by Cynthia Eden
“Are you even listening to me?” Eric wanted to know.
Oh, shit. No, he hadn’t been. He’d been thinking about Harper.
“It’s a six-week probationary period, just like I said before,” Eric continued grimly. “Try and make it work, will you? Try to play nicely with her.”
“I have been nice.” Mostly.
“This is a chance at a new life, Roman. I know you want that life. You don’t have to be like him.”
Roman stiffened. Him. His father. The sick, twisted bastard. “Yeah, I think this little meeting is over.” No accent marked his words. He’d learned—long ago—to ditch the accent. Just as he’d learned to alter his appearance. His hair was blond now, a very dark blond. He kept a loose stubble on his jaw, and he’d let his eyes go back to being dark. When others had seen him in the past, well, his eye shade had varied. As had his hair color and beard. Small changes could turn a man into someone completely new.
“Try, Roman. I want you to be a part of Wilde.” A pause from Eric. “I want you to be a part of my family.”
Because they were connected by blood. By secrets.
Roman nodded. He was trying, but no one seemed to understand that. No one got how hard it was for him to trade his bloody past for…this. He was used to looking for trouble—death—in every direction. Yet now he was supposed to become a good little agent and toe the line in the blink of an eye?
Not happening.
He left Eric and went in search of Harper. As he walked through the building, everyone there seemed to steer clear of him. People suddenly remembered paperwork as they turned away abruptly. One guy even spilled his coffee as he staggered back.
What the hell? Had he really been that difficult to get along with at Wilde? Not like he was the big, bad, friggin’ wolf.
All right. Maybe I am. But these people didn’t know that.
He rounded the corner that would take him to the office he shared with Harper and—
She was hugging some jerk who wore an ugly blue suit.
“I knew I could count on you,” the jerk praised as his arms lingered around her. “You never let me down, Harper.”
Roman raised a brow and studied them. The man’s hands were far too close to her hips. Roman debated the best way to interrupt. He could clear his throat to get their attention—that was the technique Eric had been using back in his office. Or Roman could just grab the guy and toss him across the room.
Option two. That one seemed like a winner.
He took a fast step forward—
Harper pulled away from the fellow in the blue suit. Her gaze darted to Roman. Widened.
He could almost hear Eric’s words in his head. Try to play nicely with her.
“Roman!” Alarm had her voice rising. Maybe she’d read his intent. Harper seemed to recover quickly as she waved a hand toward him. “Roman, ah, have you met the museum manager, Tomas Archwright?”
No, he hadn’t met the guy.
Tomas turned toward him and smiled.
Roman didn’t smile back. He wasn’t the fake smile type. He did assess the man. From the top of his head to the hands that had been holding Harper to—
“Roman is my partner, and he’ll be supervising security tonight at the museum with me. Don’t worry, Tomas. You have absolutely nothing to be concerned about. We will make sure that the gala is a complete success. No one will touch your jewels.”
“Absolutely.” Roman agreed, deadpan. “No one touches your jewels. Sure as shit not Harper. That is not on the agenda.”
Harper frowned at him.
Tomas’s eyelids flickered. “Do you—”
“Well, we have work to do.” Harper curled her hand around Tomas’s shoulder. “So glad that you dropped by, and I will see you tonight.” She was determinedly guiding their client toward the door.
He was dragging his feet and eyeing her with way too much interest. “I, um, was wondering…once the event is over, if you might be open to possibly having dinner with me—”
“She’s not,” Roman supplied flatly. “We have a policy against dating clients here at Wilde.”
Her brow furrowed.
“Oh, but I won’t be a client when the event is concluded,” Tomas announced happily. “So that won’t be a problem—”
You’re being a problem, Tomas. Roman stared at the other man. Just stared.
Tomas gulped. “I need to get back to the museum. It was, um, interesting to meet you, Roman.” He finally stopped dragging his feet and nearly ran from the office.
Harper expelled a relieved breath.
“That’s three,” Roman noted as he shut the door.
She rolled her neck, as if her muscles ached. “Three what?”
“Three different men who have asked you out…” Right in front of me. “Since we started working together.”
“Yes.” She turned away from him. Strode back toward her desk. There were two desks in the office. Hers and his. They faced each other.
The better to distract him as he studied her far too much instead of getting shit done.
“I get asked out fairly frequently.” She sat down. Crossed her legs. Sniffed. “This will come as a major surprise to you, but most people actually like me.”
It wasn’t a surprise. He marched forward and threw himself into the chair opposite her.
She lifted a brow. “Did you have a nice chat with Eric?”
“No.”
“Did he go over the rules again with you?” Harper asked. Her voice was all hopeful. Cute.
He hated to burst her bubble. Actually, he didn’t hate it. He found it a little fun. “No.”
Her lips thinned. No flashing dimples for him. What a pity. She’d been smiling plenty for Tomas.
Her fingers curled around a pen, and she began to lightly shake it back and forth. “Are we back to one-word replies?”
“No—” Roman caught himself. Normally, he did talk more. But he’d been trying to be extra careful at Wilde, and while he learned the lay of the land, so to speak, he’d been in observation mode.
A few things he’d learned from observation mode?
Men had a tendency to fall at Harper’s high-heeled feet.
They tripped over themselves for her. Maybe it was because she had a killer body. Or the most striking eyes on the planet. Or the dimples. Dammit. He was starting to think those dimples of hers were some kind of secret weapon that she wielded whenever she wanted to get something.
Except, she didn’t use that secret weapon on him.
Why the hell not? Would it kill her to smile at him?
She blinked at him. Put down the pen.
Roman sucked in a deep breath. “We aren’t back to one-word replies,” he rumbled.
Her eyes widened. “And you’re going to start following orders?”
“I’m not as green as you seem to think.”
She laughed. God, of course, the sound of her laughter would be musical. “I never thought you were green.” She propped up her chin on one hand as she studied him. “You have this whole extremely intense, I-get-shit-done vibe that rolls off you. I’m guessing former military or maybe you were involved in some off-the-books, covert work.”
He didn’t respond.
“I didn’t even get a one-word response to that.” She licked her lower lip.
His body tensed.
“Does that mean I’m right or wrong?” Harper wanted to know.
“Definitely not former military.”
“So…covert. That makes sense. You remind me of another agent—more of a freelance guy, really—who flits in and out of Wilde.” Her expression showed mock surprise. “You know what…come to think of it…I believe his last name is Smith, too. What a coincidence.”
“The world is full of those.”
“Coincidences?”
“Smiths.”
Her lips trembled. He thought she almost smiled.
“I would like to start over,” Roman told her, voice serious. “I will try not t
o be as major of an asshole.”
“Is that a real promise? Like, one that you honestly intend to keep?”
He wouldn’t go that far. “Sometimes, being an asshole comes naturally to me.”
“I have noticed that.” Her smile finally flashed fully. It lit her eyes. Made her dimples wink.
Fuck me. I am in some serious trouble.
She offered her hand to him. “I’m all for starting over.”
He glanced at her hand. She was willing to give him a second chance so easily? Eric had been right. Harper was kind—the nicest agent there.
His fingers closed around hers. He felt the hot surge of attraction pulse through his entire body.
She was kind. Nice. Good.
He tightened his hold on her hand.
Too bad he wasn’t any of those things.
Chapter Two
“It’s cursed, you know,” Charity Hall, Tomas’s assistant at the museum, told Harper as she grabbed a flute of champagne. “Anyone who wears the ruby necklace is doomed to danger. Well, doomed to face danger and desire.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Harper’s fingers tightened around the champagne flute she held. Unlike Charity, she wasn’t actually drinking. But if you wanted to blend in with a crowd, props were always helpful. “Facing desire doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
Charity laughed. “It’s the danger part that gets you.” Her blue gaze wandered back to the ruby necklace that was on display in the middle of the massive room. A guard stood at attention beside the priceless piece. “It’s as big as a human heart.”
The ruby’s size would explain where the jewel had gotten its name. Lover’s Heart. But the whole spiel about the wearer being doomed to face danger and desire? Harper figured that was simply clever marketing that someone had created over the years. All good pieces needed a curse attached to them. Curses attracted crowds.
There was certainly a massive crowd at the museum that night.
The Lover’s Heart wasn’t the only piece on display. There were plenty of other gorgeous jewels in the room. Diamonds. Emeralds. Yet nothing touched the giant heart in beauty. The collection had been donated to the museum by a big celebrity, but, originally, all of the jewels had been owned by a certain king’s infamous mistress and—
“Who is that?” Charity asked. She waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh, I don’t know him. But I’d like to. I’d really, really like to know him. All of him.”
The sinking feeling in Harper’s stomach told her that she already knew the identity of the mystery man. And, sure enough, when she followed Charity’s gaze…
Hello, Roman.
He was cutting a swath through the crowd. Not wearing his worn jeans and slightly dirty t-shirt any longer. No, now he was dressed in a black suit that fit him like a glove. It hugged his broad shoulders, accentuated his golden tan, and, uh, yes, the man could certainly clean up well.
He looked up and his stare locked right on her.
“OhmyGod,” Charity whispered. “Do you see that? It looks like he wants to eat you alive. That is so hot.”
It wasn’t hot. It was an act. Charity hadn’t met Roman before. Mostly because he was a new member of the team and because he was supposed to be keeping a low profile that night. There were several “low profile” Wilde operatives in the museum. Dressed like other gala attendees, their job was to keep an eye on the jewels. They were supposed to blend. When you blended, you could see things so much better.
Except, Roman wasn’t blending. He was standing out. Catching the eye of every woman in the room.
And I’m still staring at him, too.
She yanked her gaze away and returned it to Charity. “That’s Roman,” Harper said, aware that her voice had gone husky for some unknown reason. “He’s my—”
“Date,” Roman supplied as he stepped to Harper’s side. “I’m her date for tonight, and if you don’t mind, I would love to steal her away for a few minutes.”
Charity’s eyes had gone very, very wide. “Sure but, um…” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Don’t forget, Tomas has plans for you soon. Stay close, okay, Harper?”
Harper inclined her head. She was well aware of Tomas’s plans, and they didn’t exactly thrill her. But he was the client so she’d play along.
Roman didn’t speak again until Charity had disappeared into the crowd. He didn’t speak, but his gaze was sweeping all over Harper’s body. She could feel it.
Automatically, Harper glanced down. He was in black, while she was wearing white. The softest, silkiest dress she owned. It dipped off one shoulder, and the fabric clung lightly to her curves. She’d had to slip on extra high heels because the dress was a little long, but it flared nicely around her feet. She hadn’t worn any jewelry with the dress. Mostly because…
She knew Tomas’s plans. He’d sprung them on her when he’d been in her office.
“You look beautiful.”
Harper shook her head. She must have misheard.
“No, you do. Though I’m sure you realize it.” Roman waved one hand vaguely toward the crowd. “I’m also sure plenty of these guys have probably come up to you and told you how great you look.”
Do not shatter the champagne flute. Ease your killer grip, woman. “I think you gave me a compliment, but then it got weird.”
His lips tilted. Almost a smile. But not quite.
“You look very handsome.” She raised her brows. “Did you see what I did there? I gave you a compliment, but I didn’t tack on anything rude like… ‘And I’m sure you know it because all the women here are tripping over themselves to get your attention.’”
His dark gaze drifted down to her feet. “You’re not tripping.”
“I’m not trying to get your attention.” Why was her heart pounding so fast? Because it’s almost showtime. Because you’re having an adrenaline rush. This has nothing to do with Roman. Nothing at all.
“You don’t need to try.” Now that hot stare of his rose again. Held hers. “You have it.”
A surprised laugh escaped her. Only the laugh came out sounding a bit too much like a gasp. “You are a very good actor.”
A furrow appeared between his brows.
“I have to commend you. You’re playing the role of my date admirably well tonight. You truly seem interested in me.” She inched closer to him and lowered her voice even more to say, “Once I’m wearing the necklace, don’t forget that we have to go into the ballroom and take one dance together. Keep up the act for that part, and then, once the necklace is returned, you can go back to mingling with the crowd and looking for anyone suspicious.”
A muscle flexed along his jaw. “You don’t seem overly interested in me.”
Was he criticizing her acting skills? She plopped her champagne flute down on the nearest waiter’s tray and curled both of her hands around those super broad shoulders of Roman’s. Then she let loose her winning smile. “Darling!” Harper chimed loudly. “I can’t wait to dance with you.” She pressed higher in her heels and let her lips skim his jaw.
He stiffened. She felt the sudden tension in his whole body. His hands flew up and clamped around her hips, and he held her in a tight, fierce grip.
Her mouth was lingering against his jaw. She’d just been playing around. But now…now her lips feathered against his skin once more.
Alarms blared in her head. Stop this. Do not do this. Not with him.
She pulled back. Stared into his eyes. Harper found that she couldn’t say a word.
You don’t trust him! Another alarm blaring in her head. And it was true. She didn’t trust him. She’d agreed to the idea of starting over, but that didn’t mean she’d stopped being suspicious.
She needed to get a grip. They were both just playing a role. That was all. Pretending to be involved. Okay, fine, maybe there was a real attraction between them. An attraction she’d noticed on day one. But she was going to ignore it. She could ignore it. She could—
“Tomas is coming up behind you,” Roman murmu
red. “Guess it’s showtime.”
Showtime. Yes. Right. That was the time.
Roman’s fingers slowly slid away from her.
She didn’t move back. “It’s time for me to get cursed.”
He frowned.
“Don’t worry. I can handle some danger and desire.” She tried to sound flippant, but Harper was pretty sure she failed. She turned away from him.
“That’s good to know,” Roman assured her quietly. “I’ll remember that.”
She was certain that he would.
***
Tomas’s fingers trailed over Harper’s shoulders after he secured the Lover’s Heart around her neck. The guy’s touch was lingering a little too long, and Roman found himself glaring.
It’s a role. An act. I’m supposed to be her date. A date would get jealous when some other dumbass got all touchy with his lady, wouldn’t he?
Except it didn’t exactly feel like he was pretending. It felt all too real to Roman.
“We have one brave woman who isn’t afraid of danger!” Tomas’s voice boomed out. “Or desire.”
Roman nearly snorted. Laying it on thick, aren’t you?
“She’s accepted the curse.”
Laughter followed Tomas’s dramatic announcement.
“She was also the lucky winner of our random drawing, so the lovely Harper will be allowed one dance while wearing the Lover’s Heart.”
Such bullshit. Harper hadn’t won anything. Tomas had thought it would be a great idea for the people at the gala to actually see someone wearing the ruby. According to Harper, Tomas had rambled on about how precious things shouldn’t just be admired. They should be savored. Whatever. Sounded like PR bullshit to Roman, but it wasn’t his call.
There was a round of applause as Harper stepped forward. The dance floor was in the adjacent room, and Roman took her hand as he escorted her through the crowd. He wasn’t her only escort. A security guard and an undercover Wilde agent trailed along with them.
Roman and Harper took up a position in the middle of the dance floor. They were the only ones allowed this dance—the better from a security perspective. He pulled her into his arms. Held her easily as the band began to play. Their bodies moved slowly, in perfect time. As if they’d danced together dozens of times in the past.
