“Tariq will be in Aden when we arrive. He feels more comfortable if he accompanies us to Taiz in case the rebels give us problems along the way. The alternative is to fly into Sana’a which is still under the control of the Nasir Rebels.”
“But Tariq belongs to the rebel faction,” Kade pointed out.
Yara sighed. “Nasir listens to Tariq’s counsel, but they disagree on many things.”
Kade kept his face neutral.
“Tariq was the one who pushed for the peace talks, but his uncle refused to be a part of the United Yemen Transitional Council, so he’s taking his seat at the meeting in Aden next week.”
“Nasir won’t be at the UYTC meeting?” Well, that just sucked for early recon.
“No.”
The UYTC was created to unite the warring factions in a negotiated coexistence. But was that even possible?
“As your hired security, we should have been informed of this.”
“I can’t tell you much anyway.” Yara hitched her shoulders. “The ceasefire is a double-edged sword.”
Didn’t he know it. This was an opportunity for the aid organizations to push through, but a collapse of the ongoing peace talks might mean an escalation of the conflict and could possibly trap aid workers in the country.
Their flight attendant chose that moment to check on them. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes. I’ve got beef lasagna and country-style chicken over rice.”
“I’ll have beef lasagna, please,” Yara said.
“Make that two,” Kade said. “Thanks.”
“Drinks?”
“Water is fine.”
“Same.”
“No beer?” the flight attendant teased. She was always a flirt, but she was also happily married to an accountant back in the States.
“Not today.”
When the flight attendant left, Yara said, “You didn’t have to skip alcohol on my account, I’m not a mean boss.”
Kade was amused. Little did she know she was far from being his boss. “We’ll be landing in Ankara in three hours. I’d prefer to keep a clear mind when we land.”
Yara smiled. “I’d think with your body mass, a beer wouldn’t hurt.”
There was nothing suggestive in the way she said it, but somehow Kade’s thoughts went in the direction of his dick.
He adjusted himself in his seat and pretended to look over the ERAF personnel files.
6
It wasn’t Yara’s first time in Ankara, Turkey. Despite its stalled accession to the European Union and its own problems with terrorism, Turkey remained to be the best staging area into parts of the Middle East and Africa.
They deplaned in a private hangar near the Ankara International Airport and were checked by a customs and immigration officer before Kade piled them into three Ford Expeditions, their equipment and luggage loaded in a small commercial truck.
She’d made last-minute changes to their reservations at the Sheraton Hotel to accommodate their security team. Located near the convention center, it was ERAF’s hotel of choice in Turkey. Its sweeping steel and glass entrance opened into an expansive interior supported by marble pillars. The reflective ceiling was decked with different lighting mediums—a smattering of pin lights by the entrance, while four massive crystal chandeliers hung equidistantly from each other lending dramatic flair as well as elegance to the lobby. An overabundance of lampshades glowed beside couch seatings that beckoned to weary travelers to rest their weary souls and soles.
Yara was familiar with their staff and she was pleased to see Fatma Adivar at the front desk. She was dressed in a crisp navy-blue uniform and a tangerine headscarf.
“Ms. Emerson, welcome back!” the hotel rep greeted her. “Hope your trip went well.”
“A little turbulence, but it was pleasant.” She almost choked on her lie and she could have sworn she heard an obnoxious cough behind her followed by Kade’s growl for someone to shut up. “How are your daughters?”
Fatma preened. “Esma is in third grade. Harika will start school soon.”
“They grow fast, don’t they?”
“They sure do.” The woman smiled appreciably before switching to brisk efficiency. “Your forward team arrived yesterday. We were able to accommodate the changes to your reservations, but rooms will be split between two floors.”
“That’s fine.”
“I’ve also reserved the Oz hall for this evening and tomorrow. Here are the rooms for your additional personnel.” Fatma handed her a listing. “After you confirm the names, I can check them in so you can go and relax in your room.”
Yara gave it a once-over and handed it to Kade over her shoulder. Even without looking, she knew he was behind her.
“This is wrong,” he rumbled.
“How is it wrong?” Yara whirled around to face him. “You didn’t even take two seconds to look at it.” Maybe he didn’t want to bunk with Max. Maybe he wanted his own room.
Kade’s eyes bore into hers. “We’re sharing a room.”
Yara laughed as if he’d made the lamest joke. “No, we’re not.”
Kade brushed past her to the front desk. “How many beds are in Ms. Emerson’s room?”
“One king,” Fatma said. Yara couldn’t even see the woman with Kade standing between them.
“Can you change it to two queens?”
Yara went around the brick wall that was her bodyguard.
“Ms. Emerson?” The front desk clerk looked at her uncertainly.
“What are you doing?” Yara whisper-yelled. “How dare you undermine me!”
“I’m in charge of your security. I stick close to you at all times,” Kade clipped. Turning back to Fatma. “Well?”
“We don’t have any available. The convention across the street took the last of our rooms this morning. We can provide a cot.”
Kade grimaced. “Fine.”
“Wait just a second …” Yara protested, but her gaze landed on Fatma who was clearly distressed with the bodyguard wearing his full-on intimidation face.
“Ms. Emerson …?” Fatma’s voice quavered.
Damn Kade Spear.
She huffed a breath. “Fine!”
The relief on the woman’s face gave Yara some comfort that having to tolerate Spear’s grouchiness for two nights was a worthy trade-off.
The front desk clerk ran another card through the computer and handed the check-in details to Yara. “Room eight-sixteen.”
She slipped one of the keycards from the envelope and handed it to Kade without looking at him. Yara grabbed the handle of her hand-carry.
“Leave it,” Kade ordered. “I’ve got it.”
She was too pissed to argue and stalked off, overhearing him talk to Max about room assignments. Kade caught up with her by the elevators and both of them stepped into the car without a word.
Kade must have been out of his fucking mind.
In what universe did he think he’d survive staying in a room with Yara Emerson? He’d already considered sharing the room with her when they had that ERAF meeting, but Garrison’s ultimatum sealed the deal. He watched the elevator numbers light up the floors; the woman in the center of his conflict stood beside him as silent as a mouse, but he could imagine fumes shooting out of her ears.
They’d been a combustible combination from the start. Kade spent the whole flight from New Jersey to Ankara trying to figure out the moment she’d become a danger to his self-control.
He didn’t like her the first time he’d met her. He thought she was a goody-two-shoes princess with no clue about the real world. But through their numerous interactions—the contract negotiation, watching her handle the press—he did secretly watch her, and then witnessing her having a nightmare, he realized she had a spine of steel tempered with vulnerability. She’d gotten under his skin. When Max suggested that Declan be her bodyguard, he saw red.
The “8” lit on the elevator panel and the doors slid open. Yara exited—her annoyance with him palpable. He followed closel
y behind her; his eyes unwittingly drawn to the sway of her hips.
Yara was a spitfire in a little package. Kade doubted she was more than five-five. Her shapely ass belied her slender frame. Even now he craved to feel its smooth curves under his palms. Yara Emerson was not made for a man like him. Kade would break her with the way he liked to fuck rough.
He had no business fantasizing about her. His job was to keep her safe.
Their room was at the end of the hallway. Kade noted which corners he needed to install surveillance, how many paces it took from their room to the stairs that was located midway between the elevators and their room.
The locks beeped. Yara opened the door and held it open as Kade walked through with her suitcase and his duffle. One of his guys should bring in the rest of their things. He’d left strict instructions that no hotel staff were to touch their belongings.
He dropped the bags and strode immediately to the sliding doors that opened to a small balcony. He moved the glass panel on its tracks and stepped outside, checking any infiltration and exit points. Satisfied, he stepped back into the room and engaged the sliding door bar.
When he turned to look at Yara, she was watching him warily.
“I appreciate your zealousness,” she said carefully. “But Ankara is quite safe.”
“It’s my job,” he muttered as he passed her to inspect the rest of the room. Kade had expected a suite with a living room area, not a regular hotel room. He tried to ignore the fact that Yara was sitting on the bed and had kicked off her sneakers, eyes still on him.
“Jesus, Spear, there’s not much room for an assassin or kidnapper to hide,” Yara said dryly.
“You have money, why not get a suite or the penthouse on the top floor?”
“I run a foundation,” she replied. “We get donations earmarked for humanitarian aid, not our comfort. It’s a balance between fiscal responsibility and the well-being of our aid workers.” She shrugged. “This hotel is a good middle ground.”
Words of apology pushed behind his teeth. He might have misjudged her, but he couldn’t express his regret. Witnessing Yara’s compassionate nature didn’t dispel the possibility that she was involved in the smuggling of chemical weapons into Yemen. In his line of work, Kade had encountered and interrogated all kinds of terrorists. The most crucial skill was finding out what motivated them. The most unbreakable of jihadists were the ones with the deepest sympathy for a certain cause. Money was never the biggest motivation, but the suffering of a group of people was.
There was a rap on the door.
“Who is it?” Kade barked.
“Jed.” Jed McCarthy was a Green Beret like Kade and was part of their eight-man team who came over. Jed and Max were the only ones on their team who everyone called by their first names.
He peeked through the keyhole, before unlatching the safety and opening the door to Jed who brought in Yara’s large suitcase and his other duffle.
“Brody and Russo report in yet?”
“They’re on their way.”
Kade glanced at Yara. “Shall we convene at the hall at five?”
She nodded. “Sounds good. That’ll give everyone a chance to get acquainted before we head to dinner.”
“Tell the men seventeen hundred at the hall.”
“Roger that.” Jed tried to look past him at Yara but Kade blocked his vision. The son of a bitch was a flirt.
His man shook his head with a half grin. “Later, Ms. Emerson.”
“Bye, Jed.”
Kade slammed the door.
“Goodness, I hope that’s not gonna be the norm here.” Yara got off the bed.
“What norm?”
“Slamming doors,” she groused. “I thought all you special ops guys were stealthy and quiet.”
“You wouldn’t hear me coming if I didn’t want you to.”
“Oh, I believe that. So why slam the door on Jed? That wasn’t nice.”
“Jed knows why.” The asshole was baiting him.
“I’ll never understand men.” Yara stretched and her tits flattened across her shirt, the shadow of her nipples evident.
Goddammit. How did he get himself in this torturous situation?
“I’ll go freshen up first.” There was only one bathroom.
“Of course.” Kade looked everywhere except at her, grabbing her suitcases and setting them on the rack.
“Thanks.”
He nodded, picked up his own things, and moved to the far corner of the room.
Yara grinned with glee.
She wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror and stared at her reflection. Kade was uncomfortable around her. Served him right for insisting on sharing a room. She was no stranger to split accommodations. Besides accompanying teams of aid workers and living in tents, she used to ride the tour bus with Sully. It could get wild at times and she’d had her share of uncomfortable situations which she’d learned to handle early in life.
She wrapped the towel around her hair and looked at her nakedness. Her boobs were decent C cups and they were perky with dusky nipples. She wished they were a light rosy shade, but she’d inherited her coloring from her mother’s Persian roots.
Kade had stared at her boobs, his color heightened as he turned away.
A tiny voice of guilt taunted her because she kinda sorta did that on purpose to make the big, grumpy man squirm. He’d been racking up points in the annoy-Yara column and the front-desk incident was the last straw.
She slathered moisturizer on her skin before wrapping the hotel robe around her. Then she slipped on panties and exited the bathroom.
Kade was lying on the hotel cot … and he looked ridiculous. His huge frame dwarfed the contraption with the bottom quarter of his leg hanging off it.
“Is that thing gonna hold you?”
“Not sure.” He moved and the thing creaked.
They both grimaced. “Do you move a lot at night?” she asked.
He sat up on the cot and glared at her. “I do. And if it would bother you so much, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. I’ve slept on the ground so many times, it might be more comfortable at this point.”
Yara glanced at the sofa. It was too small to hold Kade as well. Then she looked at the king-size bed.
“We can share the bed,” she suggested tentatively.
It was as if a record scratched, throwing static in the air.
Kade froze. His eyes seared into her, burning past her robe making her feel naked. Warmth and wetness pulsed between her legs.
Shit. Why did she suggest that?
His gaze slitted as if he’d picked up on her thoughts. He jumped up from the cot. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
He stalked past her. “Don’t answer the door for anything.”
Kade slammed into the bathroom.
Yara sighed. This was going downhill fast.
She dressed in jeans and a light sweater. November in Ankara was cold. Their forecast predicted highs in the fifties, but that night the temperature would drop to the twenties. Yara brought a light coat because the majority of their time would be in Yemen and it was a whole different climate over there.
The door to the bathroom opened and Kade stepped out. He was clad in a fresh pair of cargoes and the top button was undone.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his muscles flexing under taut skin as he moved, and he was covered in tattoos.
Lots of tattoos.
The ink on his upper chest joined the sleeve markings she already knew about.
Tearing her eyes away from him was impossible. She didn’t even bother to try. He paused to look at her, shrugged off her blatant appraisal, and walked over to his massive duffle on the couch. He rifled through it and grabbed a black tee.
Oh, please don’t cover your body now, Yara wanted to yell. I want to look at your tattoos!
Kade turned and scowled at her. “Don’t tell me it’s the first time you’ve seen all this ink. I bet your old man has just as much.”
; Yara took a step forward, inspecting the jagged letters down his ribcage … Warrior. Interesting. That also must have hurt. Then her gaze lifted to his chest and she saw obscured letters under layers of art. “That says …”
“Gunslinger,” Kade clipped and threw on his shirt.
When their eyes met, he cocked his head. “What?”
“We have something in common,” Yara declared, feeling like they had signed a peace treaty. At Kade’s continued questioning glance, she yanked up the sleeve of her sweater and showed him the tattoo of a peony. “I also have a tattoo.”
She glanced up at him expectantly. Kade’s face turned ruddy, the hard edges disappeared from his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he bit his bottom lip
“It’s hardly an inch across,” he mumbled.
“Sleeve tattoos like yours are a big commitment,” Yara defended, irked that he wasn’t a bit impressed like she was of his ink. She really didn’t want to show the tattoo on her upper boob, but this man was hard to impress.
She yanked her sweater neckline down, revealing the Tinker Bell tat on the globe of her breast.
Kade blinked. “You have a fairy on your tit.”
“It’s Tinker Bell.”
“Oh.” A strange look crossed his face. Another blink. “I see.” His mouth twitched and his face got redder.
Wait a minute. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at me?”
He turned away from her, his shoulders shaking and the room filled with his hearty chuckle—amusement at her expense.
“Ugh, I hate you!” she snarled. She spun away from him and grabbed her bag, stomping to the door.
“Tink … wait …” He was suddenly at the door blocking her path. The grump was nowhere in sight and in its stead was a devastatingly handsome son of a bitch.
“You’re nicknaming me now?”
He straightened his face, but his eyes still danced with mirth. “You must like her enough to tattoo her on your ti—chest.” Kade cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I laughed at you—”
“No, you’re not.”
His mouth did the twitchy thing again. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m responsible for you, so don’t go marching out this door without me. Clear?”
The Princess And The Mercenary Page 5