by Nic Saint
“I’m fine,” she responded, not mentioning that her cranium felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. That Englishman had one tough jaw.
“Thank God,” he said, pressing her into his arms. “I wouldn’t know what to do if they’d hurt you, Diana.”
She was touched by the worry lacing his voice. She hadn’t known he cared so much. Then she noticed her teeth were chattering. She was still only dressed in a thin sweater. He rubbed her back and arms and searched around for a cab.
“We should call the police,” she said. “They need to take care of Yuri.”
He shook his head. “I have a better idea, but first we need to get you off the street. You’re freezing, honey.”
A taxi trundled past and he lifted his hand to hail it. To her surprise, it screeched to a halt, then reversed until it drew level with them. Jack ushered her inside and followed suit, scanning the street all the while.
“The Cornucopia Hotel,” he barked to the spindly taxi driver. The man nodded, and the taxi sped away from the curb. Just in time too, she saw, for a small group of unsavory looking men came hurrying around the corner, checking in all directions. Jack quickly pushed Diana’s head down, ducking out of sight himself.
In Russian, she urged the taxi driver to put the pedal to the metal, and only when they’d gone the length of the street did she dare to look back. She heaved a sigh of relief.
“Hey, buddy,” Jack growled, “do you have a phone I could use?” The taxi driver eyed him wearily until Jack added, “a hundred dollars. US.” He held up a finger. “One phone call.”
The man finally agreed and handed Jack a Samsung S6 that looked brand new. Diana arched an eyebrow. If she were ever in need of money, she could always become a Moscow taxi driver.
“Armand? Jack. I need you to patch me through to Yulian Gornakov. Yeah, I don’t have his number.” After only a moment’s delay, Jack’s intonation changed. It was obvious he didn’t much care for Diana’s brother. “Something’s fucked up in your organization, Yulian. Your sister and I have just been abducted and held at gunpoint by your father. Yes, that’s right. No, he’s not at Somsky Psychiatric Hospital. Unless the swanky apartment we just escaped from is part of their home care program.”
Diana grinned. Jack was right. This was much better than the police.
“Oh, and buddy? Next time keep a better eye on your old man, will you?”
The moment Jack disconnected the phone and handed it back to the taxi driver, he grunted, “He’s sending in the troops. They’ll take down this operation pronto and return your father to store. And this time they’ll make sure he doesn’t escape.” He gave her a look of concern that melted her heart. “You’ll have your money back, sweetheart. Yulian will make sure.”
She shook her head, eyes sparkling. “I don’t care about the money, Jack. All I care about is you.”
He looked surprised, but his surprise was short-lived when she reached up and pressed her lips against his. Then he cradled her in his arms and the sudden hunger with which he kissed her was a testament to the desperation he’d been feeling and the desire she sparked in him.
No, she didn’t care about that money one bit, as long as she could be with Jack.
CHAPTER 31
The door slammed shut and Jack staggered back, Diana clasped firmly in his arms. Finally they were back where they started, and this time no one would interrupt them.
Jack kicked the door shut and they both crash-landed on the floor. It was as if the time apart had stoked the fire burning inside them to explosive heights and now neither could wait to be naked and fucking like the proverbial bunnies.
Diana straddled him and lifted her sweater and shirt, revealing her ample breasts. As Jack filled his hands with her smooth flesh, she laughed and flipped back her hair.
Christ she was hot. And she was all his.
From now on he would never let her out of his sight again. Ever.
She leaned over and tugged at his shirt. Then her hands were exploring him, feeling their way along his taut belly, the sculpted muscles of his chest and brawny arms. He captured her lips and drank greedily, reveling in her heat as she pressed against him, her nipples erect, just like the painful bulge in his pants.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled. Then he was tugging down her jeans while he shucked his and then they were both naked and moving together. He flipped her over and let his hand trail along her perfect body, caressing the soft skin of her breasts, down to her belly and along her hip. She arched her back when he placed his hand on her triangle and his fingers slipped between her folds, sliding into the slick heat.
She moaned deeply, clasping her hand over his, willing him on and inviting him to ravish her deeper. His cock was so hard the gleaming head was oozing wetness.
She reached out a finger and dipped it into the liquid pouring from his length, then slowly moved her hand between her legs and smeared it on the swollen bud of her clit, making circular movements with her index finger. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he moved over her, placing his burgeoning cock directly at the entrance to her womanhood, and plunged inside all that wetness.
They both grunted at the sensation of finally being skin to skin again, their bodies united. “How much I’ve missed this—how much I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, Jack, take me hard this time. Don’t hold back.”
He wasn’t about to hold back as he slid all the way inside her.
God, how he loved this woman.
Her nails dug into his chest and the sweet pain urged him on. He eased one of her legs up until it rested on his shoulder and she cried out with the delicious pleasure of feeling him all the way inside to the very end of her channel. He flexed one knee and plunged into her softness, her pussy slick and inviting to accommodate his burgeoning length.
Slipping all the way out and then plunging deeply inside her again, he thought his cock would melt to a stub. He reached out and clasped her breasts, squeezing them together and then she was whipping her head from side to side, soft moans and whimpers escaping her throat. Bucking her hips, she thrust erratically against his pummeling hardness. It was as if the fire intensified to an all-consuming flame when she climaxed around his girth, her pussy milking him. He couldn’t hold it any longer and unleashed his climax straight into her pulsating belly, hot streams mingling with her juices.
Finally, they collapsed into each other’s arms, panting and grinning like a couple of crazy people, their lips touching, tongues melding as they held each other close.
And Jack was just about to suggest they move into the bedroom when the door behind them burst open and a man, bloodied and enraged, towered over them, waving a gun.
It was the British hostage-taker.
When he saw the two of them on the floor, buck-naked, he grinned evilly.
“So you thought you could get rid of me so easily, huh? Well, think again, Prince Jackass!” he hollered.
His face was streaked with blood, and one of his piercing blue eyes was shut tight, a large welt forming there.
“I should have killed you,” Jack grunted.
“You’re right about that,” the man grinned, then started to squeeze the trigger.
Jack, sick and tired of this guy’s interruptions, kicked out with his foot, hitting the asshole in the knee. With a cry of pain, the madman went down, and Jack kicked out with his other foot, sending the gun flying, then knocked the guy out with one well-aimed punch to the face.
“And this time, stay down,” he snarled.
Diana had snatched her sweater from the floor and was checking the corridor for any sign of more unwanted guests. “All clear,” she called out.
Calmly, Jack removed the intruder’s wallet to check his ID.
And it was when he took a good look at the man’s name that the truth finally hit home. Startled, his gaze flicked to Diana.
“Who is he?” she asked.
Instead of responding, he simply handed her the ID card.
> This wasn’t happening…
From the expression on Diana’s face when she learned the truth he knew his eyes hadn’t deceived him. She’d slung a hand to her face and directed a look of sorrow at him so clearly heartfelt it touched him to the core.
“Oh, Jack,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry.”
CHAPTER 32
Armand Equine was working in his garden. Ever since his semi-retirement he enjoyed spending time with his pots and plants. When his wife was still alive this small patch of green, only a stone’s throw from the royal palace, had been her domain. Gardening was her life, and when she died, he’d allowed the garden to die with her. Neglecting the flowers she’d planted and the plants she’d put in place had turned this once small strip of bliss into a devastated area, completely overgrown with weeds.
One night, coming home from work, he’d sat on the bench overlooking his private jungle and had realized this was no way to honor his wife’s memory, and he’d slowly begun to put some order back in the chaos. The doctors had only given him six more months to live and he wanted to spend them as close to Emily as humanly possible. What better way to be near her than to put his hands in the same soil she’d worked for so many years, to nurture the same plants she’d so lovingly planted with her own delicate fingers?
He frowned at an aphid that was crawling up the stem of a begonia and cursed under his breath, then took the tiny insect between thumb and forefinger and crushed it to death, just like he’d crushed so many criminals in his forty-year career.
He sat back on his haunches when he heard car tires crunch the gravel driveway of his modest home, then looked up in surprise when King Francois’s bearded face came into view as the monarch rounded the house. It was the first time in the four decades he’d served the House of Montinia that the king paid a house call.
Instantly on his feet, he walked up to his employer and lifelong friend. “Your Highness. To what do I owe the honor?”
One look at the king’s face told him something was terribly wrong. There was a somberness in the king’s demeanor that alerted him of things to come. His face fell.
“Jack called me from Moscow,” the king began without preamble.
Armand closed his eyes. Of course. He should have known.
“Did you send my boy over there on purpose?” the king asked, emotion clear in his voice.
Armand held up his hands. “I swear I never—”
“He was almost shot and killed, do you know that?” The king stabbed him in the chest with his finger and Armand staggered back. “Your cousin’s handiwork. Alastair Equine. But then you probably knew this was going to happen.”
Armand could only shake his head. “I had no idea…”
“That Alastair was working for Yuri Gornakov? Apparently he has for quite some time.”
Armand remained silent, the guilty expression on his face a dead giveaway.
“How could you, Armand?” the king thundered, outrage blended with hurt. “I thought we were friends! Why did you do it? For the money? I could have given you anything you wanted.”
Armand hung his head. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Alastair promised me no violence would be used.”
“Well, that was probably before he tried to kill my son,” cried the king, balling his fists. For a moment Armand thought the ruler would strike out, but then he controlled himself and turned away. “I don’t understand. Explain to me what’s going on, please. I need to know.”
“I—I can’t,” Armand riposted miserably.
The king gave him a long, level look that shook him to the core. “You will tell me, Armand, or I won’t be held accountable for the consequences.”
Armand shivered, knowing full well what the ruler of the tiny kingdom was referring to. Even though the death sentence had been abolished in Montinia, there was one exception: the crime of treason. The judgment hadn’t been passed in decades, but it was most definitely applicable to Armand’s transgression. Plotting to kill a member of the royal family would put Armand’s head on the chopping block. Or at least its twenty-first-century iteration.
“In the name of our friendship,” the king added in a low rumble. “If that still means anything to you.”
It pained him to see the disapproving look on his friend’s face. King Francois was the sole reason he was here in the first place. Forty years ago, Armand had personally been selected by the king to head up his small security force. They’d struck up a friendship that endured to this day, especially since both men had been hit by tragedy, losing their beloved wives to disease. It had forged an unbreakable bond. At least until now.
He finally broke down. “It’s my nephew.”
“Your cousin, you mean. Alastair. The blue-eyed Brit who targeted my family.”
“No, my nephew.” He pointed to the set of garden chairs. “You better take a seat, Your Highness, if you will.”
The king lowered his form onto the wrought iron chair, intrigued. “Your nephew? You mean…”
“Malcolm, yes. My sister’s boy.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Cocaine. He’s managed to clean out Armelia’s inheritance like a locust and it has left the family in ruins. I’ve been doing what I can to support her but whatever money the boy can lay his hands on disappears up his nose in no time.”
“What about sending him to rehab?” the king rumbled.
“No good, I’m afraid. He’s been admitted into rehabilitation countless times but keeps relapsing. As a last resort we finally decided to send him to Adelboden Practice.”
The king nodded. “Fine institution. Switzerland, right?”
“Yes. It is rumored to have the best track record. It is also extremely costly. Sending Malcolm there would end up costing the family hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me?” the king cried. “I would have gladly helped out.”
Armand gave his friend a pained look. “I couldn’t.”
The king nodded, understanding dawning. This was a private family matter and had caused Armand a great deal of shame. He didn’t want to trouble other people with the burden of his nephew’s addiction.
“So when Alastair came to me with this plan to help his employer—”
“Yuri Gornakov.”
“I figured, why not?” He hung his head in abject defeat.
“You thought it was a way to make money fast and easy.” He frowned. “I’m still saying you should have come to me, my friend. You know you can trust me to be discreet about such matters.”
“I never thought Alastair would take things this far. All he needed was access to Diana’s account. That’s where this would end. He never told me he would barge in here with a dozen men and take everybody hostage.” He gestured with his arm. “Blow the place to smithereens.” He shook his head. “But once I was in, there was no other way than to play along.”
“But why send Jack and Diana to Moscow?”
“Alastair told me that Yuri wanted to meet Diana. To finally be reunited with his daughter.”
The king eyed him curiously. “Even after all these years you still have a soft heart, Armand. Some people would even call you naive. Did you really believe Yuri Gornakov was a family man? That he would simply give Diana a hug and a kiss on the cheek? After all he’s done?”
Armand eyed him sadly. “I did. Alastair made him sound so sincere…”
The king sighed. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I think I can understand your motives for doing this.”
Armand looked up, wiping away the tear that had appeared in his eye. “Jack is like a son to me, Francois, you know that. I would never do anything to harm that boy.”
“I know,” said the king, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. He looked thoughtful. “This has devastated Jack. He’s very fond of you, as you well know.”
“I’ll do anything to make amends,” stated Armand emphatically.
The king nodded, then rose to his feet, holding on to the back of the chair
for support. That was something else they had in common. They were both old and suffering the ailments commonly associated with their age. “I’m glad we had this little chat.”
“I’m so sorry,” Armand stammered brokenly.
“Effective immediately, I’ll accept your resignation.”
“Of course.”
The king pondered for a moment, then said, “I think we need to keep this between us, my friend. Please don’t discuss this with anyone.” He hesitated. “Let me see what I can do about your nephew.”
Armand looked up in surprise. “You’re not thinking…”
The king gave him a long, level look. “I am thinking that if I’d been a better friend to you this would never have happened. If you had to go to such lengths to take care of your family I’m not the friend I thought I was.” He cut off Armand’s protestations with a gesture. “I’ll pay for Malcolm’s stay at Adelboden Practice. In return there’s something I need you to do for me.”
“Anything,” said Armand, wiping away a tear. “Anything at all.”
CHAPTER 33
Diana somberly packed up her stuff. After the terrible events of the past few days, it was now obvious to her that she’d brought Jack nothing but trouble ever since their serendipitous meeting. First his ancestral home had been bombed, raided and his family held hostage, then he was kidnapped and almost shot and killed.
Furthermore, she’d briefly consulted the internet while Jack was busy dealing with the madman who’d almost shot them, and had seen a groundswell of news tidings about her budding relationship with the young prince. The House of Montinia was being crucified by the tabloids and even the serious press for associating with Mafia Princess Diana Petrov, aka Anastasiya Gornakov.
And then there was the drama of Armand. The man who’d broken into their hotel room, the hostage-taker with the piercing blue eyes and the British accent, had turned out to be none other than Armand’s cousin Alastair Equine. A notorious gangster in his homeland of England, the man had devised a plan to tap his uncle for information about attacking Montinia and stealing Diana’s money.