Keeping Her Close. Carol Ross
toward the door and reached for the handle only to find her hot on his heels. Pulling his hand away, he swiveled toward her, “What part of that did you not understand?”
“Seriously?”
He wanted to laugh at this whole unfortunate misunderstanding, except it wasn’t funny. Not really, not when he thought about what could have happened here. So instead, he quirked an eyebrow, trying to find a way to make her understand what she could have conceivably gotten herself into.
Chin squared, a touch of indignation played on her features. “It’s not necessary to speak to me like that. I don’t care if you are my bodyguard.”
“You’re right. I apologize. The position is for security consultant, and technically, I’m not even your employee yet.” She was right on more than one level. Not only was it unprofessional, but he also couldn’t let his preconceived notions or his personal concerns about her interfere with his job. He needed to think of this like a mission where emotion had no place. When his apology was met with a distrustful glare, he lifted a consoling hand and tried to smooth his tone. “Listen, Harper, I am sorry. My people skills are a little rusty. I’m used to giving orders. But I promise you, this isn’t some power play on my part. This is about keeping you safe. As I’m sure you’re aware, a man tried to attack your father today, and very likely would have succeeded if I hadn’t stopped him.” He swept a hand toward the door. “I don’t know for sure who this is, and neither do you. Now, would you, please, move away from the door?”
Her head tilted, her face scrunched thoughtfully, but the meaning seemed to get through to her. “Fine,” she said, nodding and taking a couple of steps back. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
He pointed. “Waiting in the kitchen would be best. What’s your date’s name?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, “You do know that much, I hope?”
“Yes,” she said with a resigned sigh. “Mikhail.” Then she turned and walked down the hall.
Kyle opened the door to find a man standing on the porch. He made a quick assessment: thin, medium-height, dark blond freshly trimmed hair that appeared damp. The scent of soap and aftershave suggested a recent shower rather than too much product. His friendly smile and neat appearance contributed to that overall clueless, hopeful first-date air. Kyle relaxed slightly.
“You must be Mikhail.”
“Yes, I’m looking for Harper, we—”
“Harper is going to have to cancel on that date tonight.”
“Uh, okay, you must be her…?”
Kyle stared blandly, not about to fall for the old fill-in-the-blank trick. In Kyle’s world, information was divulged on a need-to-know basis.
“Brother?” the guy finally asked.
Kyle declined to confirm or deny. Although, he knew Harper was an only child. The only child of a single father who’d raised her on his own from the age of four when his wife, Harper’s mother, had died suddenly after contracting meningitis. He knew this because he’d spent the train ride from Seattle to Portland reading about the Bellaire empire, and the drive from there to the coast reviewing every detail in his mind. But then, both because he could see where this initial meeting between him and Harper had gone wrong and because he felt a tiny bit sorry for the guy, he said, “Harper isn’t feeling well. She’ll call you when she can.”
Kyle shut the door, locked it and headed to the kitchen where he found Harper staring at a tablet screen. She looked up as if seeing him for the first time, which he soon realized, she sort of was.
“You’re Kyle Frasier,” she said, and the words were like a choke hold around Kyle’s heart because they sounded like an accusation.
“YOU—” HARPER BROKE off the word to clear her throat. “You really did save my dad this morning.” Reverent-like, she offered up the tablet in her hands. “I mean, you saved him, saved him. This guy with the salmon eggs…”
A mix of relief and unease swept through him. The first because her tone didn’t have anything to do with her disappointment in realizing who he was. And the second because, presumably, she’d watched the news footage. Despite declining to be interviewed, he’d made the national news. Josh had texted him a screenshot along with a message: Dude. Nice. Did your interview come with an audition? Seriously way to go. You rock.
More texts had arrived from friends and former teammates, as well as one from his mom telling him “they” were calling him a hero on TV. His sister, Mia, had even messaged to make sure that he was okay. Kyle had absolutely no interest in watching the story himself.
“I was just—” He almost said “doing my job,” but then paused because that was no longer true. He tried not to think about how unsettled that fact made him feel. Still, the action had been second nature. He could no more not help someone than he could breathe air. “Anyone would have done the same.”
Twirling a helpless hand, she scoffed. “Yeah, no, I don’t think so. A few people might have tried, a few others may have thought about trying, but that guy was really fast. He was no match for you though. You’re like a ninja.”
“I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time.” Uncomfortable with her praise, he attempted to put the focus back on the pertinent issue. Hitching a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “You let me inside your house thinking I was that guy, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I can explain.” With a little cringe, she added, “Sort of.”
“I could have been anyone in the world walking in here.” Kyle put some scare into his words and tone, “That fanatic’s brother or cousin or buddy or whoever else might be scheming with him.” Frowning, he shook his head. “I could have been a random serial killer, for that matter.”
“I realize that, but…” Dipping her chin, she studied the tablet before lifting her gaze back up to look at him. Slowly, she repeated the whole process. That’s when Kyle realized that she’d put all the pieces together. He’d wondered if, when, she would or if he’d have to tell her. If he was going to be working for her, they needed to get this conversation out of the way, to clear the air between them.
Placing the tablet on the counter, she brought one trembling hand up and laid it palm down across her forehead. Voice a little shaky and unsure, she said, “But you’re not. You’re none of those things. You’re Owen’s SEAL friend Kyle.” Her gaze collided firmly with his and Kyle watched as a slideshow of emotions played across her face, most he couldn’t identify, but the distress and the curiosity were unmistakable. No matter what had happened between her and Owen, his presence was clearly upsetting her on some level. Between that and the news story—he now suspected that she hadn’t known the extent of her father’s brush with danger—she was probably reeling. Kyle felt terrible about that and hoped that his ultimate purpose for being here could rectify some of these feelings.
“Former SEAL, recently discharged.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. Owen had photos of you. Of the two of you in Iraq, Croatia, Pakistan, Afghanistan, the Netherlands…” With narrowed eyes, her gaze latched firmly on to him, traveling slowly, analyzing in a way that made Kyle feel unsettled. With a shake of her head, she whispered, “You’re Kyle,” almost like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. And definitely like she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kyle said because he wasn’t sure what to say, how much to say or where to start.
She studied him for a while longer before declaring, “You look different now.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Older, no uniform.”
“No,” she said firmly and with a confident shake of her head,