Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  “Say something like that again, Beth, and I swear to Christ, I’m going to lose my shit.”

  “But—”

  “Whatever led you to think what you’re thinking, you’ve got it wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  “But—”

  “I’m serious. I get that you have a lot going on, a lot to think about. Whatever happened in your condo, and now, with Naydenov making moves, but I’m telling you—”

  “You set boundaries, Roman. I have boundaries, too. You want to stay friends. And I want…”

  “You want what, Beth?”

  She paused. Blinked. “You.”

  He took a breath. “Good. No one else has me, babe. Clue in.”

  “No one… else?”

  He put a hand on her cheek, letting his thumb brush her skin. “I don’t know what you think I did or said, but you read it wrong.”

  “Um…”

  “I don’t know what we are or what we’re not, but you’ve got to pinch off the crazy.” Because he didn’t want to die on the job. Didn’t want her to die on the job. And he sure as fuck didn’t want to fight over something when he had no freakin’ clue what the problem was. “Tell me you get this.”

  Beth’s head tilted up, just enough that her lips touched his neck. It wasn’t a kiss, but it felt like more. A need she wouldn’t give in to, a want she’d decided to torture herself with. Hours ago, he’d been buried inside her, feeling her, seeing the real her, and loving it. And now this bullshit.

  “Beth?”

  “I got it. But…”

  The jet started to level out, and he stepped back, aware that his cock was swollen. Roman brushed her cheek with his fingers. Her lips parted, her eyes fluttering shut. He traced the outline of her lips and watched the rise and fall of her breasts. For no reason, he ducked his head and gave in to one soft, sweet kiss that made his body sing.

  Her lips turned down, and she whispered, “Please go away, Roman.”

  The words sliced him. Even if he hadn’t wanted more between them, it hurt that she wanted a memory. Her husband. The guy she loved and lost. Whatever Roman had done in bed earlier hadn’t been enough. His molars ground together. He’d failed to protect her, to give her the one thing that might stave away her nightmares or make her free from self-imposed hell. Acid burned his gut. Damn if he was adding another name to the list of people who could devastate him right this motherfuckin’ second.

  “Done.” He did exactly as she asked. He turned and pushed open the tiny door, leaving her alone inside.

  Cool air immediately surrounded him. Without the tiny space and party girl’s lips on his neck, he could function. He checked his watch. Just another twelve hours until they landed and he could get space between them. Working a job would be good, even if it was watching her almost constantly. He took a seat, ready to relax.

  “Your name is Roman?” Naydenov stood and walked toward the area Roman had staked out for himself. “We got off on the wrong foot. May I have a seat?”

  Would this night never end? “Your plane.”

  “Very true.” Naydenov sat across from Roman, rubbing his hands together. “Beth says you’re a friend and a colleague.”

  “Yup.”

  “You don’t look the type to handle… the finer things.”

  Asshole. That was a dig about him and Beth, Roman knew it. “But I am the type to keep them safe.”

  “Very smart, your friend Beth.”

  “We agree on something.”

  “I’m a businessman.” Naydenov flicked an imaginary piece of lint off an eye-rollingly expensive suit.

  “I’m not.”

  “What are you then, Mr.…?”

  “Roman works just fine.”

  “Roman.” Naydenov leaned back in his seat. “You don’t like me?”

  “I have no opinion about you one way or the other.”

  “But you do like Miss Tourne?”

  Roman leaned forward, mustering as much menace as possible. “Professionally speaking, there’s not a thing in the world I would let harm her.”

  “Professionally speaking?”

  “She’s the job.” Roman inched closer, letting his voice rumble low. “You got a problem with that, buddy?”

  “You’d lay down your life for her?”

  “Without question.”

  In the background, Roman heard the lavatory door slam open and shut. She was nearby, and he knew that his answer had less to do with the job than he would ever admit.

  “Interesting.”

  Roman gave Naydenov a tight smile. “I’m not here to make friends or to look at dusty pieces of old Middle Eastern crap. I’m on this flight to make sure the woman back there does her job safely and gets her ass back on US soil. You might as well pretend I’m not here.”

  “I already do.”

  Dick. “So we have an understanding.”

  Naydenov stood but didn’t walk away. “One more question.”

  “Shoot.” Roman thought of several ways to kill the prick without moving more than three feet from his seat.

  “We covered professionally speaking; now, personally speaking?”

  Roman’s jaw muscles ached as his molars clamped together. “Personally speaking, we work together, and she’s under my protection. Should anything step between her and what I perceive as her happiness and safety, then I will personally destroy it. Does that make sense?” Roman stood, going toe to toe with Naydenov. “I will attack. Viciously and without concern for consequences.”

  Naydenov’s lips flattened. He didn’t back down, but he certainly paled. “No need for barbaric threats.” He turned for his seat, walking a few steps before looking back. “Beth and I have both a professional and personal relationship. I expect you to respect that. Tone down the thug attitude, and we’ll survive this trip.”

  It wasn’t true. Roman knew the fucker had lied to his face, but it didn’t keep Roman’s rage in check. This was a job. Naydenov was a target. Everything was a charade, and nothing was what it seemed.

  Roman kept that on repeat at he took his seat again, ignoring Naydenov, who headed for Beth. Her sweet laughter filled the cabin seconds later. The sound was salt in the wound of her “Please go away,” and Roman balled his fists, trying not to plot the death of the asshole flirting with his girl feet behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Three major things were on Beth’s priority list. None were work, which was a problem because they’d landed, and their uncomfortable threesome was swept away by a driver to a hotel where the auction was to be held. The hotel was also one that Roman had all but demanded they stay at prior to finding out they were actually staying there.

  But her list was her distraction. Nicola was pregnant, and that was apparently a secret. Beth and Roman were friends—so he said—that had sucked, leaving her with a major case of roller-coaster emotions. And finally, Greg was off. He flirted like a pro, but his eye-bouncing agitation became more prevalent, and every single time he had the chance, the man had uber-expensive alcohol in hand.

  She shelved the list and spun in the hotel lobby as they checked in. Gold-gilded everything. Ornate tapestries. And money, money, money hung from everywhere. The people. The people’s people. The cars, the rooms, the staff. She expected dollar bills to rain from the sky just because. Saying the hotel was the very definition of opulent wouldn’t do it justice.

  Greg had murmured his approval when they’d arrived.

  But it was Roman who made the place even more interesting. Once they’d walked through the grand doors, he’d acted like he’d been there a hundred times before. She had watched the staff with a close eye. She swore they knew, or at least recognized, Roman. Their looks weren’t the standard reaction to a massive dude with an unnerving, killer smile. Not a single person was affected by him. No double takes. Nothing.

  Another thing: Roman didn’t so much as question where the rooms were or how they were assigned. He didn’t evil-eye Gr
eg when Greg requested Beth’s room be next to his and Roman could be wherever, preferably a different floor. Roman just acted as though he didn’t care, which could only mean that Roman more than cared.

  Or… whatever she’d seen happen between Roman and Greg on the plane had permanently changed Roman’s opinion of her. What had happened there? And what had happened to her and Roman in the lavatory? She’d had way too much time wide awake while wearing a mocking eye mask to think about his words, his actions, how very close they were… and everything that had happened between them in her bedroom. Both the very good and the embarrassingly bad.

  She’d had the audacity to try for new memories? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Except the more she thought about it, the more she wondered. Logan had loved her, really, truly loved her, no matter what he’d done. If he’d been able to stop the post-deployment darkness, he would have.

  God, no matter how much she’d loved him, she’d had no idea how he was suffering. Had he faulted her blindness? Maybe. Maybe not.

  She stood in the middle, Greg on one side, Roman on the other. They made their way to an elevator for an uncomfortable ride. A bellboy took their luggage, and she continued to watch Roman. He was the first one out when the gold doors opened. He walked to her room, swung the door open, and ran through a basic security check. Very basic. Very un-Roman.

  “You good?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Roman turned to Greg. “If the itinerary changes, I need notice.”

  “Of course.”

  Then Roman turned to her, and she felt his gaze sweep across her body. “And whatever you need, let me know.”

  Her cheeks heated instantaneously. “Absolutely. Thank you.”

  He nodded to her, glared at Greg, and left them alone.

  Greg laughed. “Quite the bulldog they’ve sent you with.”

  “He’s good.”

  “So he says.”

  She wanted to slap the uppitiness out of him. “Actually, he’s the best.”

  Greg studied her with amused eyes. “Then excellent. I like having the best.”

  There was a connotation hanging in his words, but she ignored it. “So, the itinerary. We have a few hours before we leave for the auction?”

  He inclined his head. “Would you like to join me for breakfast? Though here it would be dinner.”

  She was starved but shook her head. “I need to catch up on work and research, one or two more things.”

  “But—”

  “Greg.” She really didn’t have the energy to play friend-not-lover games with him. “You want me to be the best. Let me do my job.” She subtly batted her eyelashes. “We have to have you in the best position. Right? Best of the best.”

  That was his weak point. As nice as he was, he seemed addicted to the finer things—maybe even the finest things. That would be his downfall.

  ***

  “Yes, best of the best.” Greg checked his Rolex, adjusting it for the correct time zone.

  Someone knocked. Beth answered the door and let the bellboy in. The man stacked her luggage and exchanged pleasantries before he left. If her bags were there, Greg’s were probably also in his room, and he was crawling out of his skin. Something had to give. He needed companionship or cocaine. This dance with her was moving much more slowly than he felt the urge for, yet he didn’t want to ruin his play. She was quickly becoming more than an interest.

  He was a collector of fine things, and Beth was his next commodity—a refreshing, challenging girl who might encourage him to consider retirement. This auction could mean big things for the future if what he hoped for was there.

  He eyed her. She wasn’t ready. Companionship wasn’t going to happen. That meant he had a bigger problem. He’d been flying high when he’d foolishly decided he didn’t need any product to help make it through his days around her. And now he had a taste for cocaine but none with him. Just like he wanted sex and had no one. A workout was in order. Or a blow job from a professional. That could be arranged. Whatever. Any kind of release would work temporarily.

  He stepped toward Beth. “I’m going to head for a swim. Join me?”

  “Maybe next time.”

  The urges quadrupled when she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. Maybe it was a mistake to have brought her and not one of his favorite sluts with a dirty, sucking mouth. He gave Beth a once-over. “I’m across the hall if you need anything.”

  Her genuine smile made him feel good, dampening the urge for a fix a degree. The back and forth would give him hives if he weren’t careful. Fuck. His thoughts were all over the place. He couldn’t be reacting to a lack of high. He’d gone longer without blow.

  Right?

  Of course. So what was his problem? The issue was Beth. She was worth working for. Worth changing for. He’d been looking for a catalyst. An answer as to when it was time to retire. She was the answer to that question.

  He didn’t need a high. He needed Beth. There was little he was not successful at, and convincing her to be his would be entertainment enough. No need for drugs of any kind. He wasn’t that weak. He knew better.

  He took another step toward her. “A friend of mine has a private relics collection from Eridu. An ancient—”

  “Sumerian city in what is now Iraq,” she cut in with expert finesse, shutting down his explanation.

  He blinked, nearly unable to hold back how impressed, and turned on, he was. “Correct. I’d love to show you. Just the two of us.”

  She looked at him through thick eyelashes that shaded brilliant eyes. “Are you trying to change the itinerary already?” Her laugh was gentle. “Because—”

  “No, I’m asking you on a date. Something I’ve not done much of, and something, frankly, I can’t stop myself from doing.” He closed the remaining gap between them.

  “Greg, I don’t know.”

  “Easy answer. Yes?”

  Beth closed her mouth, tucking in her bottom lip before her smile beamed. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He turned back toward the door, more smitten with her than wanting sex or coke. He grinned. “I’ll handle your security.”

  “But—”

  Greg shook his head. “I insist, and I will guarantee your safety.”

  Her head tilted. “Have a good swim.”

  And that was another reason why he wanted to keep her around. No woman he’d ever spent time with would enjoy looking at antiquities, and none would be so patient as to wait for a date. They were all needy and insecure, maybe as they should be, because he had no long-term interests. They always gave up the goods in a misguided attempt to keep his attention.

  He walked out her door, checking his phone and emails. Perfect. The email he’d been waiting on. The Sun Bowl and its hidden microscopic file were on their way to the hotel under tight security. The relic might have been priceless to some, but that file and its codes were what he wanted even if its price flew into the eight-figure-plus range.

  Greg scrolled through his emails, knowing more than one buyer he could move the product to with minimal effort and an extraordinary profit.

  He pulled out his room keycard, let himself in, and signaled his approval of the bags’ arrival and unpacking. He looked out the window at the stretch of road leading to the hotel. Ferraris, Lamborghinis. The United Arab Emirates was a wonderful place to be, its wealth reminding him of everything he enjoyed in life.

  He pulled up a new email, finding a contact with access to money and a depraved lack of morals, then shot off a message: I have what you’ve been looking for. Take whatever your offer is and double it. Greg read it twice then hit Send. He’d take the Sun Bowl and its file and buy his retirement.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Beth listened at the door after Greg left. His room was diagonal from hers, letting her hear him open and shut his door. Then she went to work. Roman had been far too casual about this room for her liking. Time to sweep the place and confirm her assumptions—he had people working at this hotel. Or if the CIA rumor abo
ut Titan’s palatial investments was correct, this was one of the places Titan Group had strategically placed around the world. They played it close to the vest, but she had a couple of clues they weren’t as small as they seemed.

  She went to her luggage, extracted the makeup bag, and found her screwdriver and the little gizmo that monitored radio frequencies. Meticulously, Beth unscrewed each light switch and electrical outlet cover, searching for bugs.

  Nothing.

  She checked the lampshades, the phone, the desk, and the drawers. Again, nothing.

  Beth chewed on her lip. She inspected the vent covers. Those hadn’t looked recently opened. Then she ran her hands along the bottom of the bed, the chairs, and every surface she could find with a lip suitable for placing a listening device. Even the channel changer was free of spy gear.

  What the hell? Somewhere in this room there had to be something—

  A knock sounded on her door, and damn if she didn’t wish she had a gun with her. But it wouldn’t fit her cover. She growled and peeked through the hole. Greg.

  Shit. Quickly, she tucked the screwdriver between her breasts and glanced around the room. Nothing out of place.

  She opened the door with a smile. “Hi.”

  “Last chance to ditch the research and go for a swim.”

  She leaned against the door. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

  “Even better.”

  “Oh my God.” Her cheeks went hot.

  Winking, Greg grinned. “Well, you know where to find me should you change your mind.”

  She waved goodbye and shut the door. Leaning against it, she slid down to the floor. There was something absurdly comforting about how he could make her blush without her having a single twinge of sexual interest. Unlike fucking Roman. God. That man made her fume, so damn mad she couldn’t see straight, particularly because her room had to be wired and Roman hadn’t mentioned it.