another.” Her hands moved to her hips, stretching the words “All My Friends Are Dead” over the dinosaur on her T-shirt tight across her curves. “Only this time we’ll be locked in.”
Evie looked up at him and he wondered if he looked as deeply put out as she did. But then she blinked, twice, and burst out laughing. The sound like birdsong. Like spring time.
He felt a kick at the corner of his mouth. Then another behind his ribs. Within a heartbeat he found himself back there again, deep in the memory of her kiss.
The surprise as her lips pressed against his—cool and soft. Then realisation that it was no surprise at all. Inevitable as the sunrise. Inescapable as breath.
Then her hand curling into his shirt, her knuckles sliding down his chest. Until he’d felt like bottled lightning.
After spending the past year of his life doing everything in his power not to feel anything at all he’d been unprepared, his neglected instincts reacting incongruously to his wishes, giving in wholly to sensation instead of dashing for cover.
A green light lit up over a door a couple of metres down the hall. It opened with a click and out sauntered Jamie, followed by three of his ilk.
Before he even knew he’d moved, Armand’s fingers curled into his palms, his feet shifting into position as if he had an enemy in his sights.
As the kid squinted despondently into the brightness, wiping sweat from his brow, Armand told himself to stand the hell down.
“Jamie?” Evie called.
When Jamie saw that they had an audience, he rallied admirably. Squaring himself, finding a grin. “Why, hello, old man. Evie, love.”
He sauntered up and slapped Armand on the back, hard enough to rock another man off his heels. But Armand was not any other man. He dropped a shoulder at the last second, leaving Jamie wincing and rubbing at his hand. It felt rather good.
Then the guy leaned over to kiss Evie on the cheek.
And Armand could have taken him down. A single jab to the throat with a sharp hand ought to do it. A crack to the jaw with a closed fist if he felt like going old-school. Of course, a knee to the balls was foolproof.
“How was it?” Evie asked.
“Brilliant,” Jamie said, as his cohorts muttered things along the lines of “impossible”.
“First time?” Evie asked.
Jamie answered, “I’ve done VR versions, of course. But in the flesh? Never.”
Armand scoffed.
“Problem?” Jamie asked.
“VR,” he muttered. “What a cop-out.”
There were gasps all around. Evie moved in closer, as if about to dive in front of him if the others attacked. Him. A man who could have the lot of them unconscious in seconds if he saw fit.
A strange sensation came over him. Warmth sliding through his insides as if he’d eaten hot soup too fast. He protected his own. It wasn’t often anyone thought to stand up for him. Or feed him. Or make sure he was okay.
Jamie said, “Wait till you get in there. You know it is not real, but it feels real. Gives you a great glimpse into how you react in a crisis.”
The kid poked a finger towards Armand’s chest and it took everything he had not to grab the kid’s fingers and twist.
“Jamie,” Evie said, sliding a hand into Armand’s elbow, “Armand has a better handle on that kind of thing than you realise.”
She glanced at Armand, looking for permission. His shrug was as good as.
“He was in the French Foreign Legion.”
“Whoa,” said a cohort. “You for real?”
“For real,” Armand deadpanned.
“Actual on-the-ground stuff?”
Armand nodded.
The cohorts oohed and ahhed. Said, “Man, that’s cool.”
While Jamie crossed his arms. “Sitting behind a desk pushing papers all day must feel like quite the departure.”
“A combatant is a combatant,” said Armand, eyes on Jamie.
Evie squeezed his arm. He looked down to find her face impassive. Then the edge of her mouth curved. Heat slid through him, only this time, like after jumping into a hot shower on a cold winter’s day, it ached.
Before he had the chance to unpack all that that might mean, the light above their door began to flash yellow, which—according to the rules—meant they had a minute to enter before the game began.
Evie gave him a tu
g. “Come on, then, partner. I’m a genius. You’re...you. Let’s show these monkeys how this is really done.”
For reasons he could feel guilty about later, Armand tucked a hand over hers and pulled her closer, smiling down at her and shooting Jamie and his friends an even bigger smile before opening the door to the Escape Room and closing it behind them.
* * *
It was dark, the lack of eyesight heightening his other senses. A sensation not new for him after his military training and years of organised insurrection.
Evie’s skills were to be found in other areas, so she turned and walked right into him.
He grabbed her by the shoulders. Steadied her. Breathed in the cherry scent of her hair. Sweet and ingenuous. Like her.
So much for “getting to know one another”. Their awareness had ratcheted up to eleven, making the air crackle and the walls close in.
“Sorry,” Evie breathed, her voice giving away the fact she was in the same state as he was. “I didn’t expect it to be this dark.”
“I believe that’s the point.”
Static crackled though a speaker and a TV flickered to life. Armand let Evie go and they both turned to watch a “news report” that set up the puzzle they had to work out. The name of their room was “Corporate Chaos” in which a thief embezzled from the International Monetary Fund, leaving the world broke and leading to World War III.
Images of the Wall Street stock market cut to shots of shredders and people crying and finally to men and women in combat gear climbing over the smoking rubble of a fallen city.
He was going to kill Jonathon. Using his bare hands. Nice and slow.
“You don’t have PTSD, do you?” Evie asked.
His experiences in the Legion had never been an issue. The parameters were clear—make a plan, follow the plan, stay alive. It was the civilised world he’d struggled with. The tug of duty, the lure of freedom, the ache of disappointment. And the mind-bending pain of loss.
