by Amber Bardan
Something told me I wouldn’t like the way Haithem dealt with problems.
He touched my face. I flinched, but he just guided my chin up, forced me to look at him. “I’m not going to punish you.”
I swallowed. “You’re not?”
He brushed his thumb against my chin as though he was wiping a smudge. “No, you did me a favor.”
“A favor?”
“Yes, a very big favor.”
His words didn’t relax me, didn’t reassure me. If anything, my skin pulled tighter around me as all my hairs stood on end.
“Don’t you want to know what that necklace was worth?”
I shook my head, and his hand stayed on my chin throughout the movement.
“It was worth a million dollars.” He leaned in and whispered. “It was worth a million dollars, and I let you drop it into the ocean.”
My heart had never beat that fast. Through all the shock of the past few days, that moment was the worst. I couldn’t get in enough air; I gasped as though I were breathing at an ultrahigh altitude.
“I let you do that.” He removed his hand from my face and stepped back. “So you see now, there’s no price I won’t pay to win.”
He didn’t smile now. His features were even, contained, his words almost businesslike. “There’s nothing you can do to bribe me, nothing you can threaten me with.”
Every movement of the yacht made my stomach turn, made the world spin.
“There’s nothing you can do at all.”
The swaying was too much, and my knees gave way. I slid to my backside, and the world grew quiet.
Haithem
PERHAPS ANGER FUELED my ruthlessness. I left her huddled on the ground and sought the solitude of my office. She’d fooled me for an instant. They’d chosen her so well. A sleeper no one would suspect, living in the bosom of her family, waiting for that one mission only an asset like her could fulfill.
She was smart, opportunistic, resourceful.
Not to be underestimated again, no matter how wide she could make her eyes. I placed the notepad she’d written on in the locked drawer of my desk. I’d promised to send an email to her family. Promised to alleviate their worry.
I lied.
Because the thing about my little stowaway was she had everything to lose. Assets like her always did. She might be groomed to place her mission above family—but that didn’t mean weaknesses could no longer be exploited.
That was the difference between them and me.
None of my weaknesses survived. And if I didn’t defeat her, neither might I.
I flipped open the folder Karim had left me and examined the contents. The headlines and articles tugged a knot beneath my sternum. I’d known after she’d passed out from fever that this was a possibility. Another day on top of the twelve hours she’d hidden away, they’d be looking for a missing person.
Now we could add the eyes of the world to those who hunted me. I slammed the folder shut, then jammed it back in the drawer. She’d almost won that round.
We were on.
There was a reason they gave prisoners with life sentences the prospect of parole—hope. Incentive drives a person.
I’d give her incentives. I’d give her promises.
Angelina would have hope—even though there was none.
I went to the window and peered through the blinds. She’d crawled onto a deck chair and curled onto her side. I rubbed the place between my ribs, because something deep inside ached just at the sight of her.
She’s mine now.
* * *
I FELL.
Through darkness. Through gray-blue. Just like that necklace, I sank clean through the water without causing a single ripple.
Down, down, down.
I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry out. It was like flying. Freely flying toward my own death. I wasn’t even afraid. In a way, it was a relief.
I breathed in deep. Water filled my lungs but didn’t drown me.
“Angelina.”
I kicked my legs, pushing up toward the sound of the voice. Light shone above me. I shot toward it then looked up to the surface and froze. A face looked down at me, obscured by rippling water.
I blinked, and the ripples cleared around the face. My face. Except not. Me...but male. As if I was a boy. As though I’d been torn in half and made into two parts.
“Angelina.”
Memory pushed at the edges of my mind, and I swam closer. I knew this face. I’d tried so hard to lock it away behind layer upon layer of repression.
He was there, above me, just on the other side of the water. He reached for me, his hand plunging through the water, stretching toward me. Urgency exploded through my system. Kicking my legs, I strained for him. My arms flung out—my legs flailed. I had to get to him. Before it was too late.
Before he was gone again.
The space between me and the surface grew. I screamed beneath the water, my voice a warbling roar. “Josh.” The name left me, not from my mouth but from somewhere deep in my chest. The name almost forgotten by my tongue.
“Angelina.”
The surface opened, and I sprang forward. Air rushed into my lungs, and I was once again on the yacht.
Haithem, in all his terrifying gorgeousness, leaned over me. “You shouldn’t sleep in the sun—you’ll dehydrate.”
I rolled off the deck chair I’d curled up on and landed on my hands and knees. My joints shuddered with the impact.
“Fuck, you’re dehydrated already, aren’t you?”
Was that why I shook so hard I couldn’t make it to my feet? My mouth pooled with water. I wasn’t dehydrated.
“I’ll get you some water.”
Footsteps receded.
I couldn’t move from my hands and knees. My limbs seemed locked in place. An image filled my thoughts, sent memories rushing through me.
A lifetime of memories.
I’d just invented time travel. Because my life from the first moment I could remember streaked though my vision.
Except all my memories centered around one person.
Josh.
His name filled my brain, right there with his image. His name, which I’d banished from my vocabulary.
Footsteps approached, and a hand rested on my back.
I shook harder.
Because now the name reached my lips. The face swam in my mind. The soul loomed so close I could feel it next to me like a phantom limb.
So close, somewhere between here and memory.
Josh, my twin.
There was his name again. The name I’d not spoken, not once, not even in therapy, where I’d upheld my vow of silence. But somehow on the floor, shaking so hard I don’t know how I kept my stomach from spilling, the name curled on my tongue, waiting for me to release it out loud.
“Here,” Haithem said, and a glass of water appeared below my face.
A sob rattled my chest.
“Angelina?”
Another sob shook me, dragging painfully from my belly, up my ribs and into my shoulders. Strong hands pulled me up, helped me to sit, then hauled me against a chest as hard as steel, but warmer than the sun’s rays beating on my back. His arms wrapped around me, and I couldn’t resist his embrace. I cried. I sobbed, heaving and ugly, jerking and shaking.
A year’s worth of tears.
Haithem stroked my back, held on to me so tightly that he kept me tethered to sanity. I said nothing, just hiccupped and croaked, yet I could feel my secrets flow from me to him.
Evil bastard.
Holding me while I cried. Making me share things I didn’t want to share. Apparently my heart wasn’t as resistant to him as my mind was.
I cried harder.
He held me tighter.
Eventually, there wasn’t anything left to cry. I didn’t know there was a limit to how many tears one person can produce, but they did run out.
He held the glass of water to my lips, and I sipped. My head pounded with the onset of a migraine. No more tears flowed, but my breaths still shuddered.
“You’ve hardly eaten.” He pulled me to my feet, let me lean against him. “Let’s get you something.”
He guided me into the cabin, sat me on the couch and draped a throw over me. I tipped to the side, lying against the soft pillows. Haithem walked to the intercom and barked something at the person at the other end of the line. I pulled the throw to my chin. My teeth chattered, but I wasn’t cold.
Damp hair brushed from my face. His fingers smoothed over my temple and dipped behind my ear. Then his thumb swiped my cheek, pushing away the remaining wetness.
I hiccupped.
Asshole.
Wiping away my tears. Acting like my friend. Acting like someone I could trust. I couldn’t trust him.
Yet he was the only one I’d entrusted with my tears...
Stupid.
Now he had a new power over me. The power of knowing I could cry. The power of having held my pain and seen just how heavy that bitch was.
“You know I’m not keeping you here simply for my own pleasure, don’t you?”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see his bastard face. I had no freaking idea why he kept me. Only what he’d told me, which wasn’t much, and I still didn’t know what I could believe from him, anyway.
“I’m doing my best to get you home.”
Home.
I shuddered again. My parents. Now that I’d started thinking, I couldn’t stop. About Josh, about how we’d lost him. About how they wouldn’t be able to take losing me, too.
I had to shut it down, turn off this thinking crap.
I’d done just fine the past twelve months—well, most of the past twelve months—blocking everything out. I still hurt. Still hurt every day. But I could make myself not acknowledge the source. I just needed to figure out how to do that again. Footsteps entered the room, and I opened my eyes.
Karim set a tray on the table, nodded to Haithem and walked back out.
Haithem collected the tray, returning a moment later with a bowl and spoon. “Eat some soup.”
I shook my head.
Anything that went down now would definitely not stay down.
“You’ll feel better after you eat.” His voice went a little quieter. “I promise, just try some.”
Damn him. Why’d he have to go and sound all caring?
Mind games.
He knelt beside me. I looked at him. His face reflected the warmth of his voice. The cool around me thawed. It was as easy as that—his eyes looking at me all softly, his lips pursed so tenderly.
As if he was someone else. As if he was someone who actually had a heart.
Where had that caring person been before?
How risky it was, how foolish I’d been, to give in to this softer side of him. I wanted to know what it’d be like to have him hold me now. Fondly, comfortingly. When I wasn’t crying. But that would be taking foolishness too far.
I sat up and took the bowl from him. He rose then sat across from me. I lifted the spoon and brought it to my lips, sucking in a mouthful of hot, salty broth. The soup hit my empty stomach like a bucket of lead. I dropped the spoon back into the bowl. My stomach turned, hungry yet rebelling. I reached over and put the bowl on the side table next to the couch, then curled up against the pillows.
Haithem sighed but said nothing, only stretching his legs out in front of him. He watched me. Except his watching me didn’t make me nervous. His watching me made me want him to come sit with me and let me rest my head in his lap instead of on fluffy pillows.
That settled it—I’d finally lost my marbles.
Hadn’t that been what everyone had been saying behind my back for a year, anyway?
Angelina’s cracked.
Well, consider me well and truly crack-a-lacked.
TWELVE
I MUST HAVE died in my sleep, because I awoke to the smell of heaven. My eyes flew open, and then I was looking at heaven, too. Haithem lying beside me in bed, relaxed in a shirt just like the one I wore, a wicked, sinful smile on his glistening lips. My heart beat way too fast for first thing after waking. Had he slept beside me? Had he been in bed with me without my knowing it? My skin prickled.
He raised a hand to his mouth, slid something brown and flaky between his lips and chewed. His jaw worked, the muscles on the edges popping out. I wet my lips. He still hadn’t shaved. Tiny black hairs protruded from his skin, and I wanted nothing more than to feel them scrape against me. To touch them with my fingers. To drag his face to my throat. He swallowed. His hand moved again, and flakes fell from his fingers. I watched them fall onto the white sheet that covered us both to the waist.
A plate rested between us, piled high with three golden croissants.
Chocolate croissants.
Goddammit. My favorite. He was eating my absolute favorite thing in front of me. My stomach clenched, woke up and remembered the hunger it had forgotten in sleep.
“What are you doing?” My throat scraped, a husky morning croak filling my voice.
He picked up one of the pastries and tore it in half. Steam escaped, rising and dissipating from between his hands like a burst of delicious chocolate-filled magic. “I’m having breakfast in my bed.”
His bed.
I shivered for real. Yes, I was in his bed. Half-naked in Haithem’s bed.
He held half a croissant out to me so that the buttery, chocolaty scent washed over me.
“I thought you must be starving by now. So I had these baked fresh.”
My gaze flicked between his fingers and his eyes. I couldn’t miss the glint of satisfaction. He wasn’t really hiding it. My heart sped up again. He’d had chocolate croissants baked for me. Some squealy, girlie part of me wanted to purr and rub up against him. Be all impressed.
The rest of me was just plain scared.
He’d known my weakness. This exact little weakness of mine. Of all the things he could have chosen, he’d picked so aptly. He’d known I’d just about sell my soul for a good croissant—make that croissant a chocolate one, and, well... He might be the actual devil. Knowing his position on contracts, I could picture him readying the paperwork now. My soul forfeit for the price of one chocolate croissant with the possibility of a proper fucking on the side.
“You’re making a mess in the bed.”
He grinned, flashed every tooth at me. “Angel, I’ve never minded making a mess in bed.”
Heat exploded over my chest and face. I might not have experienced it, but he made me want to find out—find out what a hot, messy fuck was like.
He held a pastry to my mouth. It warmed my lips. Tempted me to eat from his hand.
I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t have been able to stop there. I’d be licking the butter from those fingers, sinking them into my mouth then dragging them down my body. Because, god help me, despite all wrongness, I was hungrier for Haithem than I’d ever been for food.
I reached forward, plucked the other half of the croissant off the plate and rolled out of bed.
He chuckled softly.
I sank into one of the wingback chairs in the corner of the room near the couch and pulled off a tiny piece of croissant and popped it in my mouth.
It melted on my tongue with all the rich loveliness of chocolate and good pastry. It took all my will not to moan. Haithem slid off the bed and walked toward me. I kept my eyes on the pastry. He set the plate on the small table next to me.
“You’ve forgotten something.”
Jesus, did he
expect a thank-you?
I glanced up, and he held out a cup. It looked and smelled suspiciously like a cappuccino. I’d have liked to resist. But we were talking about real coffee to wash down my croissant. There are some things you just don’t say no to.
I took it from his hands.
“Thanks,” I said, and had a sip. Then my gaze snapped to his. “Oh, come on, really?”
“What?”
I set the cup down. “Three sugars? How the hell did you just happen to guess how I take my coffee?”
“I didn’t guess. I watched you put sugar in your coffee the first time I saw you.”
He’d paid such close attention that day? What was it about me that made a man like him notice, made him pay attention? Whatever it was, maybe it had something to do with why he made such an impact on me. That zing between us. Zapping attraction. I’d experienced attraction before. I’d had butterflies a few times in high school. My heart had raced when I’d been kissed. I’d gotten wet when a guy had groped my tits.
I’d never believed in the kind of lust that made smart girls do stupid things. But here it was. I’d yet to understand chemistry. I’d only begun to appreciate just how deeply the desire to replicate was hardwired into my genetics. As though there was some genetic code that hit a magic sequence when it met its perfect counterpart and then—zing.
Cue the crazy.
I shook my head, picked up the cup and held it to my mouth. “I’m just going to have my coffee and croissant now, because I need it, and I’ll try to pretend for five minutes that any part of this is normal,” I said out loud but mostly to myself.
He sat in the chair opposite me and picked up a croissant.
I ate another piece of pastry. “Don’t you have important secret business to attend to or something?”
“Ouch, Angel, you trying to get rid of me?”
I made a sound at the back of my throat.
“Business is mostly concluded, so for now, I’m all yours.” He dragged out the last part of the sentence, and I felt the words all the way down to my womb.
“Lucky me,” I said, and scrunched up my nose at him.
“You wound me. And when I have such surprises in store for you today.”
I laughed drily. “You know that sounds like a line right out of a horror movie, right?” I brushed crumbs off my legs, and my lips tightened. “I’m not sure I can handle any more surprises.”