by Rachel Grant
He stepped back into the bedroom after gawking at the shower and said, “You know what this room needs?”
“What?”
“Help from Ikea.”
Her laugh was genuine this time. “I think you’re right. I can just see my dad, cursing because he can’t find the hex key.”
“Do you ever miss this?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Not really. The price was too high. And my ass doesn’t care if the sofa is Ikea or something that was hand-stuffed by fairies in Belgium.” She gave him a wry smile. “Although today on the plane, I’ll admit I did miss first class.”
“I’ve never flown first class,” he said.
“It’s disgusting how airlines have made coach so miserable to justify the outrageous prices for first class. It doesn’t have to be that way, with a handful of people flying in comfort and the rest treated like garbage. Those were the things I didn’t see before I escaped the family.”
“Escaped? You sound like it was a cult.”
“Isn’t it, though? Worship of the almighty dollar? My father as the supreme leader?” She waved her hands to encompass the room. “I mean, who needs twenty-two rooms of this? No one actually lives here except the servants. There are ten servant rooms and a caretaker cottage. That’s eleven people who live here full-time, waiting for my brothers and me to visit. The trust set aside a budget for the staff, food, and maintenance. I can’t buy clothes, but I can order a four-thousand-dollar cognac to be delivered to you poolside.”
Bastian practically choked. “Four thousand dollars?”
She shrugged. “Something like that. I reviewed the house budget the last time I was here. There’s a cellar that holds at least half a million dollars’ worth of wine. I wanted to sell some of the bottles to cover the cost of my trip, but there’s a clause in the trust that prevents me from selling any of the house assets, and the liquor and wine is valuable enough to be listed on the assets and not just part of the food budget. Plus the staff knows I don’t drink, so the missing bottles would have been noted. The cognac is JJ’s favorite and hard to get in Morocco.”
“I don’t even like cognac.” But he had to admit, he’d try it, just for the novelty of tasting something so ridiculously expensive.
Brie had changed into one of her Dior suits at the mall, and now she stripped it off, dropping the designer clothes on the floor. “Strip,” she said. “The maid is going to be here with our bags to unpack in about thirty seconds. I gave instructions to unpack, but then you made it clear we were going to have sex. If we’re caught going at it, it will be easier to convince everyone we’re really a couple.”
Brie turned to the bed and spread the sheer curtains.
“The curtains won’t hide anything.”
“That’s why you need to strip. Keep your underwear on. We’ll be under the covers, waist down.” She dropped her bra to the floor.
Shit. Was this revenge on her part? A way to make him suffer?
But he was a good soldier and stripped, then followed her to bed. She lay on her back, and he settled between her thighs. His erection was all too real.
And as she predicted, the maid knocked a minute later.
Brie bade the woman enter in a husky voice.
The maid stepped inside, and her spine went ramrod straight when she spotted them. “I’m sorry, miss! I was told—”
“Unpack our bags,” Brie said, letting out a slight panting sound.
Bastian stiffened—and not in a good way. He’d expected Brie to send the woman away once she caught an eyeful, not invite her in. “What are you doing?” he whispered in her ear.
“Chief Ford will use the closet on the right,” she said, not missing a beat as she pressed up against him. This was no act. The maid wasn’t watching. The poor woman was studiously avoiding looking their way.
Which meant there was only one reason Brie was doing this. She was turned on and wanted to play.
He narrowed his gaze and leaned down and kissed her, filling her mouth with his tongue as he teased her clit with his cock. His briefs and her panties were all that was between them.
Oh damn, how he wanted to fuck her.
He released her mouth, then rolled over, pulling her on top of him. He grabbed the sheets to hide her panties. But at this point, they were just a thin and very wet barrier. Her breasts bounced as she smiled down at him, her eyes smoky with arousal. He licked his thumb, slid it inside her panties, and touched her clit.
She gasped and rocked into him. Seeking more.
The maid was in the closet, unpacking. This was for no one’s benefit but Brie’s.
He cupped the back of her neck with his other hand and pulled her down for a hot kiss, lifting his shoulders from the bed to meet her halfway. “I want to fuck you, Brie,” he whispered against her lips. “I want to bury myself in your tight heat and feel your body quiver from the inside as I make you come.”
She said nothing. She just closed her eyes against the stroke of his thumb, the pressure of his cock. He held her on the edge of orgasm.
“Please,” she whispered. “Finish me.”
“No.”
He understood her now. She wanted him—every hard inch—but after his betrayal, she wasn’t about to forgive and move on. No. She was going to get her needs met in other ways. Dress him up in pretty suits and fuck him like the boy toy he was, keeping her heart out of the mix. He’d been involved in enough no-strings liaisons to recognize the setup.
He gazed up at the woman he’d fallen in love with. The woman he’d betrayed. And for the first time since he’d told Savannah James everything Brie had revealed, he looked forward to the coming days.
Game on, baby.
He stroked her clit with his thumb, wishing he used his tongue. In due time. Maybe later in the sunken tub. Or in the Turkish bath. There would be plenty of opportunities.
Every time he felt her near the edge, he backed off and stopped thrusting his hips. From the look on her face, she was enjoying the prolonged ecstasy as much as she was fighting it.
He wasn’t exactly sure when the maid left the room. There was just an awareness that the reason for the charade was gone.
He removed his hand from her panties and rolled to his side, not completely dislodging her as he held her close, but his erection no longer teased her.
“You’re just going to leave me hanging?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Bastard.”
“You know it.”
She scowled, but he could see laughter in her eyes too. Finally, she sighed. “I guess I’ll take a shower.”
Remembering the shower massager, he said, “Can I watch?”
She leaned back. “Like when I bathed in South Sudan?”
“Exactly.”
“No. You can’t watch.”
He laughed. He’d have been shocked if she said yes.
He’d mark this round as a draw.
30
Bastian didn’t like four-thousand-dollar cognac any more than the cheaper brands. But he enjoyed watching Brie lounge in the pool area in a skimpy bikini. He’d opted to keep his suit on to conceal his weapons. He looked more like her bodyguard than her boyfriend, which was fine with him.
They’d done a solid job convincing the staff they were lovers, so he didn’t have to try hard now.
It was early evening by the time they’d made it outside, and she wore the sultry evening like a sarong. The garden lights clung to her curves, and all he wanted was to touch, taste, and explore. But this was a long game, a battle of wills, and he was braced for all the darts she’d throw his way. And when it was all over, he’d drag her back to her room and fuck her brains out, let her know exactly how much he wanted her.
They’d both win. They’d both lose. But in the end, it would have been a hell of a journey.
He asked the waiter—or whatever a male attendant was called, footman?—for a beer, and the man produced a bucket full of ice with several bottles to choose from. He would ne
ver want to live like this—it was such a horrible waste of money that could do good elsewhere—but had to admit a short-term visit to the land of überwealth had its perks.
Bastian chose a local brew, Casablanca beer, and sat in a chaise next to Brie as she sipped her tea. A glance around the garden and pool area, and it was hard to imagine that twelve days ago, they’d been stranded in South Sudan, talking about what she’d do if she got her period. She’d gained weight in the intervening days. Her skin had a healthier glow. A thin stripe of pink marked the blow she’d taken from the whip, and she now wore just a small bandage over the stitches in her thigh. The bruising had faded to a faint yellow.
He cocked his head. “Did you get your period? After South Sudan? You said it was due about a week ago.” A week ago, they’d made love, and she’d been period-free.
“It started not long after we had sex the last time, probably right about the time you were telling Savvy everything. Ended yesterday.”
“Savvy needed to know,” he said softly, his first attempt at offering a defense. “Telling her was the right thing to do.”
“I know that, Bastian. If I’d realized I knew something that mattered, I’d have told her myself. I’m upset that you didn’t tell me. You led me to believe you wanted me—maybe even cared about me—but all you wanted was to get me to talk.”
“I wanted you then. I want you now. Dammit, Brie, I’m in love with you.” His last words were delivered louder, with a little more anger than he intended. But then, she’d walked away from him the first time he’d said those words. That rejection had cut deeper than he’d realized. Even if it was justified.
“How charming,” a man said from behind him, and Bastian turned to see Jeffery Jr. standing several feet away, wearing his patented supercilious smirk. “Our baby sister is back, and she brought a…plaything.” His gaze flicked over Bastian. “I see you went slumming in South Sudan.”
Bastian stiffened, but it wouldn’t do to break the guy’s nose the first moment they met. They needed information from this asshole. After that, he’d break his nose. And a few other bones.
Brie stood and grabbed the four-thousand-dollar bottle of booze from the low table between the chaise lounges. She stepped in front of her brother, removed the stopper, and poured the liquor onto Junior’s shoes and the concrete pool deck.
In a flash, Jeff Jr. struck her across the face. Bastian lunged from his seat, reaching him just as the bottle slipped from Brie’s fingers. She reeled backward from the blow.
The bottle shattered, splattering alcohol and glass across the concrete as Bastian took the man by the throat and dangled him over the pool. “I’ve been trained to kill with every weapon imaginable and improvised. If you ever touch Brie again, I will cut off your balls and make you eat them with ketchup. Understand?”
The man’s eyes were wide with alarm, but cold hate burned there as well. He didn’t nod or say a word. He just hung stiff in midair, holding on to Bastian’s wrist to relieve pressure on his neck, refusing to fight or surrender. Bastian dropped him in the pool.
He turned to Brie. “Babe, let’s go inside. The pool area reeks of ass.”
She glanced down at her bare feet. Her sandals remained by the chaise where she’d been relaxing. “The glass—”
Bastian scooped her in his arms and carried her into the house as her brother quietly climbed from the pool.
Brie snuggled her face into Bastian’s shoulder as he climbed the stairs, humiliated by the slap Bastian had witnessed. She’d forgotten how casually cruel her brother could be. Jeff Junior had always been coldly violent. Rafe was more calculating. Brie still didn’t know if her oldest brother loved or hated her, but she had no illusions about JJ’s affection.
What shocked her was that JJ didn’t even attempt to play nice. She’d known he’d taunt Bastian with racial slurs, but she’d expected them to be veiled, or that he’d at least work up to blatant, once he felt secure. After all, Bastian might not be tall and hulking like Pax Blanchard, but he was still thick with muscles and intimidating. Few would discount him with a glance, and her brothers were soft. She doubted either of them had ever visited the gym on the second floor.
JJ’s taunt was quick and deliberate. She was horrified for Bastian and felt degraded for herself. The strike to her face hurt less than the casual delivery of the blow. He hadn’t feared repercussions from the blow because she wasn’t worthy.
She’d never been worthy. It shouldn’t hurt—it wasn’t like JJ was a stellar guy—but still, the fact that her own brother couldn’t muster even the faintest regard for her had always hurt.
And then Bastian had dispensed with JJ without even breaking a sweat. Never in her life had anyone stood up for her with her family. She’d never even known it was something to crave. But now she’d had a taste.
And it was delicious.
“Thank you,” she said, then pressed her lips to his chest. She breathed in his scent. Musky, sexy. Hot. She was so utterly turned on by the way he’d not only defended her, but then he’d scooped her in his arms to protect her from broken glass.
She’d add it to her mental list of ways in which Bastian was heroic. The one she held up against the list of things he’d done to hurt her. It currently only had one line item, but it was the one that hurt the most.
“I’m sorry he hit you. I wish I’d reacted faster. Stopped him.”
Her cheek still ached from the blow. “You’re sorrier than he is.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure he’s sorry.” Bastian said as he set her down on one of the sofas in her bedroom. “This isn’t over.”
“He’s going to be angry you got the better of him.” She grabbed his hand as he rose. “He might try to blindside you.”
Bastian shrugged. “No way can a little prick like him get the jump on me.”
“He might hire help.” She squeezed his fingers. Suddenly, she felt like they hadn’t thought this mission through. Bastian was alone here. No team. She’d thought her brothers would be civil, but clearly, that had been a miscalculation.
The whole reason she’d pushed him away was to protect him, but now he was in the lion’s den without a shield.
“He doesn’t scare me.”
“Maybe he should.”
Bastian smiled, leaned down, and brushed his lips over hers. “You worried about me, sweetheart?” His lips left hers and trailed across her neck.
“Of course I am.”
“So maybe you care about me a little bit?” His lips moved lower, following the strap of her bikini.
“A little… Maybe.”
His tongue traced her nipple through the stretchy fabric. It puckered, and she wished the cloth wasn’t in the way. He fulfilled her wish and she gasped as he cupped one breast in a hand and sucked on the other. Heat flooded her, and she clenched her pelvic muscles. Revising her wish, she mentally changed where she wanted him to put his mouth.
She was being greedy with her wishes, she knew.
All at once, he released her. “I will make love to you again—but not until you beg me.”
“You don’t ask much. Just absolute surrender.”
He shrugged and offered a smile. “I’m worth it.”
Yes, you are.
He held her gaze, and she was certain he could read her thoughts, but all he said was, “You need to change. I want a tour of the house and to meet all the servants. I need to know what I’m dealing with here.”
The house was insane. No one needed a palace like this. And that was exactly what it was—a modern Moroccan palace. The gym alone was…just that. A real gym, everything a Special Forces operator could want for a workout. “The only thing missing is a personal trainer,” he said.
“I’m sure my brothers have one on retainer,” Brie said. “Some guy who is ready to show up at the drop of a Ben Franklin, but neither Rafe nor JJ work out.”
“Au contraire, baby sister.”
Bastian turned to see Rafe Prime, Brie’s half brother, the eldest of
the Prime sons and the one everyone considered the brains of the family. The golden son, it was believed he would take over Prime Energy from his father someday.
“I’ve mended my ways. I work out five days a week. Eat right. I figure what’s the use of having all this money if I’m not healthy enough to enjoy it?”
He stepped fully into the room and held out a hand. “Rafe Prime. You must be Chief Warrant Officer Sebastian Ford. Thank you for saving my sister in South Sudan.”
Savvy was right about the senator bringing the family up-to-date. Rafe’s congenial manner was in such sharp contrast to Junior that Bastian didn’t know what to think of the man. He shook his hand and said, “It was my mission to save her and the other hostages. I’m eternally grateful we were successful.”
Rafe turned to Brie. “Welcome home, Gabby.” He took her hand in his and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She remained stiff and didn’t make an effort to kiss or hug him.
She cocked her head and gazed at him suspiciously. “Wow. You look a lot like Rafe Prime. How long have you been impersonating him, and has JJ figured it out yet?”
Rafe laughed. “No. He thinks I’m the real deal.” He touched her cheek where she’d been slapped. She jerked away from him.
He dropped his hand. His brow furrowed at her quick rejection. “Youssef told me what happened. I’m sorry.” He nodded toward Bastian. “Glad you had someone to defend you. I’ll talk to him later. Right now, he’s practically frothing at the mouth.”
“Rafe, this would be easier for me if you wouldn’t pretend we’re chummy. JJ was horrible, but at least he was honest.”
“And I don’t see why we have to be enemies. You’re my sister. I’ve missed you.”
“Right. You probably cried for days when Dad cut me out of the family. And I noticed how many times you tried to reach out to me in the intervening years. I can count them on zero hands.”
