Chapter 17 Gaslight in the Name of National Security #2
My only answer is to move to the bedroom door and lean on the jamb at the threshold to the living area.
Devon’s eyes rake over me from top to bottom before he narrows his eyes.
He’s back to business, donning another suit that looks as custom as his others.
He doesn’t waste another moment and cuts the distance between us.
His heated gaze holds mine in a trap, and I hope that means what I think it does—that his mind is centered on last night as much as mine is.
I tip my head back as he gets so close, his body presses to mine when he takes my mouth in a searing kiss, answering my inner thoughts. Yes, his mind is exactly where mine is.
His tongue is demanding and forceful against mine, proving nothing has changed in the light of day. I hold onto the lapels of his jacket and try to feel guilty for wrinkling his perfect suit, but I just can’t. The desire to be close to him overwhelms me.
One hand slides under my tennis skirt where he palms my ass over the shorts beneath and he cups my face with the other.
His tongue swipes mine one more time before he breaks the kiss and brushes my cheek with his thumb.
“I’m sorry I had to leave. I had to make a phone call and deal with something pressing. Did you sleep well?”
A small smile touches my lips. Devon makes it easy to forget about Albert. “Very well. And I understand that your work is demanding. Don’t apologize for that.”
He lifts his chin once before glancing back at the kitchen and dining table. “Did you order breakfast?”
“No. I slept too long. I have a lesson at the court. In fact, I need to go, or I’ll be late.”
“I saw you on the schedule. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He pauses, as if to choose his words carefully for a change. “I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.”
I catch my breath and force myself to shift my attention from his possessive kiss to his confusing statement. “Why would I be disappointed?”
He licks his lips and hesitates, his jaw tensing as he mulls over his words. “Because your time with the tennis pro has been canceled.”
I blink and try to pull away from him, but he holds tight. “I just received a reminder text that he’d meet me at the courts. There was nothing about a cancellation.”
He hikes a brow, and he’s back to unapologetic. “I canceled it.”
I manage to push out of his hold. “Why would you do that?”
He shakes his head. “This is something I need you to trust me on.”
“If you want me to trust you, then tell me why.” I firmly enunciate every word. “I told you everything about Albert last night. Sorry if I have a little PTSD when it comes to blind trust.”
“This isn’t about you or Albert. This is about me.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Let me get this straight. You demanded to know everything there was to know about Albert and what I’ve gone through with him, but you won’t tell me why I can’t keep my scheduled tennis lesson?”
His exhale is heavy and dramatic. I want to roll my eyes, but I’m too busy seeing red because of all the flags he’s flying. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I move to grab my cell and backpack from the dresser before I turn back to push past him.
He moves, but he’s reluctant about it. “Your split personality is enough to make my head spin, Devon. Asshole by day, prince charming by night. Newsflash, you don’t get to be both ways.
I might’ve woken up this morning in a post-sex haze, but that’s not going to carry you through daylight hours. ”
I grab my keycard off the counter and head straight for the door with the asshole on my heels. “You don’t understand. This is something you need to trust me on.”
We’re out of the suite and the elevator doors part immediately when I press the call button.
“You’re proving to be as hard-headed as your asshole-ness shines in the sun.
Let me make it simple for you. You might’ve had me against the wall last night, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.
I have a tennis court booked, and I’m damn well going to use it. ”
I cross my arms and face the elevator doors, but he doesn’t. He breaks elevator etiquette again and faces me as we descend to the lobby. “There are things I can’t tell you. Things from my past that may or may not have shown up at my door to haunt me.”
I turn to him before we reach the ground floor. “Are you trying to tell me that your tennis pro is a threat to national security?”
He drags a hand through his thick hair. “That’s absurd.”
“Then great.” My quip is laced with sarcasm, and I turn away from him.
“Then it’s a perfect day for a game of tennis.
I hope your pro is decent. One more thing I didn’t tell you about myself is that I’m really fucking good at tennis.
I played in college. So there’s another thing you know about me while I still know hardly anything about you. ”
We finally get to the lobby, and the elevator doors part. It’s not soon enough. One moment I’m full of anticipation of what’s to come with the man I’ve allowed into my life, and the next I can’t wait to get out of this small space and away from him.
“Come back here,” Devon growls, but the only thing on my mind is how another man is trying to control me.
And I’m having none of it.
I surge past a couple waiting to get on the elevator.
A tall, muscular man with light brown hair pulls the beauty of a woman standing next to him to his chest so I don’t run them over.
She’s younger and petite with hair the color of espresso with olive skin.
Any other time, I’d take a second to appreciate such a striking couple, but I’m on a mission.
Devon, on the other hand, finally gets with the hospitality gig and greets them tersely. “Oh, hello. Welcome to the manor. Enjoy your stay.”
The couple claims the empty elevator with the porter and their bags. They’re muttering something to each other as the doors close as Devon catches up to me.
I throw him a glare. “It’s amazing you keep the place booked with your charming personality.”
“Dammit, Harlow,” Devon leans in to speak in a low voice only for me. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. It feels way too familiar. I don’t need you to gaslight me in the name of national security. I feel a stint of PTSD coming on.” I get to the back doors of the atrium, skip down the stairs, and jog to the courts.
Devon barely has to pick up his pace to stay on my heels. “That’s the last fucking thing I’d ever do.”
“Then stop whatever it is you’re doing,” I bite.
It’s the last thing I say before we arrive.
I drop my things on the bench, grab the first racket in a long line of decent choices, and move through the gate where two men are standing mid-court by a basket of tennis balls and a machine.
They’re both dressed for a game. I’ve never seen one of the men, but I have met the other.
It's the guy who tried ruining my day yesterday, the one who insisted we’ve met each other before. Roman ... something.
“Hi,” I greet them both, half out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.”
The man I’ve never seen before juts out a hand. “You must be Harlow. I’m Rob, the tennis pro, though I also dabble in golf and sailing.”
I take his offered hand for a shake. “A man of many talents.”
“We meet again, Harlow,” Roman says. “A tennis player and a philanthropist. Nice.”
I put my hand on my hips, not at all liking his tone. “I guess you could say I’m a woman of varied interests.”
“Mr. Donnelly.” Rob’s gaze focuses over my shoulder with wide eyes. “We were just about to start a lesson.”
“Good morning, gents,” Devon greets the men right before I feel a firm hand land on the small of my back. “Rob, let’s get Harlow rescheduled for a private lesson. She’s a seasoned player. If I’m not mistaken, she’s really fucking good.”
I cringe.
Damn him.
“I can hold my own,” I amend and then argue, “But I don’t need a private lesson. Just looking forward to working out some pent-up energy. It’s been a long week.”
Devon’s fingers wrap around my hip to give me a squeeze forcing my attention up to his blue eyes. “Which is why you deserve a private lesson. I’m sure Rob can work you in later today.”
“I don’t mind sharing the lesson if Harlow doesn’t,” Roman offers. “I’m may not be fucking good, but I can hold my own.”
I turn in Devon’s hold and place a hand flat to his chest as I plaster a fake smile on my face before I lift to my toes and press a kiss to his lips. It’s firm and there’s nothing affectionate about it. This kiss screams shut-the-fuck-up-and-butt-out-of-my-tennis-game.
“Ah ... should we get started then?” Rob stumbles over his words, staring at me and his boss.
I force Devon’s hands from their death grip on me and spin my racket. “I’ve never been more ready.”
“If you insist.” Devon looks about as happy as he did when he found me lounging next to the pool yesterday. His jacket parts when he slides his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’ll watch.”
“Of course, you will,” I mutter.
I jog to the other side of the net and Roman follows. Devon stalks off the court but stops on the other side of the fence. He’s too tense to make himself comfortable on a bench apparently. Once we get out of earshot of Rob and Devon, Roman turns to me. “So I guess the rumors are true.”
I’m not an idiot. I know what this looks like. Everyone here knows who I am and that I was supposed to get married just a few days ago not far from where we’re standing.
I’m all out of fucks and take my place at the baseline. “My last name is Madison. I’m used to people gossiping about me, which makes me immune to rumors.”
Roman proves he gives few fucks about what I think and keeps pressing. “Rumor is the American Princess has moved on. Seeing as you’re kissing another man, and that man refuses to take his eyes off you, I’d say there’s a lot of truth to that rumor.”
I glance from Roman to Devon, who has slipped on a pair of shades, but it’s no secret who he’s glaring at.
Rob fires up the ball machine and yells, “Are you guys ready? You two are pros, I can tell. I’m cranking up the velocity. Madison, you first.”
I’ve had enough of everyone. I ignore the tennis pro and the possessive Brit and turn fully to Roman. “You said we’ve met, but I don’t recall what company you’re with. What do you do again?”
Roman swings his racket back and forth like a pendulum. “I knew you didn’t remember me. I’m an independent contractor these days.”
“I see.”
“Harlow, are you ready?” Rob yells from across the court.
I hold a finger up and motion for him to give me a minute and focus on Roman. “Who did you work for when we met at that fundraiser?”
Roman shrugs. “A tech company out of Great Britain. No one you’ve heard of, I’m sure. They aren’t nearly as generous as Stonebridge.”
“Not many are. I take it upon myself to make sure my mother’s foundation lives on. I pressure my father to give generously. Who are you contracting with these days?”
Roman tips his head to study me but says nothing.
Rob keeps trying. “I don’t want you two to waste your lesson time. If Harlow doesn’t want to go first, you’re up, Roman.”
Neither Roman nor I glance across the net. Something sours in my stomach and suddenly, everything feels off. “We’ve never met, have we?”
Roman takes a step back.
I move closer.
“Why did you tell me we’ve met?” I demand.
Roman’s eyes shift so slightly. I barely catch it, but his stare moves past me to the lake and mountains.
I tense.
“Let’s see what you’ve got!” Rob yells. “We’re going to start with a top spin!”
“Harlow!” This gets my attention, because it’s not Rob. It’s Devon, and he’s running toward us. Even behind his sunglasses, his expression is grave when he points off into the distance. “Get down!”
Confused, I turn to look over my shoulder, but everything happens at once.
The pop of the ball machine.
The clank of the gate and footsteps running toward me.
I jerk when I sense the ball coming at me from the side and move just enough to dodge it.
But what really confuses me is the succession of cracks from the distance. The distinct noise echoes off the water and mountains simultaneously, breaking through the serene landscape.
“Fuck,” Roman hisses.
That’s when pain shoots through the side of my head.
I go down.