Hart Attack (Titan Book 7) by Cristin Harber

Author:Cristin Harber [Harber, Cristin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, military romance, Romantic Suspense, Contemporary romance, Erotic Romance, CIA, espionage, Titan Group
Publisher: Mill Creek Press
Published: 2014-11-18T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Bacon and eggs sizzled in the background. The air smelled like grease and dishwater. Chatter churned around them as Roman stabbed the waffle on his plate. The last hour had been spent in near silence, but he looked less like a homicidal maniac, so there had been progress.

Some. Not a ton. Beth had decided the Waffle House waitress didn’t know what to do with him. He was too attractive to ignore, but he emanated attitude. Plus, they were both dressed in black, clearly on the way home from a funeral. So the whole scene had to be confusing.

The poor waitress ventured back. “Want some more coffee, honey?”

He ignored her.

“I think we’re good,” Beth offered. “Just the check.”

The woman popped a piece of gum, tore off their ticket, and smiled. “Pay up front when you’re ready. No rush.”

Other than ordering waffles, Roman hadn’t said two words since the funeral. He hadn’t stuck around to talk to anyone, just bee-lined for the car. And when Beth had parked in the Waffle House’s lot, he had gotten out silently and headed into the restaurant.

He could stay quiet, as long as he stayed. When their fingers had found each other, it was a solace. He couldn’t say it, and she would never ask about it. But she’d somehow known that he needed her. The undeniable, unflappable man who she needed more and more had a weakness, and she’d helped him survive. That made her heart swell. Not that she’d ever admit it.

“You ready?” she asked.

He stood, his non-answer giving enough of one that she followed. Roman grabbed the check, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a hundred-dollar bill with the slip of paper at the register.

Grabbing Beth’s hand, he tugged her into the parking lot. “Give me your keys.”

Her forehead pinched as she stared at him.

“Please. Give me your keys.”

Beth dug them out of her purse and put them in his large hand. He walked them to her obnoxious car, put her in the confines of her passenger seat, and headed around the front. His face was drawn as he studied the pocked asphalt, and she wished he would say… anything.

The slam of his door echoed in her ear, then Roman revved the Lexus’s engine, spinning tires out of the parking lot.

“Whoa.” Look at her little eco-Lexus go. It wasn’t the right time to smile, but she couldn’t help herself.

Roman floored it, redlining it, and probably sending an alert somewhere that she was in a car chase. The CIA didn’t give you a car if they weren’t going to monitor it.

After a dozen hairpin turns that knocked a few years off her life, Roman went from not-so-populated roads to deep-woods back roads. Before Beth knew it, they were screeching around wooded corners as if in a Formula One event, spitting gravel as they summited hills and tummy flipping down hollows. If this was how he needed to release tension, then she could allow him to let it out. There was nothing like a practice round of escape-and-evade training to blow off steam.

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