Grudgingly, she handed it over and let out a little strangled sound filled with irritation when he pocketed it instead of handing it back. Ten minutes later—after Rachel had reluctantly added him to her list of approved visitors at the reception desk in the foyer—they were in her apartment. And it was just as spectacular as he’d envisioned.
Set in a part of Knightsbridge that overlooked Hyde Park, it allowed her to call Kensington Palace her neighbors. Rachel owned one of two split-level penthouses with uninterrupted views of the city, the park, and royalty.
The vast open-plan living area, with its polished dark wooden floors and thick white rugs, paled in comparison to the views framed by the floor to ceiling windows. And, even better, good sound insulation meant they couldn’t hear the endless London traffic far beneath them. It was an oasis of decadence right in the center of one of the world’s busiest cities.
She’d furnished the large living space with overstuffed sofas in shades of white and cream. But the different textures that made up the upholstery meant they didn’t seem spartan. The cream walls were decked with contemporary art; she seemed to have a thing for huge, bright abstract paintings.
By the window was a baby grand piano and an oversized armchair. A handknitted blanket in cream, of course, was thrown over it. A book lay on the seat. Rachel’s reading nook, maybe. Apart from that, no personal mementos or photos cluttered up the place. Rachel obviously liked clean lines and plenty of space.
“Have you finished psychoanalyzing me based on my home?” she asked as she strode into the room.
“Not quite. Got to see the rest of the place first before I come to any conclusions.” Harvard dropped his bag on the thick rug by the sofa and turned. He stopped dead. “A red kitchen?” Not just red. The cabinets were a lacquered red: the shade of blood. “Inviting,” he muttered, wondering if she cooked in it or just dissected things.
“You don’t need to stay here if you don’t like it.” Rachel strolled past him and into the kitchen from hell. “Wine?” She reached into the wine rack against the far wall and took out a bottle of red, then grabbed two glasses from the cabinet behind her.
“Red wine?” He looked around. “In this apartment? You like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
“No. I like to live alone.”
He stifled a chuckle as he peeked into the dining area off the kitchen. It held a large wooden table, stained black, and red upholstered chairs. “Do you eat in there, or just drink blood?”
“Vampire jokes? How very ordinary.” She sashayed toward him, handed him a glass of wine, then kept on walking. “Since there appears to be no getting rid of you, I’ll show you to your room.” She flashed a dark look over her shoulder. “We aren’t sharing.”
Yeah, he hadn’t thought they would be. Sipping the wine, which wasn’t half bad, but still wasn’t beer, he followed her along the hallway from the living room.
Rachel pointed at doors as they passed. “Study, lavatory, cloakroom, laundry room.” They turned a corner. “The pool is up those stairs.” She pointed to a short staircase in the corner. “You’ll find extra bathing suits in the closet.”
“Pool?” In London? Was it an ice rink six months of the year?
“It’s indoors, heated, and on the small side. But it suffices.” She strode up the steps and opened the door, so he could look inside. And sure enough, there was a decent-sized pool with a small bar in one corner and several seats and loungers dotted around.
“I can only imagine how hard it is to have to make do.”
Her lips twitched, but instead of smiling, she sipped her wine.
“Is that a gnome?” He stepped into the room, grinning at the giant concrete gnome perched on the edge of the pool as though fishing in it. “Doesn’t exactly go with the rest of your décor.”
“My brother, Sebastian, gave it to me for my birthday. It was his idea of a joke. As soon as I get around to it, I’ll have it deposited at the bottom of the Thames, where it belongs.”
Harvard suspected she’d take years to get around to it and wondered how long it had been there already. He didn’t plan to ask though; there was no way Rachel would admit to being sentimental over a gift.
They left the pool room and Rachel led him to a set of stairs that headed downward, winding around until they stopped in a short hallway. There were four doors.
She pointed to the one farthest away. “That leads out to the fire escape stairway and service elevator. There’s a small entryway beyond that door that I never use. Both the interior door and the one leading into the rest of the building are locked and alarmed.” She cocked a thumb over her shoulder to the door behind her. “That’s my bedroom.” She stepped past him and threw open the door nearest Harvard. “This will be your room.”
Harvard entered to find that it was decorated in yet more shades of cream. There was a king-sized bed, which, thankfully, meant he wouldn’t be sleeping with his feet hanging off the end, a desk and chair, a dresser, and two armchairs positioned by the window but angled for a view of the TV facing the bed.
“Bathroom is through there.” She indicated one of the doors. “The other door is to the closet.”
“Thanks,” he said. “What’s on the other side of the last door on this floor?”
“Just another guest room that looks much like this one. I keep some exercise equipment in there, but I rarely use it. I prefer the pool.”
“Mind if I check it out?” He headed back into the hallway.
“Be my guest. Oh wait, I’d have to have invited you for that to apply.”
He grinned as he stuck his head inside the other bedroom. It was almost identical to his, but with a treadmill and elliptical trainer instead of armchairs. “You okay if I set up this room as command center? Whiteboards and computers, that sort of thing.”
“Do whatever you like. Just be invisible while you do it.” She turned toward her bedroom, clearly done with him for the day.
“Are you going to show me your room?” he couldn’t resist asking.
“Yes.” She opened her door. “I’ve penciled that in for right after I apologize to Ryan. I’ll see you in the morning, which thrills me no end.” And then she closed the door in his face.
Chapter Nine
Three days later, the team congregated around Rachel’s dining table to discuss their progress—which, to Harvard’s dismay, wasn’t a whole lot.
“Are any of you listening to me?” Ryan said, showing the irritation everyone else felt. “Or am I wasting my time giving my report?”
“I’m listening.” Harvard reached for his beer, which sat in front of him on the dining room table.
As had been the case for the past three days, Rachel sat as far away from Harvard as possible and pretended he was invisible. Oh, she was polite enough when they met in the hallway or drove to work together. And she was polite in front of her colleagues and workmates at TayFor. Yeah, she was very polite. What she wasn’t being was what everybody expected a fiancée to be, and that worried him.
“And?” Ryan demanded as he reached for the bag of chips and proceeded to demolish them. “What do you think?”