Tycoon's Forbidden Cinderella

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  The worry was eating him alive.

  ‘How is it possible,’ he growled in Tarik’s direction, ‘that in this day and age no one can find out where she is?’

  The elderly man Jag had known since his boyhood shook his head. ‘Without her mobile phone or computer there’s no way to track her,’ Tarik answered, not telling him anything he didn’t already know. ‘We have accessed security footage in and around the ports of Piraeus, Rafina and Lavrio, as well as the local train stations, but so far we have come up empty-handed.’

  A knock at the door cut off Jag’s vicious string of curse words. His PA entered, and murmured something to Tarik before casting him a quick, sympathetic glance.

  Jaeger’s heart thumped into his throat. Please don’t let his sister be in trouble.

  Noticing his granite-like expression, Tarik shook his head. No, not the Princess.

  Jag let out a rough breath. Only his tight inner circle knew that Milena was missing. Together they had mobilised a small taskforce of elite soldiers to hunt for her and Chad James, demanding absolute silence in the meantime. Jag hadn’t even alerted his brother to Milena’s disappearance and he didn’t plan to until he had something concrete to give him. Nor had he alerted the Crown Prince of Toran whom Milena was due to marry in a month’s time.

  The last thing he needed was a scandal of this magnitude, a week out from hosting one of the most important international summits in Santara’s history. Leaders from all over the globe would be descending on Santara for four days to discuss world matters including environmental affairs, world health issues, banking and trade deficits. It would be the largest summit of its kind; a pinnacle moment in Santara’s rebirth, and his staff had worked tirelessly to see that it came off without a hitch.

  ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, noticing the slight hesitation on his aide’s pale face.

  ‘I have just been informed that Chad James’s older sister landed in Santara an hour ago.’

  Jag frowned. ‘The sister he emailed the day before he disappeared?’

  ‘I believe so. A report on her has been sent to your inbox.’

  Jag sat down at his desk, touching the mouse pad on his computer to awaken the screen. Quickly he found the relevant email, scanned it, and opened the attachment. It was a dossier of sorts.

  Name: Regan James

  Age: Twenty-five

  Height, weight and social security number were all there. Her eyes were brown, her hair brown, and she worked at some posh-sounding school as a teacher. According to the report, she lived alone in Brooklyn, and volunteered at a bereavement centre for kids. No pets and no known convictions or outstanding warrants for her arrest. Parents deceased.

  Which Jag already knew from the file that had been compiled on her brother. She also had a photography website. Jaeger flicked to the next page. On it was a photo of Regan James. It was a half-body shot of her standing on a beach somewhere, her hair tied back in a low ponytail, wisps of it caught by the breeze on the day and flattering her oval-shaped face, her hand raised as if to keep it back. She was smiling, a full-faced smile, showing even white teeth. A camera hung around her slender neck, resting between her breasts. It was a photo of a beautiful woman who didn’t look as if she would hurt a fly. And her hair wasn’t brown. Not in this photo. It was more auburn. Or russet. And her eyes weren’t just brown either, they were...they were... Jag frowned, caught his train of thought and shut it down. They were brown, just as the report said.

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She booked into the Santara International. That’s all we know.’

  Jag stared at the photo that shimmered on his screen. This woman’s brother had taken his sister somewhere and he would move heaven and earth to find them and bring Milena home.

  He only hoped Chad James had an army to help him when he finally got his hands around the bastard’s scrawny neck, because nothing else would be able to.

  ‘Have her followed,’ Jag ordered. ‘I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, what she eats and how often she goes to the bathroom. If the woman so much as buys a packet of gum I want to know about it. Is that clear?’

  ‘Crystal, Your Majesty.’

  * * *

  Regan knew as soon as she walked into the shisha bar that she should turn right back around and walk out again. All day she’d trudged around the city of Aran looking for information on Chad, but the only thing she’d learned was that there was hot and then there was desert hot.

  Despite that, she knew that she would have fallen in love with the ancient walled city if she were here for any other reason than to find out what had happened to her brother. Unfortunately the more she had searched the city for him the more worried she had become. Which was why she couldn’t follow her instinct now and leave the small, dimly lit bar Chad had frequented, no matter how tempting that might be.

  The dinky little bar was dressed with various-sized wooden tables and chairs that looked to be filled with mostly local men playing cards or smoking a hookah. Sometimes both. Lilting Arabic music played from some unknown source and the air seemed to be perfumed with a fruity scent she couldn’t place. Not wanting to be caught staring, she straightened the scarf she had draped over her head and shoulders in deference to the local custom, and wound her way to the scarred wooden bar lined with faded red leather stools.

  The truth was this place was almost her last resort. All day she’d been stymied either by her own sense of inadequacy in trying to navigate the confusing streets of Aran, or by the local people she met who were nowhere near as approachable as the travel-friendly propaganda would suggest. Especially Chad’s weasel-like landlord, who had flicked her with a dismissive gaze and informed her that he would not open the apartment without permission from the tenant himself. Having just come from GlobalTech Industries, where she couldn’t get anyone at all to answer her questions, Regan hadn’t been in the mood to be told no. She’d threatened to sue the shifty little man and when he’d responded by informing her that he would call the police she had said not to bother—she’d go there herself.

  Unfortunately the officer on duty had told her that Chad hadn’t been missing long enough to warrant an investigation and that she should come back the next day. Everything in Santara functioned at a much slower pace than she was used to. She remembered it was one of the things Chad enjoyed most about the country, but when you were desperate it was hard to appreciate.

  Utterly spent and weighed down by both jet lag and worry, she’d nearly cried all over the unhelpful officer. Then she’d remembered Chad mentioning this shisha bar so after a quick shower she had asked for directions from one of the hotel staff. Usually when she went out in New York it was with Penny, and right now she wished she’d persuaded Penny to come with her because she didn’t feel completely comfortable arriving at an unknown bar alone. She felt as though everyone was watching her and, truth be told, she’d felt like that all day.

  Most likely she was being overly dramatic because she was weighed down by a deep-seated sense of dread that something awful had happened to her brother. She’d felt it as soon as she’d received his off-the-cuff email a week ago warning her not to try and contact him over the next little while because he would be unreachable.

  For a man who was so attached to his phone that she often joked it was his ‘best friend’, that was enough to raise a number of red flags in her head and, try as she might, she hadn’t been able to dispel them. A spill-over effect, no doubt, from when she’d had to take over parenting him when he was fourteen. Still, she might have been able to set her worry aside if it hadn’t been for her friend and work colleague, Penny, who had regaled her with every morbid story she could remember about how travellers and foreign workers went missing in faraway lands, never to be heard from again.

  For two days Regan had ignored her growing fear and tried to contact Chad, but when she’d continued to have no luck Penny
had almost bought her the plane ticket to Santara herself. ‘Go and make sure everything is okay,’ Penny had insisted. ‘You won’t be any good to the kids here until you do. Plus, you’ve never been on a decent holiday in the whole time I’ve known you. At best you’ll have a great adventure, at worst...’ She’d left the statement unfinished other than to say ‘And for God’s sake be careful,’ which hadn’t exactly filled Regan with a lot of confidence.

  As she cast a quick glance around the bar as if she knew exactly what she was doing, her gaze was momentarily snagged by a shadowy figure in the far right corner. He was dressed all in black with a keffiyeh or shemagh of some sort on his head, his wide-shouldered frame relaxed and unmoving in a rickety wooden chair, his long legs extending out from beneath the table. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that gave her pause but nor could she shake the feeling that he was dangerous.

  A shiver raced down her spine and she told herself not to be paranoid. Still, she felt for the can of mace in her handbag and, satisfied that it was there, pinned a smile on her face and turned towards the bar. A man as big as a fridge stood behind the counter, drying a glass, his expression one of utter boredom.

  ‘What’ll it be?’ he asked, his voice as rough as chipped cement. As far as greetings went it fell far short of the welcome mark.

  ‘I don’t need anything,’ Regan began politely. ‘I’m looking for a man.’

  The bartender’s brow rose slowly over black beetled eyes. ‘Many men here.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Regan fumbled in her pocket when she realised how that had sounded and pulled out a recent photo of Chad. ‘I’m looking for this man.’

  The bartender eyed the photo. ‘Never seen him before.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She frowned. ‘I know he comes here. He said so.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said, clearly unamused at being questioned. He reached for another glass and started drying it with a dishtowel that looked as if it hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine for days. Maybe weeks. ‘You want hookah? I have strawberry, blackberry and peach.’ Which would explain the fruity scent she’d noticed when she’d first walked in.

  ‘No, I don’t want a hookah,’ she said with a note of defeat in her voice. What she needed, she realised, was some sort of guide. Someone who could help her navigate the streets and widen her search for Chad.

  She’d thought about hiring a car while she was here but the Santarians drove on the opposite side of the road to what she was used to and, anyway, Regan’s sense of direction was not one of her strong points. Some might even call it one of her worst. At least Chad would. Remembering how he had often teased her about how he could turn her in a circle and she wouldn’t know which way was north made a lump form in her throat. The thought of never seeing her brother again was too much to bear. He’d been her lifeline after their parents had died. The one thing that had kept her total despair at losing them at bay.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ the human fridge grumbled, ambling back down the bar to a waiting customer in local dress. In fact, most of the patrons were dressed in various forms of Arabic clothing. Everyone except the man in the corner. She cast a covetous glance in his direction to find that he was still watching her. And he hadn’t moved a muscle. Was he even breathing?

  Determined to ignore him, she strengthened her resolve and shoved a dizzying sense of tiredness aside. She was here to find Chad and no oversized bartender, or man in black, was going to put her off. Feeling better, she clutched Chad’s photo tightly in her hand and started to move from table to table, asking if anyone knew him or had seen him recently. Of course, no one knew anything, but then, what had she expected? It was just a continuation of the theme of the day. As she grew more and more despondent it wasn’t until she had stopped at a large table of men playing baccarat that she realised that the low-level conversation in the bar had dwindled to almost nothing.

  Suddenly nervous, she smiled at the men and asked if any of them knew Chad. A couple of them smiled back, their eyes wandering over her. Regan felt the need to cover herself with her hands but knew that she looked perfectly respectable in cotton trousers and a white blouse, the scarf covering her unruly brown hair. One of the men leaned back in his chair, his tone suggestive as he made a comment in Santarian. The other men at the table laughed and Regan knew that whatever he’d said, it hadn’t been pleasant. She might be on the other side of the world but some things were universal.

  ‘Okay, thanks for your help,’ she said, giving them all her stern schoolteacher look before turning her back and quickly moving to the next table.

  Which, unfortunately, was his table.

  Her gaze skimmed across the table with the untouched hookah on it to his hands folded across his lean abdomen. From there it travelled up the buttons of his shirtfront to his tanned neck and square jaw. Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, Regan vaguely registered a sensual unsmiling mouth, a hawk-like nose and the most piercing sapphire-blue eyes she had ever seen. And that was as far as she got. As if she was caught in the crosshairs of a predator’s glare she stood frozen to the spot, her gaze held prisoner by his. His eyes glittered with a lethal energy that was startling and Regan had the sudden realisation that she’d never come across a more dangerous-looking or unapproachable man in her life. Her heart palpitated wildly inside her chest as if she’d just stepped in quicksand and was about to sink.

  Run! echoed throughout her head but, try as she might, she couldn’t make her body obey. Because not only was he dangerous-looking, but he was also sinfully good-looking, and, just as that thought hit, so did a wave of unbridled heat that raced through her whole body and warmed her face.

  Good lord, what was she doing noticing his looks at a time like this?

  She blinked, her sluggish brain struggling to register her options. Before she could come up with something plausible he moved, kicking the chair opposite him away from the table and blocking her avenue of escape. The sound of the chair scraping across the stone floor made her jump, and once more her heart took off at a gallop.

  ‘Sit down.’ His lips twisted into a mocking smile. ‘If you know what’s good for you.’

  His voice was deep and powerful, commanding her to obey even though she knew it was stupid to do so.

  This close she could see that he was far more physically imposing than she’d first thought, and completely, unashamedly male. He looked strong enough to be able to pick her up one-handed and take her wherever he pleased. With a start she realised she might not be completely against the idea. A ripple of excitement coursed through her, making her feel even more light-headed than the jet lag.

  This was insane.

  This thinking was insane. She did not react to men like this. Especially not men who looked as if they meandered on the wrong side of the law and won. Every time. Still, what could possibly happen to her in a bar full of patrons? Patrons who were still watching her with curious eyes.

  Driven by the need to get out from under those curious glances, she chased off the inner voice of doubt and did as the man suggested, taking a seat and perching her handbag on her lap as some kind of shield between them. He glanced at it as if he’d guessed its purpose and his lips tilted into a knowing smirk.

  Feeling exposed under his steady gaze, she somehow defeated the urge to jump back up and leave. It wasn’t as if she had many alternatives right now. After this bar she had nowhere to go except back to her hotel room, and then possibly back to Brooklyn. Defeated. She wouldn’t do that. Ever.

  ‘Like what you see?’

  His deep voice slid over her skin like the richest velvet, making her realise that she’d been caught staring at his mouth. Alarmed, she realised that the tingly sensation swamping her senses was some sort of sexual attraction she couldn’t remember ever experiencing before.

  A betraying jolt went through her and his lazy, heavy-lidded gaze told her that he was too experienced to have
missed it.

  Flustered and appalled at her own lack of sense, she dragged her eyes to his. ‘You speak English.’

  ‘Evidently.’

  His droll tone and imperious gaze made her feel even more stupid than she’d felt already, and she grimaced. ‘I meant you speak English well.’

  His only response was to raise one eyebrow in condescension. Regan got the distinct impression that he didn’t like her. But how was that possible when she had never even met him before?

  ‘What are you doing here, American?’ His voice was low and rough, his lips curling with disdain.

  No, he didn’t like her. Not one little bit.

  ‘How do you know I’m American? Are you?’

  She hadn’t been able to place his accent yet.

  He gave her a humourless smile. ‘Do I look American to you?’

  No, he looked like a man who could tempt a nun to relinquish her vows. And he knew it. ‘No. Sorry.’

  ‘So what are you doing here?’

  She let out a breath and pulled herself together. She didn’t know whether to hold the photo of Chad out to him or not. Despite his relaxed slouch, he looked as if he was ready to pounce on her if she so much as blinked the wrong way. ‘I’m...looking for someone.’

  ‘Someone?’

  ‘My brother.’ Deciding there couldn’t be any harm in showing him the photo, she extended it across the table, making sure their fingers didn’t connect when he took it. His eyes held hers for a fraction longer than necessary as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Which she hoped wasn’t true because she was still stuck on the whole sexual attraction thing. ‘Have you seen him before?’

  ‘Maybe. Why are you looking for him?’

  Regan’s eyes widened. Hope welled up inside her at the thought that she might have finally found someone who would be able to help her. ‘You have? Where? When?’

  ‘I repeat, why are you looking for him?’

  ‘Because I don’t know where he is. Do you?’