HARD LINE

by Justice, A. D.

  The man I used to know thought dressing up meant wearing jeans with no visible holes in them. Back then, if I’d asked him to wear what the rest of the world considered dress clothes on the beach, I’d be in a psychiatric facility on a seventy-two-hour hold for a full mental health evaluation. Clothes do not make the man; that idiom, I firmly believe. But can a change in the man’s choice of clothing signal a difference in the man himself?

  Or am I putting too much stock in subtle variations and setting myself up for disappointment yet again?

  “Fucking stop obsessing over this already, Tawnee. You’ll end up driving yourself to the psych ward if you don’t get a grip, girl.” Talking to myself with a firm tone and a no-nonsense, practical approach usually does the trick.

  I’ve been around Roman all of thirty minutes—max—and my thoughts are already running away from me. My cart and my horse aren’t even in the same time zone at this point. With a shake of my head, I attempt to clear the fog from between my ears. Then I pick up my razor to shave all my lady parts. I set one foot on the tiled seat in the corner of the shower and slide the blade across my skin.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay, sweets? I couldn’t help but notice when I first saw you down on the beach that you look like you’ve lost quite a bit of weight. Not that you don’t look fucking hot as hell, but I never thought you had any extra weight you could lose in the first place. You were always muscular for a woman, and it looked damn good on you. I’ve searched your entire kitchen and what you call snacks is more like raw rabbit food. I’m worried you’re not eating and maybe even starving yourself or something.

  “Fuck, this is coming out all wrong. I’m sorry—I know I sound like a complete dick, but I don’t mean it that way. What I really want to know is if you’re okay. That’s all that matters to me, Tawnee—if you’re happy and healthy and taking good care of yourself.”

  At first, the deep timbre of his voice emanating from inside my bathroom makes me jump. The sudden jerk of the razor against my leg nicks my skin, causing a tiny rivulet of blood to form instantly. The sheer audacity of him just waltzing into my bathroom while I’m obviously still in the shower and very naked strikes a chord in me. He’s crossed a hard line—one he will immediately regret when my scrawny, too-skinny ass kicks his arrogant, self-absorbed ass to kingdom come. While he’s mid-sentence, I grab the handle and swing the glass door open, ready to crack his skull.

  Then three things hit me, one after the other, and they knock the wind out of my sails.

  First, I didn’t close the bathroom door all the way.

  Second, he’s standing in the opening with his back to me and his eyes closed.

  Third, his apology is sincere and heartfelt—and so is his concern for my well-being.

  Before he realizes I’m standing behind him completely naked and dripping wet, I step back inside the shower and softly close the door.

  “I’m not sure how to answer the part about the weight loss. I guess I’ve lost some since you last saw me. But, yes, I’m taking good care of myself. We travel a lot, and you know how hotel gyms are compared to real ones. Their weights aren’t as helpful, so I’ve been swimming laps and building up my cardio lately. And clean, healthy eating is not rabbit food. It’s good for you—you should try it.”

  “Sweets, I’m not eating a plain stalk of celery. That’s not a snack. A party-size bag of Cool Ranch Doritos is a snack. A giant Halloween-size bag of frozen Reese’s—the best snack of all. Carrots, celery, and broccoli are meant to be combined with other ingredients to make a full dish—not to graze on like rabbits eating grass.”

  I laugh out loud as I turn off the water and grab my oversized plush towel. After a few quick swipes to dry off, I wrap it around me and step out of the shower. “Must be nice to eat all that tasty-good junk food and not have it go straight to your hips and thighs. Not all of us are as fortunate as you are, Roman.”

  “Is it safe to open my eyes and turn around now?” I can’t help but think how sweet it is of him to ask that. Not that I should expect less from any man, but being respectful of anyone’s privacy has never been in his nature.

  “Yes, it’s safe now. Thank you for being considerate of my privacy.”

  “No thanks needed, sweets.” He looks over his shoulder, and his steely gray eyes darken with desire. He moves to face me fully while leisurely perusing the length of my body from my towel down to my toes. On the way back up, he notices the blood on my shin. “Your leg is bleeding. I saw some bandages in the kitchen cabinet. Have a seat and I’ll grab them.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s only a small nick from shaving.” I follow him out of the shower room and into the outer sitting area, but my protests fall on deaf ears. Within seconds, he’s back with the small first aid kit I always take on trips.

  “Let’s have a look.” He motions toward the chair in front of the vanity mirror as he opens the container.

  “Really, I’m okay—”

  “Sit.”

  “Fine.” I plop down on the seat and scowl at him. Then he hits me with that sexy smirk of his, and I forget why I’m irritated with him.

  He kneels in front of me and picks up my leg to examine the minuscule cut. The rush of electricity that zings through my body makes me grip the sides of the chair, my fingers curling into the wood and holding on for dear life. I’m intentionally holding my breath to avoid saying something I’ll regret later and praying he doesn’t say anything that requires an intelligent reply. He slides his hand up the back of my leg to the bend of my knee. A whimper nearly escapes my throat from the warmth of his hand and the memory of his touch.

  With a cotton swab soaked with peroxide, he cleans the area then leans closer and lightly blows on it to dry it. He’s solely focused on my nonexistent wound, not at all affected by what is essentially foreplay for me.

  I think I may die now… It’s been way too long since I’ve been with a man.

  He removes the smallest bandage from the kit, covers the cut, and sets my foot on his thigh before looking up at me. He doesn’t move from his position at my feet. His hand is still on my leg, and his thumb lightly brushes back and forth across my skin…lovingly, reverently, longingly.

  A sea of emotions washes across his features while we remain locked in a silent battle of desire versus reality. Part of me wishes I could read his mind, but a greater part is afraid of what I’d find there. Despite the number of times I’ve denied the truth since we parted, I can’t fool myself any longer.

  I’ve never really moved on from Roman Scott.

  But I won’t allow this old flame to be rekindled.

  He not only shattered my heart beyond repair—he crushed my spirit and my belief in an eternal love in one fatal move.

  “All better now. Thank you for taking care of me. I’ll join you back in the living room once I’m dressed, and we can have that talk you’re so looking forward to.” My friendly smile is securely in place on the outside, but inside, I’m mentally hardening my heart.

  Disappointment flashes across his face before he masks his features and gains control of his emotions. There’s no doubt in my mind that he understands my underlying message. “As I said, there’s no need to thank me. Taking care of you is my pleasure. Take your time, Tawnee. I don’t mind waiting for you, regardless of how long it takes.”

  His hidden message isn’t quite as ambiguous as mine… I hear what he’s trying to say loud and clear.

  The problem is, I took a hard-line stance against too-little-too-late men three years ago.

  Chapter 7

  Roman

  Walking out of that room when I was so close to reminding Tawnee of what we once had was sheer torture. I was one step closer to convincing her to give me another chance. Then she completely slammed on the brakes and stopped the forward momentum I’d gained. Not that I can blame her, but I admit I was hoping our first meeting would’ve gone better.

  So, I’ll back off for now and give her a little space to deal with the
changes and shocking turn of events that have been thrown at her in the last few days. My surprise arrival must make her feel awkward, to say the very least, but I know it sure as hell can’t be as hard as seeing her cozy with another man. When I walked up and saw her with Rafael, I wanted to tear him apart. Silas’s questions to Blake about how he’d react to seeing his girlfriend with another man echoed loudly in my ears.

  Now I know exactly what it feels like—it fucking sucks, that’s what.

  She walks into the living room wearing tight-fitting black pants, a champagne-colored shirt, and a short white dress jacket. The way her thick black hair falls over her shoulders only accentuates her sex appeal, making me salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs on sight. Before she even glances in my direction, she sets her bag down and continues straight to the kitchen. When she returns, she has a beer in each hand, offers one to me, then sits in the chair across from me instead of on the couch beside me.

  Aha, so this is how we’re playing it. All right. If this makes her feel safer to keep her distance from me, I’ll just use methods other than innocent touches or rendering first aid to win her over. That includes anything and everything under the sun. When I raise the longneck bottle to my lips, I keep her in my sights as the nectar of the gods slides down my throat. She stares at the bottle in her hand before taking a swig, then she starts peeling the label.

  That act alone gives me more satisfaction than it should. Since receiving that encoded message, verifying her safety is the only thing that has made me feel better than seeing her make that little sign. At least she isn’t getting any satisfaction from Ralphy-boy.

  “You’ve been keeping a secret long enough, sweets. What is it you’re hiding from us?” I prop my ankle on my knee and lean back against the overly plush cushions.

  “You’re not allowed to yell.”

  “Oh fuck. That’s never a good sign.” My deadpan expression really says it all.

  “Promise me, Roman.”

  “You have my word. I don’t fly off the handle and yell at people like a lunatic anymore.”

  “Good to know. Hold on to that thought for the next few minutes.” She tilts the bottle up, and I’m mesmerized by the way the muscles in her throat work when she swallows.

  When she turns her attention back to me, I purposely keep my expression neutral and my body language open. The last thing I want is to seem closed off to her. “Talk to me, Tawnee. Let me help if I can.”

  “I’ll probably regret leading with this, but I don’t think you’ll appreciate the suspenseful buildup to it if I start at the beginning.” I simply nod in understanding to avoid interrupting her. “I’m not entirely convinced Rafael was the intended target. When the Arab men heard the sirens approaching, they ran back to their cars. One of them was still yelling in Arabic, but I distinctly heard him say my name.

  “Before you get your panties in a wad over this, I’ve gone over the scene in my mind repeatedly, dissecting every moment. During the altercation, I used my body to shield Rafael. His side of the car was pinned against the building, so there was only one way in and out—straight through me. Since I don’t speak Arabic, I can only guess what he was yelling about. But it makes sense that if they’d researched Rafael, they would know I’m the head of security. So, he could have been cursing me because he lost that fight to a woman. Maybe he was mad because I dared to fight him off instead of bowing to his wishes. Or maybe he was pissed because I kicked him in the head. There are so many possibilities, it didn’t make sense only to focus on a single reason at the time.”

  “At the time? But now you’ve changed your mind about that?” I know where she’s going with this, but I’m trying hard not to be the overbearing asshole I usually am and simply blurt it out. But it’s fucking killing me inside. My every instinct screams at me to throw her over my shoulder, march her fine ass out of this hotel, and put her on the next flight home.

  “Yes. I can’t stick my head in the sand and pretend I don’t see what’s happening. The team takes risks to keep Rafael safe—but we do what needs to be done to mitigate those risks as much as possible. Circumstances are different now, though, with the scrubbed camera feed, the hack into Brad’s system, and the encoded message sent directly to you. All signs point to one fact. Their mark wasn’t Rafael—it was me. And my staying here creates more danger for both Rafael and the team. I can’t expect anyone to work double security details to cover both of our asses.”

  “Now that I know the finer details of what happened, I have to say I agree with your assessment. I know coming to this conclusion was especially difficult for you. You’d never voluntarily give up your responsibilities unless there was no other way. Those guys absolutely wanted you—but that doesn’t automatically mean they weren’t trying to nab Rafael too. Sending me the distress signal was a brilliant move. They get extra-credit points for that one.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, my spy senses start tingling all over.

  Fuck me.

  “Wait a minute… Let’s talk this through, because something is way off base here. Sending me that message wouldn’t help them get to you—they knew that. The only purpose that message served was to get me to come here to find you. What could they possibly have to gain from that?” Her lips part in surprise as my words sink in. The wheels in both of our brains are spinning out of control now.

  “Do you have any Arab enemies? Anyone in this part of the world who would have used me as leverage against you?”

  “No, I’ve never worked in this region before now. I don’t know what this could be about or how I got on their radar.”

  “Roman, I have to tell you I’m freaking out a little now—and you know I don’t do that. Ever.” She jumps to her feet and starts pacing back and forth in front of me, unable to contain the nervous energy coursing through her veins. “But none of the scenarios in my mind included you as a target. Now that you’ve pointed out that someone wants both of us here—in Dubai, at the same time—that’s all I can focus on. We should leave. All of us. Right now. Let’s go explain it to the others and leave before they finish what they’ve started.”

  On her next pass toward me, I stand and block her path. With my hands wrapped around her biceps, I bend my knees to put us eye to eye. “Tawnee, slow down, sweets. Take a deep breath. I agree we need to talk to the others about this—but not all the others just yet. I’d rather start with Silas, Nick, and Blake, then go from there. Okay?”

  She nods. “Okay, you’re right. That makes perfect sense. They have the most experience with life-and-death situations in hostile enemy territories. Surely the five of us can put our heads together and come up with something resembling a good plan.”

  “You bet your sweet ass, we can.” I waggle my eyebrows at her.

  “Roman.” She’s using her stern voice. That’s a good sign that she’s getting her anxiety under control. “Did you have to remind me of the real reason why you call me ‘sweets’ right at this moment?”

  “Yep, I sure did. It worked, didn’t it?”

  She’s fighting against the smile that’s trying to break free.

  “In case you were wondering, I still think you have the sweetest ass in the world. Now that I’ve flown halfway around the actual world and have seen a lot of asses on my way here, I’m confident in officially claiming my title as the numero uno ass-expert now.”

  The smile wins.

  “Well, you’ve certainly had enough experience in being an ass to make you an expert on the subject.”

  “Ha-ha. You’re still so funny. Do you want to call up to Rafael’s room and have the guys come down here to talk so we’ll have more privacy?”

  “I think it’s best that we head back up there. Raf’s suite is enormous—we can use one of the spare rooms to strategize then share the plan with the others when we’re ready. Plus, Raf would probably be very suspicious of our motives otherwise.”

  By all means, let’s not make Raf suspicious.

  She cuts her eyes o
ver to me, and I immediately wonder if I said that out loud instead of just thinking it. “Wait a second. You don’t still think one of my security team is in on this, do you?”

  “At this point, I don’t trust anyone except for you and my team. Like I said earlier, I don’t know anything about your employees, sweets, so I can’t vouch for them. But I sure as fuck don’t like the thought of your life in their hands.”

  “Don’t hold back, Roman. Tell me what you really think.”

  “All right, I will. I absolutely think someone on your team is behind this whole thing, or at least involved. What’s worse is you think so too, but you won’t admit it yet. You hold on to this notion that everyone you trust is implicitly good and has your best interests at heart. But they don’t, sweets. Not everyone.”

  “When did you become so insightful about other people?”

  “Ever since I started working with Silas a few years ago. It’s the only way to survive around that man. He’s worse than a lie detector—he can read your thoughts.”

  “Good to know. I’ll watch out for his telepathic abilities. Maybe I’ll wear an aluminum hat or something.”

  “It won’t help. I’ve tried it.”

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  When we rejoin the others in the expansive suite, the eye daggers being thrown at me from both Rafael and Tony nearly make me laugh. Instead, I make it a little more interesting by pouring gasoline on the fire.

  “Sorry to keep everyone waiting. Tawnee and I needed a little longer than we first thought.” Nothing like leaving my comments vague enough to at least conjure the very images they’re trying to avoid thinking about. “Silas, Nick, and Blake—can we talk to you privately?”

  “Sure. Please excuse us for a few minutes.” Silas stands and walks out of the living room without waiting for a reply from anyone.