Keeping Her Close. Carol Ross

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

      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