Torn (Deep 8, #5)

13. Roger

THIRTEEN

Roger

Everywhere we go, Harlow’s beauty commands attention, a magnetic force drawing eyes from all directions. Staying close to her is my goal, captivated by the allure beneath her impeccable attire. A tempestuous spirit simmers beneath her polished exterior, restrained yet eager to break free.

Growing up in the opulent landscape of Texas, wealth had a demeanor, a more laid-back charm. This new echelon of affluence goes beyond anything I’ve encountered before.

Vintage doesn’t resonate with me. I consider antiques to be old and funky smelling. Across from me, Harlow elegantly sips her espresso as I indulge in a cappuccino, our tastes diverging like the worlds we come from.

"The painting of Luxembourg will be a perfect addition to our Monaco residence. I can’t wait for them to deliver it. The colors are vibrant with subtle layered brushstrokes," she exclaims, her eyes alive with passion.

Overhearing our conversation, the duchess interjects with her soft tone and enchanting smile. "Did you acquire one of the Marc Dubaney pieces?"

Harlow nods, her eyes twinkle. "Supporting local artists is a joy. Each piece brings back fond memories of where we have visited."

"I bet I can guess which one you bought." She goes on to describe Harlow’s painting to a tee.

She turns her body to the duchess but keeps her hands folded in her lap. They chat about the coffee shop as Harlow waits for the duchess to formally introduce herself to us. Etiquette dictates that we don’t initiate contact with royalty, as she informed me before we left the hotel.

The duchess extends her hand to Harlow and me as we make introductions. Something passes in her eyes when I introduce myself as Rafael Dujardin, but I can’t pinpoint what it is. She examines her watch with a scowl and ends our conversation to go to an appointment.

Harlow leans back, charmed by the exchange. "That was delightful. She’s lovely. We’ll have to orchestrate more chance encounters with the Duchess Amalia."

"I’ve got that covered. We have a more pressing problem. We’re being followed. Over my shoulder at eleven o’clock. Those two have been on our tail since we got off the bus. I wanted to see what they would do, but now they’re too close for comfort," I confess in a hushed tone.

Her smile doesn’t falter as she finishes her espresso. "We can handle them."

"You head to the restroom and find the back exit. I’ll meet you on the sidewalk."

She rises confidently. "I need to use the powder room. I’ll be back soon." Her voice carries enough to be heard by other patrons.

"I’ll see you soon, darling," I tease.

"Nope." She shakes her head.

"Darling’s not going to cut it."

"Try again." She struts away, her figure exuding confidence, which is hot as hell.

Her firm ass underneath her pants grabs my attention. Not a wiggle to be seen. I walk toward the door, feeling the lingering gaze of our pursuers. Once on the sidewalk, I spot a tandem bike we can use to get away.

The bike is unlocked, as are most things in Luxembourg like they’re living in the 1950s. I ease it out of the bike rack and guide it to the back of the building where Harlow waits for me.

"Need a lift?" I offer.

She glances over my shoulder and takes a quick selfie. "Let’s move."

We pedal as fast as we can out of town and into the hills. Our destination is the cottage where the rest of the team is set up. Harlow doesn’t question our destination, absorbing the scenic view and breathtaking surroundings. We climb up the cobblestone road and stop to walk for a bit.

"This place is incredible. The greens seem greener here and everything is so pristine." She breathes in. "The air is fresher. I could live here."

"It’s not easy to be a part of this exclusive community. The people here are very selective." I caution.

"Did you notice the duchess introduced herself as Amalia Moreau, not as a duchess? Odd, right?" Her head is on a swivel, afraid she might miss something.

"I did notice. She didn’t want us to know she’s a duchess."

We arrive at the two-story house and the oversized Scotsman, Mac, opens the door.

"How are you enjoying your cottage?"

"Mate, this is no cottage but if I have to hear one more night of Beck and Pippa getting it on, I’m going to scream. How are things with the two of you? Have you made contact?" He’s the level-headed one in the group.

We step inside and Harlow’s mouth falls open. "This is stunning and definitely not a cottage."

Dean comes down the stairs, his gaze fixed on Harlow. She twirls for him, and I’m left to wonder about their history. "I clean up good, don’t I?"

"You look like you belong here."

"Was he one of your many husbands?" I mutter under my breath.

She ignores me and gives Dean a big hug. "You got food in this mansion? I could use lunch." They stroll off to the kitchen.

Mac slaps me on the shoulder. "Let’s get a Guinness and you can fill me in."

"Where are the lovebirds?" I inquire.

"They went into town to go shopping. They’ll be back as soon as they realize how pricey everything is." He chuckles.

"We made contact with the duchess, and she introduced herself as Amalia Moreau," I inform him.

"So?" he responds with a frown.

"A royal rarely omits their title. She didn’t want us to know who she was, which is unusual."

Harlow drops a substantial sandwich on the table and starts to eat. "I think she’s hiding something, or she’s afraid of something. Maybe she knows those two guys following us which is why she left."

"What two guys?" Mac asks, bewildered.

She shows him a picture on her phone. "Pippa and Peter need to run a background check on these idiots and the duchess. It might take some digging to find some dirt on her."

"Don’t you think you should have made your husband a sandwich?" I jest, feigning hurt feelings.

"No, behind closed doors, you can fend for yourself. Besides, I’m starving. Who knows, I might be eating for two." She smiles.

Mac looks between us like he’s missed the middle part of the story and has entered an alternate universe.

I move my chair closer to her and push her hair over her shoulder. "If you were eating for two you would know it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Guaranteed."

"You sound so confident like I wouldn’t get bored and sleep through it." She smirks. "I can sleep through just about anything. I’m good like that."

"Okay, I’m out of here. I don’t even want to know what’s going on." Mac walks out of the room.

My fingers turn her face to mine. "Your eyes will be wide open, your breath will be shallow, and you will feel every inch of me. Sleeping won’t be an option."

There is the slightest dilation in her eyes. Her throat moves as she swallows. Someone likes the anticipation of what’s to come and the fight to resist the inevitable.

My finger runs across her jaw and down her throat as goosebumps follow in its wake. "Keep pretending there’s no chemistry and see how far you get."

I snake my hand behind her neck and up into her hair, tugging lightly, which brings on the most minute moan from the back of her throat. Harlow is a symphony of sensations that threatens to drown me. She’s becoming my ultimate temptation.

This woman is going to bring me to my knees. Everything she does is a turn-on, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. She’s a mix of tender and soft to savvy and witty. She’s the tang of lime and salt before the sweetness of a margarita.

Each interaction leaves me hungry for more and spoils me for the rest. If I have one night, it won’t satisfy the craving. I’m sure of that down to my bones.

"Are you two done? We have work to do." Dean’s voice interrupts but my focus remains on Harlow.

"I’m not sure I’ll ever be done with you," I whisper in her ear, savoring the rosy tint on her cheeks that tells me everything I need to know.

The air sparks with anticipation. Resisting Harlow’s allure will be my greatest challenge and possibly my greatest defeat.