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“I smell?”
“No. Yes. You don’t smell bad. You smell like the blasted ocean. And it’s everywhere. What do you do? Douse yourself in aftershave, then rub up against the furniture like a cat? Are you marking your territory? Because this is my territory.”
“I know it’s your territory, and I don’t rub myself against anything.” Harvard shot her a look that was equal parts confusion and amusement, which just irritated her more. “I’m trying to be a sensitive and considerate guest and keep out of your way.”
“Well stop it. It’s driving me crazy.” She glared at the kitchen counter. “You make coffee in the mornings. You stock the fridge with pastries. You cook dinner, and it tastes like something I’d order from the Savoy. Which I don’t understand. When did you have time to learn to cook when you were off being a spy? It isn’t normal. None of this is normal.” She pointed at him. “You aren’t normal.”
“Okaaaaay, should I stop cooking?”
“Yes! And while you’re at it, stop being so damned perfect at everything else.” Rachel started pacing the length of the living room. “You cook, you dance, you sing in Spanish, you smell like the beach in summer, you make friends easily, you clean up after yourself.” She came to a halt in front of him and poked at his chest. “You look like that! Muscles everywhere. Which I don’t understand because I never see you work out. And then there’s the way you dress…it’s too sophisticated. I mean, look at you. A stylist at Selfridges couldn’t have done a better job of putting you together.”
She waved a hand down his body, indicating the bespoke suit in the perfect shade of pale gray that he’d teamed with a crisp white shirt and a classic Rolex. A Rolex!
“How can you even afford a Rolex? You worked for the CIA.” She stopped talking as a thought occurred to her. “Please tell me that this perfect version of you isn’t real and that you made your money being a double agent.” She held her breath, waiting for the answer. Hoping her guess was right.
“You want me to be a traitor?” The look in Harvard’s eye made it clear he was worried about her.
“Yes,” she snapped. “I want a sign. Just one sign. That you aren’t so perfect that you practically come wrapped in the original packaging.”
She watched his muscles flex while he hung his suit jacket over the back of one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
“So, let me get this straight.” He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt. “You think I’m too perfect, and it’s driving you nuts. Is that right?”
He rolled up the sleeve to just below his elbow, and it was mesmerizing. And sensual. Why was it sensual?
Watching him do the same to his other sleeve, she licked her lips. “Yes. Being around you is frustrating.” Watching a man roll up his shirt sleeves shouldn’t be sexy. “And stop doing that too.” She pointed at him.
Harvard froze mid-roll. “Fixing my sleeves?”
“Yes. You’re deliberately flirting with me when there’s no need. We’re alone. We don’t need to protect our cover. Stop being so sexy.”
They’d unintentionally worn matching gray outfits for the day, although Rachel had teamed her gray skirt with a pink blouse. Along with everything else, the matching aspect annoyed her. They weren’t the bloody Beckhams. They were nothing to each other except colleagues. Annoying, irritating, always-together colleagues.
“We need some new rules,” she said. “No more dancing. We’ve danced enough. No more cooking for me. I can order food in. And get rid of that aftershave, or deodorant, or whatever it is. In fact, I’ll buy you a new one. One that smells terrible. Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Harrods is still open; I can get one there.”
As she strode past him to fetch her handbag, Harvard’s hand shot out, and he grasped her arm. He twirled her into his hold, the same way he’d done a thousand times while they danced. Suddenly, Rachel found herself pressed back against his body. His hand on her stomach as his scent and warmth enfolded her.
“What are you doing?” She sounded breathless. Her heart raced out of control, and she felt as though she were frozen in amber, waiting to be freed.
“I’m fixing the problem,” he said as he nuzzled her hair with his jaw. “I’m gonna address each of your issues for you. First”—he held her left hand in his as he swayed to music only he could hear—“I’m far from perfect. I can be arrogant and manipulative when I want something bad enough, or when it comes to my job. I don’t like anyone messing with me professionally. If they do, there are always repercussions.”
Rachel sank back against him, her body already trained to relax against his from the few evenings they’d spent dancing.
“Second, I can only cook about half a dozen meals real well,” Harvard’s deep voice rumbled. “After that, it’s hit or miss. And the coffee you drink every morning? That’s delivered. My coffee sucks.”
She angled her head to look up at him. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“I’ll wake you tomorrow before it arrives. And that’s the third point on my list. While you’re still sleeping, I’m working out in the gym in the basement or running around Hyde Park. These muscles require an effort to maintain, and staying in shape for my job is important to me. Having you pay attention to them doesn’t do my ego any harm either.”
“It wasn’t like I was studying you,” she huffed. “The muscles are big, and you’re often in my line of sight. It would be impossible not to notice.”
He brushed a kiss against her hair. “And lastly, the deodorant that offends you? That’s gonna have to stay, because I don’t think it’s offense you feel, Rachel. I think you like that scent a little too much.”
She started to shake her head, but he spun her out and back into him. This time, their bodies were pressed front to front, his palm flat against the small of her back.
“As for my imperfections, they’re too many to list,” he said softly, holding her gaze with his.
“Try,” Rachel ordered, but there wasn’t the same demand behind it as usual. She was more interested in the sensation of his shirt under her fingers as she stroked his chest.
