importantly, he was going to keep pursuing Valencia until he had her where he wanted her, right there in his bed.
Chapter Seven
V alencia listened to the detective as he recounted to Harrison what she had been telling him all week. The investigation hadn’t turned up much, but it had proved that there was a bomb within the Champaign bottle. They were still processing the evidence, and wouldn’t release any information—especially not to a guy who created operas and his “girlfriend.” Detective Perry Hillcrest had told them even though he couldn’t say much he wanted Harrison to be sure he was doing everything he could to solve the mystery.
Valencia had done her part by providing the note she received that night, as well as copies of the letters Harrison had received from his highly obsessed fan. She didn’t have the originals because Drake was still working with those on his end, but she did have two copies of each of the letters that Harrison hadn’t tossed out with the trash and she could provide at least one set to the detective. Harrison was still very much content with keeping her cover, and she didn’t see a reason to argue with him. Playing the girlfriend bought her time. She came across as intelligent, but harmless. Nobody would ever know that she was protecting Harrison, or even that she was conducting her own investigation to solve this mystery. The sooner she figured out who this woman was, the sooner she stopped her, the sooner she could go home. She liked Harrison; she really did, and that’s where the problem was. She couldn’t afford to get involved with this man. She couldn’t afford to let him into her heart. But he was determined to break her down. He was determined to find his way in. The man was so infuriating sometimes. After everything that had happened he still didn’t believe he was in serious danger. Either he truly didn’t realize, or he was in denial because he carried on as if nothing happened at all; as if there wasn’t a bomb sent to him, and there was no dead young man as a result.
Kissing Harrison that one time had been a mistake. She liked it—a lot, but physically letting him know how much he turned her on was like giving him permission to try to distract her with romance when she really needed to be concentrating on the assignment, not the man. He had continued to parade her around on his arm, keeping her almost attached to his hip, and now he was taking greater liberties with his hands. He had touched her in public before, an arm around the waist, a hand on her low back, and even hand holding as they walked into the theater house, but now he was different. Now he was taking whatever opportunity he could to kiss her on the lips, to run his fingers along the nape of her neck, slowly enticing her and silently telling her, promising her, what could come if she would just surrender.
The death of the young man, David Jennings, a pre-med student at Arizona State University, had only garnered limited attention. The police hadn’t released any information as to why the bottle had exploded, just that it had and that glass had lodged in an artery and the young man bled out. They were still investigating, but to the press, for now, this was just an unfortunate accident that the police had walked away from a week ago. The news made the paper and then quickly vanished from the line of sight. She was thankful because she didn’t need to tack on reporters and want-to-be reporters to her list of people to watch while they were out. She had her hands full with the woman after Harrison with a vengeance—both of them.
Latricia clearly thought Harrison would be returning to Scottsdale alone, and that he would be returning not only for his show, but to start something more than business related with her. It would appear Valencia had been the wrench in the engine of her plan because Harrison had no intention of starting a romantic relationship with Latricia. He was too
Chapter Seven
V alencia listened to the detective as he recounted to Harrison what she had been telling him all week. The investigation hadn’t turned up much, but it had proved that there was a bomb within the Champaign bottle. They were still processing the evidence, and wouldn’t release any information—especially not to a guy who created operas and his “girlfriend.” Detective Perry Hillcrest had told them even though he couldn’t say much he wanted Harrison to be sure he was doing everything he could to solve the mystery.
Valencia had done her part by providing the note she received that night, as well as copies of the letters Harrison had received from his highly obsessed fan. She didn’t have the originals because Drake was still working with those on his end, but she did have two copies of each of the letters that Harrison hadn’t tossed out with the trash and she could provide at least one set to the detective. Harrison was still very much content with keeping her cover, and she didn’t see a reason to argue with him. Playing the girlfriend bought her time. She came across as intelligent, but harmless. Nobody would ever know that she was protecting Harrison, or even that she was conducting her own investigation to solve this mystery. The sooner she figured out who this woman was, the sooner she stopped her, the sooner she could go home. She liked Harrison; she really did, and that’s where the problem was. She couldn’t afford to get involved with this man. She couldn’t afford to let him into her heart. But he was determined to break her down. He was determined to find his way in. The man was so infuriating sometimes. After everything that had happened he still didn’t believe he was in serious danger. Either he truly didn’t realize, or he was in denial because he carried on as if nothing happened at all; as if there wasn’t a bomb sent to him, and there was no dead young man as a result.
Kissing Harrison that one time had been a mistake. She liked it—a lot, but physically letting him know how much he turned her on was like giving him permission to try to distract her with romance when she really needed to be concentrating on the assignment, not the man. He had continued to parade her around on his arm, keeping her almost attached to his hip, and now he was taking greater liberties with his hands. He had touched her in public before, an arm around the waist, a hand on her low back, and even hand holding as they walked into the theater house, but now he was different. Now he was taking whatever opportunity he could to kiss her on the lips, to run his fingers along the nape of her neck, slowly enticing her and silently telling her, promising her, what could come if she would just surrender.
The death of the young man, David Jennings, a pre-med student at Arizona State University, had only garnered limited attention. The police hadn’t released any information as to why the bottle had exploded, just that it had and that glass had lodged in an artery and the young man bled out. They were still investigating, but to the press, for now, this was just an unfortunate accident that the police had walked away from a week ago. The news made the paper and then quickly vanished from the line of sight. She was thankful because she didn’t need to tack on reporters and want-to-be reporters to her list of people to watch while they were out. She had her hands full with the woman after Harrison with a vengeance—both of them.
Latricia clearly thought Harrison would be returning to Scottsdale alone, and that he would be returning not only for his show, but to start something more than business related with her. It would appear Valencia had been the wrench in the engine of her plan because Harrison had no intention of starting a romantic relationship with Latricia. He was too
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