There was his name again. Brand. She didn’t like it one bit that this powerful man valued Brand’s opinion. It was unsettling. And as for the way Brand treated her, looked at her… like everything that had happened was her fault somehow…like he shouldn’t have had to save her… she seethed inwardly.
But she only said, “Yes, Mr. Rice rides to the rescue again. He saved my life. You should give him a raise.”
Sebastian laughed some more.
Twenty feet behind, Brandon Rice - deep in the shadows so as to not be noticed by either of them - heard the comment and clenched his fists as his icy control slipped a notch down.
Five
At precisely eleven, Akira knocked on Sebastian’s door. Armed with a notebook and a mini-camcorder, her list of questions were geared toward a deep dive feature than a breaking news story. The man had had his life profiled a hundred times by reporters better than her, but they didn’t have a ringside view to his greatest moment.
His triumph.
Akira’s smile faded as she faced the scowl of the man who had saved her life not two hours ago. Brandon Rice.
She hadn’t forgotten that little fact. Or the look he’d given her. Or the way he’d dogged their steps when she and the Premier had taken their little walk. And after their charming walk had finished, he had closeted Sebastian in his quarters.
He was so overbearing and she itched to find out why Sebastian Delgado put up with him. Pasting a smile on her face, she made her way in, when Brand shifted away from touching her.
That she gripped her notebook and camera harder was noticed by no one but herself.
“Duty calls, Senhor Delgado.”
Sebastian was leaning against an old oak table that was placed in front of the stately porthole, daring the world to attack him.
She wrote the stub of the article.
With the sea at his back and conviction in his eyes, Sebastian Santiago Delgado comes across as a man with firm opinions. A man of action. With the leadership of his country under attack and the quick steps that he has taken to protect San Magellan from outright anarchy, it comes as a surprise to find the man quoting WB Yeats.
But then again, maybe, to be a warrior, to be a ruler, to be a Premier, one has to understand the wonders of life as well as its horrors.
“Duty calls, Brand.” Sebastian shrugged.
Brand stood at the door, implacable and silent.
Akira smiled at Sebastian, genuinely. “Mr. Rice can stay, if he has to. He doesn’t have to leave because of me.” She said that looking at Brand.
The look she gave him was the physical equivalent of squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. Her chocolate brown eyes flashed.
Brand’s eyes darkened.
“I have to check on the status of containment in the upper deck. Make sure the destroyed cabin is boarded up properly. Might as well do it now.” Brand opened the door. He gave the Premier an inscrutable look. “Remember what we talked about. And consider it. Please.”
Then he was gone.
Sebastian removed a cigarette from his engraved silver case, lit up. “That man is all about work. He doesn’t see, or appreciate beauty… the simple pleasures anymore. No man should be that hard.”
Akira noted that little piece of information. Filed it away for future reference.
So, Brand was all work and no play. She didn’t doubt it for a minute. He had the hard, focused look of a man who took his job very seriously. She was alive because he took his work very seriously.
She didn’t have to like it, though.
Akira shrugged, opened her little video camera. Spoke as she set it up. “I don't much care either way about Mr. Rice, interesting though he may be. And I’d rather not waste my interview time talking about him. The angle is perfect now. I’ll sit here on the couch and ask questions. And we’ll see how it goes. Is that fine with you?”
He blew out a ring. “Why not? What can you ask that I won’t be able to answer?”
Akira smiled and thought to herself, everything if I have my way.
Six
The night, as they say, was beautiful.
The sky was patterned with diamond stars, a black velvety background to the luminous Sea Princess which was moored in the middle of a sea that glittered with the lights of the night and the yacht herself.
The drama of the cliffs in the far distance, the blanket of the night, and the romance and power in the air had Akira wishing she could be on duty and click pictures forever…take away the little trembles of horror that snaked inside her every so often.
Standing on the far end of the Princess deck, she observed the beginning of the festivities. Guests - of all nationalities, power and positions - were making their way up from the single launch being used to ferry people back and forth.
Major designers, jewelry, discreetly expensive cuff-links and watches lit up the yacht as surely as the array of festive lights. Sebastian Delgado had spared no expense in making sure this would be a night to remember. She wondered why Sebastian, the leader of the people had chosen to exclude the people’s presence in this history-making moment.
It was an important question, one Delgado had evaded when she’d asked him about it during their interview.
She was still mulling it over as she snuck deeper into the shadows to observe everything.
The quick, military-like precision of the guards escorting the guests… the thorough way they were searched. The positions of the media-persons as they pointed cameras and equipment in all directions and gave quick feeds to be edited and aired later. Sound bites from the rich, the famous and, most importantly, the powerful, were the norm of the night. And everybody was asked pretty much the same question.
Would Sebastian Delgado make the announcement tonight?
Debate had raged on for months about this one question, ever since the uber-exclusive invite had been extended to a select few people.
Akira saw the US Ambassador for Argentina make his ponderous way across the deck, being frisked by one of Brand’s men and then escorted downstairs to the media room, where in a few more minutes, the premiere of SAN MAGELLAN: Story of the people, would start.
Akira grinned as she sipped the very excellent Dom she’d snagged from one of the circulating staff. If the aromas coming from the galley were any indication, Milano, the cook, had outdone himself.
She caught sight of a familiar figure striding down the far side of the deck.
After the first three times, she’d stopped sucking in air every time she saw Brandon Rice in evening clothes, like all of his men.
The man wore a tuxedo like he was born to wear one.
With his lean, athletic build and that well-defined upper body, the white shirt and black jacket fit him to delicious, lip-smacking perfection. His shoes, Italian loafers, shone with the lights of The Princess, and his pants emphasized the long length of him. In one word: dishy.
As if knowing she was checking him out, he turned his head and met her eyes squarely.
Akira sucked in air for a fourth time.
She toasted him with her glass and then turned to see the magnificent waters of the Strait. The waters glittered black and silver with the lights of the stars and the boat. She could barely make out the fishes frolicking underneath, wished idly for a dolphin or two, and enjoyed the balmy air of the night.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Brandon joined her secluded spot. He too held a glass of champagne.
“Yeah,” she agreed, tapping hers against his and then took a small sip.
Brandon Rice in evening clothes was a lethal weapon and, up close and personal, she nearly swallowed her tongue.
His eyes were this deep black with no distinguishable iris. Those eerie eyes had lines fanning around them, the kind that came with hard, brutal experiences. His nose was aquiline perfect, even though she’d heard it from Henry that it had been broken twice.
Lean cheeks around a lean face and a jaw that looked as sexy as it was stubborn, his lips were his gr
ace. Thin-lipped, like a slash of perfection on his already perfect face. There were scars, not visible ones, in his eyes, if one saw into them.
He wore Calvin Klein Obsession that made her want to lean in and take a sniff. Akira knew she was in trouble if she wanted to sniff the man, yet, there it was. She wanted to press a hand to her stomach as she felt that jolt of attraction again.
Just because they were standing there, looking at each other.
“So why aren’t you in there mingling with the glitterati?” Brand sipped champagne while he looked out the sea.
“I did my job today morning. Now I want to enjoy.” She breathed in the breezy sea air. “Take in the sea air. You know,” she turned to him with a small smile.
His eyes narrowed.
She could see it. “It’s my ‘me’ time.”
“I should go. I have people to...secure.”
“So go?” She cocked her head to one side.
All around them were the signs of a party coming to life. People of all nationalities were chattering, noise and mellow music could be heard. And yet, in this dark corner of the ship, with no one aware of their presence, it seemed like they were alone. Completely alone.
It was unsafe, Akira knew. It was exciting. And, oh man, it was arousing.
“What if I don’t want to?” He finished off his champagne. Brooded out the ocean.
Akira could feel anger and frustration coming off him in waves. Didn’t know the cause of it and didn’t want to know.
“I’ll make it easier on you, Brand. I’ll go. Goodbye. Have a nice night.” She gave him another meaningless smile and walked. Or started to.
The curse of wearing five-inch stiletto sling-backs was that they made you wobble sometimes. And there was a huge coil of cable lying on her way that she didn’t see because her nose was up in the air.
She stumbled on the cable, champagne flute flailing from her hands, and uttered one female shriek. Pitching to the front, she knew she was going to fall.
Hard arms clasped her around the waist and pulled her back from the coil right before she fell.
Akira landed against Brand’s chest, back to front, gripping his arm again before trying to steady herself. She felt his smile on the back of her neck. The heels giving her added height.
“Be careful,” he advised, holding her tighter.
She could just see him laugh, she thought, as she struggled and the strap of her dress slid off her shoulder.
Akira stilled because she became aware of where, exactly, his hands were. Under her breasts, and he could see down the top of her neckline. Cursing under her breath, she tried to turn in his arms.
Because breaking free wasn’t working for her.
“Let me go, Brand,” she said, finally.
“I should.” Then, perversely, he did.
She carefully stepped back from him. “Thank you. For rescuing me yet again.”
~~~~~~
Brand stuck his hands in the pockets of his very elegant trousers. Didn’t answer. Frustration and Obsession mingled in the air.
What could he tell her that she didn’t already know? That she was beautiful? That she could make any man lose his head when he looked at her?
He sighed internally as he failed miserably in not looking at her.
She wore a black slip of a dress in some shiny material with single straps sliding down her shoulders. A neck that was supposed to be square but, with her breasts, was more non-existent. Her skin, when he’d touched her, was soft and creamy…scented like she should be displayed in a candle store and not with him.
And the legs in those shoes, those strappy shoes…he thanked God for those shoes.
She looked like she belonged on this yacht with the powerful people and, yet, she wasn’t with them. She had been alone with just herself for company.
Personally, Brand spent as little time with himself as possible. In his line of work, it was a survival tactic. Murderers did not make for good company.
He couldn't read Akira Naik, at all. She laughed when she was amused, and she was amused a lot. She was sharp and knowledgeable. And she wasn’t above using her feminine wiles into getting her way.
And for all these reasons, Brand knew he should get away from her. She was bad news, because she saw things. She asked questions. Hell, it was her job to do so.
But, when he’d seen her standing on the deck, okay, he’d been hunting her down all evening to be precise, he’d walked over to her. Needed to walk over to her. It was illogical, and it was unsettling.
Now she wanted to walk away… It made her smarter than him.
“Wait,” Brandon said.
Akira paused. Turned to give him a now-what-do-you-want look.
“The champagne. You didn’t get to finish yours. Don't you want another?”
“I was just going to get more.” She sounded like she was trying to talk to a five-year old.
“I could get it for you. While you stay here and enjoy some me time. Like you wanted. The party’s going to start now, but the movie’s in...”
“Thirty minutes, I know.” She nodded.
“So, what do you say? Have one drink with me?” Could he sound any more desperate?
She smiled. A female smile that made him aware of the cute roundness of her nose. The light brown of her eyes, and hell, the way her kissable lips curved, a man couldn't not think of kissing them. Tasting them…
“One drink. To hold our peace forevermore. I like that. Yeah, why not?”
Akira came back to where he was standing, carefully picking her way this time, so that she was far away from coils and cables.
Brand stood there, waiting for her to slip, which could give him an excuse to cop a feel. You’re pathetic, man.
~~~~~~
“So, what are you waiting to get the champagne for? Divine intervention?” Akira wanted to sound less breathy than she felt.
Brand nodded once and left as silently as he’d made his appearance.
Akira couldn't help watching his very fine backside striding away in Armani. She couldn't help smoothing down her dress, and checking her face in the tiniest compact she owned.
The make-up, subtle and arty, emphasizing her eyes and lips, was still holding. Her hair, always a mess, had been cajoled with mousse, lots of mousse. And her dress, well, it wasn’t exactly what she’d been planning to wear tonight.
She knew they were both intelligent, smart people who were more than their looks but it did not stop her from wishing she’d worn the sleek strapless dress she’d loaned Rumi to wear tonight.
“Thinking deep thoughts, are we?” Brand asked, coming up behind her.
Akira whirled around, startled. “You know, you really should take care of that,” she said conversationally while her heart-rate settled.
It jacked up again, because Brand smiled. And he looked, she gulped… there were no other words for it; he looked like Hugh Jackman as James Bond.
“Take care of what?” He deftly poured champagne from a bottle into two flutes.
Akira followed the movements, hypnotized. .
“Your cat feet problem. Someday someone might die. You know, of a weak heart?” She was babbling. Oh my god, she was babbling!
Get a grip, Akira!
“It’s completely conceivable someone might.” Brand handed her one flute. “And that I might want them to.” He clinked glasses with hers and took a sip.
She drank the whole of hers down; held out her glass.
He raised one brow, but poured anyway.
“So, Brandon, killed a lot of someones?” She sipped this one a little slower.
Brand settled next to her on the lounger, the bottle balanced between them. He glanced at her thoughtfully, silent.
“You know what?” Akira continued before he could say a word. “I really don't want to know.”
“Why not?” Now he was genuinely curious.
“Because.” She shrugged.
“It disgusts you. Frightens you. Makes you feel unea
sy,” he guessed accurately.
She shook her head.
“It doesn’t?” He raised his brow again.
Akira said stupidly, “You really shouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?”
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