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d to seduce your fiancé?”
“I would be if you really were my fiancé.”
“Rachel.” The way he said her name was like a caress, even when it was tinged with long suffering. “You have to act like I am your fiancé, and if your cousin comes on to me, you need to tell her to back off. People are already suspicious about our relationship because you act like you’d rather be anywhere than by my side. You need to get into the role. If I was your fiancé, what would you have done to Samantha?”
“I would have calmly explained that you’re already taken.”
“Rachel…”
“Fine, and then I would have signed her up for a week at a clinic for sex addicts but told her I was sending her to a spa—my treat.”
His laughter felt like bubbles on her skin.
“That’s my girl,” he said as she parked in front of the office.
“I’m not your girl. I’m not a girl at all. I’m a full-grown woman who’s playing pretend with her work colleague.” She held his gaze. “Don’t get confused about what’s happening here.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He threw the door open, climbed out and said, “Back in a minute,” before he rounded the car.
She opened her window. “Wait,” she called after him. “Why are you coming back?”
He seemed confused by the question. “I’m picking up my bag, and then I’m moving in with you for the duration.”
A cold resolve took root at his words. “Oh, I don’t think so.”
“I’m your fiancé. We need to get to know each other. We need to get comfortable being around each other. The only way to do that is to spend time together. What if someone in your family drops by? They’re gonna think it’s pretty damn weird that I live here. We already gave the impression I have to be with you twenty-four seven. I can’t do that from here.” He pointed to the building behind him.
Rachel didn’t bother arguing with him. It wasn’t happening, and that was that. Instead, she closed the window, put the car in gear, and drove away. In her rearview mirror, she saw him pull his phone out of his pocket. A few seconds later, her iPhone buzzed from its spot attached to the dash.
While stopped at a red light, she read his message: You get a reprieve until Monday morning. I’ll pick you up at seven.
Rachel narrowed her eyes as she zoomed toward Kensington and her home. He’d learn. It might be the hard way, but he’d definitely learn that Rachel did not take instruction well.
Come Monday morning, Rachel wasn’t waiting at her apartment for a pickup as she was supposed to. Harvard wasn’t even sure why he’d expected to find her there. Stupidity maybe.
Teeth clenched, he drove the forty minutes to TayFor Pharmaceuticals’ complex alone. It was the last time he’d do it. Because one way or another, this little power struggle over his position at Rachel’s side would be sorted that morning.
The admin section of the TayFor complex was housed in a gray stone Victorian mansion that had been renovated into offices when Rachel’s grandfather first started the company. Since her father took over, the land around the original building had been developed as TayFor’s research complex and contained several newer buildings. All of which sat in manicured grounds. To Harvard’s eye, the setup was typically English. Upper-class English. Everything about it said genteel, sophisticated, understated, and very wealthy. It was a complex designed to put even the most nervous of business partners at ease.
He let himself in through the main doors of the TayFor office and headed straight for the smiling woman behind the reception desk. “I’m Michael Carter, Rachel Ford-Talbot’s fiancé and bodyguard.”
“Of course, Mr. Carter.” The woman, who appeared to be in her fifties and very efficient, pointed to an iPad propped on the desk. “I’m Sandra Caird. If you’d follow the instructions on the screen, I’ll fetch your ID. Ms. Ford-Talbot informed me you would be in around now.”
Harvard was sure she had, probably smiling like a shark while she did it. “Has Rachel been here long?” Instead of waiting at her apartment for him like they’d agreed she would during their call the day before.
“About an hour. Do you have your passport with you?”
He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it over. Sandra was very careful to match the image inside to his face and then scan the document for their records. Meanwhile, Harvard logged in to the iPad and pressed his fingers to the scanner beneath it so that it would record his prints. As security setups went, it wasn’t half bad.
“Here you go,” Sandra said. “Your passport and your ID. Please wear it at all times. You’ll need it to access the areas you’ve been cleared for.”
He took the lanyard with the card—the photo he’d submitted the week before already on it—and hung it around his neck. “Thanks. Can you point me toward Rachel’s office?”
“Certainly.” She gestured to the security door at the end of the spacious reception area, where a guard sat beside a scanner. “If you pass the guard and go through the door, you’ll find a lift on your left. Take it to the third floor. Ms. Ford-Talbot’s office is to your right when you exit.”
“Thanks.” He flashed her a smile before heading to the security guard.
A familiar face grinned at him. “I see you’ve already lost the body you’re supposed to be guarding.” Ryan Granger kept his voice low as he spoke. The ex-soldier, who was only slightly younger than Harvard, had been with Benson Security since the first office opened in Scotland. He was a good man to have at your back, although his sense of humor and constant eating took a bit of getting used to.
