Книга - Keeping Her Close

Keeping Her Close
Carol Ross


Hired to protect her… …unable to resist her The job sounds simple: teach a businessman’s daughter how to stay safe. But former navy SEAL turned bodyguard Kyle Frasier has a personal motive, too. Harper Jansen is his late best friend’s fiancée. Loyalty demands he protect her, not that Harper looks in need of rescuing. In fact, it’s Kyle who needs help—balancing duty with his desire to build a life with the one woman he shouldn’t want…







Hired to protect her

…unable to resist her

The job sounds simple: teach a businessman’s daughter how to stay safe. But former navy SEAL turned bodyguard Kyle Frasier has a personal motive, too. Harper Jansen is his late best friend’s fiancée. Loyalty demands he protect her, not that Harper looks in need of rescuing. In fact, it’s Kyle who needs help—balancing duty with his desire to build a life with the one woman he shouldn’t want…


CAROL ROSS lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. She is a graduate of Washington State University. When not writing, or thinking about writing, she enjoys reading, running, hiking, skiing, traveling and making plans for the next adventure to subject her sometimes reluctant but always fun-loving family to. Carol can be contacted at carolrossauthor.com (http://carolrossauthor.com) and via Facebook at Facebook.com/carolrossauthor (http://Facebook.com/carolrossauthor); Twitter, @_carolross (https://twitter.com/_CarolRoss); and Instagram, @carolross__ (https://www.instagram.com/carolross__/).


Also By Carol Ross (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b)

Summer at the Shore

Christmas at the Cove

Seasons of Alaska

In the Doctor’s Arms

Bachelor Remedy

A Heartwarming Thanksgiving

“Autumn at Jasper Lake”

A Family Like Hannah’s

If Not for a Bee

A Case for Forgiveness

Mountains Apart

Return of the Blackwell Brothers

The Rancher’s Twins

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Keeping Her Close

Carol Ross






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09896-0

KEEPING HER CLOSE

© 2019 Carol Ross

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b)


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“Kyle, you are so…good, honorable, kind.”

Like a jab to the chest, that was the wake-up

call he needed. He wished he was good, honorable and kind, or at least wasn’t carrying this secret around with him. Because he wanted to be all of those things for her—and he was beginning to believe they could be perfect together.

Cupping her face, he smoothed a thumb across her cheekbone. “I want you to know that I didn’t arrange all this because I expect anything from you.”

Harper gave him a contented smile that had him wanting to kiss her all over again. “I know. I believe you. And that’s huge for me. I, um…”

Forcing the words past the painful guilt building inside his chest, he said, “Harper, you can tell me anything. I hope you know that.”

“I think I do. I, um, I have…trust issues. The details of which I wish I could share with you. But I can’t. At least…not yet.”


Dear Reader (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b),

I don’t know about you, but I think trust is one of the most vital yet elusive feelings in the entire playbook of human emotions. Trust is difficult to define, yet you know when it’s there. And it’s essential in order to have a genuine connection with someone. But once it’s lost, can you get it back again?

Harper Jansen has a lot of reasons not to trust people. But her new security consultant, Kyle Frasier, seems to be the most trustworthy man she’s ever met. Soon she finds herself trusting him with not only her safety but also her heart. The problem is, he’s also her deceased fiancé’s best friend.

Kyle wants to keep Harper safe, but also learn the truth about his best friend’s death. Except things get complicated when he finds himself falling for Harper. Can he somehow get to the truth and keep her trust?

Thank you so much for letting me know how my stories have touched you and who you want to read about next. I love hearing from you! For contact info and a complete list of my books, please visit my website: carolrossauthor.com.

All my best,

Carol


For Dan.

Wow. What a year. Like Harper says to Kyle, if I didn’t already love you I definitely would now. Thank you. You really are the best.


Contents

Cover (#ufe0f46ba-1398-502a-8f73-400c120c94ee)

Back Cover Text (#ucd4ad124-6a7f-5514-8fe8-0d69a24a057e)

About the Author (#u5dca53a3-26c4-5ef1-a555-f143aa28c5e3)

Booklist (#u4d0a01e9-07e1-5ad6-9ae4-057e04946a93)

Title Page (#ud3260e8e-7b0a-5a85-92b9-e332dfa9a8d8)

Copyright (#u4b987697-efcf-54c8-802f-5965f03a67f8)

Note to Readers

Introduction (#ucec8f9dd-eae2-5df3-a8c4-c8fd63666afb)

Dear Reader (#u2f200fcc-b11a-532e-bf21-8d628778b197)

Dedication (#uf2c5937c-47d4-539f-9bd7-03bfe29a6072)

PROLOGUE (#ud9b50c54-3d87-5331-b21c-d30ae5d3a904)

CHAPTER ONE (#ue85ec328-8cd7-57a4-9fc2-45b51ebc8d5f)

CHAPTER TWO (#uadfcf862-1f98-55be-a0eb-6172f1033e49)

CHAPTER THREE (#u182e2cef-0023-5442-95f5-00b64a6522d5)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ub2dc83d1-f140-599c-9d3f-01188c5e885d)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b)

“SAVE THE SALMON! Don’t dam our dams! Don’t dam our salmon! Dam the salmon! Dam you, Bellaire!”

Clearly, the dam was a hot-button issue, Kyle Frasier thought with not a small dose of amusement. He found the chants funny partly because it was so difficult to distinguish the protesters from the supporters and partly because he knew the man they were shouting at, Dr. David Bellaire. He also knew that Dr. Bellaire tolerated the attention because it was good for business and the environment, the two things, after his daughter, Harper, that he was most passionate about. The fact that he’d successfully merged the two seemingly incompatible aspects into one highly profitable business was considered genius to some and unforgivable to others.

There’d been a group of reporters already milling around the Bellaire Building when Kyle had arrived an hour ago and headed upstairs to Dahlia International for his interview. On the way inside, he’d dodged people holding signs bearing similar slogans to the ones they were shouting. Through the tall windows fronting the lobby, he could see that the crowd had swelled exponentially since then, and now that the controversial scientist and billionaire businessman himself had entered the building a frenzied tension electrified the air.

Dr. Bellaire was the owner and CEO of Bellaire Environmental Solutions & Technology, or BEST, as it was more commonly called. Bellaire owned the entire Seattle skyscraper with the company’s headquarters comprising the top seven floors right above Dahlia International. The doctor’s recent provocative statements about hydroelectricity and the health of native salmon runs had managed to rile both sides of the environmental debate. He insisted dams and salmon could successfully coexist. BEST was working on a solution, some details of which they would be revealing soon. As far as Kyle could tell, neither faction could grasp the concept of a harmonious coexistence, both sides perhaps too distracted by their well-meaning devotion to their respective causes to truly consider the possibility.

Under different, less chaotic circumstances Kyle would approach the doctor and say hello, but it was going to be enough of a challenge to navigate through the mass of people and get to the exit as it was. Last year, Kyle’s best friend and former navy SEAL teammate, Owen, had introduced Kyle to Dr. Bellaire. Kyle would never have believed that four months later Owen would be dead.

The memories of Owen were still impossibly sharp and painful, like a knife slicing at his heart. At the time, Owen had been alive and well and so full of life and optimism that Kyle had been a little envious, even wondering if he’d made the right call by remaining in the military while Owen returned to civilian life. His friend had spent nearly three years working for Dahlia, one of the most respected military contractors in the world, where he enjoyed an exciting, high-paying job. He’d been walking on air after meeting Harper, the “love of his life,” who also happened to be the daughter of Dr. Bellaire.

At Dr. Bellaire’s invitation, Owen had brought Kyle here for a visit to BEST where the doctor had taken them on a tour of his labs and then treated them to lunch. Not long after, the three men had met again in Amsterdam while Kyle was on leave. Dr. Bellaire had been in the Netherlands on business and Owen between assignments. They’d had dinner together and then spent the evening touring the city. Kyle had found the brilliant scientist charismatic, witty and refreshingly down-to-earth. He understood why people were so fascinated with the man.

In his pocket, Kyle felt his phone vibrate. A glance at the display showed it was his friend Josh Avery. Another former SEAL and close friend, Josh now worked for Dahlia, too. Kyle had texted Josh after the interview to let him know they’d offered him a job. Stepping away from the elevators, Kyle moved toward an adjacent window out of the traffic flow. In the middle of the lobby, near a life-size metal-and-glass sculpture—ironically of a school of salmon leaping a waterfall—he watched Dr. Bellaire turn and face the crowd. A man in a suit announced that Dr. Bellaire would accept a few questions from the press.

Reporters started shouting as Kyle answered the call, “Hey, Josh.”

“Congratulations, man! I’m so… Wait. What’s that noise? Are you out celebrating without me?”

Kyle grinned. “Thanks, buddy. Not celebrating. I’m still in the lobby of the Bellaire Building. Dr. Bellaire just walked in.”

“Ah, protesters.”

“And supporters and newspeople and a fair share of civilians getting in out of the rain, too, I think.”

Josh chuckled. “The man knows how to fan flames, that’s for sure. This dam stuff is crazy. But back to the point—I’m so stoked we’re going to be working together again!”

“Me, too,” Kyle said. The crowd had quieted with some semblance of order established as Dr. Bellaire began answering questions.

“Not quite like the old days, but as close as we can get without Owen, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said because that was all he could manage at that moment with the grief twisting hard in his chest and clogging his throat. Being here in the Bellaire Building, interviewing with Dahlia, he should have been better prepared for these reminders of Owen.

After a pause where Kyle imagined that Josh was also paying a silent tribute to their fallen friend, Josh asked, “When do you start?”

“Not until next month. Travis said he wants me on the Tri-Star job with you.” Travis was Dahlia’s operations chief and Kyle’s future boss. “Not sure what that is, but I’ll be ready. Just need to sign my contract.”

“That’s awesome. What are you going to do until then?”

“More of the same. Hang out with my family on the Oregon coast. I’ve been bunking at my sister Mia’s house in Pacific Cove. My brother-in-law, Jay, has a construction business and I’ve been working for him. I suppose I should find my own place now that I know I’ll be based here in the west.” Even though he’d be working overseas for weeks at a time, at least he’d be able to establish a home base near his family.

“I’ve got a spare room…” Josh went on, urging him to move to San Diego where he lived. Kyle listened, but he’d made up his mind to settle near his mom and sister. He knew he couldn’t make up for lost time, but he needed to try to mend the relationships he’d damaged through the sheer force of his neglect. Not that his relationship with his sister had ever been great.

Kyle glanced up to see that Dr. Bellaire had finished his impromptu press conference. The crowd was beginning to thin, due in large part to the two uniformed security guards now herding people toward the exit. Dr. Bellaire and his entourage briefly congregated to one side before heading in his direction en masse for the elevators, presumably on their way upstairs to BEST.

A clean-cut stocky blond man in a nice suit slipped away from the larger crowd and followed them. He wore a badge around his neck that suggested he was with the press. Kyle wouldn’t have cause to take another look except the guy’s dress did not match his demeanor. Too fidgety, his body tense and twitchy, his gaze bounced around but always paused on Dr. Bellaire. Squirrelly. That’s how he and Owen used to describe this type of nervous, jittery, shifty-eyed manner.

Warning bells pinged loudly in his brain. Of course, there were a lot of causes for this kind of behavior: drugs, alcohol withdrawal, PTSD, chronic insomnia, schizophrenia or a myriad of other mental disorders. Maybe he was new to his job and nervous about approaching Dr. Bellaire. Even too many energy drinks could make a person anxious and wired. And yet, Kyle couldn’t talk himself out of the trepidation he felt.

A woman kept pace at Dr. Bellaire’s side. A quick once-over told him she wasn’t Bellaire’s daughter, Harper, but that made Kyle wonder how Harper was doing. Many times in the months since Owen’s death, he’d thought about reaching out to her. Kyle had never met her in person, but he’d seen plenty of photos via Owen. For most of Owen and Harper’s relationship, the couple had been in Africa where Owen was working. Kyle had still been on active duty himself at the time, stationed at various overseas locales. Guilt and regret weighed like a stone in Kyle’s gut. He made a vow to contact Harper soon and see how she was doing.

Dr. Bellaire drew closer, his focus zeroing in on Kyle. Recognition transformed his scowl into an expression of cheerful surprise.

Kyle returned the smile and added a wave. “Gotta head out, Josh. I’ll call you later.” Kyle ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket.

Dr. Bellaire approached, reaching out a hand. “Kyle! How are you?” Ten feet behind him, the blond man halted, too. He removed a phone from his jacket pocket and stared down at the display. Kyle kept him in his line of sight, taking note of his accelerated respiration, sweaty brow and the way he kept swallowing repeatedly. He could almost smell the guy’s fear.

“Hi, David. Better than you, looks like.” Kyle tipped his head in the direction of the lobby. Odd, Kyle noticed, that the guy was still staring at his phone but had yet to touch the screen. He glanced up, noticed Kyle and quickly refocused on the phone.

David’s smile was cheerful, his tone appreciative as he remarked, “Passionate, aren’t they?”

Kyle chuckled. “Quite.” The man had such a unique view of the world.

“I thought you were still overseas. What are you doing here in Seattle?”

“I was discharged a couple of months ago.” He didn’t add that Owen’s death had hit him hard, prompting him to evaluate his life and his relationships, including the desire to reconnect with his family. “I’m here interviewing for a job with your downstairs neighbor.”

“Ah, Dahlia, of course. You’ll be a great fit there. Such a tragedy about Owen. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Kyle wanted to ask about Harper but was distracted by the lurker again who’d tucked his phone into his left pocket and was now slinking closer, a determined expression on his face. Kyle went into high alert. Nearly a decade in Special Forces had taught him to trust his instincts.

“Are you living here in Seattle now?”

“No, I’m staying in Pacific Cove, Oregon, for the time being. Spending time with my family.”

Dr. Bellaire said, “Did you—”

The lurking guy’s right hand slipped into his pocket and came out holding a short cylindrical object. In one smooth movement, his arm lifted up and back like a major-league pitcher gripping a baseball. His target was obviously Dr. Bellaire, but Kyle was already in motion. David was shoved aside as Kyle went airborne, crashing into the attacker, his left hand seizing the guy’s wrist. As they went down, Kyle twisted his arm back and up, subduing him completely. Shattered glass lay on the floor, accompanied by balls of a pink jellylike substance. Kyle recognized the distinctive odor of cured salmon eggs.

For a few beats, the entire lobby went quiet before erupting with renewed chaos, screams and cheers. The crowd surged toward them, but Bellaire’s security detail was already escorting the doctor away. Kyle handed the guy off to one of the security guards. “Those are salmon eggs on the floor, I think.”

The police were called. Dr. Bellaire was fine. Kyle was fine. Everyone was fine. With the exception of the would-be attacker, who’d landed hard on the marble floor and was whining about an injured wrist.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Just another day at the office for Kyle. It should have ended there. And it would have. Except for the fact that an eager reporter from Channel 11 had filmed the whole thing. That, and then Kyle received his second job offer of the day.


CHAPTER ONE (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b)

LIP-SYNCHING TO Carrie Underwood while baking (okay, and eating) cookie dough will be weird with a stranger in my house. No more yoga in my pajamas. No more whale watching from the deck in my pajamas. Binge watching Tiny Dancer while practicing my hip-hop moves is probably out, too.

A bathrobe-clad Harper Jansen searched around her living room and let out a panicky bark of laughter, a sound she hoped not to make on the first date she was about to go on in months. Spotting the lotion she’d been seeking, she shoved the bottle into her pocket, secured the robe’s lapels firmly around her and hurried through the house to her bedroom.

“Bodyguard,” she said aloud and cringed. Even the word felt personal and intrusive. “Body. Guard,” she tried again more slowly and then realized she was gripping the robe so tightly around herself it was hard to breathe. See? There was an inherent threat to her well-being in the very word itself. Although, her dad insisted the position was that of security consultant. “Feels like a bodyguard to me,” she muttered.

She considered canceling so she could mentally prepare for this looming and indefinite invasion of her privacy. Yes, she should stay home and relish her last evening of precious aloneness. As the only child of a single dad—one who worked a lot—Harper was no stranger to being alone. She’d been alone here in Pacific Cove for three months now. Sure, it was a feeling she’d been wanting to shed lately, but it suddenly seemed both essential and precious. Then she remembered she didn’t have the guy’s number.

“Brilliant, Harper.” Lotion forgotten, she donned her carefully chosen outfit.

When her yoga acquaintance and sort of friend, Samantha, had arranged the date, right before leaving for her six-weeks-long honeymoon, Harper declined to take his number, so she wouldn’t be able to freak out and cancel at the last minute. Like she had the last time. It had seemed like a good idea at the moment—a symbol of her courage and commitment to “getting back out there,” as Sam liked to say. The problem for Harper, however, was that “out there” only led to disappointment and heartbreak. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever recover from her last relationship. Owen’s betrayal had taken heartbreak to a whole other level. His subsequent death had exacerbated and complicated those emotions to the point that she’d wondered if she’d ever fully heal. But she had. Or at least she was way, way better. That’s what today was supposed to prove: a better Harper ready to move on.

That’s when the next depressing thought struck her. This will likely be my last unchaperoned outing of any kind for weeks, if not months.

What she needed to do was make this date a good one. Like epic. Technically, there was no making up for lost time, she knew that, but she could make the best of the time she had left.

Fueled by this notion, Harper channeled her frustration into determination. Frantically, she changed out of her dressy clothes, trading skinny jeans, tunic and boots for leggings, T-shirt and running shoes. She twisted her auburn waves up into a bun and tied a long-sleeved fleece top around her waist. She was going to have a good time tonight if it was the last thing she did. Now that she thought about it, even if her date didn’t want to go along for the ride, she’d take that ride on her own. She’d enjoy her final hours of freedom, all right, and not at home fretting and pouting.

Basic security had always been a part of her life. Her father’s house on Seattle’s Lake Washington included a state-of-the-art security system as did the offices and labs at his company, Bellaire Environmental Solutions & Technology. But Harper had always felt like that was more about the important, proprietary nature of her dad’s work and the general safety of her surroundings than about her.

Even so, when she’d moved into her house a few months ago, Denny, her dad’s head of security, had brought the system up-to-date. She used it maybe half the time and not very well at that. The facial recognition technology functioned so that whenever a human stepped onto the property, the cameras began recording, and if it was a person who’d visited before, or was already in the system, their name would pop up on-screen. If not, a close-up still shot was recorded, cataloging the face for later. All visits were logged along with the time and date. The app chimed while Harper was tying her shoes, shooting a surge of nervous adrenaline through her bloodstream.

The irony did not escape her that this was a blind date. Probably, in addition to getting the guy’s number, she should have looked at his photo when Sam offered it, urging her to see how “gorgeous” he was. But Mikhail was a good friend of Sam’s husband, Colin, so Harper had waved the phone away, telling Sam that was enough for her. If they liked him, no doubt she would, too. Looks didn’t matter, she’d asserted, Owen had proven that a beautiful facade did not necessarily harbor a beautiful soul.

But now, phone in hand, she used the app to study the man standing on her porch. Sam was right; he was good-looking if a bit somber. She’d been sold on Mikhail because, like her, he was an artist, a professional musician and successful songwriter. According to Sam, he was also a microbrew master who enjoyed traveling, concerts and long rides on his vintage motorcycle. Also like her, he was a bad relationship survivor. Sam had revealed that his ex-wife had cheated with his best friend and left him devastated. This was Mikhail’s first post-heartbreak date, too. They had so much in common.

As a photographer herself, she thought it would be nice to be with someone who understood her dedication, intense focus, odd hours and the often-transient nature of her job. Someone who could relate to the inherent challenges of putting your work on display for others to critique and value.

A little spike of yearning accompanied this pep talk. She took a second to gauge it, trying to determine if there was more yearning than fear. When she couldn’t decide, she reminded herself that it would be good to socialize again, to find a nice guy who was exactly what he claimed to be. Unlike Owen, who had deceived her and left her way more bitter than she wanted to be. More bitter and distrustful than a woman should ever be. In retrospect, she suspected that he’d intended to use her from the start. With her history, and her dad being her dad, she should have known, or sensed, that something was off, or at least exercised a bit more caution.

“Stop beating yourself up, Harper. Not all men are users,” she muttered and headed toward the door. Inhaling a deep breath, she put on her game face and opened the door.

“Harper Jansen?”

“Yes! Hi!” she said with possibly too much enthusiasm. Dialing it down a notch, she added, “I’m Harper.” Why was he frowning? Nerves, maybe? She rather liked that, the notion that he might be sharing her trepidation. “Please, come in.” She waved him forward.

Tipping his head thoughtfully, he paused for a few seconds before moving inside where he stood stiffly, looking like he was trying to decide what to say.

It seemed prudent to take the reins. “So, I’m just going to come right out and tell you that I’m super excited about this.”

After a beat, he asked, “You are?”

“Of course, I am!”

His mouth turned down at the corners while his gaze narrowed with what might have been skepticism.

Wow, she thought, Sam was right, he has been out of the social scene for a while. She went on, “And I have a fun idea how we can get to know each other.” Gesturing at herself and then him, she went on, “I’m glad you went with casual. Jeans are perfect for what I have in mind.”

“Uh, okay.” Brow furrowed, voice hesitant, he said, “Generally speaking, my wardrobe will vary according to whatever activity you’re engaging in.”

Harper felt herself grinning at this odd reply. She wondered if he’d been reading up on dating etiquette. Poor guy. She could hardly hold it against him if he’d been seeking out some tips. Undoubtedly, she could use a few of those herself. A superpower would be better though, and, as long as she was wishing, she’d like the kind that allowed her to see right into the heart of a person. Yep, super judgment, that’s what she needed.

“Sounds like a good policy,” she said, wishing he’d relax. “I hope you don’t think this is totally outrageous, but I was thinking we’d go zip-lining and bungee jumping.”

“Bungee jumping,” he repeated flatly.

“Yeah, like a modern-day, adrenaline-charged parlor game. Nothing like mutually shared abject terror to break the ice, right?” she joked.

Blank stare.

Harper went on, “I know a guy who has a place where we can do both. I took some photos for him a while back, and he was so happy that he offered me a bunch of services for free. Isn’t that cool? Then, I thought we could head into Astoria. Have dinner, stroll around the Spring Fling Festival. Have you heard of it?”

“No, I have not.” He appeared confused now and sounded almost surly.

Harper swallowed, nervousness was rapidly overtaking her enthusiasm. Possibly, these epic date aspirations were overkill. She didn’t want them to be, though, and she found herself rushing to sell it. “It’s an art and seafood festival. It kicks off tonight with ships that cruise by on the Columbia River, all decorated with lights, like a boat parade. Vendors set up along the waterfront selling food, crafts, antiques…” Recalling his profession, she added, “Oh, and a band!”

This only seemed to puzzle him further, kicking her anxiety up another notch. “Maybe you could get up there with them and sing a song or two.” Reaching out, she gave his forearm a quick little squeeze. “Ha-ha, just kidding.”

Harper wanted to melt into the wall at this point because his eyes followed the path of her hand and he flinched at her touch. It was slight, but still, she noticed, and it was definitely a flinch. She could feel her cheeks heating with color. He’s been here two minutes, and he’s already trying to get away from me. Maybe if I tell him my dad is a billionaire, he’ll come around. That seems to impress the men I date, or maybe that’s what attracts them in the first place. Chicken, egg, Harper, heartbreak. No matter the order. Same outcome.

Desperation had her blurting, “Oh, and there’s a beer garden featuring microbrews from all around Oregon. You’ll love that, right? I can drive, so you can sample all you want. Maybe that’ll get you up on stage. Ha-ha!”

Okay. He was glowering now, and Harper wondered if maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe his problem was social awkwardness? Was it a language barrier? Mikhail sounded like it could be Russian or Eastern European? Although, she hadn’t noticed an accent.

Raising her voice in that clumsy way a person does when faced with incomprehension, she enunciated slowly, “Does any of that sound fun? Or maybe you had something else in mind?” She hoped he wasn’t one of those guys who had to be the one to plan every detail. Control freaks were not in her wheelhouse.

Finally, he shifted on his feet, gave his head a little shake and answered, “No, honestly, none of that sounds like fun tonight. Under the circumstances, this entire plan of yours sounds like a complete and total nightmare.”






KYLE’S FIRST THOUGHT upon meeting Harper Jansen was that she didn’t recognize him. Maybe not too surprising as they’d never met face-to-face. Although, he’d seen photos of her and figured she’d seen at least a few of him. He would have recognized her. The second thought, however involuntary and unwelcome, was that she was every bit as beautiful and alluring as Owen had claimed. But then she’d started this disjointed rambling that left him equal parts confused and concerned. No wonder Dr. Bellaire wanted him to start as soon as possible. The woman needed protection from herself.

Owen had waxed on about Harper’s virtues: smart, beautiful, talented, fun-loving—these were just a few of the many, many adjectives he’d used to describe the woman he’d met, fallen in love with and proposed to in a matter of months. As he had then, Kyle couldn’t help but wonder if Owen had let infatuation cloud his judgment. No one could fall in love that quickly. An engagement that fast seemed impulsive, if not reckless. Now he wondered if this woman was in her right mind.

“You don’t like bungee jumping?” Her tone had lost a touch of its previous zeal.

“It’s irrelevant whether I like it.” In fact, he did like it, but that didn’t matter right now. They weren’t going. Did she not comprehend what had happened to her father that very morning? So much about this “plan” of hers was wrong. One element, in particular, was bothering him so he had to ask, “Why would you think I’d want to go out and drink so much beer that I’d need a designated driver?”

Dark brown eyebrows just a touch darker than her hair dipped in confusion. “Don’t you like beer?”

Okay. This was too weird. Before he could form a response, the doorbell rang.

Harper frowned and glanced in that direction.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

“Um, no, just you.” She started to move around him like she was going to answer it.

“Then wait.” Kyle caught her elbow. “I’ll get it.”

“What, why?”

“I think that’s obvious.”

“Not to me.” Blue-gray eyes narrowed in on him as her expression turned thoughtful. “Why would you answer my door?”

“Because it’s my job,” Kyle returned flatly. “Or it will be soon if you agree to hire me.”

“You…” She went wide-eyed, and her face lost some of its color. “You, your, job,” she stuttered, before cupping a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no…” More muffled words followed by a groan.

Kyle shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s the password for your security app? Your dad said you change it weekly.”

“Of course, you already have the app,” she said in a resigned tone, not about to admit that she never changed it. “It’s chiaroscuro and then the number 282. Chiaroscuro is spelled c-h—”

“I know how to spell it,” he said, a bit sharper than he’d intended. But a stranger showing up at her door right now was alarming, to him at least. He held up the display for her to view. “Do you know who this man is?”

“Maybe,” she answered hesitantly, studying the screen with an expression Kyle could only describe as painful. Seriously, what was wrong with her?

“Maybe,” he repeated, his patience beginning to fray, “is not an answer. Yes or no?”

“I said maybe.” Her tone held an edge now, like he’d done something to irritate her. But then she sighed, and said, “He, uh… He might be my date.”

“You don’t know what your date looks like?”

Her answer was quick and sharp, “Haven’t you ever heard of a blind date?”

Kyle’s gaze met hers, and he realized then that he’d mistaken embarrassment for irritation. Cheeks splotched with pink. She was grimacing. Understanding dawned, about the odd conversation that had just transpired and her ensuing mortification; she’d mistaken him for her blind date.

Trying not to allow her discomfort to thaw his concern, he answered, “I’m aware of the concept, yes.” He couldn’t let himself feel sorry for her because why would she be going on a blind date considering the circumstances? It was risky if not downright reckless. Until the police were done investigating the guy who’d tried to attack her father, she needed to lay low. And she needed an education about safety procedures. Dr. Bellaire was right to hire him, or almost hire him.

The doorbell chimed again.

“You need to stay here, please,” Kyle stated. He strode 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.


CHAPTER TWO (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b)

“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, the shock easing into curiosity. “That’s not it. It’s…” Then her expression changed; gathering herself together, she seemed to set that puzzle aside and demanded, “What are you doing here?”






HARPER WAS HYPERCONSCIOUS of the beat of her heart as she stared at Kyle Frasier. It wasn’t fast so much as it was hard and painful like all the still-wounded parts were pounding and grinding against each other in discordant harmony. Barely resisting the urge to grip her shirt above the offending spot, she waited for his answer and struggled to sort the key points: Kyle had been Owen’s best friend; Owen’s best friend was standing in her kitchen; her dad had chosen him to be her security consultant. Questions followed: How much did Kyle know about Owen? How much did he know about her? And her and Owen’s relationship, especially the end? What had Owen told him about his “side business” and Harper’s part in it? Why hadn’t her dad told her that her new bodyguard was showing up today?

Some of this must have been evident on her face because Kyle said, “We have some things to discuss. Harper, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blindside you like this. As I’m sure you know, I was supposed to show up tomorrow morning so you could conduct a final interview, a more formal one, and decide whether you wanted to go ahead with this. With me, I mean.”

“Yes, that’s what my dad said. But he didn’t tell me your name. He was going to send the details in an email. He’s probably already sent it—I haven’t checked. I figured I would have time to review it all in the morning.”

Kyle nodded. “Obviously, I messed that up. I was driving right by here anyway, so I decided to drop in and introduce myself. I thought you might be feeling anxious after the attempted attack on your dad. And, honestly, I didn’t know how you’d feel about hiring me? Specifically. Because of Owen.”

Jaw tight, mouth a hard, flat line, his eyes blazed with intensity as they searched her face, his expression saying so much, and revealing so little at the same time. She chose to ignore the question because she couldn’t answer it. Not yet. Not until he answered a few of her questions first. Her attention was drawn to the news story still on her tablet. Shifting her focus to the headline, she read it again: “BEST CEO Bellaire Attacked.” Her father had called it “an incident.” Lately, episodes like this had been happening more and more, where some extremist got in his face screaming about dams or salmon—depending on which side of the issue they stood.

That much, at least, she could explain. “Yeah, he downplayed the incident significantly. That’s what he called it—an incident. He never said ‘attack,’ or even ‘attempted attack.’”

“I doubt he did. More likely, the news is overdramatizing. I’d call it an incident. The guy didn’t even touch your dad.”

“Because of you.” This person undoubtedly had intentions to hurt her dad. You could see the anger all over his face, the hatred in his body language. Gratitude and appreciation mingled with her shock. She wanted to hug the man standing before her, except he was the opposite of huggable. So not warm and fuzzy. More than once, Owen had said that he’d never seen a better soldier than his friend Kyle. Nor had he ever had a better friend. He worshipped the ground this guy walked on.

If there was one positive thing she could say about Owen, it was that he’d been good at his job. Thanks to his navy training and experience, he knew how to move people and supplies and keep them safe. And other things, she thought distastefully, like he’d done in Africa. If Owen thought Kyle was the best, then he probably was. But that still didn’t answer her question.

“But why you? I mean, why were you there? And how did you—? I have…” So many questions. She glanced up at Kyle and felt her pulse accelerate again. What she had were too many feelings. Could she handle having this living and breathing reminder of Owen in her life every day for the next however-many weeks?

But Kyle had seemed to anticipate her emotional quagmire, and he sought to untangle it. “I was in your dad’s building because I had an interview with Dahlia International.”

At the mention of Dahlia, Harper tensed, a familiar feeling of frustration stealing over her. She may have scowled, but thankfully Kyle didn’t seem to notice.

He went on, “I’d met your dad twice with Owen. Had lunch in Seattle and spent some time with him in Amsterdam. You’re really lucky. He’s an extraordinary guy. Anyway, I saw him in the lobby, and he’d just walked over to say hi when this guy went after him. And I… I helped out. Afterward, your dad and I talked some more. He expressed his concerns about your safety, I gave him some advice and he offered me this job. I don’t start with Dahlia for another month or so. So, here I am.”

Harper exhaled a breath. This all made sense. In the way that cosmic jokes, or colliding fates, or whatever this encounter might be made sense anyway. Inexplicably, she felt herself both repelled by and drawn to Kyle Frasier. More proof that her own judgment was not to be trusted. In this case, she supposed only time would tell. If she chose to hire him, that is… Time. Oh, jeez, she’d forgotten all about Mikhail!

Snagging her phone off the counter, she pointed it at him as she sidestepped toward the doorway. “You know what? We’ll talk about this later.” She picked up her bag from the floor where she’d placed it earlier and slipped the strap over her shoulder. “Tomorrow morning, okay? When you come for your interview, we’ll figure all of this out and—”

“Harper, I think we should talk about it now,” Kyle countered smoothly. “The sooner we work out some of these details, the better.” That voice. Deep and low with just enough compassion that Harper found herself wanting to comply. Or maybe the compassion part was her imagination, her hope, that this guy was only like Owen in the good ways. That he might be as willing to help her as he’d been to help her dad. But how likely was that? Like brothers, she’d heard Owen say countless times about himself and Kyle. Just because birds had similar feathers didn’t mean they always flocked together, right? Or maybe they did. See? Clearly, she needed to sort this through.

“Okay, tonight, then. After my date.” She gestured toward the front door. “I’ve kept the poor guy waiting and confused long enough. We’ll skip the bungee jumping, go and have a quiet dinner somewhere, and then I’ll come back, and you and I can have a proper interview.”

“Oh. Your date is gone.”

“Gone? Where is he?”

Kyle shrugged. “In his car cruising down Highway 101, I’m guessing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’d call him later.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“You don’t—” He broke off with a sigh of frustration. “What do you know about him? Did you have him checked out?”

“He’s a friend of a friend,” she answered evasively and yes, a little defensively. At the flicker of disapproval that crossed his face, she added, “I agreed to the date a week ago.” Somehow, she needed to explain her rationale. But how uncomfortable and awkward to admit that she’d been excited (sort of) to go on the first date she’d had since she’d been involved with his deceased best friend. Where they’d been in a relationship based on deception that had ended very badly. This was insane. What was she doing? What was he doing here agreeing to babysit his best friend’s ex, anyway? Who did that? Why would he do that?

“Well, from now on, you’re not going out with Mikhail or anyone else until they’ve been vetted. That includes a background check and all the accompanying intel. And an…assessment.”

“An assessment?” Her voice went high and a little shrill.

His expression seemed to thaw slightly. “Yes, I’ll want to meet them. But don’t worry, they won’t know they’re being assessed.” Kyle offered up a hand in a placating gesture. “No one has to know you have a…security consultant working for you. As far as your friends, and dates, know I’m an old family friend staying in your guesthouse and helping with some maintenance. Your dad, if you agree, has hired me temporarily with the hope that this will quickly blow over. In the meantime, I’m going to teach you how to take care of yourself.”

“Take care of myself?” she repeated, taking advantage of the unintentional gaffe. “Are there cooking lessons involved? What about laundry?” He went wide-eyed, and Harper almost laughed.

“No, I meant… I mean security-wise. I’m going to help you be more aware of your surroundings and potential threats and what to do if you are threatened. I’m going to teach you how to use every feature of your security system and—”

“Kyle, I know what you meant. I was joking. I’m sorry, I’m a bit stressed, and I tend to…” She cut herself off because she didn’t need to point out her habit of making bad jokes under duress. She’d already provided him with ample evidence when she thought he was her date. “Let’s, um, do you want to sit down?” Harper gestured toward the living room.

“Sure.”

Harper watched him walk into the next room. As much as she didn’t want to, it was impossible not to compare the two men. On the surface, they had similar features, brown hair, brown eyes, same olive complexion. But everything about Kyle, including his expression, was darker. Kyle didn’t possess Owen’s extreme good looks, but he’d be plenty handsome if he weren’t so…severe. His thick brown hair wasn’t quite a buzz cut, but it was still a little too short for her taste, too militaryish, too Owen-like. But then again, he’d just gotten out of the military. His physique certainly backed that up, that he hadn’t slacked in his conditioning was obvious. And he had Owen on that score. A couple of inches shorter than Owen’s six foot two inches, he was broader in the shoulders, bulkier everywhere and much more defined. The cut of muscles outlined beneath his T-shirt reminded her of an MMA fighter she’d photographed last fall. She told herself it was the artist in her noting these details and not the woman who’d barely socialized, much less dated, in six months.

His gaze traveling around the room, Kyle took a seat in one of the two chairs adjacent to the gas fireplace. She’d already noticed his eyes were an arresting shade of brown, but so dark it made them difficult to read. Like the rest of him. Although Harper suspected he did that unreadable thing on purpose. The whole time he’d been here, he had yet to crack a smile, or even offer much in the way of emotion at all. Except for confusion, but she couldn’t blame him for that. Maybe it was a good thing. Like a robot sitting in the corner, she could forget he was even there. What she did not need in her life was another man with an overabundance of charm and charisma. Those were the very traits that had suckered her in time and again.

Harper settled on the sofa and asked, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink maybe?”

“No, thank you.”

“How about a snack?”

“No.”

“Would you like—”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, so…” She offered her sweetest smile, the one she used on her most anxious, reluctant, camera-shy clients. And then waited for him to return it. Nothing. No reaction whatsoever. Just that same somber expression. When the moment threatened to turn awkward, she finally gave up. “So, I’d like to explain my behavior. Earlier when you first arrived, I thought you were my date.”

“I caught that.”

“I want you to know that I’m not normally so impulsive and…enthusiastic. Well, maybe I am, to a degree. But not like this. This was…” Shifting around she tried to form an explanation that didn’t make her sound like an irresponsible flake. “You see, I was—”

“Harper,” he interrupted with an outstretched hand. “You don’t need to explain. I know what you were doing.”

Harper chuckled self-consciously. “I doubt that.”

“You were going to have some fun on your last night without your new security guy watching your every move.”

Huh. Well. Points awarded for insight, if not personality. “I can only imagine how terrible you think that is.”

He squinted his eyes slightly like he was trying to decide how to respond. Finally, he seemed to make a decision, and said, “What happened already happened. Or didn’t happen in this case. There was a miscommunication between you and your dad. I intend to speak to him about that. I imagine that he didn’t divulge all the details because he didn’t want you to worry, but I don’t think it does you any favors for him to sugarcoat any threat made against him.”

Harper liked that, that he wasn’t intimidated by her dad. That, and he seemed to be a proponent of honesty.

He went on, “You’re fine for now. Meaning you’re safe. The episode was good in a way. It told me a lot about how much work we’re facing here. My goal is to instill specific habits in you so that you won’t need a bodyguard 24/7 for the rest of your life. So, as far as I’m concerned, we can forget about what happened here today and move forward.”

Harper felt her anxiety ease slightly. Did he mean that in a larger sense? Moving forward was what she wanted. But the Owen factor did need to be addressed.

He must have thought so, too, because he said, “I know that it didn’t end well between you and Owen, that you wanted different things.”

“That’s what he said? Different things?”

“Well, he called me the day before he died. He was…upset. You’d left the country, and he felt… He said you guys had a fight and you’d ended your relationship.”

Harper barely held on to her scoff. It was beyond strange to hear Owen’s version of a “fight” that, for Harper, had been so much more than that.

“But he didn’t say what kind of differences we had?”

“No, but I know he was hoping you’d work them out. If he hadn’t died maybe you two would have…”

Harper froze. All her previous tension rushed back in and then some, blazing with a brand-new ferocity. Her skin prickled uncomfortably. Had Owen said that? Because their issues were impossible to work out. She’d never wanted to see him again, would never have spoken to him again even if he hadn’t been killed in that car accident.

She’d been studying Kyle carefully, listening, watching for any clue that he knew about Owen’s enterprise. Owen had told her in confidence, sworn her to secrecy. He’d said that no one from Dahlia knew about his “side business.” But he needed to bring someone else on board because it was growing so fast. Customers were clamoring for the exotic plants and animal parts he was selling. Mistakenly, stupidly, he’d believed Harper’s love for him would allow her to not only accept this endeavor but to help him. Specifically, with the use of her dad’s jet. He took steps, he assured her, to confirm that his dealings were technically legal. But Harper suspected otherwise. At the very least, it was both unethical and immoral.

Kyle said that Owen didn’t specify what their differences were. If he’d told Kyle, it seemed like there’d be no reason not to mention them now. But still, she had to know.

“Did you, um, did you know much about Owen’s work?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ve been offered a job with Dahlia. I don’t start until next month, but I also have another friend working there. So I have a pretty good grasp of what the work entails.”

“In Africa? Did he talk about his time there much?”

“No…” he drawled, his face twisting with discomfort and confusion. Further evidence, Harper decided, that he didn’t know. She wondered what he’d think about the venture. Had Owen not told him because he didn’t think Kyle would approve? She hoped so.

A more burning question followed and seared her conscience. Was it Harper’s place to tell him the truth?


CHAPTER THREE (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b)

KYLE’S INTENSE BROWN gaze caught Harper’s as he started speaking, derailing Harper’s train of thought. “Harper, what I’m trying to say is that I know you loved Owen, too. He was a great man and my best friend. He was like a brother to me, and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. I don’t know if he mentioned it, but the last mission we did together, he saved my life. He could have been killed. He should have been. We both should be…” His voice trailed off, and Harper was staggered by the emotion she saw, the sincerity she heard, the love and grief he so obviously felt for his friend.

Inhaling a breath, he gathered himself and continued, “Despite your breakup, I know his death had to be hard on you, too. I imagine with how things ended, it was probably even more difficult in some ways than it would have been otherwise. Owen made it clear to me that it wasn’t over between you two.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she barely managed to blink them away before they spilled over. The Owen she knew did not deserve this kind of devotion.

Sympathy was evident in the deep brown depths of his gaze. “Harper, I, um, I’m just so sorry. Those are words I should have said to you a long time ago. I thought about reaching out to you after Owen died, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that, too.”

Harper nodded because she didn’t know what else to do; her tears, her pain, did not exist for the reason he believed, but she couldn’t find the right words to explain. But that wasn’t quite accurate. She had the words; she just didn’t know if she should use them.

“I’m sorry for you,” she finally managed. And that, she realized, was true. She’d often thought about how differently she’d feel about Owen’s death if she hadn’t learned the truth. If he’d died before revealing his true character, before their breakup, she would have been devastated. Of course, she realized now that she’d fallen for a man who didn’t exist. It wasn’t the first time she’d been fooled.

This man seated before her was no robot bodyguard. Her heart went out to him, but at the same time, she was almost jealous of him, of this pure emotion born of unsullied memories. She didn’t see any reason to spoil that for him, to cause him more pain. She decided she couldn’t do it, knowingly tarnish his memory of Owen. What possible purpose could that serve?

Clearing his throat, he said, “You don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to talk about this anymore. That’s not why I’m here. I did want to apologize, but your grief is your own, as is mine. And I want you to know that as far as I’m concerned, whatever happened between you two doesn’t have anything to do with you and me, with our relationship.” After a pause, he clarified, “Potential working relationship.”

She could live with that. And him, she decided, going with her gut. She couldn’t imagine anything else that he could have said that would have eased her anxiety as much as the speech he’d just given. And he was right; she didn’t want to discuss Owen.

“Okay,” she said, “You’re hired.”

Instead of appearing happy to get the job, he frowned. “Are you sure? Do you want to ask me some questions first?”

“No. I’ve heard—and seen—all I need to know.”

He gave his head a little shake. “Please, don’t let that news story sway you. You know how the media spins everything.”

“It’s not the news story,” she said, even though it was a little. “My dad trusts you.” The fact that he’d risked his own safety to protect her dad counted for a lot. “And I’m sure you met Dad’s head security guy, Denny?” At Kyle’s nod, she added, “Then you meet his standards, too, which are very high.” Weighing her next words carefully, she said, “You’re right that I don’t want to talk about what happened between Owen and me, but I will tell you that he trusted you. More than anyone. He had nothing but wonderful things to say about you. According to him, you were the best man and the best soldier ever.”

Dipping his chin, he scrubbed a hand across one cheek before meeting her gaze again. “The feeling was mutual.”

“I can see that,” Harper said diplomatically. She inhaled deeply and slowly and then eased out the breath. Was she crazy to agree to this? Maybe. But there was something so solid and comforting about this guy, and, if she were being honest, she wanted him to be for real. Without a doubt, she needed some help. He was right that she could have easily let some unknown, potentially dangerous person into her house tonight. Much of the time she didn’t even bother with the security system anyway. When she did, she often wasn’t sure if she’d done everything properly. The notion was rather sobering and lent an extra dose of urgency to his employment. She realized her dad knew all of this and had probably been experiencing something similar when he offered Kyle the job.

“So…” she drawled. “How are we going to do this? Lecture and then lab? Or do you have like a personal security textbook, Stay Safe 101? Just to warn you, I’m awful at pop quizzes. After the first one, I will resent you for the entire semester and not perform to my highest capability.”

Kyle sat back in his seat, seeming to relax a bit as he pondered her tongue-in-cheek questions. And probably her. Had he been nervous that she wouldn’t agree to hire him? That thought was rather endearing. It made him seem both human and normal, and it gave her confidence in her decision.

But only briefly because his expression went stony again. Like granite. Hard, scary granite.

Leaning forward, he placed his forearms on his thighs and tented his fingers. “It’s all lab, Harper. One hundred percent hands-on. And we’re going to start by getting you in shape. Calisthenics for one hour every morning at 4:30 a.m., followed by a five-mile run on the beach.” Tipping his head, he added, “But not your typical run. Every other day, we’ll add an obstacle course to simulate tactical evasion. And three days a week, we’ll have what I like to call target practice.”

What. The. Whatty-what? Harper opened her mouth, shut it and finally managed to stutter, “Um, target what? I don’t know how to… I mean, I don’t—”

He straightened, interrupting her with a stop-sign hand. “Relax, it’s not what you think. You won’t be doing any shooting. I’ll be shooting at you with a paintball gun while you try to dodge it. The less paint on your person, the more lunch you earn. Positive reinforcement can be helpful in specific, isolated training situations.”

Harper knew she was gaping. Was he out of his mind? Had the word normal actually crossed her mind in conjunction with this lunatic? He was as messed up as Owen. More, possibly. She was still trying to decide how to proceed when his face broke into a wide smile, or at least she hoped it was a smile. The whole time he’d been here she’d yet to see it, so she couldn’t be sure. She kept still, waiting, in case she was misinterpreting the gesture. Maybe he was wincing or had something stuck in his teeth.

Finally, he said, “Harper, I’m joking. I do have some basic protocol that we’ll cover. Your dad wants you to become an expert with your security system. But otherwise, we’ll just plan on doing this situationally, taking it one day at a time. Does that work for you?”

Huh. She had not seen that coming. But she also liked it. A grin crept over her, and she laughed. He joined her, and Harper was momentarily mesmerized by the deep, rich sound. The smile that lingered transformed him. Harper met his gaze and warmth spread through her chest, making her head a little light, her thoughts a bit fuzzy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this, felt so at ease.

That thought was sobering in itself, melting her laughter away. Because this situation was anything but easy; she officially had herself a bodyguard.






“ONE SOYSAGE, SPINACH and kale omelet.” Nora Frasier proudly set a plate in front of her only son. “Protein packed with two servings of veggies tucked inside.”

“Thanks, Mom. Sounds delicious,” Kyle lied as Nora turned and sailed back into the kitchen.

Soysage? Kyle mouthed the word to his seventeen-year-old quasi-nephew, Levi, who was sitting across the table from him in his sister Mia’s dining room. Kyle sniffed at his plate, and then whispered, “Does she think it will make it more palatable by having it sound more meat-like? Or that we’ll be so impressed by the clever play on words that we won’t be able to resist?”

Levi let out a snort of laughter, which he convincingly covered with a cough. Or maybe he was choking. Poor kid had already taken a bite of his omelet. Levi lifted his glass of orange juice and took a sip.

Adamantly refusing to put anyone out, Kyle had been crashing on the couch in Mia and Jay’s downstairs family room for the last few weeks since arriving in Pacific Cove. Last night, he’d left Harper’s with the plan for them to meet back at her place this morning. They’d agreed on 8:30 as his official start time. Kyle smiled to himself as he thought about the look on her face when he’d proposed his “fitness plan.” He hadn’t been able to resist teasing her; she was so obviously nervous about this whole security thing. That easy laugh of hers was contagious, even though he recognized her joking around as a defense mechanism. He’d have to be careful about keeping her on track, emphasizing the importance of their task.

Mia was a veterinarian and co-owned a clinic in Pacific Cove. Her husband, Jay, was a former Coast Guard flight mechanic who’d recently started his own construction business. Their home was a large four-bedroom bungalow overlooking the ocean, but it didn’t feel nearly as large as the actual square footage. Two of the bedrooms were filled with Jay’s teenaged siblings, Levi and Laney, who Jay had legal custody of.

Until recently, Nora had occupied the fourth bedroom, but now she lived in a plush apartment above the garage that Jay had recently added on. Nora’s old room was now Jay’s office, which doubled as a sometimes bedroom for Jay’s youngest two siblings, Dean and Delilah, who lived with their other sister, Josie, but visited often and liked to sleep over.

Two dogs and four cats rounded out the total of occupants. And Mia’s dog, George, was roughly the size of two people. Currently, the mastiff-bloodhound mix was camped out under the dining room table with his massive head resting on Kyle’s feet. George was the sweetest dog in the world with a bad habit of eating anything that would fit between his massive jaws. Which gave Kyle an idea.

Leaning backward, he glanced under the table. “Georgie,” he whispered.

“I already tried it,” Levi said, reading his intention. “George won’t eat it.”

“Really? Dang.” That did not bode well. Kyle had seen George eat chunks of rotten seaweed like they were gravy-covered biscuits. Kyle picked up his fork and used it to flip up the top layer of the omelet. Taking a peek inside, he whispered, “What are the grayish-brown bits?”

“Pepitas,” Levi answered.

At Kyle’s confused headshake, Levi explained, “That’d be a pumpkin seed to you and me.”

“In an omelet?” The eggs at least would be good, courtesy of Nora’s cage-free, organically fed laying hens.

“Nora thinks they go in everything. She even puts them in those cookie things she makes.” To Kyle’s way of thinking, the “cookie things” weren’t truly cookies because they didn’t contain sugar. Still, he’d decided he could handle the sugar-free life better than the meatless one.

Kyle let out a dramatic sigh, and said wistfully, “You know, Levi, there was a time in my life when my mom made the best ham-and-cheese omelets on the planet.”

“Ham?” Levi quirked a skeptical brow. “You’re telling me Nora Frasier once ingested nitrite-laden, sodium-infused pork products?”

“Those were good times.”

They shared a chuckle.

“I still can’t believe you have two jobs!” Nora called from the kitchen.

Exchanging concerned glances, Kyle and Levi both hurriedly shoveled in several bites of omelet before Nora reappeared.

“I’m swallowing the peptides whole,” Kyle whispered. Levi laughed outright at his deliberate mispronunciation.

Soon after he’d arrived in Pacific Cove, Kyle had discovered that Levi also was not a fan of the meat alternatives Nora liked to ply them with when he’d come in late one night and found him frying bacon. The real stuff. No fakon for this kid. Kyle enthusiastically offered to help. They’d feasted on bacon sandwiches after which Levi showed Kyle his processed meat stash in the spare fridge in the garage. They’d taken to clandestinely going out for burgers whenever they could manage. No way would either of them risk hurting Nora’s feelings by confessing to these transgressions.

Nora hustled back into the room with her own plate. “And you found a place to live.”

“One job at a time, Mom.” Kyle grinned at Nora. “And the housing is temporary. In exchange for helping out a friend’s daughter, I’m going to stay in her guest cottage for a month. After I start at Dahlia, I’ll be able to find more permanent lodgings of my own.”

“And it’s right here in Pacific Cove?”

“Basically. It’s several miles south of town.”

“Who is it? Do I know these people?”

“I doubt you know them,” he hedged. Of course, his mom had heard of David Bellaire, but after Harper revealed that no one in Pacific Cove seemed aware of the association between her and her father, they decided to keep it that way. This was made easier because Harper used the last name Jansen, her mother’s maiden name, as her professional moniker. “They’re from Seattle, and the daughter has only been living here a few months.”

His mom had met Owen a couple of times when Kyle had brought him home with him on leave. But that had been years ago; she didn’t know him well. To his knowledge, she hadn’t been aware that Owen had been in a relationship. Kyle didn’t mention the association now because it would be a lot to explain without revealing Harper’s parentage. “Need to know” was ingrained in him right along with his sense of loyalty. Like a lot of habits that had kept him alive in his military career, he doubted he’d ever break that one either.

As it had too often since he’d been here in Pacific Cove, it struck him once again how little his family knew about him. Understandable to a degree, considering the circumstances of his career. The sad part was how little he knew about them. He’d been a terrible son to his mom and an even worse brother to Mia. He hadn’t even come home for Mia and Jay’s wedding. A fresh twist of regret and guilt tightened his chest.

“That’s great news! Isn’t that great news, Mia?” His mom, at least, didn’t seem to hold it against him. She tried so hard to make him feel like he belonged. Too hard, Kyle thought. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven so easily.

Kyle watched Mia in the kitchen beyond pouring a cup of coffee. Ten years in the military, eight of those in Special Forces, numerous life-and-death missions, and his big sister still made him nervous. As kids, they’d never had a great relationship or even a good one for that matter. Now, as an adult, Kyle understood why. Their dad, William Frasier, now deceased, but who they’d only recently learned was not Mia’s biological father, had always favored Kyle. Worse than that, he’d basically ignored Mia.

On an unspoken level, Kyle had known it was unfair, but he’d worshipped his navy officer father, so he’d never questioned his dad’s unequal treatment of his kids. Partially because, painful as it was to admit, he’d been the one to reap the benefits. He regretted that, and especially the wedge it had driven between him and Mia. Kyle wanted to fix it, or at least make it better; he just had no clue how to go about it. He wasn’t sure it was possible.

Mia entered the dining room and sat at the table opposite him. “That is good news,” she said in a tone that told Kyle the words didn’t equate to how she really felt. “Congratulations. But, when you start at Dahlia, you’ll be gone all the time anyway, right? So basically, it will be like you’re still in the navy.”

“Not exactly,” he said, even though his stomach pitched at the truth behind her words. He’d figure out a way to make it work.

“Dangerous assignments where you spend weeks or months overseas,” she intoned wryly. “Yeah, totally different.”

“I’ll be paid a lot more, and I’m out of uniform.” That sounded lame even to him.

“So, you’re doing it for the money?”

Kyle was grateful for the military training that kept him from reacting to his sister’s challenging stare. There didn’t seem to be much they could discuss without disagreeing. “I couldn’t make anything even close to what I’ll be making at Dahlia anywhere around here.” That was another evasion. The truth was that he didn’t really have an answer to Mia’s question, other than he and Owen had planned this for years. From the time Owen had left the military, they’d begun discussing it. They’d wanted to work together again, and maybe someday start their own business. Owen had been gearing up for it already, planning, waiting for Kyle to join him at Dahlia. Irrational as it was, he couldn’t shake the notion that if he’d started at Dahlia sooner, Owen would still be alive. The day before the accident, when he’d called, Owen had once again said how much he wished Kyle was with him. Bottom line, he felt compelled to take the job. Just like he did where Harper was concerned. The obligation, the drive to somehow make this right, was something he couldn’t explain.

He hadn’t realized how much Harper represented unfinished business until he’d seen Dr. Bellaire. The thought had only intensified when he’d met her face-to-face. Now it felt like his duty to make sure she’d be okay, to give her the tools to stay safe. To be happy. From their conversation the night before, Kyle could see she was hurting, no doubt dealing with her own regrets and grief. Fate, in the form of Dr. Bellaire, had given him an opportunity to ease his conscience by helping the love of Owen’s life, and he was going to take it. Owen would want him to. He owed it to him.

Mia was frowning, and Kyle knew she was gearing up to counter his argument. Jay saved him, strolling into the dining room with Duke, his fluffy camel-colored cat, in his arms. Kyle could hear the cat purring from several feet away. Coastie, Jay’s Brittany Spaniel, and constant companion, trotted beside him looking every bit as intelligent and vigilant as Kyle knew her to be.

Jay smiled at Kyle. “Hey, there’s our hero. Just saw the story on the news again this morning.”

Kyle gave his head a shake of bemused exasperation.

“Heard you got the job,” Jay said, and Kyle appreciated that his brother-in-law understood that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Not that he ever had. “Welcome to the civilian life of the gainfully employed.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Sucks for me though—no more free labor.”

“Not exactly free.” Kyle had been filling most of his days by working with Jay on construction jobs. Ironically, he now knew his brother-in-law, whom he’d only met a month ago, better than he did his sister. “I appreciate you guys letting me bunk here.”

Jay waved off the thanks. “I have an old Coast Guard buddy who works for Dahlia. I’ve heard the pay is outstanding.”

Mia let out a quiet sigh.

Kyle nodded at Jay. “It is.”

“What’s outstanding pay?” Lanie, Jay’s sixteen-year-old sister, strolled into the room.

“Kyle’s new job with Dahlia International.” This came from Levi who, enviably, had finished his omelet and moved on to a bowl of fruit.

“What is that, like a florist?” Laney gave Kyle a doubtful frown. “Retiring from the military is one thing. Taking up flower arranging is altogether another. That’s a total waste of your soldiering skills, Uncle Kyle.”

Kyle laughed. Soon after meeting him, Laney had started calling him “Uncle Kyle,” declaring that she’d always wanted a “cool uncle.” Kyle had no idea how he’d passed the cool test with these teens, but he already adored them both.

Levi chuckled and answered, “Dahlia International is not a florist, Lanes. It’s the fourth largest military security and intelligence contractor in the world. Kyle will be working security detail.”

In the short time, Kyle had been in Pacific Cove he’d been continually amazed by Levi’s maturity and intellect. Studious, thoughtful, responsible, he reminded Kyle of Mia when they were growing up. He even wanted to be a veterinarian.

Hands on hips, Laney gave Kyle the stare-down. “So that means you’ll still be in combat-type situations, right?”

Kyle tried not to smile. Laney, on the other hand, was more like him: confident, adventurous, athletic, but also fearless in a way that might border on reckless if not kept in check. She’d quizzed him relentlessly about his life as a SEAL. No matter how much he downplayed combat and tried not to glamorize it, Laney remained fascinated. Just like he’d been by his dad and all things military.

“Not as much,” he answered carefully.

“I still wish you’d teach me how to handle a firearm. Jay’s not comfortable doing it.”

Mia’s frown deepened. Laney’s interest in military life, and with him, seemed to irritate Mia.

Laney often talked about joining the military or law enforcement, with the FBI or CIA as her ultimate goal. Kyle thought with the years of life experience college would bring, she’d be an excellent candidate for the profession.

“That’s because a professional instructor would be best. There are classes you can take.”

“Yes! A class is a great idea.”

Mia went wide-eyed and pinned a glare on Kyle.

Yep, it was entirely possible he’d worn out his welcome. The timing seemed right to get out of Mia’s hair, not to mention that it would be nice to have his own space at Harper’s, even if it was only temporary.

“Hey, Annie Oakley,” Nora said, stepping out of the kitchen and grinning at Laney. “You want pepitas in your omelet?”

And ham. Unlimited access to bacon and ham would also be a bonus.


CHAPTER FOUR (#u496a3028-99e2-5614-9042-5decaba74d2b)

NOT ONLY WAS it not in Kyle’s nature to panic, the navy had honed his tactical response to one of logic and action. Granted, he’d never been in this specific situation before…unable to locate the woman he’d been hired to protect.

After breakfast with his family, he’d collected his stuff, which consisted of a backpack, a duffel bag, a suitcase and a cardboard box. The first two pieces he’d loaded into his vintage, someday-to-be-restored pickup. The remaining items he’d stowed at his mom’s apartment before driving to his new place of employment where he arrived a half hour before the agreed upon meeting time.

Kyle assessed Harper’s house again and approved of the fact that while spacious and well-kept, nothing about the older, two-story beachfront home screamed ostentatious. It was painted an attractive dove gray with frosty-white trim. The large lot provided privacy and plenty of space but not enough to draw undue attention. No one would guess the daughter of a billionaire lived here.

Harper had given him the key to his temporary residence the night before, so he let himself inside the guest cottage next door. With one spacious bedroom, and an open kitchen, dining, living area, the space reminded him of a swanky bungalow at a fancy resort. He was pleased to discover that it was fully stocked with household essentials.

To pass the time, he placed a shortcut to Harper’s cell phone on his home screen and then played with her security app. He made a list of topics to cover with her over the next few days. When 8:37 rolled around with no word from her, an uneasy feeling began to creep over him. He tapped the icon to call her phone; it went straight to voice mail. Five minutes later, he tried again. He left a message and followed that immediately with a text. After an additional five minutes passed without a response, he pulled up the app again and checked the security footage from that morning.

Within seconds, he was watching Harper leave her house via the back door, the time display glowing 6:21 a.m. Why hadn’t she called or texted to let him know she was going somewhere? More to the point, why hadn’t she called or texted to let him know she’d be late for their meeting? Why wasn’t she answering his calls now?

Kyle reviewed the footage carefully, looking for clues as to where she might have gone. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but the deck was lit with well-placed motion lights. A daypack was secured on her shoulders, visible when she turned and paused briefly outside the door, locking it, he assumed. She paused for a moment before turning away from the door, and then hurried toward the set of stairs leading down to the beach where she disappeared from sight.

None of these actions would be causing him much concern if she’d answer her phone. Because if she’d simply gone out for a morning stroll on the beach, why wouldn’t she pick up? He called again, and again it went straight to voice mail.

Internal alarm bells now ringing loudly, Kyle grabbed his sweatshirt and headed out the door. The air was thick with mist. Slipping the garment on while jogging down the steps, he quickly realized he should have worn his rain jacket. At the bottom, he discovered the thick fluffy sand littered with footprints. He could see that most of them appeared to be roughly the same size, suggesting they were Harper’s, but the varying age of the tracks told him this was the accumulation of days and days of excursions onto the beach. Toward the ocean, where the softer sand turned firmer, he could make out a fresh set of prints more distinctly outlined than the rest and heading south.

He followed the tracks. The unmistakable scent of the beach’s many tide-swept offerings drifted around him on the damp air, fish, seaweed and assorted moldering marine detritus. The combination was distinctive and familiar. The son of an ambitious navy officer meant his family had moved often, but they’d never lived far from the ocean. For most of his life, the beach had been his playground and his livelihood.

The wide expanse of sand appeared deserted. Jagged rocks jutted here and there, many the size of cars and larger. With the tide out, each monolith would now harbor tide pools, trapping marine animals and luring hungry seabirds looking for an easy catch. They were also a draw for curious tourists. And the perfect place for some ill-intentioned kidnapper to lurk around and snatch an unsuspecting billionaire’s daughter. Concern gathering rapidly now, Kyle took off running along the wave line, following the tracks.

Minutes into his search, he cursed himself for not bringing binoculars. It was bad enough that his very first morning on the job he’d lost his subject. Being unprepared was inexcusable. In the field, it could get you killed. In this case, it could get Harper killed, and that would be worse.

The mist had turned to drizzle and soaked his sweatshirt through. His blue jeans were already heavy with moisture and sticking to his skin. A swirling haze of light fog rolled in from the ocean, cutting the visibility. Water droplets trickled along his scalp and down the back of his neck. As a SEAL he was no stranger to cold and discomfort, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

Kyle estimated he’d jogged about a mile when the tracks veered off up the beach, ending at a rockier patch above the shoreline. He stopped to check his phone again. Then he turned a full circle before heading east toward the heavily wooded area between the beach and the highway. He decided to continue that way, although he knew she could have traversed the rocks before veering back down to the beach. She could have hiked into the forest. The coastline was littered with caves and rocky outcroppings. She could have ventured into one of those, as well.

Before reaching the tree line, he picked up her tracks again heading north on a distinct trail. As he started to jog, his phone rang in his hand. Harper’s name flashed on the display.

“Harper,” he answered, “where are you?”

“At home,” she said like there was no other place she could possibly be.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly, sounding almost confused. “I’m fine.”

Kyle exhaled a relieved breath. “I called you. Why didn’t you answer?”

“Yeah…” she drawled, “I just now saw your calls and text. I was on the beach with my phone off. I keep it off when I’m working.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Um, I started doing it because the ringing disturbs wildlife. Even the sound of it on vibrate can startle an animal. A few years ago, I missed a shot of an osprey that still haunts me. Birds are called flighty for a reason,” she quipped. “It’s become a habit.”

That made sense. But they would have to figure out a better system than her turning her phone off. Until then, she needed to not take off without him.

“Where are you?” she asked. “I knocked on your door when I got back. Your pickup is here, but you’re not, are you?”

“I am not.”

“Oh, good.” She sounded relieved and completely clueless about what she’d just put him through. “I thought I was late. Would you like a cup of coffee when you get here? I don’t know if there’s any in the guesthouse.”

“Yes, I would like coffee. Harper, why did you sneak out of your house at six thirty in the morning without telling me where you’re going? Or at least letting me know you’d be late.”

A spark of surprised laughter crackled in his ear. “I didn’t sneak. And I left you a note.”

“A note?”

“I left a note on my door. You didn’t see it?”

A note? Not a good idea. Kyle silently added note writing to his list of topics to cover. “I did not.”

“Ah. That’s why it was still here. I thought you’d come to the door if you got here before I came back.”

A soaking wet, cold, extremely relieved and mildly exasperated Kyle stood in the rain, shaking his head. This really wasn’t her fault. He let out a small sigh. “I would have done that, but I didn’t want to wake you if you were still sleeping.”

“That’s very thoughtful. If I weren’t a photographer, I’d appreciate the gesture, but I’m usually up at the crack of dawn. You know, because of the morning light.”

Morning light. Sure. Unquestionably a learning curve here, for both of them. At this moment, mostly him. Memorizing her schedule would be a good place to start. “Don’t go anywhere else. I’ll be there in ten minutes or less.”

Kyle hung up, hurriedly picked his way across the rocks to the sand and started running in the direction from which he’d come.






ROUGHLY TEN MINUTES LATER, Kyle’s knock coincided with the sound of the back door opening.

“Harper?” he called. “It’s me, Kyle.”

Harper chuckled softly because who else would it be? “In here,” she called from the kitchen.

Kyle stepped into the room looking serious and gloomy, which was a little disappointing. She’d been hoping for the lighthearted guy she’d gotten a glimpse of the evening before.

Sweeping a hand toward the back door where he’d just entered, he said, “The door was unlocked.”

His shoes squeaked on the tile as he moved closer and that’s when she noticed his disheveled state. “You are soaking wet.” She eyed him up and down. “Where have you been?”

“Harper,” he said, ignoring her question, “you need to keep your doors locked at all times.”

“But I was expecting you. Were you on the beach? What were you doing out there with no jacket? Aren’t you cold? Do you need a towel?”

With a deliberate tone he answered, “Yes, I was on the beach. I have no jacket because I left in a hurry. No, I am not cold because I was running while searching for you.”

Opening her mouth to reply, she quickly closed it again as she realized what had just transpired. She breathed out an “Oh.” Then, squelching a chuckle, she added, “I’m sorry. That explains all the calls. I was thinking, wow, he is super impatient to start bodyguarding me.”

He didn’t laugh. But he did take another step closer, and she was able to get her best look yet at those dark brown eyes. Framed with inky black lashes, they weren’t quite as monochromatic as she’d initially thought. You just had to be close to see the subtle swirls of color. A droplet of water trickled down his cheek. She stared at the spot, a bit mesmerized by it, and maybe by him a little, too. Was he so numb he couldn’t feel it? He had to be freezing, and he’d ignored her towel question. A muscle twitched in his jaw. She wondered if he was cold or irritated. Both, she guessed from the tight lines along his face.

“I was worried. I didn’t see your note, which we will circle back to in a moment.”

Worried? A warm feeling radiated outward from her core. Of course, he was worried, Harper, that’s his job now. So why did hearing him say the words give her the feels? Ridiculous. Possibly she’d been living this semi-isolated existence for too long. Probably, she needed to make some friends, too.

“I should have kept my phone on, but I was taking photos and I…” Another drop rolled down his cheek, forming on his chin. She couldn’t take it. Reaching across the counter, she tore a wad of paper towels off the roll, hesitated for half a second before gently dabbing one on the spot and handing them over. “There, that had to be driving you crazy.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I can understand why you were concerned. I should probably tell you that I don’t really like my phone. I’m one of those people who wishes I didn’t have one even as I relish the convenience.” Pulling one shoulder up into a shrug, she added, “It’s hypocritical, I know. Instagram is good for my business.”

Paper towels in hand, he stared back, studying her, his sharp, impossibly dark eyes traveling over her face while his mouth formed a little frown above the sharp angles of his square jaw. Harper imagined that he probably hadn’t needed any other weapon in the military, that expression alone could scare the enemy to death. Fortunately for her, she wasn’t easily intimidated. Her upbringing had been good for that; her father’s work, notoriety and travels, his habit of bringing her along with him everywhere and all over the world, had subjected her to all types of people, including commanding military types like the one standing before her.

“Thank you,” he said softly, before dipping his head to mop his face. Then he looked at her again. “If you turn your phone off, then not only can you not be reached, it can’t be easily tracked if you get lost or hurt. Surely, you know that? Doesn’t it have a do not disturb option?”

“Yes, I do know that. I’ve been living here alone for a few months now, and I guess I’m a little out of practice.” She felt herself wincing. She needed to lay it all out on the line so that he could help her. “No, you know what? That’s not it. To be honest, I’ve never felt like I needed protection. Not personally, I mean. My dad is the one who’s in the spotlight.” She took a step forward. “Growing up, we always had a security system, and I went through the motions, you know so that I could get in the house.” She added a little laugh. He didn’t join in. She sighed. “But I probably didn’t take it as seriously as I should have. And this highly controversial stuff with my dad didn’t start until I was in college. That’s when he got a full-time security detail. During the last few years, I was overseas a lot.”

“I understand that.” He paused to nod, taking a couple of breaths while he was at it. “Let’s consider these lessons one and two.” He held out his thumb to count. “Cell phone on, number one. And number two is a habit you should never ever relinquish. I don’t care who you are. I’d tell my sister the same thing, and she’s not a billionaire’s daughter whose dad was almost assaulted.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yes.”

“Is she—”

“Stay with me here,” he interrupted with an impatient shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter where you are or who you’re with—you keep the door locked. And don’t answer the door if you don’t know who it is like you did for me yesterday, okay? I don’t care if you see the cable guy, the UPS man or a little old lady holding a giant bouquet of flowers.”

“Got it.”

“Not even if Santa Claus is standing out there on your porch do you open that door.”

Nodding, she set her tone to overly serious, “That fat guy can take his bag of gifts somewhere else. What a weirdo.” She swiped a careless hand through the air. “Who wants presents and flowers anyway?”

The chuckle that escaped his lips seemed to surprise him. He shook his head, but his mouth remained curled at the corners like he was fighting a grin. The struggle appeared real, and Harper felt an inordinate amount of satisfaction at causing it.

“I’m serious,” he said, his expression turning stern again.

“I know you are and so am I. Despite my…jokiness, I do want to know this stuff. I understand the value. I appreciate your efforts already, and I’m committed to changing my habits.”

“Good. Then we’re going to talk about your note-writing venture, as well. Why would you leave a note on your door letting everyone know where you are?”

Harper didn’t miss the implication. Holding up a finger, she countered, “I didn’t say where I was, only that I was gone and would be back in time for our meeting.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult to look in the garage and discover that your vehicle is here. Anyone could deduce that you were on the beach, wait here for you and—”

“Except,” Harper interrupted with another finger point, “the security system covers the entire property and would alert me that someone was on my property.” If she only knew how to use that feature, she was sure it would come in real handy. But Kyle didn’t know that she didn’t know.

“You didn’t have your phone on, so how would you get the alert?”

Busted. “If you were a bad guy, you wouldn’t know that.”

“Harper—”

“Fine, I see your point. No more notes.”

Bobbing his head slowly, as if he wasn’t sure whether he could trust her sincerity, he said, “Talk to me directly, okay? Which brings up another point, we’ll figure out a code word or phrase when we’re talking or texting so that in a potential emergency situation, I know it’s you and you know it’s me and that you are, or aren’t, under duress. We’ll also come up with an ‘I’m okay’ wave or hand signal as well as distress signals.”

Yikes. “All right.”

“I’m going to go change. I’ll be right back.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Hot.”

He left, and Harper heaved out a breath, grateful for a moment to gather her wits. She retrieved a towel and wiped up the water Kyle had tracked inside. At the back door, she noticed her shoes had made a puddle, too, so she opened the door and set them outside. She headed back to the kitchen where she poured coffee into two mugs and wondered what she’d gotten herself into. She’d barely sat down in the living room when Kyle returned, scowling again, she noted with disappointment.

She’d just taken her first sip of coffee when he said, “The door was unlocked again.” He gestured in the general direction of the back door. “I locked it behind me.”

Harper choked on the liquid, and after a nice long cough, she wheezed, “You’re joking, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But you were coming right back!”

His response was another menacing stare.

“Wait, were you testing me somehow? Did you leave on purpose to see what I’d do?”

“No! I was soaking wet. Harper…” With a quick shake of his head, he took a seat across from her. Leaning forward, he placed his forearms on his thighs. “This is not a test. It’s a lifestyle.”

“All right. I get it. From now on, I will lock you out every single chance I get.”

“You can’t lock me out, I have a key, but I promise you I will relish using it.”

She chuckled, but he held fast to his serious face. Why did she take that as a challenge?

He said, “For today, let’s start with your schedule. Can you give me a copy of your weekly schedule?”

“No.” What did he think, she was a dentist or an accountant where she could list her hours and appointment times? At his frown, she explained, “That would literally be impossible. I’m a photographer. My schedule varies a lot. Right now, I’m taking photos for a book about the Oregon Coast so it’s all about the scenery and wildlife.”

“Right.” Kyle nodded, looking thoughtful. “Let’s do it day by day, then. Can you give me a schedule each morning? Write down what you’re going to do that day, and we’ll talk about all the ways we’re going to make sure you’re the safest you can be while you do them.”

“Uh, I can try, but it’s—”

“Great,” he interrupted. “Can you do that now? Give me your schedule for today, and we’ll get started?”

Taking care not to let her exasperation show, she answered, “Sure.” Better to show him anyway. She stood and walked into the kitchen where she scrawled a few lines on a notepad before tearing off the page. Back in the living room she handed it over and resumed her seat. “Here you go.”

Kyle bent his head and studied the words. Across the top, she’d written the date and underlined it. Underneath that she’d added, “Office Work—8:37 a.m.—until I get hungry (usually around 11:30).”

Keeping his chin down, he looked up at her, eyebrows raised in question. If Harper knew him better, she might describe the expression as sardonic. Possibly, he was amused.

“Like I was trying to explain earlier, my life is currently focused on the scenery and wildlife, which revolves around the weather. And I’m sure you know how unpredictable the weather is here on the coast. When the weather is good, I’m out taking photos in the mornings and again in the late afternoon and sometimes into the evening. Or I might be out all day.”

“Where is out, usually?”

“Oh, that varies, too. It can be right down here on the beach or hiking in the woods or the middle of town—or some other town or interesting location along the coast. Occasionally, people book me for photo shoots. I’ve been traveling to the various lighthouses and historic buildings and forts. I take an occasional boat trip up a river or out on the ocean. Today is simpler because of the rain. But if the weather clears, which it’s supposed to do this afternoon, then…” She broke off with a helpless shrug.

“Okay,” he answered, and Harper knew he was trying to absorb this information. She wondered if he was regretting taking the job at all. “We’ll just worry about today for now. What is office work, exactly?”

“Today, it’s editing photos, returning emails and bookkeeping.” She made a show of checking the time on her fitness tracker. “In fact, I better get going. It’s 9:22. Shoot, I’m late.”

His eyes lit with something she couldn’t quite identify while the left side of his mouth curved up. She already liked that side because she’d learned it was a sign that he was fighting a smile, elusive as it was. Harper decided she better cut her losses before he lectured her again about taking all this safety stuff seriously. Which she was, truly. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to provoke him into lightening up like this.

He cleared his throat. “So, after lunch…?”

“I’ll update the schedule for you then, or even before that if it stops raining.” With that, she added a wink, pushed to her feet and took her coffee cup off the end table. Then she sauntered down the hall and into her office where she shut the door behind her with a soft click. Once safely ensconced within the room, she spun a circle and sighed a huge breath of relief. Despite her determination to not let Kyle Frasier intimidate her, he made her feel…something. Some things





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