Rich: Benson Security 5 Read online

  When she eventually looked at his face, he had that secretive little smile again. She frowned, and he smiled wider.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, his focus still on her, “could you give us the room for a second? I think Rachel and I have to discuss this alone.”

  “I disagree,” Rachel said as her father and Callum practically ran out the door.

  “Don’t forget we’re having a family dinner tomorrow night,” her father called over his shoulder. “We’re expecting you at seven. No excuses.” He caught Harvard’s eye. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to bring your fiancé along too.”

  “Father—”

  Callum cut her off. “Family later. Work now.” And then he slammed the door shut behind them, leaving her alone with the man who drove her crazy—even in her dreams.

  She narrowed her eyes at the tall American with his rich brown skin and dark, dark eyes. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m not a security operative. I’m a managing partner.”

  “I disagree.” He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “I think what you are is a coward.”

  Rachel gave him a cold smile as she drummed her blood-red nails on the tabletop. “I don’t much care what you think. As I pointed out earlier, I’m your boss. I gave up worrying what employees thought about me before I turned ten.”

  “I’m not one of the maids at the family mansion. And you’ve been involved in the security world long enough to know that the team leader has authority over every member of their team. Even if that member is a partner.”

  “You might be team leader, but I’m not a member of your team.” She stood, slinging her favorite Hermes handbag over her elbow. “This discussion is over. I’m sure you’ll find a way to run the investigation without me.” She walked around the table, heading for the door. There was a bottle of Merlot at home calling her name.

  “What’s the problem exactly?” Harvard turned in his seat to face her. “Are you worried your high-class friends and family will think less of you for bringing home a black man? A working-class American black man at that. They’ll know I’m your employee—especially seeing as I’ll also be playing the part of your bodyguard. They’ll think you’re screwing the help. Tut-tut. That’s even worse than good old Uncle Theo.”

  If he thought his poor attempt at riling her would get results, then he was seriously deluded. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, and as I’ve said before, I don’t much care what you or anyone else thinks either.”

  He got out of his seat and positioned himself between her and the door. “Or maybe it’s the thought of returning to the company you’d once planned on running. The company you suddenly turned your back on ten years ago. Is that what’s freaking you out? One day you’re talking about becoming CEO of TayFor, the next you’re gone, and telling the family to give away the shares you’d inherit. Why did you walk away, Rachel? I’ve done some digging, and no one seems to know.”

  Which was exactly how she planned to keep it. “Not everyone follows through on their childhood ambitions. I simply outgrew the family business. And unsurprisingly, I’ve outgrown this conversation too. Prove you’re the ace spy we were led to believe you were when we hired you and do the job without me.”

  Instead of backing off, as most reasonable people would have done, he took a step closer. For a second, it seemed as though the air was rushing from the room, and she felt quite light-headed. Harvard always smelled like the ocean. Like freedom. Or recklessness…

  “Tell me what’s going on and I’ll help you,” he said softly.

  Jumping beans started bouncing in her stomach. “Nothing’s going on. I just don’t want to revisit the past. Or deal with my family on a daily basis. There’s nothing you can say that would make me go undercover with you, so you may as well give up.”

  “How about this?” He lowered his head to whisper against her ear, making her shiver as his breath swept over the sensitive shell. “The word around the office is that you’re scared to play the part of my fiancée. People are saying you won’t be able to separate fact from fiction.” He touched her hair, running the straight length through his fingers, and she swore she could feel it right to her toes. “There’s a betting pool. Ryan’s bet a thousand pounds that you won’t be able to resist me. In fact, most of the bets are on the side of you giving in to the attraction between us.”

  “There’s no attraction between us.” Had that sounded breathier than usual? No. No, it hadn’t. She sounded the same way she always did—cold and distant. Precisely how she liked it.

  His eyes warmed. “Oh, Rachel, I know you’re gonna lie to me, but you should at least be honest with yourself.”

  She forced a snort of amusement. “Arrogance isn’t an attractive trait in a man.”

  “Arrogance, or confidence?” His lips skimmed the flesh beneath her ear, and every inch of her skin was electrified. There were only a few millimeters between their bodies, and the heat from his much larger frame engulfed her. She was warm when she usually felt cold. He was lulling her into a false sense of security. Teasing her with his presence. Daring her to reach out and close the distance between them.

  She took a step back instead.

  His smile was pure male amusement. “You should know I’ve placed a five thousand pound bet you’ll be in my bed before the mission ends. What do you think my chances are?”

  “About the same as getting me to fall for this juvenile attempt at reverse psychology. Did you really think I’d jump at the chance to prove you and the other idiots placing bets wrong?”

  “No, but I thought you might like to prove the women on the team right. They all bet against me.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Elle said there wasn’t a guy on the planet who could tempt you if you’d already decided against him. Megan placed a side bet that you’d shoot me before the investigation was over.”

  Now that was interesting.

  Damn it, the man was playing her, and she was beginning to fall for it. Although, it would be good to prove him and the other annoying men she worked with wrong…maybe…

  She seriously considered whether being close to Harvard would be a problem for her. Sure, he was big and sexy and had muscles that made her mouth water. But that didn’t mean she had to give in to the urge to touch. She was famous for her stubborn streak. It’d helped her resist princes and Hollywood stars. She could definitely resist the advances of one overly confident ex-spy.

  All amusement disappeared from his face. “We really do need you on this, Rachel. If there was another way, we’d have found it by now. Without you, there’s no way we’ll have the access we need.”

  And, unfortunately, he was right. They all were—even Callum. But she didn’t have to like it. “Fine,” she said with a good measure of bad grace. “I’ll play my part, but that’s all I’m doing. Don’t expect anything else.” She brushed past him to open the door. “And tell the idiots who bet against me to get their money ready. I don’t lose.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t lose, Rachel. Even if you did give in, you’d still come out a winner. I’d make sure of it.” His voice was a purr of promise that made her thighs clench.

  “You know what they say about a man and his ego,” she said as she walked away. “The bigger the ego, the more he feels he has to prove.”

  His deep, echoing laugh followed her as she strode past reception and out into the London sun. Hailing a cab, she took a steadying breath and straightened her shoulders. There was no place for emotion in this. The decision was made. She was going back to TayFor.

  And to the past she’d fought to leave behind.

  Chapter Two

  Rachel hadn’t said more than ten words during the hour-long drive from central London to the heart of Surrey. You didn’t have to be a genius to know what was bothering her. They were on their way to dinner with her family, where he’d pose as her fiancé. To say Rachel wasn’t thrilled would be an understatement.

  “You realize you’ve got a real-life spy in your James Bo
nd car,” Harvard said into a silence that was so thick it made it hard to breathe.

  If looks could kill, the glance she shot in his direction would have incinerated him. “You are no James Bond.”

  Rachel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of her Aston Martin, making the emerald cut diamond in her engagement ring catch the light and gleam. He’d spent days hunting down the perfect ring for her and had finally settled on a solitaire diamond in a platinum setting. Icy and elegant, just like Rachel, it was worth every cent he’d spent. Although well aware this was purely an undercover op, he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to see his ring on her finger. Of course, being Rachel, when he’d given it to her, she’d slipped it on without a word. But that alone had told him she liked it. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have worn it.

  “I know, I’m no James Bond.” He relaxed back into the gray leather of the passenger seat and smiled at her. “He makes stupid decisions that would get him killed in real life. Plus, he’s a chauvinist asshole.”

  She did that dramatic eye-roll thing that made his dick stand to attention. Damn, she was sexy as hell. All class and ice and keen intelligence. From her sleek mahogany hair falling against pale porcelain skin to her professionally manicured blood-red fingernails, she was perfection. Ever since he’d set eyes on her, he’d wanted to touch. But Rachel was resisting. He just wasn’t sure why—yet.

  He’d seen the way she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking. The woman practically drooled. And it wasn’t like she was a nun either. She’d dated in the time he’d been at Benson Security. One date per man. Which was the only reason Harvard had let them live—their lack of repeat access to Rachel.

  “Why don’t you keep the flowers I send you?” The question popped out, even though an idiot could guess the answer.

  “Maybe because I don’t want them.” She arched a perfectly groomed brow at him. “Or you.”

  Oh, it was on the tip of his tongue to call her on her lies. On more than one occasion, he’d caught her touching the petals of the flowers he had delivered to her office every Monday. There had been a wistful softening in her face before she’d lifted the vase they’d come in and dumped it in the trash.

  He hadn’t imagined it either. Elle Roberts, their resident computer genius, had alerted him to her behavior when she’d asked why Rachel didn’t keep the flowers she so obviously wanted. Like everything else about the woman who fascinated him, the answer was a mystery.

  Unfortunately for Rachel, Harvard loved mysteries. He’d always been a sucker for a puzzle other people couldn’t solve. And for women who could kick his ass. Yeah, Rachel was his dream woman.

  There was no denying he had issues.

  “This is a complete waste of time.” She didn’t bother to signal before cutting someone off. “The only person at this dinner who doesn’t know our engagement is fake is my sister-in-law. Why do we have to pretend for Amelia? It isn’t like she’s involved in the family company. All she thinks about outside of Jonathan is her precious cello. She’s hardly likely to notice there’s anyone else in the room, let alone that you’re supposed to be my fiancé.”

  “Your father seems to think this dinner will be good practice for convincing the rest of your family.”

  “I honestly don’t see how.”

  “Just go with it. There’s no point in letting it upset you.”

  “Upset me?” She cast him a glance full of outrage. “This isn’t upsetting me. This is nothing but an irritation. I’m more annoyed that my weekend plans were ruined by your pathetic need for my assistance.”

  Oh yeah, she could flay the skin off his balls with one sentence. And why the hell did that make him want her more? Harvard was beginning to think his closest friends were right: his taste in women was going to get him killed one day.

  But what a way to go.

  “Why are you smiling like a lunatic?” Rachel demanded as she raced through the motorway traffic at a speed that would likely get her pulled over by the cops. Then, of course, he’d have to step in to make sure she didn’t make things worse by opening her mouth. It was one of Benson Security’s standard operating procedures for anyone who had the misfortune of being a passenger in her car.

  You had to love a business that had company guidelines for dealing with a boss who enjoyed breaking traffic rules.

  “Stop smiling like that,” Rachel snapped. “It’s disturbing.”

  He did his best to appear somber. “We need to get our story straight before we reach your parents’ house.”

  “What’s there to get straight? Even I know that spies do a better job when they stay as close to the truth as possible. So, we tell Amelia we met at work, and”—she grimaced—“we fell in love.”

  “Yeah, say it exactly like that. I’m sure you’ll convince everybody present that your feelings are genuine.”

  “I don’t need to convince everyone. Just Amelia. Surely we can work out the details of this farce before we meet everyone else.”

  She slid between two cars, barely missing one, and it promptly blared its horn at her. From the look on her face, Harvard would bet she was wishing her Aston Martin was as tricked out as Bond’s so she could fire a rocket at the offender.

  “It doesn’t matter that this dinner’s only close family. It doesn’t even matter that most of the people present are in on the lie. This is a chance to establish our story for when other people ask questions. Which we should have been doing today.” Instead, she’d disappeared off the face of the planet and refused to take his calls. “Did you read over the cover information I sent you? We need to be on the same page here.”

  She shot him an irritated glance. “Of course, I read it, and our cover story isn’t exactly a stretch to memorize. We met at work. We clicked. We’re getting married. What else is there to say? It’s going to be harder to convince everyone I need a bodyguard. Couldn’t you just turn up at TayFor to visit me? Do you really need to act as my bodyguard to get access to the offices?”

  “Rachel, would you ever, under any circumstances, let a lover hang out at the office with you?”

  He didn’t need to hear the answer to know what she’d say because, along with every single person on the planet who’d ever spent ten minutes in her company, they both knew the answer was no.

  “Perhaps I’ve softened now that I’m betrothed?” She looked a little nauseous.

  “Yeah, I can’t see us selling that either. But we can sell the fact that you pissed off some dangerous people during your time at Benson Security, and until the threat they represent disappears, you need a bodyguard. That’s where I enter. Who better to protect you than the man who adores you?” If only that weren’t true.

  “I think I vomited a little in my mouth.”

  “And they say romance is dead.”

  “Are we hiding the fact that you used to work for the CIA?”

  “See? That’s the kind of thing we should have talked about today.”

  She glared at him.

  “Nope,” he said. “We aren’t hiding my past career. It won’t make any difference if they know about it anyway, but let’s lay off the spy references and tell them I was an analyst instead.”

  “Does anyone ever believe that?”

  “The CIA has hundreds of analysts. Offices full of them. It isn’t a fake job.”

  “If you say so.”

  She shot across three lanes at full speed to take the exit she needed. Horns blasted and her car missed the barrier by an inch. Harvard was actually quite proud that her driving wasn’t making him sob like a baby and cling to the panic handle.

  “Fine,” she said in a tone that mocked him. “We’ll tell everyone you were a CIA desk jockey. I’ll let you explain why you look like the black version of Thor.”

  “Thor has more hair.” He ran a hand over his shaven head. “And I have more muscle.”

  “My point is, you don’t look like you spent your life behind a desk,” she said slowly, as though he was incredibly thic
k. Only Rachel would look at the master’s degree he’d gotten from MIT and still think he was an idiot.

  “Not pale enough?”

  “You really aren’t funny.”

  “Only you think that. But, seriously, don’t worry about the details of my cover. Plenty of office guys work out. I’ll tell everybody I spent years doing MMA training in my spare time.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah. We all did. Joe, Grunt, Beast, Noah, and me. That’s how we met. We started out as teens in a church-run boxing club and went into other martial arts disciplines from there. Beast was the only one who turned professional.”

  And now, all of his best friends worked for the same UK-based security company. After years of working alone in high-stress situations, it was good to know he had them at his back again. Although Beast wasn’t often around. He was on permanent duty as head of security for his movie star wife.

  “I would have said that you and Grunt were far too big and bulky for MMA.” She lifted her nose in the air. “But if you think you can sell the story, then you may tell it to my family.”

  “Thank you, Rachel. As team leader, it’s important to me that I have your permission to share my life story.”

  Her scowl made him want to laugh.

  The car turned into a dark, tree-lined country road, at the end of which sat ornate ironwork gates. Rachel pulled her sun visor down, pressed a button, and the gates swung open.

  In the distance, on a rise, sat Talbot House. One of Rachel’s ancestors had built the eighteenth-century stately home and passed it down through the generations. With the house came the title of Earl of Ponterley. Or, in Rachel’s mother’s case, the Countess of Ponterley. As one of the few families in England that had an exemption for the firstborn to inherit the title regardless of gender, it had passed to the earl’s only daughter. After Rachel’s mother, it would return once again to the male line through Rachel’s older brother, Jonathan.

  Which made him wonder. “Do you ever wish you were the one who’d inherit the title?”