Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

S ix Months Earlier…

“ P lease?” Aliya wheedled, making it incredibly hard for Christian to concentrate on what he was doing. Pretending to crunch financials while furtively copying encrypted information off the database of the world’s most-wanted criminal was hard enough. Trying to do it with Fariq in the same room was nothing short of suicidal. It was uncanny how the man seemed to know everything going on around him. Under no other circumstance would he have risked something this stupid, but time was fast becoming of the essence, and Aliya’s presence was—he hoped—just enough distraction to make the risk worth taking.

“I promise,” she begged, offering her unimpressed brother a hopeful smile. “I promise I will do whatever you say. I just want to get off this ship for a while. Please, Fariq? I’ll be a good girl.”

That smile was dazzling, but then everything about Aliya Abdal was dazzling. She was a beauty, possessed of the kind of small, curvaceous body that never failed to turn men into fools, him most certainly included.

Christian tried not to watch her, especially with Fariq sitting right there. When he’d first brought his sister on the ship, Fariq had made it very clear his beloved little sister was off-limits. Which didn’t mean that most—if not all—of his men automatically stopped coveting her. No, from the moment she stepped foot from her quarters each day, all picture-perfect and untouchable, she became the star of every dark fantasy on this ship.

Well, okay… maybe the others’ fantasies weren’t dark, but his certainly were. Try though he did, Christian couldn’t stop imagining the lithe beauty, with a river of dark hair spilling down her back, naked and bound to a St. Andrews cross as his whip caressed her perfect, light-brown flesh. He could easily imagine how she would feel in his arms as he cut her down before taking her into a private room to fuck.

Most of the crew was divided on the question of her virginity. At twenty-two, some said her maidenhead remained intact, while others had trouble believing it. There were others still who whispered Fariq himself had taken it, something Christian completely ignored. In his fantasies, he couldn’t have cared less as he took her in every way and every position imaginable. While Fariq wasted no chance to remind his men he would cut off the balls and feed them to anyone who dared to touch her, Christian was systematically rewriting the Kama Sutra in his mind, with Aliya gasping, groaning, and happily writhing under the steady, pumping spray of his cum.

“I said no,” Fariq said, snapping Christian back to the present. The dark-skinned Arab didn’t so much as glance up from his tablet, which made it easier for Christian to readjust the full-tenting erection that now lived in his pants.

A casual observer might glance at Fariq Abdal in his tan slacks and white, button-down shirt and think him nothing more than another quintessential wealthy businessman, hard at work. Only the gun in his shoulder holster belayed that first impression, and no one knew better than Christian just how few qualms Fariq had about putting that gun to use.

Mind back on your work , he told himself firmly.

“Please!” Aliya bounced once, biting back both a whine of frustration and what looked suspiciously like a foot stomp.

Off-limits and spoiled rotten, Christian thought with a shake of his head, but that might have been an unfair assessment. He didn’t know her well, despite having met her a handful of times over the years and now living on the same yacht with her for some time. She had to be spoiled. How could anyone who lived as well as she did off the money her brother made, borrowed, or outright stole not be?

It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that, though. She was still beautiful, and ‘spoiled rotten’ didn’t ruin his view of her in her pale-pink, floral sundress and matching designer high heels. She was wearing her midnight hair loose today, and damn if her dark, pleading eyes couldn’t turn ordinary men into poets. God knows, if he had any degree of literary talent in that area, he might have been tempted to try… right after he held her down in a tub long enough to scrub off that expensive perfume she was wearing. It was driving him crazy.

“I’m sorry, but no,” Fariq said for the third time, patience personified, although only when it came to his sister. “Plans have changed. Sadly, my attention must be redirected from your pleasure to matters of business. Run along now, please.”

She wilted in disappointment, but like spoiled little rich girls everywhere, she didn’t stop trying. “Fariq, I haven’t been off the ship in months. I need to get out. I need to do something.”

“Then put on the new swimsuit I bought you. Sun yourself on the upper deck or go swimming in the pool.” His attention remained fixed on his tablet.

“You promised when we got to Morocco…” She stopped when he finally sighed, lowered the tablet, and fixed his equally dark eyes on her.

“Did you not just hear me say plans have changed?” he asked, still quiet, still patient. The quieter he got, the more he reminded Christian of a viper coiling for the strike. “When you are married and your husband needs to concentrate on business, will you still behave like a petulant child? You are growing up, my darling. As a grownup, sometimes you must forego whatever it is you think you must have whenever you think you must have it. Proper wives attend to their husband’s needs and are grateful for whatever attention and affection he can spare. Surely, the nuns who schooled you taught you better than this.”

Christian could hear the thinly-veiled warning in Fariq’s tone, but it apparently went right over Aliya’s head.

Circling to his side of the desk, she dropped all the way to her knees beside him.

“I-I’ll only take a few minutes. I’ll come right back when you say to. Please?”

Sitting at his own small desk across the room, Christian couldn’t help the twitch of appreciation that tickled his cock as he pretended not to watch. It had been entirely too long since he’d had a young woman submit herself at his feet quite that attractively. It had been even longer since a woman had willingly done so without first needing to be paid. But then, Christian had what Fariq mockingly liked to call ‘eclectic sexual preferences.’ Women like Aliya were way above his pay grade.

“My darling.” Fariq sighed. “I’m trying to work.”

Vaulting to her feet, she stomped her foot.

“This is just like the last time, even though you said it wouldn’t be. I’m always stuck on this ship!”

Tablet dropped onto his lap, Fariq frowned. He looked first at her foot, then up at her.

“As much as I love you, right down to your naughty little feet, if you do that at me again, you’ll have those offending appendages bound and subjected to bastinado. As I recall, you didn’t care much for that the last time, but it was effective. I have a very important meeting with a very wealthy contractor. I can’t simply tell him I need to reschedule, so I can take my tediously darling sister through the local bazaar. He would not only think me less of a man, but you’re a spoiled brat. Is that what you want?”

Her whole countenance fell, the dark beauty of her eyes turning wounded.

“No, but can’t… can’t I go by myself? Just this once?” She immediately dropped to her knees again, her hands resting on Fariq’s thigh. “I’m twenty-two! I’ll be careful, I promise! I’ll wear a disguise, and no one will know who I am! Please, please, Fariq!”

“Absolutely not!” If nothing else, she’d gained her brother’s undivided attention.

“My heart is broken,” she cried melodramatically.

As beautiful as she was, it was all Christian could do not to shake his head at her antics. What she needed wasn’t a shopping trip or a new bikini. What Aliya Abdal really needed was to be turned facedown over a man’s knee and spanked until her pretty little backside was sore, and she was crying with remorse. Not that her brother would do that, but the girl was utterly clueless. She really had no idea who she was trying to cajole.

“I’m sure you’ll recover.” Fariq cast his sarcastic glance to the ceiling. “Though Allah forbid, I should be responsible for such a tragedy.” Shaking his head, Fariq cast his glance to the only other man in the room, which was how Christian found himself being dragged into the mire of his employer’s minor family argument.

“Reid,” Fariq called from across the room.

Aliya visibly startled, twisting around to look at him as if she hadn’t been aware Christian was even in the room. That annoyed him, especially since he couldn’t stop himself from becoming more and more aware of her with every perfumed-tainted breath he took. His cock throbbed against the inside of his thigh.

“Yes?” Christian reluctantly replied, abandoning all pretense of ignoring them.

“Kindly take my sister shopping before she expires of despair right here on the Tabriz carpet,” Fariq told them both, in a move completely opposite of his usual overprotectiveness where Aliya was involved. “You have shopping of your own to do today, anyway.”

Christian blinked. He did?

“He does?” Aliya blinked twice, then glanced at him again. For a moment, Christian thought she was about to object, but sweeping her assessing stare up and down him, she gave in to her brother. “You’re really going to let me go?”

Setting his tablet aside, Fariq leaned forward to press a kiss upon her forehead.

“Buy anything your heart desires, but you are to mind Reid. I know for a fact, he knows how to deal with naughty little girls who fail to obey. Now, please , leave me to my work. The world won’t conquer itself, you know.”

He smiled as if he was joking. Christian knew he wasn’t. Fariq was the most apolitical animal he’d ever known. He had no ideology and believed in nothing except the power of money, but he was also single-minded in his drive to get it and didn’t care who he hurt in the process.

Aliya grinned. Jumping up off the floor, she headed for the door. Just before she reached it, she twirled back to Christian. “Meet me in fifteen minutes?” she asked before clearly delegating him to servant status and dismissing him.

“He’ll be delighted,” Fariq answered for him, annoying him that much further.

The curls of her hair bounced when she spun back toward the door. The curve of her bottom bounced too, just barely covered by the thin cloth of her elegant summer dress. Christian did his best not to get caught staring at it as she flounced out. He lost himself in the minute, fantasizing how those mounds of curvy flesh would bounce under the vigorous swats of his open palm for dragging him into this mess when he had more important things to do. He doubted if there was another bottom on this planet he wanted to spank more—or he wanted to spank and do so much more to. The idea of ‘much more’ was enough to make him groan with need, but he managed to refrain. He really did have more important things to do. For as long as Fariq planned to conquer the world, Christian knew he needed to try to save it.

Shit. Fariq was watching him. The disarming smile he reserved solely for his younger sister was gone, and in its place was that old familiar, impossible to read, cold, reptilian, dead-eyed stare that never failed to make every warning flag Christian possessed fly on full alert. This was not a man to argue with or defy—or imagine himself playing spanky-games with his baby sister. Christian had a terrible habit of forgetting that fact at the worst possible times.

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically.

Almost imperceptibly, Fariq’s gaze focused on him. Christian hated it when he did that—stared at him with a dead look, only for Christian to discover Fariq wasn’t really looking at him at all, just in his direction.

Well, he was looking at him now.

“I thought we were meeting the Ugandan warlord about our missing gun shipment?” Christian asked.

“I can do that without you. Besides, I’m sure there’s something the ship needs, so it shouldn’t be a complete waste of your time. And truly, my friend, who would I trust with my darling sister if not you? Don’t take me for a fool. I am very well aware Aliya has grown into a beautiful young woman. She’d be a coveted prize for a good many people I know to kidnap, marry, rape, or any combination thereof. She must be protected. Her husband will expect a virgin on her wedding night.”

“I thought you wanted me to settle the financials.”

Fariq waved that aside as if it were a minor inconvenience. “What does money matter where the safety of my most prized possession is concerned?”

“Who are you?” Christian deadpanned. “What have you done with Fariq Abdal, and is he being treated well?”

Fariq snorted. “I mean, I know you’ll care for her as you would for your own little sister. Finn is her name, isn’t it? Morocco isn’t as volatile as some places we could be, fortunately, but there’s never any guarantee. Especially not with the Wild Mustangs charging out of the shadows at us every chance they get.” He looked up from his tablet again. “Where are they, by the way?”

“According to our sources, ensconced at their headquarters, most likely making last-minute wedding plans.”

Laughing softly, Fariq shook his head. “Who’s getting married?”

“Noah to the journalist Zara Hughes, and Croft to?—”

“Your sister. Yes, I remember now. We’ll need to send them each a gift from me. Nothing too outrageous, mind you—some men and a helicopter should suffice. It’s past time someone taught the Mustangs if they think they can disrupt my business, however and whenever it pleases them and still pretend their families are beyond my reach, they’re very much mistaken. When it comes to wives and children, they have more to lose than we do.” Fariq picked up his tablet again.

“I’ll take Michaelson and Amin to meet with Murammar.” Glancing up from his news report, Fariq gave him a pointed look as he fished a wallet full of local cash out of his desk and tossed it to him. “My darling Aliya is to come back from this venture safe and smiling, yes?”

Quickly disconnecting his own computer from the hidden recording drive that was piggy-backing on Fariq’s database, Christian feigned a disgruntled sigh and picked up the wallet.

“Safe and smiling. Got it.”

He now had less than fifteen minutes to get ready to play bodyguard for an overly-indulged young woman in a crowded bazaar. One of the things he’d learned early on working for Fariq, the man was usually safest when he thought his every whim was being obeyed.

A liya managed to keep herself calm, cool, and seemingly happy all the way through her brother’s yacht. She practically skipped down the hall, past the armed guards randomly spaced throughout the passageways. Her role as the pampered, vapid little sister to the world’s most notorious arms dealer had long ago begun to cost her more than she could continue to pay, but she couldn’t afford to let it show where anyone could see her.

Completely ignoring the two men stationed midway between Fariq’s room and hers, she slipped past them and was finally back in the relative safety of her quarters. Shutting the door to her cabin, Aliya leaned against it long enough to draw a shaky breath and still her swiftly racing heart.

She’d thought it had been such a grand win when a little more than four years ago, on her eighteenth birthday, she finally convinced her overprotective brother to buy her an elaborate computer system, so they could email and FaceTime, she’d told him. ‘For your schoolwork,’ his neat penmanship had read when the computer arrived via mail. Then, much as now, Fariq had never let her stay in any one place for more than a few months. Denied the comfort of making friends, Aliya found solace and companionship online. What a terrible mistake that had been.

Despite all the safeguards her brother had installed to cripple her from accessing any sites he considered off-limits, between her hunger for freedom and her computer science wizard of a dorm-mate, Aliya had wasted no time developing her own mad set of hacker skills. She used to take delight in getting around her brother’s firewalls, monitoring apps, and security measures, but it wasn’t until she discovered the dark web, she began to learn about the world in ways she’d never dared to dream.

The porn had been interesting, providing her with an education her brother never would have allowed, but more than that, she had become fascinated with the dark dealings of international politics and terrorist activities. Researching an unsolved massacre, she had come across a thread about her brother and his arms business. That was the day her perfect world began to unravel.

The thread had appalled her, and at first, she’d followed it in order to defend him. Her loving guardian since she was a child, Fariq would not be involved in anything illegal. Surely not! Until then, her greatest desire had been to graduate, so she no longer needed to live in convents and boarding schools. Then she’d had every intention of showing Fariq her computer skills. Yes, she knew he expected her to follow a more traditional path and become the dutiful wife to some wealthy business associate, perhaps even a minor prince, but it was her dream that once he saw how useful she could be, her brother might let her become a part of his business. With a few clicks of the mouse, that dream withered and died. With each progressing article, the things she’d learned about her brother had horrified her. If even half of what she’d read could be believed, Fariq was not at all the man she thought him to be.

She’d tried so hard to deny it. Like an addict, she couldn’t stop looking him up in the news and on criminal most-wanted lists. The more she learned, the guiltier she’d felt for all the things he’d done.

She’d pretended to be sick the next time he’d come to visit her, so she wouldn’t have to see him. She’d stopped FaceTiming him whenever she could avoid it. Her need to somehow atone for his crimes set in, and finally, she’d begun looking for ways to thwart Fariq’s deals and let the authorities know specifics about when and where they might be able to put a chink in what seemed to be her brother’s invincible armor.

That was when she’d met Damian in a hidden chatroom for hackers. What had started as casual and flirtatious soon turned serious when he revealed he was an operative with NATO. Arranging to meet with her in the confessional of the cathedral that overlooked and was part of her boarding school, he’d been direct and honest—her brother was a notorious criminal and needed to be taken down, and she was in a unique position to help.

As easy as it was to sit at her computer and plot her brother’s downfall, it was a whole different matter when she had to take action to actually do it. It was difficult to reconcile her brother, the criminal, with her brother, the protector, the provider, the supreme businessman, and the hero in her mind all over again. It took several meetings and secret phone calls for him to convince her anyone with a conscience would help NATO bring him down. Damian had managed to supply her with not only the tools of the spy trade but the skills necessary to keep her alive. With the help of someone in the archdiocese, Damian had taken on the role of a priest to infiltrate her school. She had spent many months learning spycraft—weapons training, self-defense, explosives, codes and coded messages, and the like.

He’d held her hand, so to speak. He’d taken all her justifying arguments meant to absolve her brother of his guilt and ruthlessly, realistically shredded them. He’d taken her phone calls, letting her bawl on his proverbial shoulder when she finally reached the point of not being able to justify anything anymore. In short, they had become good friends. If Damian hadn’t been open with her about his relationship with Zara Hughes, Aliya was quite certain she would have fallen for the tall, dark, and lethal intelligence officer.

When she got the phone call from NATO agent Dewey Robinson, informing her of Damian’s death, she’d been devastated. The hand-holding was over. Dewey had given her the choice to opt-out or to try to destroy Fariq’s business from the inside. He’d never said as much, but Aliya was certain Dewey believed Fariq had murdered Damian.

Unable to reconcile herself to any other course of action, she’d agreed. Then, for whatever reason, Fariq swept back into her life, taking her out of boarding school to live with him on his yacht full time. She’d been here for a while, an agent, she supposed, without any real contact with those supposed to be backing her and undercover, in the den of a monster she was related to.

Steeling herself, Aliya pasted on her happiest smile and turned from the door to fake her carefree fa?ade for an empty room. She’d been on this ship for three days before she discovered the first hidden camera. Nowadays, she just assumed she was being watched all the time, but back then, she’d been angry enough to retaliate by cracking into Fariq’s online computer system in search of the rest. They weren’t just in her private room, however. They were all over the ship, but they weren’t the only ones.

Six days into her covert search, she’d stumbled across several cameras and listening devices different from the ones her brother used. It hadn’t taken long for her to tap into the feed from both systems. It had taken even less time for her to realize someone besides her was spying on Fariq.

She wiped her shaky hands over her skirted thighs as she went through the room, gathering only what she absolutely needed—sunglasses, the little pink purse that matched her dress and shoes. It was a useless thing. There was no money in it, no credit cards, or so much as a single form of ID. Those who needed to know, knew exactly who she was. Fariq took care of everything else. That’s what made the betrayal she was about to deal so hard. In their family, females simply weren’t as valuable as sons. As much as it still stung to admit it, in her father’s eyes, she hadn’t been valuable at all. It was Fariq who’d taken care of her, bringing her food when she was being punished, standing between her and their father whenever the latter flew into one of his rages. She was nine when their father died. Ten years older, Fariq had stepped in to take care of her. He’d raised her, or at least he’d chosen which convents and boarding schools had raised her. In his own way, he’d been a far better father to her than their own had ever been.

She checked her appearance in the mirror, pressing both hands against her stomach in an effort to still the queasy nervousness.

“You can do this,” she reminded herself. She really didn’t have a choice.

Remembering both the cameras and the listening devices, Aliya locked her lips to keep from saying anything more. It was time to leave. She just needed to keep her act together for a little while longer, then she would be free. That she would be leaving the ship without her watchful brother at her side was nothing short of phenomenal. She’d known he was supposed to be meeting with the Ugandan warlord, which is why she’d pushed so hard, but instead of sending her shopping with one of his witless bodyguards in tow, someone who might have been easy to evade or bribe for a little ‘time alone,’ he was sending her with his right-hand man, Christian Reid, a wrinkle she hadn’t counted on.

Christian was far more clever than the rest of his men. Better looking, too, although it still rankled how she couldn’t seem to keep herself from noticing. For the most part, her brother’s men were of Middle Eastern or North African descent. The only two exceptions were the band of six mercenaries he’d had Christian hire within the last year and Christian himself.

There was no mistaking the man’s white Anglo-Saxon heritage. Everything she knew about him was what she’d found in Fariq’s hidden employee files. He’d been born to a prominent Boston family and had made a name for himself in international banking, specializing in mergers and take-overs. He’d risen through the ranks in Fariq’s organization until he was her brother’s second-in-command and heir apparent. That made him every bit as bad as Fariq. More dangerous, too. He didn’t have Fariq’s familial affections to temper his behavior toward her.

The small chime on her antique mantle clock reminded her time was ticking away.

Turning from the mirror, she quickly packed her purse, ensuring the white headscarf she’d secreted in the false bottom remained there. It would hide her hair but do nothing to disguise her face—a pathetic camouflage, to be sure—but it was all she had, and perhaps in the crowded marketplace, it might suffice. While she was in her spacious closet, pretending to find the perfect heels for a day in Morocco’s bazaar, she checked to make sure the coded message with the address she needed was still folded into the strap handle. She’d been planning this for two days, ever since Fariq first promised she could leave the boat. She’d even placed the text call to the number supplied to her by her NATO handler. They would be waiting for her. No more passing along secret messages—she’d given them more than enough by now. This time, she was getting out for good.

Returning to the bathroom, her hands only shaking a little, she swapped out her SIM chip with the one her handler had given her long enough to text she was on her way. No reply came back, but none ever did. Switching the chips again, she tucked it into the tiny pocket in the handle of her purse as well, then she was ready.

Aliya couldn’t remember the last time Fariq had agreed to let her go anywhere without him. Escaping was going to be hard enough, but she didn’t know how she’d have been able to manage it with her brother glued to her side.

Not that I’ll be alone . No, she was going to have his second-in-command glued to her instead.

Funny, she’d never been close enough to the man to have so much as a conversation with him before today, and now, he was taking her into Morocco. She didn’t know how she felt about that, or about him, for that matter. He was tall, very blond, even for an American, and he was always watching her—those cool, blue eyes taking in everything, assessing, plotting, not smiling, not lusting… just watching.Even from across the ship or if she passed him on her way to or from the pool’s upper deck, whenever she caught him looking at her, she felt as if he were waiting for her to do something wrong, so he could pounce on it. Not that he’d ever so much as frowned at her, but he scared her more than a little, and that fear had led to many erotic dreams with Christian as the star.

She fussed with her hair again, needing to look her best. Not because she would be spending the day with Christian, but because life as Fariq’s little sister demanded it. Fariq wasn’t above scolding her and sending her back to her room to neaten her appearance if he thought she wasn’t lady-like enough. He might even call off the shopping trip altogether, and she couldn’t afford that.

Checking the mirror one last time, she left her room at what she hoped was a fashionable eleven minutes past the appointed time. She was surprised to find Christian waiting for her at the end of the hall instead of the boat launch or the back of the yacht. Dressed in black jeans and a light blue t-shirt that matched his eyes, he was propped up against the wall beyond the armed guards, near her brother’s room. When she emerged, he looked pointedly from her to his watch and back, then quirked an eyebrow. She probably should have warned him she tended to run late, but she was Fariq’s adored and spoiled sister, a role her brother and NATO both demanded she played. He was her brother’s lapdog, not her employee, and certainly not her friend. She checked the urge to apologize for her tardiness. After today, it wouldn’t matter, but until she made her escape, he would simply have to be content dancing to the tune the ‘spoiled baby sister’ called.

Still, she was behaving badly, and she knew it. Ignoring his silent rebuke was easier than stifling the heated burn that ignited the smoldering embers both in the pit of her stomach and in her face, and that annoyed her. Who did he think he was? He had no right to scold her, although she did wonder more often than she wanted to admit, what it might feel like to belong to someone like Christian Reid—strong hands like his fondling her, to feel the large, hard cock that often strained at his fly caress her in the most intimate way.

Get a hold of yourself, Aliya. He was a chaperone, little better than a bodyguard, and he had no idea what she had to do today. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders as she walked down the hall to join him. She didn’t owe him anything, much less an explanation why it had taken her so long to get ready.

When she neared, he held up a wallet marked with her brother’s initials, FA. That startled her. Was he actually going to let her be in control of the money? No one had ever done that before. Not that it mattered. She took it from him as if this were something she did all the time and kept going without a word.

He tsked, a censuring click of his tongue against his teeth, and her face burned even hotter. Was he admonishing her again? What for, and why did she care? Except she did. Yes, she was being rude, but she had a reason for it. She was leaving, she told herself yet again, growing aggravated with herself. The last thing she needed to worry about was what someone like Christian Reid thought of her!

When she hiked her chin and kept going, he tsked again. Like nails on a chalkboard, she was quickly coming to hate that sound.

“What?” she said in her best bored and entitled tone.

“Princess?” he murmured, his lips barely moving as if he had no idea to what she was referring.

It was all she could do to tear her eyes away from those lips and the mouth she fantasized might one night play where only her own fingertips had dared to in the past. She mentally shook herself to break her reverie. She needed to focus.

“Don’t call me that,” she huffed.

The pet name grated even more than the tsking did. Annoyed with her own inability to ignore him, she glared back over her shoulder but didn’t slow her pace as she headed for the stairs. Three floors down on the bottom deck, her way to freedom was being prepared. The faster she got to the boat, the faster she would be out of here, and the safer she would be.

He’d tsked three times in a row.

Stopping abruptly, she turned on him.

“If you have something to say to me, then say it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Smiling, he stepped around her and calmly took the lead away from her.

She broke into a jog to take it back, tsking vindictively as she passed him again.

“Ah, that.” He followed her down the next flight of deck stairs as she led the way to the rear of the yacht. “Just an observation.”

That rankled.

“You’re the hired help,” she told him. “You don’t get to make observations. Observations and opinions are above your pay grade.”

He chuckled, the sound raising all the fine hairs up her arms and across the back of her neck. She told herself it was an unpleasant sensation, but it was doing weird things to her belly. Blossoms of warmth moved through her core and heated her face even more. She tried to remind herself he was the enemy, he creeped her out, and she didn’t like him, but this didn’t feel like dislike. This felt… throbby, melty, a weird puddling mix of embarrassment and excitement, all tangled together in her twisting stomach and between her legs.

God, she had to get a grip.

“Spoken like a true princess, Princess,”

“I’m not a princess.”

“If the Louboutin shoe fits…” He snorted, shaking his head. “You’re the spoiled little sister of a tyrant king.”

As they neared where the boat had been lowered to the water, he took two handguns offered to him by one of the guards. Checking to make sure both firearms were loaded, Christian donned the chest holster and tucked the other into the back of his jeans, letting his shirttail conceal it.

“I’m not a spoiled brat,” she sniped. “And my brother is not a king, either—tyrant or otherwise. I very much doubt you would call him that to his face. He’s a businessman.”

Christian snorted. “Of course, he is… Princess.”

What was wrong with him? Didn’t he know they could be overheard? Didn’t he care? She shouldn’t give a damn about him, except there was something in the way he spoke to her that made her think he knew something he shouldn’t. Was he on to her? Was Fariq? Were the other surveillance devices his?

Stepping up to the gap in the railing, he glanced down at the boat drifting alongside them at the bottom of a short twelve-step ladder, then he held out his hand.

“After you, Princess.”

Folding her arms, she glared and didn’t move.

“All right.” A corner of his mouth curled. “After you, little girl. Is that better? You’d best pay attention to what your brother said. He’s quite right about my knowing how to handle spoiled young ladies who won’t behave.”

A warm pulse thumped between her legs, making her tighten her thighs in an effort to smother the sensation. She hated that he was doing this to her. Did he even know? Did she want to know if he’d handle her in reality the way he did when she laid in her bed at night, trying to sleep? It was bad enough her dreams and fantasies were filled with images of Christian Reid. Dealing with him and her reaction to him, when she needed to focus on what she was doing, might throw her off. Today, she needed to be on top of her game.

For heaven’s sake, he wasn’t even that good looking!

Well, okay… he was that good looking, but not in a gorgeous way. He was rather handsome in a patrician sort of way, his classic and chiseled visage marred only by a little too much stubble on his chin to be clean-shaven but not enough to be called a beard. She didn’t like scruffy men, she suddenly decided, only to find herself immediately wondering how he might look clean-shaven or what it might feel like to have that cheek and chin, with its blond facial hair, scrubbing against her breasts or between her legs. Never mind how broad his shoulders were or how his muscular forearm bulged as he held out his hand for hers. And she really shouldn’t be thinking about his washboard abs and well-developed butt, which she’d once caught a glimpse of when he’d used the outdoor shower by the pool. He was absolutely the sort of man ladies swooned over and precisely the kind her brother would never have allowed within fifty yards of her if he didn’t work for him. In a suit, he was too pretty… too polished. In the raw, he was all sex and violence—she didn’t want that.

She wanted a nice man who worked a regular job in a legal business and who would treat her like… well, a princess. She wanted to be made love to sweetly, gently, and romantically. Even knowing the very little she did of him, that wasn’t what Christian would offer. He would take her whenever, wherever, and however he chose. She’d wake up every morning underneath him as he mounted her and fucked her silly before starting their day, only to end it again by fucking her into exhaustion and oblivion. She didn’t want that… or did she?

Refusing to take his hand, she slipped past him but stopped when she looked down and saw who stood below them, holding the boat steady against the yacht’s ladder.

“Over you go, Princess,” Christian said, annoying her all over again.

She backed away from the ladder. “I… I can’t.”

A flicker of irritation flashed quickly through his eyes and across his face before he masked them again. She had no idea what she’d done, but if she weren’t so upset right now, it might have made her happy.

“Changed your mind about shopping?” he asked. “Because I have plenty to do without playing bodyguard to you. Or are you just trying to be difficult? Let me warn you explicitly, I don’t accept difficult from little girls.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Naughty princesses get their cute little bottoms spanked to a fiery red before being made to do all kinds of nasty things you don’t even have a clue about.”

Aliya glared at him, so startled by the sudden tightening of her nipples and the liquid desire that threatened to leak down her thighs, she didn’t know what part to protest first.

“I do, too, have a clu… I am not being diffi… I’m not a l-little gi… You have no right to speak… Stop calling me princess!”

He chuckled as she folded her arms over her chest, worried her thin sundress might reveal her beaded nipples. The flames of desire licked up in her belly and caused her face to flush as she tilted her chin up with all the confidence she didn’t possess and tried to stare him down, not something she could actually do. He was at least five inches taller, even when she was in heels. Besides, he wasn’t a man who accepted being stared down by her.

“Get in the damn boat,” he ordered.

Her right knee buckled with the ferocity of her ache to obey, but she stopped herself just in time. Why was it that everything inside her craved to submit to this man? Confidence gave way to fluster, and every ounce of the annoyance that had bolstered her just seconds ago abandoned her. She couldn’t go down the ladder, but she couldn’t stay on this ship. It was embarrassing as hell to have to tell someone like Christian Reid why, but she didn’t see where she had any other option.

“I can’t,” she confessed. Lowering her voice and hoping he didn’t just laugh at her, she whispered, “That’s Lamar in the boat. He likes looking up my skirt.”

Christian blinked at her. Stepping up to the gap in the rail, he looked down at the man in the waiting speedboat, then looked at her again. He didn’t laugh, but part of her thought he was working hard to suppress an eyeroll as he grabbed the rail and climbed over onto the ladder.

Hugging herself, she quickly looked away, so he wouldn’t see how fiercely she could feel herself burning up from the inside out. The heated brush of his breath caressing the line of her jaw toward her ear snapped her back around, bringing her eye to smoldering blue eye with him and mouth to smirking handsome mouth.

The pulse that hit between her tense thighs ignited a wave of the most delicious spams to ever wash over her. It felt as though she was having an orgasm right there on the spot. Her heavy breasts swelled, her nipples thrusting against the shield of her own arms, and her pussy pulsed with need, aching.

“Next time, Princess,” he purred, “wear pants or take pity on the poor bastard and go commando.”

She opened her mouth, only just stopping herself before exploding in outrage. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t make a scene. She had to get off this boat. Her whole body shivered.

He noticed.

Rumbling a low chuckle, he winked and descended the ladder, leaving her fuming, annoyed, and throbbing in ways she was positive ladies in her brother’s world would never do. Or if they did, they certainly didn’t do it for people like Christian. And if they did, it was in the privacy of their bedrooms, or in her case, her bathroom where she could pretend she was having yet another bubble bath and the cameras couldn’t see her.

She gritted her teeth, wanting to say something capable of extricating her from this mire of humiliation, but he was already in the speedboat, and Lamar was coming up.

“Ms. Abdal,” the other man said, doffing his cap, his smirk nowhere near as endearing as she wished Christian’s wasn’t.

Great, now Christian was in the boat, where he would have no problem looking up her skirt. Her stomach did warm acrobatic tumbles, sending liquid tickles like warm summer’s honey, slipping down through the slit of her folds.

Holding the speedboat steady against the ladder, he beckoned to her. “Get a move on, Princess. I haven’t got all day.”

Maybe she could get NATO to just blow her brother’s yacht up with the lot of them still on board. No, that was wrong. The yacht’s staff—chef, sommelier, housekeeper, captain, etc.—were just honest, hard-working people, trying to make a living. They likely hadn’t a clue the monster they were working for.

Damn it. Annoying or not, upskirt Peeping Tom or not, Christian was her only way off this boat.

Mindful of her heels, she climbed onto the top rung of the ladder and with every descending step, did her best not to think about the full-on panty shot she was treating him to under her dress. She was glad she’d worn one of the two pairs of lace panties she’d been able to acquire. At least he wouldn’t see her in those dreadful, child-like briefs, Fariq liked to purchase.

Maybe Christian was being a gentleman. Maybe he wasn’t looking.

A whisper of cool sea air caressed up the backs of her thighs, the skirt of her dress billowing gently as she finally neared the bottom. Taking her arm, Christian held her steady as she dismounted from the ladder into the bottom of the boat.

“Good girl,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Nice panties, too. Personally, I’d prefer you in a thong… or nothing at all. Still, it’s hard to blame Lamar for taking advantage of such a lovely view.”

Her brother had no gentlemen in his employ.

She rounded on him, wobbling on her heels as the boat rocked with the waves rolling beneath them. She quickly caught her balance. So did he, for that matter. He grabbed her elbow, steadying her long enough for her to get her feet back under her, then she yanked free again. He let her go with nothing more than a lift of his eyebrow.

“Ladies,” she told him in her best imitation of her brother’s withering tone, “do not wear things like that. They especially don’t go about in nothing at all!”

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d have killed for a pair of pants or better yet jeans, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She swore when she got free of here, the first things she was going to buy were sexy lingerie and a pair of skin-tight jeans. She wasn’t about to tell him that, either.

“I know a few who’d happily argue that point with you,” he scoffed. “But fine if that’s the hill you want to die on. Put on shorts.”

She’d have killed for a pair of those, too.

“Never!” she hissed.

“Come on,” He fed her a knowing smile. “I’ve seen you through the rails on the uppermost deck. You’re not wearing a burqa or even a dress when you’re swimming in the pool. Are you seriously going to tell me that hot pink number I’ve glimpsed through the rails is all proper and respectable?”

“Of course, it is,” she snapped back. Her brother had bought it for her. He’d bought all her clothes. She wouldn’t have it if it hadn’t passed his quality inspection. “It’s not something I wear in the presence of others. You’re not supposed to be looking at me! Men should never look at ladies outside their family!”

So, why did the idea of Christian watching her while she wore nothing more than a swimsuit—better yet, her pink bikini—flood her with such intense, tingling heat? Her face grew hotter still.

“If that was true,” he snorted, “we’d be one hell of an inbred society.” While he didn’t exactly roll his eyes, he did let the argument drop.

Letting go of the ladder, Christian bent down and before she could react, reached between her legs. The caress of his knuckles against her knee sent fizzles of excitement, light and airy, racing like carbonated water through her veins. She wanted him to run his hand up the inside of her thigh until he could cup her mons and tear away the delicate lace underwear. She yelped as he caught the back of her skirt and pulled it through her thighs to tuck it into the belt around her waist.

“There.” In just a few startled seconds, he’d turned the skirt of her sundress into an impromptu pair of shorts. “Now, you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing something they shouldn’t… unless you want them to.”

That fizzle of excitement turned into an electrified jolt. Shock, fear, arousal—all leapt under her skin, attacking every part of her from her achingly needy nipples to her tight-curling toes.

Yanking her skirt back out of her belt, she slapped the fabric until it was back down in its proper place around her legs again. Heat scalded her face. Her breath kept catching, her too-tight throat choking her. She scoured the yacht railing above for any sign of her brother, terrified he might have seen.

Christian was smirking when her gaze returned to his.

“ Ibn haram !” she hissed at him.

Snapping around, she tried to storm away, but his hand connected with her bottom in a slap sharp enough to make her whole-body jump. She spun back around, one hand dashing back in belated defense of her tingling backside.

“Watch your mouth, Princess,” Christian said with a smirk. “Little girls shouldn’t swear.”

She threw herself in the passenger seat, knees locked tightly together, hands clasped in her lap, so he wouldn’t see how badly she was shaking. Her heart battered at her ribs, refusing to calm. And that throb—that hot, needy, inappropriate pulse of desire—kept pounding between her legs, impossible to ignore.

Laughing under his breath, Christian pushed the speedboat away from the yacht, started the engine, and away they went.

The cool, salty sea air did little to cool the mortification from her cheeks as her brother’s floating fortress grew smaller in the distance while the mainland of Morocco, and her safety, loomed ahead.

The man was nothing but the world’s biggest, smirking asshole, she told herself. He meant nothing to her. He was as much a criminal as her brother. He was beneath her contempt.

So, why was every fast-firing nerve in her body trying so hard to convince her she could still feel the slow caress of his hand sliding between her legs? Worse still, why was that ache in her heavy breasts begging to feel his touch next?