The Princess And The Mercenary

by Victoria Paige

  “You know all this bossy stuff doesn’t work if you’re laughing, right?”

  “Yara …”

  She huffed. “Go. Put on your shoes or whatever else you need. They’re waiting downstairs.”

  Kade stared at her in all censure and intimidation, but she didn’t miss that flash of white teeth before he walked off to finish getting ready.

  The grump was a faker.

  7

  After the team orientation at Oz hall, the group headed out to dinner. They were in a private room at an old Ottoman house that was converted into a restaurant serving an eclectic mix of Middle Eastern cuisine with a Western flair. It was a far cry from the dimly lit tea rooms in Kabul or the smoky lounges in Islamabad where backroom deals and asset meet-ups were the norm.

  Kade glanced over to the end of the long table where Yara was in deep discussion with Butler.

  Doctor Leo Butler appeared to be the veteran of the group and looked nothing like the bespectacled man on his dossier. His bronzed skin indicated his time outdoors rather than the bookish pale impression from his photograph. He’d been with ERAF for six years and he’d been a member of Doctors Without Borders before that.

  Seated beside the doctor was Jill Crane, the lead nutritionist and another long-time ERAF employee at three years. Kade had noticed the bored expression on the blond woman’s face at the orientation. Aid organizations saw a revolving door of workers, some getting burned out, and some needing to take some kind of break. And there were others, like Jill, who’d learned to distance their emotions from their work.

  Kade had seen the ugly side of aid work. No one could maintain an altruistic spirit for long because cold reality that nothing was enough always seeped in. Corruption was rife and there were too many people benefiting from the suffering of others. Which was how he’d formed his opinion of Yara Emerson after he’d seen her on the cover of VOGUE, touted as one of the women under thirty making a difference in the world.

  What difference? Kade couldn’t help sneering.

  He didn’t know what she was exposed to on her visits to humanitarian camps. From what Kade had gathered in her dossier, she rarely stayed an entire week. Kade was familiar with disaster tourists. They’d stay for three days, probably help clean up some debris, take pictures with the locals and then they were gone. Yara was in for a rude awakening.

  A stark contrast to Jill’s jaded air was the rapt attention on Derrick Mitchell’s face who hung onto Yara’s every word. He couldn’t be more than twenty-four. Lean-framed and wearing squarish black glasses, his persona screamed hipster with spiky hair, earring on one ear, and dark tight-fit denims. It was rare that a fresh graduate could land a full-time job with an aid organization. But his excellent grades and award-winning thesis on the U.S. water supply infrastructure won him a spot on the Yemen delegation as the team’s water engineer. With the recent cholera outbreak in the country, his insights on waste and sanitation and how they were related to building latrines were important.

  A loud voice from across the table drew Kade out of his mental rundown of the ERAF personnel.

  “Let me get this straight,” Jill interjected into Yara’s conversation with the doctor. “You think in three weeks we’ll be able to solve the famine problem in the western part of Yemen?”

  “We’re distributing aid for the first week,” Yara explained, the tightening around her lips revealing what it was costing her to remain pleasant. “The UN and other NGOs are on the ground and we plan for a seamless transition of our inventory into their hands. Our team will work alongside theirs to bring our own expertise to the field.”

  Kade winced as he noted Jill’s smirk. Yara’s reply was a canned response, one that seasoned aid workers were tired of hearing from the bureaucrats running their world. Maybe this mission would be a good eye opener for Yara.

  “Figures,” Jill said. “Yemen is suddenly the holy grail for aid organizations and you uproot your best people from areas where we’ve already established trust and routine.”

  “You’re only staying for three weeks,” Yara said. “You want to return to your post in Darfur, don’t you?”

  “Oh, definitely,” she said. “But if ERAF wants to precipitate a change in the way we handle aid, it has to be more than dumping more aid into a country. We need to help their economy—”

  “And that’s what we’re doing,” Yara cut in. “Eighty percent of UN and NGO staff are locals.”

  Jill smiled, and it wasn’t pleasant. “Am I the only one seeing a problem with this picture?”

  Kade did, and he hated to side with the woman, especially since Yara’s shoulders had progressively drooped. The sparkle in her eyes when she gave her briefing earlier had dimmed.

  “Humanitarian agencies are providing jobs for the locals and we’re paying them well,” Jill said. “I’m all for that, but what would be their incentive to solve the problem that necessitated the aid in the first place if they’re benefitting from it?”

  Yara’s cheeks flamed. “You have a valid point.” She forced a smile. “But famine, disease, and the lack of clean water are immediate concerns.” Her face brightened a bit. “As I’ve mentioned in the briefing, we’re also conducting studies of how we can help affected populations without fostering dependence and helplessness, restoring their dignity and helping them become self-sufficient again.”

  End the wars, Kade thought.

  No one said anything for a while, probably processing what was discussed, or maybe everyone was shocked that Jill dared put the daughter of a rock star on the spot.

  Kade popped the tab on his can of Coke, a stark sound in the silence of the table.

  Jill shrugged and returned her attention to her appetizer plate. Yara stared into space for a bit as if lost in thought, then she lifted her gaze and met his. They exchanged long looks before Butler called her attention again.

  Their server took that moment to appear with their main course of traditional soup, ground meat kebabs called kofta, and an assortment of cold-weather stews.

  “Complicated, huh?” Max commented beside him.

  Kade grunted.

  The politics of aid organizations wasn’t his problem; the political situation in Yemen was. On any given day, no one was sure who was fighting whom. There was infighting even within the rebels themselves who had split into smaller groups.

  The country was divided into three major factions:

  The Saudi-led coalition government injected itself into the Yemeni war to protect its interest in the critical Port of Aden. It also wanted control of the oil, silver, and gold recently discovered along the border of Yemen and Oman. Comprised of Middle Eastern and African countries, General Boustari called the shots in that group. The U.S. and the UK provided logistical support and intelligence.

  Nasir Rebels were predominantly Shias, hence the rumors that Iran was supplying its arsenal. They’d overtaken much of Northern Yemen, including its former capital, Sana’a. Their leader was Nasir Haddad, Tariq’s uncle.

  Then there was AQAP also known as Al Qaeda in the Arab Peninsula.

  Yet allegiances changed every day.

  “Save room for dessert and some Turkish coffee,” Yara announced at the end of dinner, her eyes meeting Kade’s as if in a challenge. “I know just the place.”

  Her announcement was met with a round of enthusiasm from their group of twenty. Even Jill smiled. A full belly did wonders for everyone’s mood. Well everyone’s but Kade’s.

  This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to head back to the hotel, so they could be safe and secure, not go traipsing all over Ankara.

  “We’ll see about that,” he muttered. His chair scraped back as he stood.

  Max grabbed his arm. “Keep your temper. There’s nothing wrong with her request.”

  Except Kade had a feeling she was pushing his buttons. His gait was casual as he traversed the length of the table, but his palms were twitchy, and he had no doubt what they itched to do.

  “Ms. Emerson,” he gri
tted through his teeth. Her eyes met his with feigned innocence as if she hadn’t blindsided him. “May I speak with you?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Sure, Mr. Spear.”

  Yara pushed back from her chair and stood, but Kade didn’t budge and she was forced to brush against him. He could have imagined her shudder, but he didn’t imagine how his body lit on fire from the slight touch of hers.

  Ignoring the repercussions of her effect on him, he put his hand at the small of her back. He could control himself. He always did.

  Butler scowled at him.

  Interesting. The doctor was in his forties, but judging from how he’d monopolized Yara’s attention at dinner, he either was kissing ass or he wanted some ass.

  You have to go through me, fucker.

  He led her to the hallway right outside their private room.

  “I didn’t approve this field trip.”

  Yara leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “The coffee shop is three blocks from here. I doubt a terrorist is hiding there waiting to ambush us.”

  He could hardly blame her for mocking him. She didn’t have the information he had. As far as she was concerned, SSRR’s job started in Yemen. It was clear Yara was familiar and at home in Ankara.

  “It was clear in our contract that any stop should be cleared by either me or Max. Our job is to know where you are at all times and assess your environment. I don’t appreciate being blindsided like this.”

  Yara sighed. “Understood. I’m not doing this to be difficult.”

  Kade raised a brow. “You’re not?”

  She threw up her arms. “Okay. Maybe I am. What was all that glowering across the table at dinner? Did I chew too loud? Hold my dinner fork wrong?”

  More like you were smiling at Butler too much.

  “No idea what you’re talking about. Figured you’d be used to the way I look by now.”

  Her eyes smoldered. Kade resisted the urge to push her against the wall and kiss her.

  Yara cleared her throat. “Look, I just want the team to unwind before we head off to Yemen. Some of them are just coming off the Darfur aid.”

  Kade regarded her carefully, not willing to cave in immediately but judging from the gleam in her eyes she knew he’d given in before he even said the words.

  Goddammit.

  “All right.”

  They left the hallway together, but he stayed a few paces behind, starting to get overwhelmed by what this woman was doing to him. He needed distance even for five minutes. Yara was awakening emotions in him he had no business entertaining. Not for the kind of jobs he took. He needed to remain objective with her, be concerned for her safety and that was the end of it. Getting emotionally entangled with his principal could be deadly for either of them. Besides, Kade needed to keep his eye on the true prize—Nasir Haddad and the twenty-million-dollar payout.

  Not a bad deal considering he would be getting rid of a terrorist.

  8

  Once they left the restaurant, Kade stuck to her side. They hadn’t exchanged another word since that scene in the hallway. She would have apologized for blindsiding him, but he wore what she called his “Resting Dick Face.”

  The night was alive with tourists and the people from the convention center milled around the outdoor shops. Ancient lamps lit the cobblestone street and vendors hawked everything from handmade trinkets to hand-hammered copperware. Behind their carts were mud-and-mortar shops selling anything from carpets to tiles to fabric. Fruit stands displayed half-cut pomegranates in a vivid splash of crimson. People roasted chestnuts in drums and the aroma of simit—a sesame bread glazed with molasses—wafted from every corner.

  Yara loved the vibrancy of the night market.

  Kade’s men flanked their group and yet managed to engage in the evening’s activity. Declan tried to entice the team to try the fish kebab sandwich, but having just finished dinner, most of them declined. Yara eyed the colorful presentation of pashmina weaves. Yemen was a land of extreme temperature fluctuations in a single day. She bought several pashminas and scarves from a young Turkish woman. She’d keep a handful of them and hand them out to female aid workers as needed.

  “Might be better to purchase those on the return trip,” Kade said beside her.

  “They would be useless then,” Yara replied. “Even veteran aid workers forget to bring the right clothes to address the ever-changing weather conditions. None of us has been to Yemen. But looking at the temperature fluctuation in Taiz, it’s best to layer clothes. It might be too warm for a coat and too cold to go without. A shawl is the best alternative.”

  Kade eyed her thoughtfully. “Gotcha. Good move with the scarf. Yemen doesn’t enforce a headscarf, but it might be a good idea to have some handy just in case.”

  Yara dramatically clutched her chest. “Wait … did we … did we actually agree on something? This calls for celebration.”

  His answering scowl slid off her like water on Teflon. “Smartass.”

  She grinned impishly. “Might I entice you to have coffee with me?”

  A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Lead the way, Tink.”

  “No, thanks,” Kade growled.

  “Oh, come on. Be a good sport!” Yara exclaimed.

  She was having fun making him squirm. It hadn’t escaped her notice that when they entered the tiny coffee shop, he guided her to a small round table that could only seat two. So when the rest of their group came in, they had to find seats elsewhere.

  It also didn’t escape her notice that Kade and Leo were giving each other the stink eye. Leo had been extra attentive and charming more than what a colleague needed to be. The doctor had mentioned drinks after dinner, but with Kade glowering at him from across the table, there was no chance in hell that was happening.

  “I make my own fortune,” Kade grumbled. “I don’t need some stranger divining my future.”

  Yara laughed at the outraged expression on his face. “Do this with me. Pretty please?” She blinked her eyes with exaggeration.

  Kade shook his head, a rumble of what suspiciously sounded like a chuckle escaped his sexy mouth and shot right between her legs. She crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs. Every stare, every grin, every ripple of his muscle beneath his shirt affected the way she breathed and the way her clothes scratched her skin.

  A young teenager brought their tray of coffee and set the two tiny cups in front of them. “Do you want my grandma to read your fortune afterwards?”

  “Yes,” Yara said.

  “No,” Kade said.

  They glared at each other.

  The girl giggled. “The instructions are on the card.” She nodded to the laminated four-by-eight sheet behind the decorative vase on their table.

  “I’ve done this before,” Yara said.

  “Just call my attention and I will get her.”

  When their server walked away, Kade stared at the cup in front of him. “Okay, Tink. How do we do this?”

  “Changed your mind?”

  “I’ll never hear the end of it. And I, for one, want to have a good night’s sleep tonight.”

  There went that pulse between her legs again. He had to remind her that they were sharing a room.

  Shaking off the thought of their impending sleeping arrangements, she said. “Drink your coffee with intent, ask your questions—” He snorted and she narrowed her eyes, but continued. “Then drink the coffee in three sips and turn it over on the saucer. We’ll wait for ten minutes to let the dredge of the coffee pool onto the saucer. Then someone reads our fortune.”

  “Ready when you are.”

  “This is not a race,” Yara chided before tipping the cup to her mouth. She wished for the success of the humanitarian mission and drank her coffee. Flipping the cup upside down on the plate, she swirled it clockwise three times and watched Kade mimic her, catching him rolling his eyes.

  “My grandmother is part Turkish,” Yara blurted out, lowering the saucer with the cup on the table. “You probably alrea
dy knew that.” Yara hooked her finger under the chain of the pendant around her neck. “She gave me this.”

  Kade frowned. “Looks expensive. You should be careful with that.”

  She sighed. It was. It was a family heirloom. Twenty-four karat gold with a rare ruby stone surrounded by pavé diamonds. “I know, but she told me to always keep it with me. It attracts true love she said.”

  At his bland expression, she continued. “Anyway, Mamani enjoyed Turkish coffee and she was the fortune reader of the family.” She pointed at him. “Sully reacted the same way you did, all skeptical and stuff.”

  “Why do you call him Sully?” Kade asked.

  Yara cringed when she remembered her rebellious years. “When I was fourteen, I had a lot of teenage angst. Sullivan’s Creed was enjoying a second wave of popularity and Sully was rarely home. Mom liked to go with him on tour, but I was in school so I couldn’t go with them. I partied a lot. The last straw was when I invited a whole bunch of friends to our Charlottesville house which was my parents’ favorite retreat.”

  “Brat.”

  Yara grinned. “I also dressed in Goth with matching makeup and decided to get my first tattoo.”

  “So that tattoo you showed me was an exhibition of teenage rebellion?”

  “Pretty much,” she replied. “Anyway, when Sully and Mom walked into the house, their expression was priceless and worth the grounding I got afterwards.”

  “So, how did you start calling him Sully?”

  Yara slitted her eyes at him. “I was just coming to that.”

  He flashed his heart-stopping half grin. Kade needed to stop doing that. It did weird things to a woman’s heart.

  “When my parents walked in, I was at the top of the stairs and shouted ‘Look, everyone, it’s the famous Sully. Let’s prostrate ourselves at his feet—the great rock god of the ages.”

  Kade’s shoulders were shaking. “What happened then?”

  Yara gave her best impression of an aggrieved face. “Grounded for six months and I mean grounded. No friends, no phone. Sully had the best tech make sure all kinds of security was on my computer. My life was home and school.”