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Torn (Deep 8, #5) 14. Harlow 27%
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14. Harlow

FOURTEEN

Harlow

Roger flips a switch and my breath catches. His mouth needs to be duct taped. His touch, the fiery gaze he pins on me, and the sheer force of his presence put me on edge. The intensity of our game lies not in words but in the charged moments between us.

He thinks he’s some kind of Casanova, but I would love to give him a run for his money. I remind myself to navigate these dangerous waters with caution, avoiding entanglements that threaten to dismantle my carefully constructed walls. Nothing is more of a turn-on than a man who takes control with tenderness.

The debrief with the team is tense. Pippa promises more information by tomorrow. An enthusiastic Roger is quiet in an unsettling way. My hackles rise, sensing an unspoken storm brewing in him. Beyond the row of old-world architecture, the sunset blazes, reflecting the turmoil in our mission.

"We’ll return the bike from where we stole it and get back to the hotel," Roger declares, his tone devoid of emotion.

"Sounds good." I straddle the tandem bike and follow his lead.

Once we’re in the suite, Roger stands at the sliders with his hands on his hips, watching the last of the sun’s rays. His demeanor changes. "What do you want out of this?" His voice turns stern, gone is the playfulness of earlier in the day, replaced by raw intensity.

I stand next to him. "You know what I want out of this. Lucas’s safe return and the ASIO’s untarnished reputation."

His blue eyes darken. "Bullshit. No agent gives a crap about the agency’s reputation. They don’t care whether you find him or not. It’s survival of the fittest. He’s a low man on the totem pole."

Fear grips me. This is my moment of truth. I grab his arm, turning his body to face me. "If I fail to find him, it’s my ass on the line. I could lose my job or worse, be seen as an accomplice. By now, they know he’s been researching Deep 8, so there’s a lot at stake that will never go public. Can’t you see that?"

He scrutinizes my face and breathes out. "I’m sorry. This whole mission has me on edge." He rubs his forehead. "There’s something I didn’t mention. Amalia hesitated ever so slightly when I introduced myself with my undercover name. Did you notice it?"

"No, I didn’t. What do you think it means?" I inquire curious about his thoughts.

"I don’t know, but we’re missing something. At every turn, there’s a roadblock and time keeps slipping away. We need to find a way to speed up the process."

We share a wordless exchange, regret flickering in his eyes. "Can I make it up to you? I would love to take you to dinner at Ma Langue Sourit. The Michelin star French restaurant might be the escape we need from this craziness, if only for an evening."

My hand rests on his arm. "As I recall, that’s Amalia’s favorite restaurant. Maybe we can get closer by sending over a bottle of her favorite wine. Give me a couple of hours to unwind and get out of these god-forsaken clothes." I stand on tiptoe kissing him on the cheek, and he responds with half a smile.

The sunset doesn’t last long as the ancient buildings block out the sun. Roger’s unease permeates the air. We’ve faced challenges, but the seamless facade raises questions. Eyes open and ears to the ground as they say.

I’m dressed to impress in a Louis Vuitton checkerboard knit skirt, hugging my lower half in the right places, paired with a white fin-sleeve shirt. The red-soled shoes give me a lift and the outfit gets topped off with a leather crop jacket.

Twirling around in front of the mirror, I pretend I’m not dressing for Roger. There's a force pulling me to him that overpowers my sensibilities and ability to protect myself. Relying on him would be a mistake. Relying on myself may be a bigger mistake. It’s a lose-lose situation.

I enter the living room and stop. The amber glow of a lamp breaks the darkness next to Roger, revealing his stoic face. This op is taking a toll on him.

"You look handsome tonight. You got a hot date?" I tease, my body responding too fast to his energy.

His eyes roam up and down my body. "I have a date with my wife. You can’t miss her. She’s a stunner. Beautiful, smart, and a class act."

"She sounds amazing. I don’t think I’ll ever measure up." I sigh and give him a weak smile. My words hit too close to home for me.

"Shall we?" He offers his arm.

We enter the restaurant with its clean edges and minimalistic design, capturing the essence of the French dining experience. Our table hidden away in the corner gives us a view of the rest of the room and its patrons.

The duchess strides in and sits on the opposite side of the room from us. Her serious face holds a sadness I can’t quite place. Several people stop by to say hello and move on, leaving her alone.

Protocol prohibits me from inviting her to share a meal with us, but I want nothing more than for her not to be alone. She looks up with surprise and nods.

We send a bottle of expensive local wine to her table. In return, she sends us a note to come and join her for dessert.

"Kismet meeting you again, twice in one day." She sips her sherry, keeping her eyes on me over the rim of her glass.

"We had a long day and took in the sights on a bike. My husband wanted to treat me to the finest French restaurant in Luxembourg. I’d say he hit the nail on the head. The meal was meant to be savored, which I did with every bite."

"Did you receive your Marc Dubaney painting?" She smiles.

Roger remains quiet and lets me take the lead. "Yes, and we couldn’t be happier." I reach for his hand and squeeze it. His thumb strokes my fingers. "We’re going back to the gallery tomorrow and inquire about more local artists. Do you have any referrals?"

She places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her clasped hands. "I have one better for you. How would you like to come to my home and see my collection? It might give you some ideas about purchasing more art."

I hesitate before I answer, appearing to be too anxious would give us away. "We would enjoy taking in your collection, Your Highness. I’m sure it’s magnificent. Thank you for the invitation."

"It’s a date. I’ll send a formal invitation to your hotel suite tomorrow for dinner. I look forward to seeing you both. Have a wonderful rest of your evening."

Roger moves around her chair to pull it out for her and offers his arm. She takes it and smiles up at him like a mother would smile at a child. He guides her outside to her car, which she is allowed because of her status.

We enjoy the fresh evening air and walk for a while hand in hand. As we get farther along, I break the silence. "Do you think it’s odd that we are searching for a puzzle piece in a place where you spent your summers?"

"I thought about that and I’m not sure what it means. My father has a lot of connections here. Maybe one of those connections is involved with Deep 8 and that’s why we’re here."

"What is the duchess’s role in this whole plot besides having the piece in her safe deposit box?"

"I don’t know, but I think we’re about to find out," Roger says with no accompanying smile, as the night unfolds its secrets.

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