Chapter Four

Beau

I could have kissed her.

We were standing that close.

The chair behind my desk at Bennett Inc.’s offices—my offices—doesn’t creak when I lean back, though I almost wish it would. I’m counting on small things to keep me rooted to reality these days.

These days. It’s been two days since I saw her, and the nagging feeling won’t go away. It won’t go away no matter how many miles I run on the treadmill at the gym, or how many acquisitions reports I demand from my CEOs, or how many dinners I plan with the group. West always wants to go to the strip club. I’m normally the least interested in that kind of outing, but I agreed last night to keep my mind off her.

Off it. Off the hotel.

I could have gone with her for coffee after the intimacy of her body pressed against mine. What was I doing, turning her down like that? She might not be the kind of woman I’d want long-term, but even so . . .

“Linda,” I call out.

My secretary, Linda, a woman in her early fifties with elegantly coifed blonde hair that’s going gray and the smartest collection of skirt suits I’ve ever seen, appears almost instantly in the doorway to my office. “Mr. Bennett?”

“Tea, please.”

She gives a graceful nod and steps away. Linda understands me. She might be American, but she knows the value of respect. Of dignity. Of peace.

It had been a matter of inches. Seconds, really, to bend down and claim her mouth with mine.

I’m still dwelling on the particular sweeping blue of her eyes and the way her mouth turned upward into a smile when Linda returns with the tea. Not a big fake American smile. A real smile, with something behind it. A secret?

“Thank you,” I tell her.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Bennett?”

Yes. Find Annabel Forester, and bring her here. I want to know more about her. I want to know everything about her. I want to watch her push that ridiculous hair behind her ear and see that impish smile. Before lunch, if you would.

If remembering her causes me this much of a distraction, seeing her in person again would be even worse.

“No, Linda, that’ll be all.”

The phone on my desk rings. Linda turns on her heel and moves to the door. She steps through and pulls it closed behind her, all before the second ring has concluded. I look at the screen on the handset. Oh, thank God. Something to take my mind off all of this nonsense.

I snatch up the handset. “Bennett.”

“Mr. Bennett, what do you have planned for this afternoon?”

Edgar Sykes technically works for the Department of Foreign Affairs, but everyone at the White House and on Capitol Hill knows he has connections everywhere. The last three presidents have trusted him with more-than-sensitive tasks. There are some people you can’t have parading down Pennsylvania Avenue in plain sight. There are others you need to protect at any cost, and often that involves hiding them in plain sight. Edgar Sykes has been managing to do that for years, and this year is no exception.

He’s calling me because in order to have secure places for people, whether it’s the president or any number of foreign dignitaries with classified information, you need property.

Not a bad position to be in.

I focus all of my attention on Edgar, pushing Annabel Forester out of my mind completely. I cannot afford to be imagining the curve of her hips underneath that gray blazer she wore the other day or the way she smelled—clean and bright, like sunshine somehow—when she flung her arms around me. “I have meetings,” I tell Edgar. “But they can be rescheduled.”

“Good,” he booms. For a man who deals with the country’s most sensitive secrets, he’s exceedingly loud. “There’s a plane waiting for you at LaGuardia. It’ll take off as soon as you’re ready to go.”

There are no more questions to ask. Whatever Edgar wants to talk to me about, he’ll tell me in person. This is a secure line, but why take the risk?

“Two hours.”

“See you then.” There’s an abrupt click as he ends the call.

It’ll probably be an afternoon meeting. There’s probably no reason to stop by the Pearl to put my mind at ease about the state of the new renovations—

“No,” I say out loud. It’s enough to summon Linda.

The door swings open. “Did you call, Mr. Bennett?”

I breathe deep before I speak. “My afternoon meetings will need to be rescheduled.” That’s the first thing that needs to be done. “I have another engagement. Have my car sent around.” I bend to pull open the bottom drawer of my desk. It’s wide enough to fit my traveling briefcase. In case of a meeting going long, I keep a set of the essentials in the briefcase. A clean shirt and underthings. A book. I could send someone out for something, but my shirts are tailored by my family’s man in Britain, and even my best assistants have trouble choosing something at the local store I’d want to read.

I close the drawer and rise from my chair, still not allowing myself to think about Annabel. Not about the way the sunlight played over her hair and how much that shock of pink at the tips made me stifle a groan. Yet the more I looked at it, the more it made me want to ask her about it. Perhaps over dinner, or drinks at the club we belong to.

“Is there anything else, Mr. Bennett?” Linda is ready to spring to action. I can see it in the way she stands.

Find Annabel Forester, and tell her to meet me out front. I’ll take her with me on an afternoon trip to Washington, DC. She could accompany me to dinner at that restaurant I like—the one that overlooks the Potomac. At the very least, find her, because I want to know where she is.

I grab my phone from the desk and slip it into my pocket. “It seems like a shame to waste the tea. Put it in a to-go mug?”