Epilogue

Epilogue

L’AMORE SOFFERENTE HOTEL BASE OF THE MATTERHORN, SWITZERLAND

Present Day

“ Y ou’d best behave while they’re here,” he said, reluctantly uncoupling from her.

“Or what?” she teased as she moved off their bed.

Christian stepped off behind her, swatting her rounded backside.

“Or else I’ll remind you in no uncertain terms, you aren’t yet too far along to get your backside paddled,” he rejoined. “I’m serious, Aliya, I catch you plotting with Zara or Avery, and you won’t sit for the rest of the time they’re here.”

“Oh, fie! You are so serious.”

She turned back to him and wrapped her arms around him, rubbing herself against him as she pulled his head down and kissed him deeply.

“Kiss me all you want, Princess, but I’m not putting up with the same level of crap I did the last time the lot of you got together.”

“Christian, you have to let that go. It was a joke. It was funny, and it was deserved.”

“It was not,” he growled. “I didn’t order the hit on Zara. Fariq did that using my name, and when I found out, I tried to get it canceled and alerted both Scotland Yard and the Home Office.”

“And if Zara hadn’t made Noah laugh, I’m not sure his way of getting even might not have been far more painful.”

“What do you call that punch to the gut he gave me?”

Aliya shrugged. “As Zara pointed out… he didn’t put you in the intensive care unit. And honestly, is it any less than you might have done had the situation been reversed?”

“Point taken,” he reluctantly agreed.

She kissed him lightly and hissed when he tweaked her nipple.

“Behave yourself, Princess.”

“Yes, Sir. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll go downstairs?”

Christian scooped her up in his arms.

“I have a better idea. How about you take a shower with me?”

Thirty minutes later, they left the private elevator that traveled only to and from the top level of the ski resort, which housed the seven owner suites, Christian and Aliya and the six mercenaries who had thrown in with him that fateful day—Cobb, Brody, Alex, Nate, Jake, and Liam.

“Mr. Reid,” Siggy, the prissy manager of the resort, greeted him.

Realizing they were gambling an inordinate amount of money on a venture they knew little about, the CenterPoint Group had conducted an extensive search for an experienced, exclusive ski resort manager. It had taken a lot of talking and even more money to convince Sigmar Von Stauffenberg to sign on.

“Siggy, what’s up?” he responded, knowing full well the dapper and proper German hated the nickname the group had bestowed on him.

“Your guests have arrived… as has some of the equipment for the,”—he blinked, drawing in a deep breath, the only sign he showed of his dismay—“the lower level.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to call it what it was—a BDSM play dungeon. Christian grinned.

Von Stauffenberg straightened his jacket, regaining his composure. “I really must insist one of you deal with the workmen down there. I don’t even know what most of it is.”

“Siggy, my friend,”—Christian clapped the little man on the shoulder—“you have no idea what you’re missing…”