Her Covert Protector (Rogue Protectors Book 4)
Her Covert Protector: Chapter 29

Sometimes, Nadia wondered how John put up with her shit. She could always blame her pregnancy hormones when she responded badly to his suggestion she sit out StreamCon. Later that evening, she realized that John reacted that way because he cared about her and the baby.

He had already proven his commitment to her and the baby when he’d been ready to resign his job so it wouldn’t conflict with his responsibilities toward her.

Relationships were about compromise. And knowing the kind of man John was, he appeared to be compromising a lot when it came to her. So, when he insisted she get a thorough checkup from Dr. Stahl to make sure she was physically able to run after or escape from a perp and strengthen her self-defense skills, she didn’t argue.

And now, after receiving a thumbs-up from the doctor, John had something else up his sleeve.

She stared at the text on her phone.

John: Go to our bedroom. Put on the dress in the box and be ready at six thirty.

She glanced up from her phone and stared suspiciously around the living room where Bristow and the MoMoS minus Dugal—who was still in the hospital but due to check out the next day—were assembled. Arthur and Stephen were watching television. Clyde was reading a book, and the SEAL, as usual, was on his laptop. Nadia had been with them all morning after John left to do whatever a spook did when he wasn’t catering to the whims of a pregnant girlfriend or merry old men.

The menfolk appeared to be actively ignoring her.

Hmm…

She went upstairs and headed to their bedroom. Opening the door, she looked inside. It was hard to miss.

A long fancy box on top of the bed with a shoebox beside it.

Grinning, she moved further into the room and resisted the urge to fling the box open to see its contents. She took a picture of the box and sent it to John.

Me: How did you manage to sneak this in?

John: You know what I do for a living, right?

Nadia rolled her eyes.

John: You’re rolling your eyes right now, aren’t you?

She burst out laughing and looked around for cameras.

John: No cameras in our bedroom.

Me: OMG, stop. You’re freaking me out.

Me: Seriously, how did you sneak this in?

John: Trade secret.

She shot off a tongue-out emoji and returned her attention to the boxes. She lifted the lid of the dress box, and her breath caught.

John pulled the Audi RS 5 in front of the house and got out of the sports car. In lieu of the Escalade he usually drove, he wanted to give his date with Nadia a different feel. He wanted to leave this craziness behind them for just one night. John texted Bristow, telling him to make sure Nadia didn’t meet him outside.

He was going to do this right, dammit. This wasn’t a role he was playing or a cover he was maintaining. This was real.

But he wasn’t going to ring the doorbell.

He smirked and walked right in.

The MoMoS were in the living room and looked up when he came in. Clyde and Arthur rose, a pleased look on their faces. Bristow, who had his back to the door, turned and shot him a grin. “She’s going to knock you off your feet, but you don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.” John was wearing a black designer suit, blue dress shirt, and a thin tie. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs getting ready,” Stephen said. “Arthur, can you go get her?”

Nadia’s dad got up from the couch and approached John. He still had on a sling on from where he was shot in the shoulder.

“Thank you for doing this for her,” Stephen said. “She needs a break from us.”

“Though I agree with your sentiment, my reasons are selfish,” John said. “I want her all to myself tonight.”

“Ha! Good answer, man,” Clyde said.

Stephen smiled. “You both certainly need alone time.”

He was saved from answering when movement from the stairs caught his eye.

Nadia.

Holy fuck.

As her heeled feet cleared the bottom step, she glided toward him in the black cocktail dress that caught his eye on the mannequin when he was shopping for her dress. The saleswoman called it a sweetheart neckline. It showed off her shoulders and shapely arms with her dragon tattoo on full display. The skirt was edgy yet elegant. Short in front and skating longer toward the back, it was reminiscent of the dress she wore at the club. But John realized why he liked Nadia in short skirts. It was a sin to hide her mile-long, shapely legs.

“You can pick up your jaw now,” Bristow murmured beside him.

He couldn’t even muster a comeback, because as Nadia inched closer, her radiant face simply captivated him. Her hair was twisted up in a stylish knot, with tendrils framing her oval face in just the right places, exposing her swan-like neck and reminding him of what he had in his suit.

“Hey, handsome,” she grinned up at him. John lowered his head and kissed her with just the right amount of tongue so as not to give the MoMoS a heart attack.

“Feels like a prom date,” he murmured after he broke the kiss.

“Not with a kiss like that,” Clyde interjected.

Nadia gave a breathy laugh while the other men chuckled.

“Turn around,” he said.

With a bemused smile on her lips, she did as she was told.

Slipping out the necklace he had in his pocket, he placed it around her neck and clasped its ends together.

A few oohs and ahhs escaped their avid audience.

With his hands on her shoulders, he guided Nadia to the hallway mirror so she could see.

“Oh my God, John, this is too much!” Her hand flew to the necklace.

“It’s a lariat necklace,” he said. “At least that’s what the jeweler told me.”

“It is.” She fingered the diamonds that paved the chain. “Are these …”

“I’d like to think they’re sunflowers.”

“It’s exquisite,” she continued, leaning in closer to the mirror and inspecting it with an analyst’s eye. “It’s very intricate. I see round, pear, and marquis-cut …”

“All right, babe,” John chuckled as he turned her back around to face him. “Let’s go before I start getting jealous about a piece of jewelry.”

“He said he wanted to command all your attention,” Stephen informed his daughter. “Maybe he should have held off on the necklace until later.”

“I should’ve,” he muttered.

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Nadia protested, but he was already ushering her toward the door. As much as he had grown fond of the MoMoS, he was anxious to be alone with his girl.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” he told them.

“Wait, I don’t have stuff with me,” Nadia said.

He continued to move her out the door. “I took care of it.”

Bristow had the sense to stop the menfolk from following them out the door. Great, because John had something to say to Nadia before they left.

Her eyes were riveted on their ride. “Wow.”

He grinned. “Like it?”

“You’re pulling out all the stops,” she commented.

John leaned against the passenger side of the Audi and faced her. “One rule tonight.”

She cocked her head in his direction.

“No talk about the case or the MoMoS. We can talk about StreamCon or Hodgetown, but nothing about how it pertains to the case.”

“How about your job?”

“If it’s about how it affects our relationship,” he said. “Ask away.”

“Wow.”

“Tonight is about us.” He opened the passenger door, letting her get into the vehicle, before ducking his head in so their faces were almost touching. “You and me. Our baby.”

She flashed him the smile he loved, and John knew they were on the right track for tonight.

Nadia still couldn’t believe how much her life had changed in the past few weeks. Couldn’t believe how John was turning out to be the man of her dreams, or rather, the man she didn’t know she needed. She always wanted safe and predictable. John was in no way safe or predictable. But when he made something or someone his mission, he was dependable.

Steadfast.

And in the pursuit of their relationship?

Swoony.

He took her to a highbrow French restaurant on Melrose Avenue. What made their outing special was their reservation at the chef’s table—that pricey section at high-end restaurants where foodie patrons received a unique service from the chef. Nadia wasn’t one for fancy dinners, but she was excited about this one.

They ordered their drinks. Wine for him and a raspberry-infused seltzer for her.

“Where’s the menu?” she whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” John said beside her, amusement in his tone.

“I don’t want to offend the chef in case he had something planned for us,” she worried. “What if he prepares something I can’t eat? And because we’re at this table, he’ll see. He’ll get offended.”

The deep timbre of John’s chuckle made her toes curl, momentarily chasing away her anxiety about restaurant etiquette. Everything about this man was sexy. Sweet Lord, she was getting James Bond fantasies with how impressively he filled out his suit. And the kicker? He wasn’t a fantasy. Because John was a spy, and at that moment, he was sexier than any 007 in memory. If she wasn’t already pregnant, her ovaries would be screaming to have his babies.

“First of all, the executive chef is a she,” John said. “And second? You’re going to love the food. I promise.”

She smacked her lips together, still dubious about his assurance. Nadia wasn’t particularly fond of French food because of its rich taste. However, she trusted the man beside her to do his research.

Trying to recall where she’d ordered food in the past few weeks, there were no places that were exciting. She had that failed gyro expedition with Kelso. She wondered if John had Bristow compile her favorite takeout places and restaurants. Didn’t John say he knew what the MoMoS’ favorites were? There were also those food trucks in front of their HQ. Her tastes were wide and varied, but French cuisine wasn’t at the top of her list save for its desserts like the beignets Clyde had gotten for her.

A woman in a chef jacket approached their table. A toque cap sat on her head instead of the tall ones most chefs wore. “You must be Nadia,” she said. “I’m Parisa, and I have a special evening planned for you.” The chef glanced at John. “Mr. Garrison was very specific with his requests when we planned the menu.”

“He’s very demanding,” Nadia shared, tongue-in-cheek.

“Only the best for her, right, chef?” John drawled.

Nadia wasn’t sure whether the chef was Italian or Middle Eastern, but her name gave her a clue. “Your name … I think—”

“Persian.” Parisa smiled back. “I’m a classically trained chef, but I learned my love for cooking from my mother. Sometimes I infuse our French menu with a touch of my Persian heritage. So when your boyfriend approached me about doing this for you, I was all over it.”

They chatted for a bit about Iranian culture and its culinary delights, about how it was so underrated in comparison to Italian and Mediterranean cooking. After a while, Parisa said, “Well, I better get back to the kitchen. Evening rush is about to start. I’ll get those appetizers out to you.”

When the chef walked away, Nadia turned to John excitedly. “I can’t wait to see what she prepared for us. I mean, I do have an idea.” She was babbling, but she didn’t care. “I trust you to be thorough in your investigation.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

His hand on her thigh gave a squeeze. His mouth twitched, and the gleam in his eyes was nothing but indulgent and it made her heart skip. “If tempting you with your favorite dish gets me this exuberance every time, then you can be sure it’s duly noted.”

She tucked her arm into his, thankful they were in an alcove facing the theatre of the kitchen. But despite the hectic rush, blurs of white, and yells of “yes, Chef,” Nadia hadn’t felt this relaxed since Halloween, before her world had flipped on its axis. Her dad was on the mend, and Dugal was coming home. The days were looking up.

“Hey, where did you go?” John asked.

“I was just thinking of Dugal,” she replied. “I know you said tonight is about us, but—”

He put a finger on her lips. “Say no more. Dugal is family. Of course you can’t simply push him out of your thoughts.”

“But they weren’t bad thoughts,” Nadia reassured him. “I was thinking about how resilient people are.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Their server took that moment to present them with an appetizer tray. She eagerly sampled the offerings. Nadia couldn’t believe the texture of the hummus and its balanced flavor of garlic, lemon, and tahini. Parisa’s Persian cucumber yogurt that always reminded her of tzatziki was the creamiest she’d ever tasted. She also savored the creative little bites she hadn’t known existed, and they all combined to tickle her palate for the main event.

She was pregnant after all. It was the perfect excuse to eat.

The pomegranate-walnut stew that her father’s girlfriend, Sara, used to make was the star of the evening menu. In looks, Fesenjan wasn’t a very appetizing dish. Typically, its color ranged from maroon to dark brown. The one presented to them was a shade in between, and the suspicious looking pieces poking from its thick, grainy sauce hardly invited a diner to dig in. When she caught John scowling at the dish, laughter bubbled up her throat.

“Aren’t you going to try it?” she asked.

“Ladies first,” he muttered.

“It tastes a whole lot better than it looks.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

That time, she did burst out laughing. “Here, have the rice first.” She prepared a plate for him, relishing the act of introducing him to her favorite cuisine.

“Smells good,” he murmured.

A shiver ran up her spine. Somehow, she knew it wasn’t the food he was referring to, but she feigned innocence anyway. “The aroma of saffron basmati rice is my favorite. Dad and I usually burned the crust, though.” When she looked at him, his eyes were riveted on her as she suspected. “Give it a taste.”

John continued holding her gaze captive as he raised his wine to his mouth, taking a sip. Heat flashed between them, and the area below her pelvis pulsed. Then he oh, so deliberately lowered his wine glass before finally giving attention to his food. Nadia grabbed her own seltzer water to quench her throat which had suddenly gone dry.

His brows shot up after his first tentative taste of Fesenjan. “Interesting flavors. Tangy. Sweet. Earthy.” His mouth quirked. “Not as bad as the blood stew I had when I was in the Philippines.”

Nadia proceeded to fill her plate. “I guess you’re trained to eat whatever.”

He grimaced. “Yes. Doesn’t mean I don’t struggle.”

“What were you doing in the Philippines?” She paused. “Or is that classified?”

“The mission specifics are, but we were tracking terrorists in the southern islands.”

John regaled her with stories of his life in the CIA, skimming over the details, but they were no less fascinating. “You’ve led an exciting life.”

Refilling his goblet with more wine, he took another sip and leaned against the padded booth. “I’m ready to settle down.”

Her grin faltered and she dropped her gaze to her plate. She pushed a piece of chicken around. “You mean quit the agency?”

“Look at me, babe.”

Reluctantly, she did. The determination and intensity in those indigo eyes made her squirm in a good way. “What work I will do for the agency will depend on how it will affect you and the baby. They can take it or leave it.”

She averted her eyes again. “I don’t know what I can give in return.”

“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin with the tip of his finger. There was a firmness in that gesture that prevented her from looking away. “Our relationship is not quid pro quo. You being you? It’s enough. And … I’ve come to care for you so deeply, babe. It pissed me off when Kelso suggested that I was with you because of the baby. Let me squash that statement now.” His face inched closer. “I would have pursued this relationship whether there was a baby or not. Your pregnancy accelerated my timeline, but we were going to happen. Baby or not. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes.” Giddiness suffused her system.

“You remind me of the man I used to be. The kind of man I hope you can be proud of.”

“John.” She cupped his jaw. “I’m proud of whoever you choose to be. This world needs men like you, but I’m happy to volunteer and keep you grounded.”

“Oh, babe,” Their lips were almost touching. “You have no idea …”

A crash in the kitchen broke the spell between them. Two servers had collided and were standing in a mess of shattered porcelain and food. A ruckus of yelling ensued. John chuckled while she gave a quick, if not embarrassed laugh. Sometimes they forgot they had an audience. She hoped their amorous display had in no way distracted the servers.

They resumed eating the feast before them. She cast surreptitious glances at the man who was the reason behind the secretive smile currently lurking on her mouth.

And when the dessert of the evening turned out to be a chocolate beignet topped with crème fraîche ice cream, she could unequivocally say she loved the way her man planned their date.

John took her favorite things and elevated them to perfection.

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