Claimed: Gowns & Crowns, Book 3

by Jennifer Chance

  At that point, Stefan knew they had him. There was no need for Nicki to continue to flirt with the official, but she didn’t seem to realize that. She pressed up against him as if he was the most interesting man in the southern hemisphere. She was not merely dangerous in that dress, she was a lethal weapon, and one he was more than willing to disarm. If only he could—

  “Sir.”

  Stefan looked up, surprised to see Tamas. They’d made arrangement for updates to be relayed during the party by person, not by electronics, in case Omir was scanning anything. Sometimes the simplest solution was the best. But Tamas had chosen his moment well. Stefan remained on the open veranda, and the wind had picked up, swirling around the conversations and serving as an effective scrambler to everyone’s words.

  “How has your tour of the city been?” Stefan asked easily.

  “Couldn’t be better,” Tamas grinned. “The weather, the restaurants, everything perfectly in its place. And the residents are so trusting and welcoming. You can walk in almost anywhere and feel at home.” He shrugged. “There are exceptions of course, but until you get up into the mountains, you will never exhaust the goodwill this city has.”

  Stefan nodded. The security was lax through much of the old town, from what Tamas was saying. But up on the ridges surrounding the city, the story was different.

  “I haven’t been exploring much. I have heard Ephesus is remarkable.”

  “Eh, why bury yourself outside of the city when there is so much more here to see. Everything you want is right here.”

  “You’ve heard that story enough times that you’re starting to believe it?” Stefan asked good-naturedly, clapping Tamas on the shoulder. This time, however, Tamas’s expression lost its good humor. Turned as he was away from the crowded veranda, he was only visible to Stefan. But his face was almost ashen, his eyes stark and cold.

  “I have heard it often enough to know it is true,” he said. “All roads lead to the same walls. There’s no way to tell what those walls are hiding, though.”

  “Such is the nature of walls,” Stefan said. “You have been at it long enough, and tomorrow will be another long day. You should get some rest.”

  Tamas ducked his head, firmly back in his role of earnest tourist. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. The two of them exchanged another round of pleasantries, then the Garronois special forces operative slipped back into the crowd, drawing appreciative glances but little true attention as he made his way back out.

  For his part, Stefan couldn’t shake the expression that had transfixed the young operative’s face. Whatever Tamas had heard had convinced him that Ari was in fact prisoner inside the asylum they’d been targeting—a stark-looking warehouse on the southern ridgeline above Alaçati. Whether he was alive or not there was no way to guess. Security was also tight around the asylum, which would surprise no one. If people knew there were inmates, they’d want to be sure they were kept inside—and even if not, asylums were the type of buildings that invited extra security.

  Even with the tour that Nicki was in the process of adroitly arranging, getting into the asylum wouldn’t be as easy as asking Omir if they could pop in next door for an extended visit. But seeing the building close up from the vantage point of the ruins might prove useful. So would seeing exactly who was working on the excavation teams.

  He had a feeling there were very few actual drunkards that had been roped into service. Chances were good they were all squatters, the poor, the mentally ill, or small-degree felons, offered a chance to work off their debt to society. If so, and if Ari had eventually stopped acting erratically, there was a good chance he had survived. As Stefan had told Nicki, Ari was tall and strong, and was no stranger to hard work. He could—possibly—have survived this long.

  “Hey!” Stefan turned as Nicki bounded up to him. “I spoke to Omir and guess what?”

  “He agreed to give us a tour—tomorrow, under the pretext that you’ll be shooting video footage of the ruins to aid him in his promotion of the city’s project.”

  “That’s right! He didn’t completely skeeve me out either, which I was expecting. I mean, there was low-level skeeve, but totally manageable. I can’t believe that was so easy!”

  “And your friend Josef? Will he be joining us too?” Stefan eased his expression as he spoke the words to lessen their sharpness, and Nicki squinted at him.

  She laughed. “Seriously? Is this jealousy? He’s twice my age and has five kids. Um, no.”

  He lifted his brows, unable to keep from asking the question. “You don’t care for children?”

  “Not when they’re other people’s, and not for myself until I have oh, I don’t know, a roof I can put over their heads. Somewhere that’s not in Indiana, preferably.”

  “I’m not so certain. Indiana sounds like a very wholesome place to raise children. Although unless I miss my guess, it is not a place famed for its windsurfing opportunities.

  “You would be correct.”

  Nicki laughed then, single-handedly dragging him out of the dark waters of his own thoughts. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—wait another moment to touch her again.

  “Stefan?” Nicki finally caught his mood and misread it, her face shuttering into a mask of concern. “Is everything all right?”

  “It isn’t. I need to talk with you a moment.”

  Nicki peered around the room. They were an island among a hundred or so milling guests, and no one was paying attention to them.

  “You can’t talk to me here?” she asked.

  He shook his head, unable to keep the harshness out of his voice. “Not for what I need to say.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Be chill, Nicki admonished herself as she and Stefan moved easily back through the crowd. But how had she so totally misread Stefan’s response to her? How had he slid from interested to infuriated?

  She went over her actions in her mind. Yes, perhaps it was impetuous for her to suggest that she could simply ask Omir to show them the ruins and assume he’d pander to her… but it’d worked. They had a tour scheduled for the next morning, and all because she’d been willing to lean over and show a little cleavage. Granted, she’d also gotten roped into surfing at the expo tomorrow afternoon, but that was a price she was willing to pay. And besides, she hadn’t gotten in any serious exercise since they’d left on this jaunt. The sex, though remarkable, didn’t count.

  Her cheeks flamed thinking about the previous night in Stefan’s state room. He’d so completely exceeded her expectations that she had now a completely unfair and unrealistic bar that none of the ordinary men back in her ordinary world would be able to clear. Sleeping with Stefan had been the equivalent of standing too close to the sun, and her retinas were permanently singed.

  She giggled then stifled the sound at Stefan’s black look. They were moving out of the main party area into an antechamber where a few small groups chatted, more of the servers weaving in and out with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Private conversation was completely possible here, but Stefan angled off into another hallway, past the kitchen and another sitting room—this one dark.

  He stopped and moved back, glancing up the hallway. Then he pushed her in the room.

  “What are you doin—” Nicki’s hiss was cut off mid-sentence as Stefan pressed her up against the wall, his hand over her mouth.

  “Shh,” he said and her eyes went wide, only in part because of the utter gloom in the room, its shades drawn against the fading sky outside. “Can you be quiet?”

  She blinked, nodding. Of all the secret agent things she’d been expecting to see from Stefan, this wasn’t it. But it felt exactly like something out of a movie, and when he pulled his hand away from her mouth it was all she could do not to burst with the questions piling up in her mind.

  “Good,” he said tightly.

  Then he kissed her.

  It wasn’t an ordinary kiss, either. Stefan put both hands on either side of Nicki’s face and tilted her up to him, as if he was a drowni
ng man in need of a cup of water. The moment their lips touched he reached around her body and hauled her close, cradling her backside with his hand as he lifted her higher against the wall.

  Nicki could barely draw in a second breath when he kissed her again, hungrily, deeply, his mouth leaving hers to ravage across her face, her ear, and down into the hollow of her neck.

  The short length and flirty swing of the dress was uniquely suited for back room trysts, and for a moment Nicki thought about protesting—but only for a moment. Instead she flexed her legs, locking her ankles around Stefan’s back and pulling herself tighter against him. He growled against her neck then moved to her mouth again.

  “Sunshine,” he practically moaned and a nervous thrill zipped through her. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. She didn’t want to break the spell that Stefan was weaving around her, around them both—but her heart was already beginning to race.

  At that moment he dragged himself away from her mouth. She smiled up at his dazed face, her hands gripping his shoulders. “So…it was a good thing that I talked to Omir? Because this feels a whole lot like a reward.”

  Stefan barked with laughter and swung her around, the movement causing her to unlock her legs. She slid down until her the heels of her strappy sandals hit the floor, but Stefan held her close until she steadied herself. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “That was unnecessary of me.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about the necessary thing, but I didn’t really need it to be necessary. It was all good.” Nicki spoke the words slowly and carefully, as if Stefan was a colt about to shy away. The impetuous move of feeling her up in a back room seemed totally unlike him, but he was the one leaning back from her, studying her as if she was a different species.

  “You do the most incredible things to me,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, or if you were simply brought to me to teach me a lesson.”

  Nicki lifted a brow. “Well that depends. Am I a path not taken or a horrible mistake so far?” she grinned, softening her words. “Or both?”

  “Definitely not a horrible mistake,” Stefan murmured, drawing her close again. “And as to paths not taken, the night is young, and we have many paths before us.”

  He dipped his head and kissed her again, but lightly this time, softly, as if she were made of fine bone china. Rather than feeling left out in the cold with the softness of his touch, Nicki’s heart turned inside out, thumping out of time despite her silent pleas for it to relax. She forced herself to remain still for as long as she could, but when Stefan shifted she slithered out of his embrace, putting a few feet between them as she made a business out of smoothing her dress.

  “Do I look okay?” she asked as he watched her, for once completely fine with the blush that stained her cheeks. Let him think she was flustered—she was. As long as he didn’t think she was going to faint, she was safe.

  “You do. But I took you rather precipitously from the room. Getting back might be a trick.”

  She shook her head. “You go first. No one notices me the way they notice you, and if you’re in the room for a few minutes, me slipping back in won’t cause a stir. If the reverse happens, they’ll start thinking about it,” she said. “It’s never good when people start thinking.”

  He scowled. “I don’t want to leave you alone in this room.”

  “Okay, don’t—we’ll go back partway, then split up.”

  A strange expression flickered over his face, but he nodded. He took her hand and led her back to the door, then smoothly moved out with her arm curled over his, as if they’d just returned from an evening stroll. There was no one in the corridor, but his steps were so sedate and measured, they served to slow down Nicki’s heart rate by the time they reached the first sparsely populated sitting room. He glanced down at her and she shrugged.

  “You know, as long as I’m not wrecked, I don’t think anyone will notice if we walk in together.”

  “You don’t look wrecked,” he said, his gaze roaming over her face, her hair. “Clearly, I’m losing my touch.”

  “That’s the benefit of not wearing much makeup,” Nicki said with a wink. “I always look like me. Even if I’ve been out all night.”

  He laughed and it lightened her mood further as they headed back to the party. She was right again, too: no one noticed them slip back in, precisely because it seemed like Stefan was moving in slow motion, as if by his own hand he could slow down the turning hands of time and preserve this moment.

  They parted ways shortly after entering the room—him to mingle with the Turkish officials, her to meet and re-meet the remarkable number of the windsurfing community that knew or remembered her from past years.

  It always surprised her, the sense of community that these athletes had. They were ferocious competitors but for the most part, they were the glue that made everything work in between the competitions. Josef had clearly made the rounds before her, because she had no fewer than three job offers before she’d returned to the food table.

  With another glass of champagne to steady her fingers, she gazed out over the sparkling town of Alaçati and into the cold gray building at the top of the southern ridgeline. She wondered about the inhabitants of that building, if the stories were to be believed. Was there a lost prince out there under all that gray? And how would life change if they found him—either dead or alive?

  Stefan watched Nicki mingle across the room as he made his own rounds. With everyone she met, she was bright, vivacious, engaged—and authentic, despite her almost relentless cheer. Was that due to the people who connected with her, all of them athletes or former athletes? Or would she be that way to everyone who approached her, from toddler to grandmother?

  He frowned, shaking his head at the unexpected thought. Nicki Clark had so far done exactly what he needed her to do. She’d shown up and done the work, logging the video blogs, going where he told her to go, doing what he’d asked her to do. She’d not lost her nerve on the island—and she should have. She’d not balked at working long days doing articles purely for cover, not for pay—and she should have, given that she was a professional journalist. She’d endured his sarcasm and his judgment, and taken it as her due.

  That last continued to bother him. There was something about Nicki that was almost fatalistic, as if she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was only twenty-three...too young to have come by that belief the usual way. She didn’t appear to be crushed by life’s experiences, but instead was someone who took them on full force, learning and adapting with each new challenge.

  So why was she so hesitant? Timid wasn’t the right word—no one would ever accuse her of timidity. But there was almost an expectation that she would somehow do the wrong thing, say the wrong words, react the wrong way. It didn’t make sense.

  At that moment, Nicki caught him staring at her across the room. Another woman would have acted coy, or as if she didn’t notice. Nicki merely grinned and raised her champagne flute, appearing for all the world like she was exactly who she was pretending to be: an adventure blogger thrilled to be rubbing elbows with the glitterati and her home crowd alike.

  Only this was who Nicki could be, if she truly wanted to be. He wasn’t unaware of the attention she was receiving. He overheard or intuited the job offers. That Nicki responded to each with gracious, non-committal answers once again left him wondering why. She was here as cover, yes, but these offers were for the life she would lead after the need for cover was through. This little jaunt to Turkey was three inconsequential days out of her life. Would she follow up on those opportunities later then, if one truly caught her interest?

  He shouldn’t care. He knew he shouldn’t care. Nicki Clark was not his mission here, Aristotle Andris was. And Nicki was doing everything she could to ease their way so they could find Ari sooner—whether it was the prince himself, or simply his remains. She was working hard, sacrificing. The least he could do was the same.

 
If only every time she glanced over at him, his resolve to treat her with polite indifference didn’t shatter into a million pieces.

  That…was an issue.

  By the time they left the party, Nicki glowed like an incandescent bulb, attracting a stream of admiring glances—none more so than from Omir. She knew it too.

  “Is he still watching?” she asked with a sunny smile, her words unusually biting despite her carefree expression.

  “I think he will stare a hole in the elevator door.”

  “Then let’s take the stairs,” she said. “Anything to move us more quickly out of here is all right by me.”

  The stairs didn’t take them down to the front of the lobby, however, but to the sitting room in the back—a sitting room that opened on to another wide veranda that led down to the water. They exited the hotel that way.

  “Our hotel is on the waterfront. We might as well walk,” he said, and Nicki quickly nodded.

  “It couldn’t be a more beautiful night.” Within minutes they were walking down the paved sidewalk to the waterside, Stefan with his jacket slung over his shoulder, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. They looked like what they supposedly were—two visitors to the resort city with nothing on their mind but surf and sun and whatever the next day’s adventure would bring.

  Except the next day’s adventure would probably bring challenges that would at a minimum darken the mood between them. The prince could be behind those walls at the asylum. He could be dead or injured, or damaged beyond recognition. It was unlikely that even if he was alive, he would be the same man who had taken off in that plane nearly a year ago. He might have survived the accident, but he would be irrevocably changed.

  “So Omir is warming to the idea of a tour, aided in no small part by Josef’s glowing accounts of his student’s recon trip up there, despite the fact the kid was peeking over the walls.” Nicki said the words casually, gently easing Stefan out of his dark thoughts, as she always did. “He’s thinking about ten a.m. That to me is interesting. If the workers up there are truly scrubs from the asylum next door, I’d think that would be high work time for them.”