by Alisha Rai
She eyed the plate. Before she could overthink it, she grabbed the ceramic plate and threw it on the floor. The crash was intensely satisfying. She looked up at him. “That felt so good. It was amazing.”
“Better than two-minute sex, for sure.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Holy shit. Was that a . . . was that a slightly off-color joke Jas had just told? In her presence?
She and Rhiannon had cracked way more racy jokes to each other, but Jas . . . he was so proper!
Maybe he saw Jia’s text, and this is his way of flirting with you?
No. Not a freaking chance.
She was processing for so long, she didn’t move while he went to the pantry in the corner and returned with the broom and dustpan. “Oh, let me.”
He waved her away. “Go work. Take advantage of how good you feel after some light destruction.”
“Right. I’m sure I have spreadsheets or, um, something to look over.”
“I’m sure you do.” He swept up the mug shards.
She raked her fingers through her hair, his easy pragmatism grounding her. He always grounded her.
Driven by a foreign compulsion, she covered the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Jas.
It was a second, maybe two. Their chests pressed together, and she rested her cheek over his heart. He was stock still, his arms at his sides, the broom and dustpan still in his hands.
She didn’t look at him as she released him and walked away. She’d never hugged him before, and, while new, it had felt . . . right. So right, she wanted to go back in for a second hug. Maybe a longer one.
Maybe a naked one.
Instead, she zipped her borrowed hoodie up, though it was too tight. It hugged her, too, and flattened her chest like his body had.
Whoa. Definitely don’t think about that.
Yeah, that was . . . not where her brain needed to go, not at all. What had she been thinking? She’d managed to convince herself he hadn’t seen Jia’s text, and now she’d stress over this.
She was almost out of the room when he spoke. She flinched, but his words weren’t about the hug.
“You should turn off your phone for a while. I’ll monitor Twitter.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“How about this? You only look at the tag when you’re around someone. Me, or on the phone with Jia or Rhiannon.” His tone softened when she faced him. “I don’t want you to be upset when you’re alone. I don’t think it’s healthy to watch something develop in real time like that.”
Yesterday’s all-day computer binge hadn’t been healthy. Plus, she had come here to get away from everyone. She capitulated, and if she did it a little quicker than she normally did because she wanted to get both of their minds off of that hug, that was between herself and God. “Okay. Deal.”
She’d grab her computer and get to work, as he’d suggested, running on some semblance of her schedule. Real work, not monitoring the actions of strangers on the internet.
She pressed her hands over her warm cheeks as she walked up the stairs, trying to shake off the sensation of that hug.
Maybe he didn’t say anything because he likes you, and doesn’t mind your hugs or the prospect of you considering him hot.
She stopped, her pulse increasing, treacherous evil hope sprouting in her heart.
No, don’t do this. How odd. Rarely did she have to counter positive thoughts.
Only this one was toxic positivity, bad for her in the long run. Hope this big and fresh would turn her inside out. Her romantic heart would take everything he did and said as a new spark of interest, and then when it came out that it was all nothing, where would she be?
Find something to kill it. Get rid of the hope.
She scrambled for her phone and hesitated on Rhiannon’s name. Rhiannon was the most cynical person she knew, but telling her about this would result in so many questions. Plus, Rhiannon wouldn’t truly crush her dreams.
She firmed her lips. She’d have to do it herself. Tell herself that it was nothing.
There. That sounded convincing.
It was nothing.
Chapter Ten
JAS SQUINTED AT the dying sun. The afternoon had turned out warmer than the morning, but it was now cooling in the early evening. The scent in the air, of grass and trees, was fresh and familiar.
It was good to get outside. He’d spent the day on his computer in the living room, while Katrina split her time between her bedroom and the kitchen, seemingly content.
Is it cold? Is the place nice? Is your hot bodyguard keeping your body warm?
He closed his eyes, but Jia’s text was emblazoned on the back of his eyelids too. His face flushed, the way it had wanted to when he’d read the thing.
He would have turned red from Jia calling him hot, but the rest of that sentence . . .
Jia being Jia.
Him keeping Katrina warm surely wasn’t a common topic of conversation between the women. Surely she wasn’t eager to have him . . . keeping her body warm?
She did hug you.
He placed his hand on his chest, where he could still feel the imprint of her body. It shouldn’t have rocked him so much. His parents were huggers, his grandmother, his little brother too. He wasn’t lacking for physical affection in his life.
Except for physical affection from Katrina. That had never really happened.
Nope, nope, nope. What he wasn’t going to do was read interest into these small signs. That way lay disaster.
Jia’s text had been a result of her usual outrageous sense of humor, and Katrina’s hug had been nothing but a friend’s display of gratitude.
That was the interpretation that had allowed him to spend the day buried in work, sorting out a tangled mess of a security system for a new start-up Katrina had invested in recently. It was a messaging app, and Jas had been disappointed but not surprised by its lax protocols. A Russian infant could have hacked it in about three minutes.
Consulting on these businesses was one of his least favorite parts of the job, second only to writing the reports recommending his fixes. He’d much rather get in there and build the systems than tell other people how to do it.
In between his work, and keeping an ear out for Katrina, he’d kept tabs on social media. He glanced at his phone, where Twitter lay wide open, exposing the bane of his existence. He didn’t know how he was going to break this latest development to Katrina. She would freak out, and rightfully so.
He glared at RossAlwaysWins’s tweet. Can’t wait to share this budding romance with the world tomorrow! Catch me on Good Morning Live at 8 a.m. with @BeccaTheNose.
Wasn’t the British royal family doing anything amazing this week that GML could cover instead? How had these two fools managed national TV coverage by making up lies about a woman who hadn’t even come forward yet?
Budding romance, his ass.
His phone rang in his hand, signaling the call he’d come outside to take, lest Katrina hear. Lorne had texted him earlier, asking if he was free. Which he appreciated, though that 202 area code still made him anxious.
He swallowed and answered. “Jas.”
“Hey, man.” Lorne’s voice was low and calm, as it had been years ago when they’d served together. “How’s everything going?”
He glanced at the trees, where two of Lorne’s guards sat in a well-concealed vehicle. “Not bad. Thanks for getting me the security on such short notice.”
“Not a problem. Surveillance is a pretty plum assignment. I got two more headed your way, they’ll stay in a nearby hotel when they’re not on the property. Eight-hour shifts. You won’t even know they’re there unless you need them.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He could imagine Lorne in her cushy D.C. office, short red hair tousled, freckles standing out on her pale skin. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“Good.” Jas paused. “Heard anything?”
Lorne didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yea
h. A reporter contacted me. Said the pardon is basically a done deal. This week, most likely.” Lorne made a disgusted noise. “What I want to know is, if it is so certain, why aren’t the official sources contacting us?”
“I don’t know,” he said, trying to minimize the bitterness spilling over onto the words. Because the official sources don’t care about us. They used us until we were useless and then tossed us out, even while paying lip service to the ideals we were told we served. Jas had been prepared for some people to spurn him and Lorne when they’d accused McGuire. He hadn’t expected McGuire to have way more supporters, powerful supporters, than they did. That the man had been convicted at all was a shocker.
“Well, I’ve put in some calls. You know, I was prepared when we had to testify for McGuire’s parole hearing, for all the good that did. But a pardon?”
Lorne was right. A pardon was egregious, a mockery of the toll it had taken for a bunch of twentysomethings to hold one of their own accountable.
Jas hadn’t expected medals. But when he’d testified in a courtroom, his injury still fresh, he hadn’t expected to be brushed off either. “It was only a matter of time. You know how his parents have been spinning it all these years. Us against a poor soldier who was just trying to do his job.” That had always been the defense. That McGuire had merely been exercising his best judgment and if the country punished soldiers for doing that, then where would it be?
Lorne sighed. “Yeah, I know. Sucks his parents are so well connected, huh?”
That’s how life works. He clutched the phone tighter. “So the news is picking this up, huh?” He’d known that would happen. He shouldn’t be so dismayed.
“For sure. His parents are so powerful. They’ll want everyone to know their unfairly targeted son has been vindicated.” Lorne made a rude noise, and he imagined she was giving her office the middle finger. It had always been her favorite gesture.
It was an apt one right now. He squeezed his phone harder. “Did you tell the reporter you would go on the record with a response?”
“I did. I think we have to get our side out there, too, right?” Lorne’s tone was achingly gentle.
His stomach sank, though he’d been expecting the response. If Lorne voluntarily put her name in the news, he had to back her up. That had been his duty, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to shirk that sense of responsibility.
He thought of spilling his guts to a reporter, as he had in court, and at the parole hearing, only this time in front of a national audience.
He shouldn’t be so worried about it. Sure, his name and picture would be in the paper. Jas wasn’t as untraceable as Katrina, but it wasn’t the kind of story that would inspire people to come looking for him. Lorne was right, for the sake of justice, they had to make a statement.
He’d have to open up that emotional wound, and do it while speaking calmly and concisely. Damn it. “I suppose that’s the right thing to do.”
“You don’t have to do it, Jas.”
“No. I want to,” he lied.
The sound of hooves coming down the dirt road caught his attention. “I have to go. Can you call me when you hear anything more?”
“Absolutely. Hey, I’m going to be on your coast in a couple months. We should get together.”
He thought of how fun it had been to go out with Samson and his friends. “That would be nice,” he said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it.
Lorne sounded a little less grim. “Take care of yourself, Jas. Talk soon.”
“You too.” He hung up as Bikram came into view. Jas had already given Lorne’s company the photos of everyone who might drop by, including his whole family.
He stuffed his thoughts and feelings about the pardon and McGuire and his service into a box, tied an anchor around that box, and shoved it into the deep dark hole of his soul. As one does.
Bikram stopped a few feet away and slid off his horse. In the nonharvesting months, the farm kept afloat with non-peach-related things, like boarding horses and stud fees. Their grandpa had always dreamed of having a stable.
Bikram’s dappled horse was gorgeous. It had never met Jas, but that didn’t matter. All horses reacted the same to him.
Jas looked at the creature, and the mare snorted at him.
Standard.
Bikram reached into his pocket and pulled out a white cord. Jas had only brought one phone charger, and he really preferred to keep two on him, in case one went kaput. He’d texted Bikram earlier with a request, since he knew his grandfather. The man had drawers full of cords and cables and chargers.
“Here’s the charger you requested.” Bikram stomped over and handed it to him. “Are the rest of your lodgings to your satisfaction?”
Jas raised an eyebrow at Bikram’s testy tone. It was hard to look at this full-grown man and not see the toddler he’d been when Gurjit had married his mother. Especially when Bikram was pouting like he was now. “What is your problem?”
“What problem? I don’t have a problem.”
“You most definitely do have a problem.” Jas crossed his arms over his chest and gave his brother his sternest look. If Bikram wanted to act like a child, he’d act like a parent. “Why are you mad? Is it Katrina?”
Bikram’s chin jutted out. Ah yes. There was the stubborn kid he’d half raised. “I’m not mad at her.”
“You were very short-tempered when you met her.”
“She screamed at me.”
“It wasn’t at you. Anyway, you screamed, too.” If he’d known Katrina was awake, he wouldn’t have told Bikram to leave the bags around back.
“Hmph.” Bikram rocked back on his heels. “Why did the princess leave her tower anyway?”
Jas automatically glanced in the direction of the house and tugged his brother away, until they were closer to the barn. He switched to Punjabi to be extra careful. “Don’t call her that. Like I said, she needed to get away. Did you tell anyone she’s here?”
Bikram didn’t switch languages, since he wasn’t as fluent. He could understand their parents and Jas in Punjabi, but tended to respond in English. “No. Only Mom.”
Jas groaned. He should have been more specific. “That’s someone, Bikram.” A meddling someone. How had he not gotten ten calls from his mother during the day?
“Why did you need to get away?”
“It’s a long story.”
“It’s October. No peaches to pick. I got time.”
He debated how much to tell Bikram. His brother deserved to know some of what was going on on his farm. “She went viral, and we feared someone might figure out her identity.”
“Viral? Like on the internet?”
“Yeah.”
“For what? She doesn’t seem like the type to, like, have a pet lobster that can play the piano or something.”
“Not important.”
Bikram shrugged. “I’m not really plugged in like that anyway. Does she have assassins after her? Did you bring a killer to our peach farm, Jas? Are we all gonna be on Dateline?”
No, this wasn’t one of those suspense novels Katrina liked to read. “She’s had some tough breaks. She wanted to go someplace where no one would know her, where she could feel safe. Think of it as a vacation.” Not to mention, I wanted to run away, too. He leaned against the barn. The wood was rough, the paint peeling, and he’d leaned against this exact spot a million times growing up.
Home.
Twin bolts of pleasure and pain shot through him again at the thought. They’d been sparking all day, every time he came across something that he remembered or something that had changed—in effect, everything. He was kind of getting used to ignoring the pain, that happiness was so seductive.
Bikram studied his feet, then looked up at him. “Wouldn’t think you consider this place safe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Guilt coursed through him. He knew what it meant. It meant he’d stayed distant, had abandoned the property he loved and owned.
�
�Nothing. She must be pretty special, to bring you back here for an extended stay.”
He reacted to the part of Bikram’s sentence that ratcheted up Jas’s defensiveness. “She’s a client. This is my job.”
Bikram snorted. “You sure are devoted to her, for being her hired help. Are you certain your feelings aren’t all tangled up in Hardeep’s widow?”
“It’s a job,” Jas repeated through gritted teeth. “I have no interest in Katrina beyond that.”
“Sure.” Bikram glared, which made his next question highly unwelcoming. “How long are you staying?”
“For as long as it takes for this to disappear, or until we decide to return.” Or until his grandfather came back from Mexico, but he didn’t say that. Hard enough to keep their presence secret from any employees on the farm, much harder to keep this secret from his eagle-eyed granddad.
“Until the parade?”
“No.” Difficult to say that now, when he was standing in his hometown. He had so many fond memories of that parade. “Not that long.”
“Hasan will be there.”
He’d met his brother’s fiancé many times over the years. Hasan was due to start med school next fall, at a university a couple hours away. Jas liked the cheerful young man.
Jas’s parents considered them far too young to get married. Privately, Jas agreed. They were babies, the two of them.
Jas bit back his concern now. It wasn’t his place to tell his brother what to do with his personal life. “I’ll see him some other time.”
Bikram pressed his lips tight together. “Fine. See ya.”
“Hey. One more thing. Can you get me newspapers?”
“Newspapers?”
“Yes.”
“Like . . .” Bikram mimed opening a paper. “Print newspapers?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what year it is? They’re all online now, believe me.”
“Can you get them or not?”
Bikram shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do. I might have to time-travel.”
Jas watched his brother ride off, his body strong and tall in the saddle. He pulled his phone out with the intention of sending Samson an update about Lorne’s phone call. That was when he heard it, the noise from inside the barn behind him. A half whimper, half whine.
