Rich (Benson Security #5) - Janet Elizabeth Henderson Page 0,71

leaned against the windowsill. Elle had gone home early to do some more work on the photos the blackmailer had left for Rachel. But she didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything.

There were one or two leads Harvard could have chased, but he didn’t want to leave Rachel’s side. She was far too exposed at TayFor, and he wasn’t letting her out of his sight until he knew what they were dealing with.

Her office door jerked open, and a half dozen shell-shocked and pale-faced scientists scurried out. Clearly Rachel was in full ‘charm’ mode.

“I’ve had enough.” Rachel sailed out after them, handbag hanging from the crook of her arm. “I’m going home.”

Harvard pushed away from the window, glancing toward the door to make sure no one was listening. “Check your bag first.” He crossed the room and closed the door.

She let out a huff of air. “It hasn’t been out of my sight all day.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Nor yours. Must you follow me so closely all the time?”

“Yeah. Now check the bag.”

“Whatever.” She smacked the bag onto Elle’s desk before emptying each pocket.

Harvard watched her intently. “Wouldn’t it be faster just to turn it upside down?”

“This bag is a limited-edition Hermes. It deserves to be treated with respect.”

“Rachel, when you say things like that, people think you’re a snob.”

“I know,” she said absently while placing the contents on the table. There wasn’t much: a small notebook and pen, her ever-present iPhone, AirPods, tissues, lipstick, her wallet, and the small handgun Callum had given her, which she carried everywhere. Despite it being well known that she was a crap shot with it.

“I thought women were famous for filling their bags with everything they could stuff in there.”

“Really, Michael? That’s such a cliché. I expected better from you.”

His heart skipped a beat at her calling him by his given name for the first time since they were together in the pool. “I’ll try harder.”

She gave him a cool look. “You do that.”

“What about your pockets?”

“Nothing. I’ve already checked.”

“Your desk drawer?”

“Only contains a stapler.”

It didn’t make sense, unless… “Maybe they’re playing with us. Getting us stressed, then doing nothing.”

“I’m not stressed,” said the woman who’d practically slept on top of him for the past two nights while mumbling about photos in her sleep.

“You know you don’t have to be tough around me,” he said softly.

He expected her to tell him off or make some cutting remark, shutting him down. Instead, she suddenly looked lost. “I don’t know how else to be.”

“Damn, Rachel, you drive me crazy.” He cupped her nape and pulled her into him, pressing a hand to the small of her back as he held her tight.

“This is the office,” she snapped into his chest, but her arms slid around his waist.

“We’re getting married; no one would be shocked to find us showing affection.”

Again, she surprised him. Instead of reminding him that their relationship was fake, she said, “My family would be.”

She was off her game, which meant she was far more worried about her blackmailer than she’d let on. Understanding Rachel required a masterclass in reading body language and a superhuman ability to understand subtext because, on the surface, nothing was what it seemed with her.

“Whatever’s coming, we’ll handle it together.” He stroked her back, breathing that heady hothouse scent deep into his lungs.

She looked up at him. “But we aren’t together.”

Did she honestly think that? Or was this just her ability to live in denial, reformatting the world around her to suit herself?

“Rachel,” was all he said, feeling her name straight to his soul. There was no point in arguing with her; she had to reach the conclusion on her own. Instead, he could show her what they were to each other through every action. Every touch. Every word. He could show her that they were meant to be together. Call it destiny, call it fate, call it chemistry. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they belonged.

Before she could object, he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. For a woman who insisted there was nothing between them, there was no hesitation in her returning kiss. Her arms snaked around his shoulders as she melted against him. Tasting of pure sensuality and utter temptation. She was a tiger caged, a flame contained; she was a tempest in a beautiful china cup.

She was Rachel.

And Harvard loved every facet of her to distraction. Even the ice-queen side that the world knew. She’d burrowed