in the garden. Lazy jazz floated on the air from the club next door. Francesca walked to the edge of the garden and stood drinking it in. She wasn’t sure when Leonid appeared beside her, tall, thin and contemplative as he smoked a cigarette.
“Don’t tell me it’s bad for my health.” He read her disapproval. “It’s one of my few real vices.”
“I won’t, then.”
His eyes glittered with amusement. “I like that about you. This honesty you have. If you don’t say it, you can read it in your eyes.”
“It’s a curse.” Her mouth twisted. “Ever since childhood. It got me in a lot of trouble.”
“So it is.”
He was silent, puffing elegantly on the cigarette. When he finished it he tossed it to the ground and snuffed it out under his foot. “Should I sign it?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Sign what?”
He turned that hard, whiskey-colored gaze on her. “The deal. Should I sign it? Is Grant the honorable man I think him to be?”
The world closed in around her, the chatter of the crowd, the croon of the music melding together to create a buzz in her ears that seemed deafening. She didn’t want to be any part of this. She’d never wanted to be any part of this. And maybe that was what Leonid had sensed.
If she balked now, she would ruin Harrison.
She pulled in a breath, conscious of the Russian’s gaze on her face. And said the only thing her conscience would allow. “He’s a good man. I wouldn’t work for him if I didn’t think so.”
He watched her. Evaluated her. It was like being inspected by a customs official, the intensity of it. Then he nodded, an expression she couldn’t read passing through those cat’s eyes of his.
“Harasho. Let’s go inside, then.”
* * *
Harrison watched Francesca and Leonid walk back into the room together. Her face was white and pinched, tension stitching her delicate features together. It made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight.
Leonid, on the other hand, looked focused and alert. He sat down at the table and signaled for another round of vodka. Harrison’s heart pounded in his chest, drowning out everything but what was about to happen. Seven years of waiting and planning could not end in anything but success.
He sat there in agony while Kaminski engaged in small talk with Francesca as they waited for the vodka. The server came back laden with a tray of four glasses. He passed them out. Leonid lifted his glass. “Right, then,” he said, looking at Harrison. “We have a deal.”
Relief slackened every muscle in Harrison’s body. His heart slowed its frantic pace. It was done. The last piece was in place. The crystal tumbler felt heavy in his hand as he raised it, eyes on Leonid. “We have a deal.”
The vodka slid down his throat and warmed his insides. He had expected a surge of victory. For everything to feel right for the first time since he’d started this quest. Instead he felt nothing. Nothing at all except a numbness, an absence of feeling that was almost frightening in its intensity.
He distracted himself by glancing at Francesca. Her long lashes swept down over her cheeks as she took a sip of the vodka then pushed the glass away. Whatever had gone on outside had rattled her. Even in his distracted state, the glitter in her gray eyes burrowed itself beneath his skin. What had gone on between her and Leonid?
They finished the vodka. Leonid requested a fully executable contract be sent to his lawyer the following morning. If he got the green light that Harrison was sure he would because the lawyers had already scoured the document, he would sign.
He kept waiting for the euphoria to hit him. While he smiled at Leonid’s joke about missing their personal chess matches each day. As they said goodbye to the two men and climbed into the car, Francesca stopping to speak to Viktor. While he stared out at a now dark New York. It never came. Why wasn’t he on top of the world? Why didn’t the victory feel sweet instead of bittersweet? He could close in on Anton Markovic now and bring it all full circle. Make him understand his pain. Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted?
It made no sense.
He glanced at Francesca. The pinched look hadn’t left her face. If anything it was worse. “Did you let him down easy?”
She turned a conflicted gaze on him. “I told him I was hung up on someone else. It seemed nicer to do it that way.”
He wondered if she meant him. He could not deny he was more than a little hung up on her. And fighting it bitterly.
Her gaze fell away from his. He rested his head against the back of the seat. “What did Leonid say to you outside?”
Her mouth pressed into a straight line. “He asked me if he should sign the deal. If you were the honorable man he thought you were.”
His head came off the seat. Her gaze moved back to his, stark and most definitely under siege. Aristov had asked her that?
“What did you say?”
“I said you were a good man. That I wouldn’t be working for you if you weren’t.”
It had cost her integrity a great deal to say that knowing the scenario he’d painted. He closed his hand over the fist she had curled on the seat. “Thank you.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand. “It’s the truth. You are a good man.”
With a cross to bear she didn’t agree with... His hand remained closed over her fist. He fought the desire to bring it to his mouth, to press his lips to her skin until she released the tension and he could taste the salt on her skin. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he could taste her already under his mouth. But she was unavailable to him.
He released her hand before he did it. His skin pulsed with the need for more because that touch, her touch, was the only thing making him feel alive right now.
He brought his back teeth together. Fought it. Recited to himself all the reasons he couldn’t have her. Good reasons.
Derrick slid the partition open and asked, “Where first?”
He gave him Francesca’s address.
She shook her head. “We’re closer to you. I need the papers for the Detroit project to work on while you’re out in the morning. I’ll come up, get them, then Derrick can drive me home.”
It made sense. It would also get him out of this car sooner. “Fine. That works.”
Derrick stopped in the circular driveway at the side of the building. They rode the elevator to the penthouse in silence, neither of them about to address the tension and push things over the edge.
He found the papers she needed on the desk in his study and carried them out to the living room. “Text me if you need any clarification.” The delicate fingers he’d just held closed around them. Her gaze fastened on his, probing, seeking. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.”
