Page 61 of Protecting You
When they reached the landing, he was certain they’d continue to the basement.
Bad things happened in basements.
But he was manhandled toward the living room.
“Ooh.” Alyssa’s voice carried from the hallway where she and the guard had disappeared. “This is lovely. Have you ever seen the original?”
“No.” Benson wasn’t exactly a stellar conversationalist.
Alyssa responded, but Callan didn’t pick up her words as the guard dragged Callan across the living room and shoved him toward the sunroom, hissing, “Stay there. Tell no one you left.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Do not wander again or you will be sorry.” The man swiveled and hurried back to the staircase.
Callan settled on the loveseat again, his heartbeat racing. He’d gotten lucky. Had one or both of those guys been assigned to watch the video feed? Or to watch him specifically? They were afraid enough of Ghazi to not admit their failure.
His snooping had paid off.
Though Ghazi’s dossier indicated no wife or girlfriend, there was a woman in his past he cared about enough to carry her photograph—and the lighter she’d given him—wherever he went.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
This all felt too real.
Alyssa had taken as much time in the bathroom as she could without raising suspicions, then studied every knickknack and painting she and Benson had passed on their way back to the sunroom, praying like crazy that, whatever Callan had done, he was finished.
When she stepped into the sunroom, he stood from the loveseat as if he hadn’t moved.
Only when she sat beside him did she feel the heat and tension wafting off his body.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m great.” He lowered his voice. “This place is super weird. I went back to our room for like thirty seconds, and I thought these goons were gonna beat the tar out of me. What does this guy do, anyway?”
Oh, boy. He’d been up to something, and he’d nearly gotten caught. And now he was playing the part of clueless fiancé, telling her what had happened.
“He owns multiple companies," she said. "I assume they’ve dealt with their share of corporate espionage.”
“Like I care about…whatever it is your English friend does. Give me a break.”
She gripped his wrist. His pulse raced beneath her fingertips. “I appreciate you for coming with me. I’d hate to be here alone.”
He shifted to face her. “Weird as your Sanders guy is, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Though she knew Callan’s words were for the sake of the cameras and microphones, he sounded so sincere that she almost believed him.
A few minutes later, Molly brought their meals—steak, salmon, potatoes, asparagus, and a crisp salad. Based on the lack of scents coming from the kitchen when she’d walked through the house, the food had been delivered from a restaurant.
They sat across from each other and ate the delicious meal and talked about nothing. They laughed, they joked, they flirted.
Both playing their parts.
But the more time Alyssa spent with Callan, the harder it was to remember he was pretending. She’d spent four years in college scowling at Callan as if she felt nothing but scorn for him, all the while tamping down her attraction and denying her crush. Megan had never bought it. She’d questioned Alyssa more than once about her feelings for Callan, but Alyssa had never admitted anything.
She’d barely wanted to admit it to herself.
It was impossible to deny now, though, as the man who’d barged into both her dreams and her nightmares since she was eighteen years old held a spoon filled with tiramisu over the candlelit table, eyes twinkling.
