Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
From the safety of her office, Harper guiltily observed Roman work out in the basement gym of the building.
She even zoomed in, focusing the surveillance camera on his sweaty obliques as he held his chin to a bar and twisted his torso left and right.
His biceps were flexed tight, keeping his weight off the ground in the process, and if there was ever a lip-biting moment . . .
Face him. Go down there. Get the awkwardness out of the way.
Even though Christmas had come and gone a few weeks ago, the teams were still on vacation. They wouldn’t be spinning up until after the inauguration of Isaiah Bennett as the new President of the United States, which was happening next week.
She was both nervous and excited for Bravo Five’s dad to be POTUS.
Operations would pose more of a challenge having the son of the President out in the field, but if Knox’s father hadn’t won the election, their teams would have been disbanded, and it’d be like they never existed.
And no one on Bravo or Echo was ready to say goodbye to their missions yet.
Harper hated downtime, though, especially when her friends and family outside of the teams were busy moving on with their lives.
All her siblings, except her brother Jackson, were married with kids.
Her roommates from NYU and the Agency were also married and had started families.
And her? She was married to the job. And without an op to occupy herself, it was . . . lonely.
Normally, she and Roman hung out, but now she was worried that might not even be an option anymore. And she’d never be able to get her head on straight if she didn’t confront Roman and talk about what happened so they could move forward.
Right before Roman left for Tampa to spend Christmas with his family, they’d kissed.
One quick one in front of her piano after he’d won her over with his skills playing Silent Night.
He’d immediately balked and hurriedly left her place, only to come right back, pin her to the wall, and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her.
If it was possible to get pregnant from a kiss like she’d believed when she was younger, well, that would have been the one to do it.
Shortly after their sizzling kiss, they issued apologies and words of regret for nearly bulldozing their way out of the friend zone.
Harper had texted him the next night to make sure their friendship would survive, and Roman being Roman had already compartmentalized and responded with, What kiss?
They used to talk regularly. But that kiss changed things, and he’d basically ghosted her since that night. He didn’t answer her calls, and when she dared text him, he responded with quick one-word comments.
So, she began coming into the office every day to get her mind off what happened. What if they couldn’t go back to the way things were before? Too bad they couldn’t blame it on alcohol.
She wished it were possible to rewind time and erase that night, even though every time she touched her lips, she could feel his mouth, soft yet demanding. Hungry even. The memory was sharp in her mind, simmering just beneath the surface and dominating her thoughts at every possible moment.
Today was the first day Roman had shown up to work since he returned to New York after the holidays, and like hell would she miss the chance to confront him, even if he’d gone straight for their gym, one known only by Bravo and Echo Teams. Not even the operators for their alias Scott & Scott knew it existed.
In addition to serving as an alias, Scott & Scott was a legit company that contracted security work in the private sector.
The company’s purpose was two-fold—providing a legitimate cover story for the teams while also doing good out in the world.
Their work funded some of their covert ops, too.
Presenting Uncle Sam with a bill for all the fancy toys and gadgets wasn’t possible since Bravo and Echo didn’t technically exist.
But the retired Teamguys at Scott & Scott, aside from their friend Noah, were unaware that Bravo and Echo were still active duty and reported to the President.
Harper closed her eyes, remembering when Jessica and her brother, Luke, made their “elevator pitch” to convince her to join their off-the-books teams. At the time, Harper was between stations, temporarily at Langley awaiting orders.
She certainly hadn’t expected to open her hotel door to see them standing there.
Had she said no to their offer, she would’ve been sent to Cairo.
It felt like yesterday when Jessica promised Harper’s help would make a real difference in the world.
And now here she was, a few years later, able to live in New York where her family resided, and she was happy. For the most part. That one elusive piece of the puzzle, a family of her own, was still missing. But when the time was right . . . maybe she’d have that, too.
Too bad the one man she wished she could have “that” with was off-limits and now switching from ab work to pummeling the heavy bag in the gym.
Unlike Jessica, who was engaged to Bravo Three, Asher Hayes, Harper didn’t think she could handle working with someone she loved. But she did want her friend back, which was why she needed to unglue herself from her leather chair and confront him.
Pre-kiss, she wouldn’t have gawked at the screen while he worked out, squeezing her legs together from the achiness building in her sex.
Maybe that was a lie. Pre-kiss, she wouldn’t have admitted to doing that. She’d always been insanely attracted to him, but she’d told herself they weren’t destined to be anything more than friends. It was better that way. Safer.
Now, post-kiss? She was an almost thirty-four-year-old woman experiencing what felt like early menopausal hot flashes while he worked to enhance his already freaking amazing body. Those glorious ripples of muscle looked as though they’d feel like heaven beneath her fingertips.
Harper let a loud whoosh of air escape her lungs as she closed her laptop.
Once inside the elevator, she steeled her nerves as she descended from the thirtieth floor.
At the basement level, she went through the routine of accessing the gym.
Thumb scan followed by a retinal one. Certain precautions were necessary when ten of the world’s best operators utilized the space to work out.
In the eyes of the government, the men were expensive precision instruments.
But to her, they were her best friends. Her extended family. Her life.
When the doors finally parted, she took a steadying breath at the sight of Roman with his back to her, still punching the heavy bag.
She stepped out of the elevator and was surprised to hear music by Kane Brown blasting through the speakers. She knew Roman had an eclectic taste in music, but Kane’s songs—a blend of country, pop, and R&B—sung in a smooth voice with a hint of soul, were A.J.’s usual tunes.
The song playing was What Ifs. And the lyrics had her pausing and taking in a deep breath.
What if she hadn’t panicked and stopped their kiss? What if she’d slept with him? What if she wasn’t so terrified of dating someone she worked with? And what if Roman could finally talk about himself? What if I opened up, too?
She resumed her path toward Roman, her thoughts doing some kind of disoriented tap dance in her mind as she wondered what measures he’d taken to get over their kiss.
Instead of heaps of ice cream alongside far too much red velvet cake while watching sappy romance movies, had he been inviting women into his bed?
She came to a stop far enough behind him that if she startled him and he turned around swinging, he’d miss connecting with her jaw.
His strong back glistened with sweat, and his golden body, sculpted and defined by muscles, drew her eyes. That beautiful, naturally tan skin he’d inherited from his Spanish and Brazilian parents had her swallowing. She did her best not to reach out and see how his body felt beneath her fingertips.
He had tattoos. Not many, but they were beautiful in their simplicity.
There were three cliff swallows along the side of his torso that ended beneath his armpit. He’d told her the birds represent freedom, flow, and peace. Each bird stood for a stage in life he hoped to achieve. But did he not feel free yet? Have peace?
She worked her focus to more ink, which ran along his triceps, a Latin phrase scrawled in thin black script. A common SEAL saying that read pain is weakness leaving the body.
His final tattoo was currently hidden from view—two palm trees on the inside of his bicep.
Roman had more than ink marking his skin, though. He had a few scars.
His right shoulder blade appeared as if he’d been burned or had part of himself carved away, leaving a shallow divot in its place. The new skin that had formed over the area was a rougher texture, and the pigment a slightly darker shade than the rest of his skin.
And shit. I’m staring again.
“If you’re going to kill that bag, shouldn’t it be to a song like Eye of the Tiger?” she yelled out, attempting a joke.
Despite the loud speakers positioned in the corners of the room, he heard her because he stopped striking the bag. But instead of answering, he went to his phone on a nearby bench and used the app to power off the music.
After he pocketed his phone in his black sweats and faced her, he began unraveling the tape wrapped around his hands. He kept his eyes positioned on the task, remaining eerily quiet, which was too much to handle.
“Roman.” One step his way felt like too much. They were now too close. He’d be able to snatch her into his arms if he wanted to.
He’s been staying away from you, she reminded herself. So, no, he wouldn’t make a move on her at eight in the morning.
“I knew you were behind me. I was just wondering how long you’d stand there before saying anything.” The husky depth of his voice washed her skin in chills and coaxed her nipples to harden.