by Delta James
Still, she was behaving badly, and she knew it. Ignoring his silent rebuke was easier than stifling the heated burn that ignited the smoldering embers both in the pit of her stomach and in her face, and that annoyed her. Who did he think he was? He had no right to scold her, although she did wonder more often than she wanted to admit, what it might feel like to belong to someone like Christian Reid—strong hands like his fondling her, to feel the large, hard cock that often strained at his fly caress her in the most intimate way.
Get a hold of yourself, Aliya. He was a chaperone, little better than a bodyguard, and he had no idea what she had to do today. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders as she walked down the hall to join him. She didn’t owe him anything, much less an explanation why it had taken her so long to get ready.
When she neared, he held up a wallet marked with her brother’s initials, FA. That startled her. Was he actually going to let her be in control of the money? No one had ever done that before. Not that it mattered. She took it from him as if this were something she did all the time and kept going without a word.
He tsked, a censuring click of his tongue against his teeth, and her face burned even hotter. Was he admonishing her again? What for, and why did she care? Except she did. Yes, she was being rude, but she had a reason for it. She was leaving, she told herself yet again, growing aggravated with herself. The last thing she needed to worry about was what someone like Christian Reid thought of her!
When she hiked her chin and kept going, he tsked again. Like nails on a chalkboard, she was quickly coming to hate that sound.
“What?” she said in her best bored and entitled tone.
“Princess?” he murmured, his lips barely moving as if he had no idea to what she was referring.
It was all she could do to tear her eyes away from those lips and the mouth she fantasized might one night play where only her own fingertips had dared to in the past. She mentally shook herself to break her reverie. She needed to focus.
“Don’t call me that,” she huffed.
The pet name grated even more than the tsking did. Annoyed with her own inability to ignore him, she glared back over her shoulder but didn’t slow her pace as she headed for the stairs. Three floors down on the bottom deck, her way to freedom was being prepared. The faster she got to the boat, the faster she would be out of here, and the safer she would be.
He’d tsked three times in a row.
Stopping abruptly, she turned on him.
“If you have something to say to me, then say it.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Smiling, he stepped around her and calmly took the lead away from her.
She broke into a jog to take it back, tsking vindictively as she passed him again.
“Ah, that.” He followed her down the next flight of deck stairs as she led the way to the rear of the yacht. “Just an observation.”
That rankled.
“You’re the hired help,” she told him. “You don’t get to make observations. Observations and opinions are above your pay grade.”
He chuckled, the sound raising all the fine hairs up her arms and across the back of her neck. She told herself it was an unpleasant sensation, but it was doing weird things to her belly. Blossoms of warmth moved through her core and heated her face even more. She tried to remind herself he was the enemy, he creeped her out, and she didn’t like him, but this didn’t feel like dislike. This felt… throbby, melty, a weird puddling mix of embarrassment and excitement, all tangled together in her twisting stomach and between her legs.
God, she had to get a grip.
“Spoken like a true princess, Princess,”
“I’m not a princess.”
“If the Louboutin shoe fits…” He snorted, shaking his head. “You’re the spoiled little sister of a tyrant king.”
As they neared where the boat had been lowered to the water, he took two handguns offered to him by one of the guards. Checking to make sure both firearms were loaded, Christian donned the chest holster and tucked the other into the back of his jeans, letting his shirttail conceal it.
“I’m not a spoiled brat,” she sniped. “And my brother is not a king, either—tyrant or otherwise. I very much doubt you would call him that to his face. He’s a businessman.”
Christian snorted. “Of course, he is… Princess.”
What was wrong with him? Didn’t he know they could be overheard? Didn’t he care? She shouldn’t give a damn about him, except there was something in the way he spoke to her that made her think he knew something he shouldn’t. Was he on to her? Was Fariq? Were the other surveillance devices his?
Stepping up to the gap in the railing, he glanced down at the boat drifting alongside them at the bottom of a short twelve-step ladder, then he held out his hand.
“After you, Princess.”
Folding her arms, she glared and didn’t move.
“All right.” A corner of his mouth curled. “After you, little girl. Is that better? You’d best pay attention to what your brother said. He’s quite right about my knowing how to handle spoiled young ladies who won’t behave.”
A warm pulse thumped between her legs, making her tighten her thighs in an effort to smother the sensation. She hated that he was doing this to her. Did he even know? Did she want to know if he’d handle her in reality the way he did when she laid in her bed at night, trying to sleep? It was bad enough her dreams and fantasies were filled with images of Christian Reid. Dealing with him and her reaction to him, when she needed to focus on what she was doing, might throw her off. Today, she needed to be on top of her game.
For heaven’s sake, he wasn’t even that good looking!
Well, okay… he was that good looking, but not in a gorgeous way. He was rather handsome in a patrician sort of way, his classic and chiseled visage marred only by a little too much stubble on his chin to be clean-shaven but not enough to be called a beard. She didn’t like scruffy men, she suddenly decided, only to find herself immediately wondering how he might look clean-shaven or what it might feel like to have that cheek and chin, with its blond facial hair, scrubbing against her breasts or between her legs. Never mind how broad his shoulders were or how his muscular forearm bulged as he held out his hand for hers. And she really shouldn’t be thinking about his washboard abs and well-developed butt, which she’d once caught a glimpse of when he’d used the outdoor shower by the pool. He was absolutely the sort of man ladies swooned over and precisely the kind her brother would never have allowed within fifty yards of her if he didn’t work for him. In a suit, he was too pretty… too polished. In the raw, he was all sex and violence—she didn’t want that.
She wanted a nice man who worked a regular job in a legal business and who would treat her like… well, a princess. She wanted to be made love to sweetly, gently, and romantically. Even knowing the very little she did of him, that wasn’t what Christian would offer. He would take her whenever, wherever, and however he chose. She’d wake up every morning underneath him as he mounted her and fucked her silly before starting their day, only to end it again by fucking her into exhaustion and oblivion. She didn’t want that… or did she?
Refusing to take his hand, she slipped past him but stopped when she looked down and saw who stood below them, holding the boat steady against the yacht’s ladder.
“Over you go, Princess,” Christian said, annoying her all over again.
She backed away from the ladder. “I… I can’t.”
A flicker of irritation flashed quickly through his eyes and across his face before he masked them again. She had no idea what she’d done, but if she weren’t so upset right now, it might have made her happy.
“Changed your mind about shopping?” he asked. “Because I have plenty to do without playing bodyguard to you. Or are you just trying to be difficult? Let me warn you explicitly, I don’t accept difficult from little girls.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Naughty princesses get their cute little bottoms spanked to a
fiery red before being made to do all kinds of nasty things you don’t even have a clue about.”
Aliya glared at him, so startled by the sudden tightening of her nipples and the liquid desire that threatened to leak down her thighs, she didn’t know what part to protest first.
“I do, too, have a clu… I am not being diffi… I’m not a l-little gi… You have no right to speak… Stop calling me princess!”
He chuckled as she folded her arms over her chest, worried her thin sundress might reveal her beaded nipples. The flames of desire licked up in her belly and caused her face to flush as she tilted her chin up with all the confidence she didn’t possess and tried to stare him down, not something she could actually do. He was at least five inches taller, even when she was in heels. Besides, he wasn’t a man who accepted being stared down by her.
“Get in the damn boat,” he ordered.
Her right knee buckled with the ferocity of her ache to obey, but she stopped herself just in time. Why was it that everything inside her craved to submit to this man? Confidence gave way to fluster, and every ounce of the annoyance that had bolstered her just seconds ago abandoned her. She couldn’t go down the ladder, but she couldn’t stay on this ship. It was embarrassing as hell to have to tell someone like Christian Reid why, but she didn’t see where she had any other option.
“I can’t,” she confessed. Lowering her voice and hoping he didn’t just laugh at her, she whispered, “That’s Lamar in the boat. He likes looking up my skirt.”
Christian blinked at her. Stepping up to the gap in the rail, he looked down at the man in the waiting speedboat, then looked at her again. He didn’t laugh, but part of her thought he was working hard to suppress an eyeroll as he grabbed the rail and climbed over onto the ladder.
Hugging herself, she quickly looked away, so he wouldn’t see how fiercely she could feel herself burning up from the inside out. The heated brush of his breath caressing the line of her jaw toward her ear snapped her back around, bringing her eye to smoldering blue eye with him and mouth to smirking handsome mouth.
The pulse that hit between her tense thighs ignited a wave of the most delicious spams to ever wash over her. It felt as though she was having an orgasm right there on the spot. Her heavy breasts swelled, her nipples thrusting against the shield of her own arms, and her pussy pulsed with need, aching.
“Next time, Princess,” he purred, “wear pants or take pity on the poor bastard and go commando.”
She opened her mouth, only just stopping herself before exploding in outrage. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t make a scene. She had to get off this boat. Her whole body shivered.
He noticed.
Rumbling a low chuckle, he winked and descended the ladder, leaving her fuming, annoyed, and throbbing in ways she was positive ladies in her brother’s world would never do. Or if they did, they certainly didn’t do it for people like Christian. And if they did, it was in the privacy of their bedrooms, or in her case, her bathroom where she could pretend she was having yet another bubble bath and the cameras couldn’t see her.
She gritted her teeth, wanting to say something capable of extricating her from this mire of humiliation, but he was already in the speedboat, and Lamar was coming up.
“Ms. Abdal,” the other man said, doffing his cap, his smirk nowhere near as endearing as she wished Christian’s wasn’t.
Great, now Christian was in the boat, where he would have no problem looking up her skirt. Her stomach did warm acrobatic tumbles, sending liquid tickles like warm summer’s honey, slipping down through the slit of her folds.
Holding the speedboat steady against the ladder, he beckoned to her. “Get a move on, Princess. I haven’t got all day.”
Maybe she could get NATO to just blow her brother’s yacht up with the lot of them still on board. No, that was wrong. The yacht’s staff—chef, sommelier, housekeeper, captain, etc.—were just honest, hard-working people, trying to make a living. They likely hadn’t a clue the monster they were working for.
Damn it. Annoying or not, upskirt Peeping Tom or not, Christian was her only way off this boat.
Mindful of her heels, she climbed onto the top rung of the ladder and with every descending step, did her best not to think about the full-on panty shot she was treating him to under her dress. She was glad she’d worn one of the two pairs of lace panties she’d been able to acquire. At least he wouldn’t see her in those dreadful, child-like briefs, Fariq liked to purchase.
Maybe Christian was being a gentleman. Maybe he wasn’t looking.
A whisper of cool sea air caressed up the backs of her thighs, the skirt of her dress billowing gently as she finally neared the bottom. Taking her arm, Christian held her steady as she dismounted from the ladder into the bottom of the boat.
“Good girl,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Nice panties, too. Personally, I’d prefer you in a thong… or nothing at all. Still, it’s hard to blame Lamar for taking advantage of such a lovely view.”
Her brother had no gentlemen in his employ.
She rounded on him, wobbling on her heels as the boat rocked with the waves rolling beneath them. She quickly caught her balance. So did he, for that matter. He grabbed her elbow, steadying her long enough for her to get her feet back under her, then she yanked free again. He let her go with nothing more than a lift of his eyebrow.
“Ladies,” she told him in her best imitation of her brother’s withering tone, “do not wear things like that. They especially don’t go about in nothing at all!”
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d have killed for a pair of pants or better yet jeans, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She swore when she got free of here, the first things she was going to buy were sexy lingerie and a pair of skin-tight jeans. She wasn’t about to tell him that, either.
“I know a few who’d happily argue that point with you,” he scoffed. “But fine if that’s the hill you want to die on. Put on shorts.”
She’d have killed for a pair of those, too.
“Never!” she hissed.
“Come on,” He fed her a knowing smile. “I’ve seen you through the rails on the uppermost deck. You’re not wearing a burqa or even a dress when you’re swimming in the pool. Are you seriously going to tell me that hot pink number I’ve glimpsed through the rails is all proper and respectable?”
“Of course, it is,” she snapped back. Her brother had bought it for her. He’d bought all her clothes. She wouldn’t have it if it hadn’t passed his quality inspection. “It’s not something I wear in the presence of others. You’re not supposed to be looking at me! Men should never look at ladies outside their family!”
So, why did the idea of Christian watching her while she wore nothing more than a swimsuit—better yet, her pink bikini—flood her with such intense, tingling heat? Her face grew hotter still.
“If that was true,” he snorted, “we’d be one hell of an inbred society.” While he didn’t exactly roll his eyes, he did let the argument drop.
Letting go of the ladder, Christian bent down and before she could react, reached between her legs. The caress of his knuckles against her knee sent fizzles of excitement, light and airy, racing like carbonated water through her veins. She wanted him to run his hand up the inside of her thigh until he could cup her mons and tear away the delicate lace underwear. She yelped as he caught the back of her skirt and pulled it through her thighs to tuck it into the belt around her waist.
“There.” In just a few startled seconds, he’d turned the skirt of her sundress into an impromptu pair of shorts. “Now, you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing something they shouldn’t… unless you want them to.”
That fizzle of excitement turned into an electrified jolt. Shock, fear, arousal—all leapt under her skin, attacking every part of her from her achingly needy nipples to her tight-curling toes.
Yanking her skirt back out of her belt, she slapped the fabric until it was back down in its proper place around her le
gs again. Heat scalded her face. Her breath kept catching, her too-tight throat choking her. She scoured the yacht railing above for any sign of her brother, terrified he might have seen.
Christian was smirking when her gaze returned to his.
“Ibn haram!” she hissed at him.
Snapping around, she tried to storm away, but his hand connected with her bottom in a slap sharp enough to make her whole-body jump. She spun back around, one hand dashing back in belated defense of her tingling backside.
“Watch your mouth, Princess,” Christian said with a smirk. “Little girls shouldn’t swear.”
She threw herself in the passenger seat, knees locked tightly together, hands clasped in her lap, so he wouldn’t see how badly she was shaking. Her heart battered at her ribs, refusing to calm. And that throb—that hot, needy, inappropriate pulse of desire—kept pounding between her legs, impossible to ignore.
Laughing under his breath, Christian pushed the speedboat away from the yacht, started the engine, and away they went.
The cool, salty sea air did little to cool the mortification from her cheeks as her brother’s floating fortress grew smaller in the distance while the mainland of Morocco, and her safety, loomed ahead.
The man was nothing but the world’s biggest, smirking asshole, she told herself. He meant nothing to her. He was as much a criminal as her brother. He was beneath her contempt.
So, why was every fast-firing nerve in her body trying so hard to convince her she could still feel the slow caress of his hand sliding between her legs? Worse still, why was that ache in her heavy breasts begging to feel his touch next?
Chapter 3
Christian shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the illicit images he had of Aliya and his nose of her aroma, but it was no good. The longer he trailed in her shadow, weaving through the bazaar crowds, the more he became convinced the scent he kept catching was the unmistakable perfume of a woman’s arousal—sweet and spicy.