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“Your ego knows no bounds, does it?” she said.
Harvard shrugged. “I’m a big man. I have a big ego.”
She wasn’t going to touch that comment. Instead, she concentrated on following him down the narrow alley without brushing against the walls. Who knew what she’d pick up if she did?
“Is this really necessary?” she asked. “I’m touching you now, and look, no wincing.”
“Yeah, because you’re too worried about catching something from just being in Brixton to worry about anything else.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Rachel, you have issues.”
She honestly couldn’t argue with that, so she said nothing. Without warning, he stopped and turned into a nondescript doorway with something written on it in Spanish. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
“Careful,” he said. “We’re going downstairs.”
“We’re going underground? In Brixton? Are you crazy? There are probably rats.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He was laughing at her.
“I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.”
“Then, you can protect me.”
Irritating man. “And who’ll protect you from me?”
“Rachel, I don’t want to be protected from you. So do your worst; I welcome it.”
Before she could cut his oversized ego down to a more manageable size, he pushed through the door at the bottom of the stairs, and they entered a small cloakroom area.
“Harvard!” A young woman ran around the counter to throw herself at him.
Harvard dropped Rachel’s hand to catch the stranger, annoying her more than was reasonable, but she put it down to being out of her element. Which extended about a two-mile radius from her Kensington home.
“Where have you been?” the woman demanded. “We’ve missed you.” Honestly, if she pouted any harder, Rachel was going to smack her.
“Been doing spy stuff, Jenny. But I’m back now,” Harvard said.
Rachel couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Do you tell everyone you were a spy? Didn’t your government swear you to secrecy?”
He extricated himself from Jenny and wrapped an arm around Rachel’s waist to tug her into his side. “I’m retired. I can tell whoever I like.”
Hmm, now that she thought about it, he never gave any details, and he always joked around about his previous career. No doubt, everyone thought he was making it up. Sneaky man.
“Who’s this?” Jenny asked loudly, and somewhat snarkily, making it clear she had a baby crush on Harvard.
“This is my fiancée,” Harvard said. “Rachel, meet Jenny. Her parents own this club.”
“Fiancée?” Jenny’s voice went into dog-whistle territory.
“Yes,” Rachel gushed. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She’d had enough of the teen. Looking up at Harvard, she patted his stiff, muscled stomach—and he said she never touched him. Honestly, all this drama over nothing. “Come along, darling. You promised me a fun night out.”
His eyes sparkled at her, as though he was getting a kick out of everything she said and did. “Gotta go,” he told Jenny. “A promise is a promise.”
Once they were out of earshot, Rachel smacked those same muscles. “Why are you introducing me as your fiancée?”
“Rachel,” he purred, “a good spy knows you never break cover once you’re established. Now, stop asking questions and try to relax.”
He threw open the double doors and led her into a large, dimly lit room. Dotted around the area nearest her was an odd assortment of wooden tables and chairs. Faded posters covered the walls, advertising everything from soap to tequila in Spanish. In the corner stood a well-stocked bar, with orange and pink neon signs above it that read Dance, Love, Live. And on the far side of the room was a packed dance floor.
Rachel gaped at it. “We’re salsa dancing?” Did he not know her at all?
