Chapter Twenty-Three
Harvard woke up to a very naked Rachel draped across him and the sound of buzzing coming from the apartment intercom. Gently shifting her onto the mattress beside him, he reached over to answer the buzzing phone.
“Yup?” Rubbing a hand down his face, he glanced at the clock and noted it was seven a.m. It was a sleep-in for him. Usually he’d have been up, running and working out hours earlier. Yeah, he could get used to waking up late with Rachel.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” the concierge said, “but I thought you’d like some warning that Mr. Harry Boyle is on his way up.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Boyle has a key, and we have standing instructions from Ms. Ford-Talbot that he may enter her apartment at will.”
Obviously, the guy thought Rachel’s other lover was about to walk in on them. “Thanks. Harry’s welcome anytime. I appreciate the heads-up though.”
“Of course,” the man said before ending the call.
Harvard swiveled around to see Rachel lying on her front, her hair covering her face. The smooth, pale skin of her back proved too much of a temptation, and he stroked a caress down its length. Next time they made love, he was going to concentrate on her back, and the round, plump curves of her ass. His dick liked that idea a whole lot and decided it was time for it to wake up too.
With a sigh of regret, he gently shook her shoulder. “Rachel, time to wake up. Harry will be here in a couple of minutes.”
“Go away,” she mumbled into her pillow.
“Rachel, Harry’s coming. You need to get up.”
“Don’t care if the Queen’s coming. Need to sleep.”
He ran a hand over the curve of her hip. “He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have something important to tell us.”
“Unless he’s got coffee, I don’t care.” She brought her hands up to clutch her pillow, as though worried he’d take it from her.
It was tempting to do what his mom had done when he wouldn’t get out of bed as a teen. A glass of cold water over your head once or twice was enough to sort that problem right out. But having just managed to get Rachel to admit they were an item, he didn’t want to kill the buzz by enraging her. Looked like he’d have to deal with Harry on his own.
Harvard stepped into yesterday’s pants, leaving the button undone, and reached for his phone—only to remember it was still in the guest room. Along with his gun. Some bodyguard he was turning out to be. Rachel had scrambled his brain.
He’d intended to run upstairs and get Harry settled, then return to the guest room to shower and change, but thumping on their bedroom door blew that plan to hell.
Throwing it open, he did a double take when he found not only Harry but also Elle and Ryan standing in the hallway. There was no way of hiding the sight of Rachel asleep and naked on the bed behind him. He could only be thankful that the sheet covered past her hips.
“You totally slept with each other,” Ryan said. “That’s not fair. We dissolved the bet, and I had a grand in it. I would have made a bomb.” He glared at Harvard. “You owe me.”
Meanwhile, Elle seemed particularly focused on his bare chest. Her hand came up and she reached for him. “Can I? Can I just touch?”
“No!” Ryan pushed her arm back down. “And stop drooling. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“But, he’s so pretty.” She batted her lashes at Harvard. “You don’t mind if I have a little touch, do you?”
“I do,” came the muffled shout from the bed. “Now, everybody, get the hell out of my bedroom.”
“Rachel?” Harry looked up from the iPad in his hand as though becoming aware of where he was standing. “Oh, good. I need to talk to you. I think I’ve found something.” And the fool actually tried to walk past Harvard and into the room.
“Later.” Harvard pushed him back out into the hallway. “First, you guys wait upstairs. Second, somebody make coffee. Third, I’ll shower and wake the beast.”
“Are you getting dressed too?” Elle asked, her eyes still on his chest.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” She sounded so disappointed that he burst out laughing.
“Go. I’ll be up in a minute. Don’t forget the coffee.” And then he jogged into the guest room.
Twenty minutes later, he was showered, shaved, and dressed for the day in jeans and a black tee. Ryan had made coffee, which was pretty damn good, and Harvard took a mug down to Rachel. She sniffed the air before sitting up, her eyes still closed and the sheet pooling at her hips.
“Gimme,” she ordered.
He placed the drink in her hands and stroked her hair. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get upstairs, or I’m bringing the team down here, and we’ll sit on your bed to debrief.”
Her eyes opened a crack. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
She cocked her head. “Now that we’re in a relationship,” she said, using the same tone that she’d use to describe inferior knock-off designer wear, “you’d think you would be nicer.”
“Funny that,” he said as he strode to the door. “Fifteen minutes.”
She opened her mouth, no doubt to dump his sorry ass.
“Nuh-uh,” Harvard said. “We talked about this. No backing out just because you woke up in a bad mood.”
When her answer was a menacing growl, Harvard left her to it, wondering if he should have brought the whole coffee pot downstairs with him instead of just one mug.
It took Rachel close to forty-five minutes to get ready, and that was rushing it for her. She dressed for the day in white wide-legged trousers with a faint cream pinstripe, a white cashmere boatneck sweater, and four-inch pumps in cream. Her hair fell in a sleek waterfall over her shoulders, and she’d painted her lips a dark red. Around her throat, she wore her grandmother’s locket, and on her wrist, a thick platinum bracelet and on her hand was the engagement ring Harvard had given her.
Every time she slipped on the ring, she felt a warming well inside her. It was exactly the type of ring she’d have chosen for herself, and strangely, wearing it made her feel like Harvard was standing right beside her, even when he wasn’t. She shook off the strange bout of sentimentality; obviously circumstances were affecting her in ways she hadn’t imagined. And she wasn’t sure what to think or do about it.
With a toss of her hair, she swept out of her bedroom, ready to face whatever came her way.
“That’s what you wear on the weekend?” Ryan said as she sailed into the kitchen.
The team, plus Harry—who looked even more disheveled than usual—were seated around her dining table. Although she kept her eyes from Harvard, the glance she stole told her that he was looking at her with open affection, laced with a heavy dose of amusement. The man obviously didn’t know what circumspect meant. Which made her wonder what exactly they taught at the famous MIT.
“You look like you’re auditioning for Christmas angel in the school play,” Ryan said.
Rachel took in his rumpled T-shirt, with its faded print promoting something she’d never heard of, and his faded jeans. “Unlike you, I don’t roll out of bed and put on the first thing I find.” She pointed at his shirt. “And that isn’t how you spell deaf or leopard.”