Keeping Her Close

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

“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!