by Eva Charles
“We’ll be eating out a lot. But you can talk to Renaud and plan menus for the evenings we’re in.”
“I don’t need to discuss menus with the chef,” I say emphatically. “I’m talking about simple meals that I can prepare from staples most people keep in the house.”
Gray looks like that swamp juice is repeating on him.
“Your schedule is busy—the last thing you need to think about is cooking. I don’t normally eat fancy. Renaud doesn’t like it, but he’s capable of having one of his minions make a burger or roast a chicken. Work it out with him. And count on me joining you,” he adds. “It’s a good time to catch up from the day and spend a little time together. I don’t want to short-change that part of the preparation.”
“Preparation? That’s so disappointing. I thought you were talking about playing house.”
He ignores the cheeky comment. “Most nights, I’ll have to go back to the club when we’re done.”
Maybe I can go with you and help out. This isn’t the time to bring it up—maybe tonight over supper. “Besides swamp grass, what do you like to eat?”
“I have a protein shake in the morning,” Gray says a tad too defensively, “but I’ll eat anything after that. Not big on toaster pastries or foie gras, though.” He squeezes my arm as I reach around him for the honey.
I’m sure he intended it to be just a playful squeeze, but it becomes another one of those intimate moments that we can’t seem to avoid. The ones that pulsate with live sparks and electricity.
Gray’s eyes darken and for several seconds I’m convinced he won’t be wearing that suit for much longer, and I’m more than ready for whatever he’s thinking. But something shifts before we’ve taken off a single article of clothing, before our lips even meet. He pulls away, physically and emotionally. It’s a small physical movement, with a powerful message that’s enough to send us both spiraling into retreat.
The hot and cold with him makes me crazy. There are so many mixed signals, half the time my head is spinning.
I drizzle honey on my yogurt like I’m conducting brain surgery, and he pours hot coffee into an insulated travel mug. We don’t talk.
That’s when it hits me. This is what I’ll be eating for breakfast in Amidane. Yogurt and fruit with honey, and maybe, because there’s probably a pastry chef at the palace, a croissant or other delicate pastry. Gray Wilder, you need to stop being so damn obtuse.
In college, with my heart set on the CIA, I learned to speak several languages, and studied numerous cultures from around the globe. I studied the Saudi and Iranian cultures, but I don’t know much about the Amadis. I glance at Gray. He wants me to get accustomed to the food I’ll be served so that the change isn’t too disruptive. The less disruption, the easier it is to maintain a high level of focus.
Would it be too much to expect you to just read me in, instead of manipulating and controlling everything like a sneaky bastard?
“I’ll speak to Renaud,” I say, between bites. “Maybe he can prepare a few typical Amadi dishes for us. That way our palates will begin to adjust.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on Gray’s lips, and he visibly relaxes. I’m right. “Did you see what I just did?” I ask.
He glances at me with a blank look on his face.
“I didn’t plan exotic meals behind your back. I was up front about it. I clearly stated, I’m going to do this, so that we get that result. It’s not rocket science. You could have done that with the yogurt instead of making me feel that my food choices were not worthy of your fancy apartment.”
His jaw is clenched. And it’s not clear that he’s taking my little lesson to heart. “It’s not just about the food,” he explains in his I’m the boss voice. “It’s about you doing what I ask, without questioning me. It’s about learning to trust that I’ll make good decisions for you, and for the entire team.”
Nice try, Captain America. “Your best chance of winning my trust quickly is by including me in the decision-making process. I might look like Covert Agent Barbie, but I have a brain and I understand how to get from point A to point C without a map. You can be in charge. I don’t need to be the boss. It’s not how I’m built. But you might be surprised at how amenable I can be when I’m included in the planning.”
I pour another coffee, letting him think about what I’ve said—what I’ve offered.
“I’m accustomed to working alone,” he says without any real emotion. “And your clearance is limited. But your concerns are duly noted.”
“Duly noted?” Someone needs to put him on his ass. “The correct response was, I’ll work on it.”
Gray pulls out a card from his wallet, and hands it to me. “It’s a last-minute change to the schedule that we haven’t discussed. Mira will be coming by at ten. She’s a professor of Amadi studies at the University of South Carolina and speaks the language fluently. She’s not read in at all. As far as she knows, this is a business—mostly pleasure—trip we’re taking.”
“I understand. I won’t divulge anything.”
“I’m not worried,” he says, without hesitating. It’s a huge boost of confidence. “You can practice your conversational skills with her,” he continues, “and she can also answer any questions regarding the culture. She has some limited knowledge of the royal family, but I’m probably a better resource in that regard. Mira is at your disposal for the next two weeks—or until we leave. She’s an invaluable resource, and I would schedule her every day.”
I haven’t met Mira, so I shouldn’t start celebrating yet, but this feels like an enormous gift. It’s how any operative would be briefed before a mission, if time provided, but I didn’t expect to have an Amadi expert at my disposal. I thought my knowledge would be limited to the briefing books and to information Gray shares with me. “This is great. Thank you.”
He nods. “She can accompany us on the trip if it would make you feel more comfortable. It wouldn’t be unusual, at all, for a woman of your stature to bring along an assistant.”
Of my stature. That’s pretty damn funny.
“But there are pros and cons to bringing a companion.”
“Like?”
“The most obvious benefit is that it will be easier for you with an ally who is a font of knowledge. On the other hand, there would be some danger to her. It’s small. I don’t expect things to go bad, but if they do,” he sighs, “it will be the shitstorm of all shitstorms.”
Gray pauses for a few seconds before continuing. “And if you bring along someone to keep you company, the crown prince will be less motivated to introduce you to Saher. He’s going to want to have a little fun with me, and if you’re alone, I won’t be as free to play.”
I don’t need to think about it. I have enough concerns about connecting with the princess without adding additional obstacles. “Let’s leave Mira in Charleston. I want this to be a success as much as you do.”
He gazes at me, and I’m certain that’s pride shining in his eyes. “You’re a tough cookie, Blue Eyes. Still floors me. It shouldn’t, but it still does.”
Although I don’t need constant reassurance, his approval matters to me. I look down, concentrating on fishing the last fat blueberry from the bottom of the stemmed glass, and contemplating exactly what I won’t be as free to play means. The prince is married, but I doubt a little thing like that keeps his dick in his pants. But what about Gray? Will our relationship mean anything when he’s presented with a willing partner?
“We’re having dinner at the club tonight,” Gray says, jolting me out of my head. “Think of it like a coming-out party for us. A lot of eyes will be on you.”
Sweet Jesus. The thought of being on display isn’t at all appealing. But that’s what the assignment requires of me. Suck it up, Delilah. “Good thing you hooked me up with a mani and a pedi.” I’m only being half-sarcastic. The other half is relieved for a little polish before encountering the vultures.
“I need to go,” he says, from the doorway. “You know where t
o find me if there are any problems.”
“Gray.”
He turns. The dark circles that were under his eyes last night are gone, and from this angle, the navy swirls in his tie play off his eyes, making them seem brighter and bluer.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For engaging me in a discussion about whether Mira should accompany us. And for not telling me to dress appropriately tonight, like I might not be able to figure out what to wear on my own.”
He raps his knuckles against the elaborate doorframe, and nods. “Call if you need anything.”
For the first time since he dragged me into this, I feel like it’s going to be okay. Maybe better than okay.
20
Gray
Delilah is adjusting an earring when I get to the apartment. I can’t take my eyes off her reflection in the mirror. She’s stunning, with just enough makeup to let her natural beauty shine through.
Neither of us says a word while we gaze at each other in the glass. There’s a glimmer of apprehension in her eyes that I hate. It’s that little girl she described last night—the one who never feels she’s enough. My gut twists when I think about it.
“Turn around,” I say gently, drinking in every inch of her. She smooths the dress, nervously, as she swivels to face me. The silky fabric falls gracefully over her curves, hugging, but not clinging to her luscious tits. She chose a sophisticated dress that’s modest enough for dinner at the club, but dips low enough in the front to keep my attention all evening. It’s the perfect tease. “You’re gorgeous.”
The color in her cheeks deepens, but she waves off the compliment. “Anyone can look good with a couple hours in the salon, and a closet filled with beautifully made clothing.”
“Good? That’s an understatement. Good enough to eat, maybe.” I pick up the jeweled necklace off the console, and move her hair aside before I clasp it at the back of her long, graceful neck. Her skin is warm against my fingers, and my cock immediately takes notice.
“You smell delicious,” I murmur, my lips grazing her earlobe. She shivers, and if I don’t stop now, right now, dinner isn’t happening. Tonight’s too important to blow off to make my dick happy. I force myself to step back.
“What time is it?” she asks, slipping on a pair of heels that make my mouth water.
Nice pivot.
“We have a few minutes. I have something for you before we go.” She follows my hand, as it retrieves the pouch from my pocket. I hold the small velvet bag out to her. “It’s just a little something.”
She’s apprehensive, but she takes it. “I hope this isn’t some fancy piece of jewelry that cost enough to feed a family of four for a year.”
“It’s an accessory, but not jewelry.” She glances up at me through long, thick lashes. “It doesn’t bite. Open it,” I coax, when she continues to hesitate.
While Delilah loosens the strings on the pouch and peeks inside, I use the app on my watch to activate the small bullet vibrator. It rattles, startling her—at least momentarily. I laugh at her reaction like I’m a stupid teenager who just got a rise out of the pretty girl.
“I can control it with a remote, or from my watch, or my phone, or from all the way across the world from my laptop.”
Delilah flinches, backing away. “There’s no way I’m wearing that thing out in public.” She shoves the bag at me, but I don’t take it.
“We’re not going to a sex party,” she adds, aggrieved. “We’re having dinner in the most exclusive restaurant in Charleston—that you own. We’ll be out together for the first time. The busybodies will be falling all over each other while they crane their necks to get a good look. Are you crazy?”
I’m beginning to think so. I have two weeks, give or take a few days, to make it believable that kink is a part of our relationship. There is no way Ahmad buys it otherwise. He’s known me for way too long. “Put your hands on the console, and bend over.”
“Gray—I’m not—”
“You are, and you will. The vibrator will remind you to behave. It’s the newest Lush prototype, not even on the market yet,” I explain, hoping to garner some interest in the toy, but that little fact doesn’t seem to impress her.
“To behave?” she spits back at me. “You’ll zap me when I get too close to the property boundary, like I’m a dog?”
Jesus Christ. I don’t know if I’m more annoyed at her, or at myself for using the analogy. “You’re not a dog. And you’re also not a naïve girl. You’re a grown woman who consented to this relationship, and who agreed to let me lead. Implicit in that agreement was that you would follow. Now turn around and place your hands on the table. Don’t make me say it again.”
Delilah lifts her chin, but to my surprise she does as instructed. “Do it,” she grumbles, with resignation. “Just get it the hell over with.”
Fuck. I don’t want her to simply tolerate the vibrator. I want her to enjoy it, physically and emotionally. I want her to willingly and happily relinquish control. That’s why this whole thing is so fucked up. I wouldn’t care so much if she was just another operative. But she’s not. And I’m on shaky, unfamiliar ground. You’re playing a fool’s game if you involve a woman you can barely keep your hands off in a covert mission. Fuck you, Smith.
After a few seconds pass, I stand directly behind her and gently tug at the ends of her hair, until her reflection meets mine in the mirror. “Tonight’s important. There won’t be photographs, because the paparazzi aren’t allowed anywhere near the club, but as you surmised, there will be a lot of tongue wagging. I need you to trust that I’ve thought through every detail carefully. That includes your feelings.” I run my hand down her back, and her lips part as she draws a large breath.
Above all else, the one thing that will make the mission successful is our insatiable desire for each other. It’s also what makes it soul-wrenching.
“The only thing I hadn’t anticipated is how gorgeous you’d be all dressed up, and how much I’d want to fuck you. But that’s my problem, not yours. And I won’t allow it to interfere with the plan.” I pause, allowing her to digest all of it.
I have responsibilities to Delilah that I intend on fulfilling at some point. But I also have a mission to think about, and while I’m not prepared to scrap her role in it, I need to know if she’s still on board. Better now than in a week.
“We’re going to be late for our reservation,” she says softly, gazing at me in the mirror.
I search her face, hoping for something more than resignation. As if she knows what I need, she nods. And I can breathe again.
“Think of tonight like one long scene.” I let my hand slide across her ass and down her shapely legs. “Do you trust me not to wrinkle your dress, or would you like to pull it up?”
She reaches down, and carefully lifts the bottom of her dress, until her ass is bared to me. I resist the urge to sink my teeth into the firm muscle.
I want her aroused. It will give her the flushed look of a woman in love—a new love. If she pulls it off, I have a reward for her, and if she doesn’t, she won’t get to ease the ache I’m going to make sure she has all night.
I rub my palm over her round little ass, and when I feel her relax, I bring my hand down hard on her tight cheek. She gasps at the bite of the blow. I’m going to give her the pain she craves, just enough to take the edge off and settle her.
Spanking her eats at me. It’s not what I want for her future—at least not all the time. But emotionally she needs the pain, and I haven’t had enough time to guide her elsewhere.
I might be conflicted, but I’m also aroused.
I slap her ass several more times, letting my fingers dip into her pussy between the sharp strikes, but never for long enough to give her the orgasm that she deserves. That’s for later.
When her skin is reddened, and her pussy primed, I nudge her thong aside and slip the pink vibrator into her, carefully adjusting the thin curve over her clit and the antenna on her a
lmost bare mound. “Panties are optional,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head. “What do you think? Want to leave them here?”
“I think I would quit while I was ahead if I were you.”
I laugh softly. “You okay?”
“Other than my tender backside?”
“It sounds like you’re complaining.” Our eyes meet in the mirror. There’s no uncertainty now. Her eyes are bright and clear.
Delilah shakes her head. “No,” she says so softly I can barely hear it. “No complaints.”
Her calm demeanor should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Inflicting pain is easy. It takes no skill and little effort. She deserves better.
After running a damp washcloth between her legs, I adjust her thong, smooth her dress over her hips, and help her upright. “Showtime.”
The walk to the elevator is quiet, with each of us embroiled in our own thoughts. While we wait for the doors to open, she peeks at me from the corner of her eye. The evening, and all it holds, is weighing on her again. She needs another distraction, and I reach for my phone, but change my mind. Not yet.
When we get into the private elevator, I cage her in the corner, with one hand on the side of her head and the other on my phone. I stop the elevator. “You’re beautiful, Delilah. No one will be able to keep their eyes off you. But you’re mine.” I kiss her roughly. “Say it.”
“I’m yours for the mission,” she says with a spark of defiance that makes my cock harder.
We’ll see. I shrug off the idea of keeping her when we’re done. That’s not the plan.
“If you behave yourself tonight, I have something special planned for you. Something you’ll really enjoy.”
“Maybe my reward can be that you’ll stay on your side of the bed and leave me the hell alone.” There’s a glimmer of challenge in her eyes.