Protecting His Princess

by C. J. Miller

  Mikhail nodded. “We’ll have more time to talk tonight. After dinner I’ve arranged for some entertainment for my closest friends. Please plan to join us. Transportation leaves the compound at ten.”

  Mikhail stood, and Harris followed suit. “Sounds like fun. Thank you for including me.”

  As Harris left the room, he was mentally fist pumping in victory. He’d found his way into the emir’s private party. A private party that might include Ahmad Al-Adel and the members of the Holy Light Brotherhood.

  Chapter 6

  Harris wasn’t responding to her text messages. Laila had even been so bold as to knock on his bedroom door. He hadn’t answered.

  She returned to her room, anxiety twisting in her stomach. Where was he? He hadn’t mentioned having another meeting. Had something gone wrong?

  Part of her worried she’d have to find some way to report to the CIA that Harris had joined the other American spy in the Cinder Block. Why hadn’t she been given a direct contact in the event of emergency? Didn’t the CIA and FBI trust her with this mission? If she’d been planning to betray Harris, she would have done so already.

  When the balcony door slid open, Laila came to her feet, throwing aside the magazine she hadn’t been reading.

  “I got your messages. What’s wrong?” Harris asked.

  “I was worried about you. Where were you?”

  “With your brother. He wanted to talk about our engagement and the family shipping business.”

  She let out her breath, knots loosening in her stomach. “I was so scared.”

  Harris came closer to her and pressed a finger over her lips. The contact was electric. “You worry too much. I’m fine. Your brother was making sure my intentions were honorable with you, and that I’d be open to helping him transport some sensitive items to difficult locations.”

  Emphasis on the words sensitive and difficult. Was Mikhail talking about weapons or supplies for Al-Adel and his terrorist organization?

  Harris had made great progress. The situation was playing out as he’d wanted. “What did you tell him?” Laila asked.

  “I told him I wanted to marry you, and my company would love to earn the business of the Emir of Qamsar however we needed to. He also invited me to a gathering tonight.”

  Disappointment speared through her. She’d hoped to spend some time with Harris this evening. His operation came first, and he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to rub elbows with Mikhail and his inner circle. “Will you be out late?” she asked.

  Harris inclined his head, his blue eyes searching her face. “I don’t know what Mikhail has planned. Is something wrong?”

  Laila wasn’t supposed to grow attached to him. They were actors playing a part. Yet that kiss lingered on her lips, and she wanted to spend more time with him. She hungered for it. Which was ridiculous and would likely cause her more hurt in the long run. Their relationship wasn’t leading anywhere except a dead end. Or a possible, improbable “now and then” visit. “My mom stopped by to see if we were attending Aisha’s dessert party tonight. I was hoping you and I could spend some time together. Best desserts in the world by some of the top chefs. She has a pastry chef from France, a baker from England and a chocolatier from Belgium.” Maybe she could appeal to his stomach, and he’d choose spending time with her over working Mikhail.

  “I’ll have to pass. If Mikhail’s gathering ends early, I’ll stop by.”

  It had been a long shot, but it didn’t stop the disappointment from spreading over her.

  Harris set his fingers under her chin and nudged her head up so she was looking at him. “Do we need to talk about this?” His voice was gentle, heavy with concern.

  Her face gave away the disappointment she felt. She couldn’t help it. She wasn’t trained to hide her emotions the way he could.

  “Nothing to talk about.” She had understood the ground rules coming into this operation. The mission came first and finding Al-Adel could save lives. Her developing feelings for Harris weren’t an important factor. At least they weren’t important to him. She needed to get the reins on her emotions and keep them from galloping out of control.

  He let out his breath. “We know that isn’t true. What’s going on here is a lot to talk about.”

  She was too afraid to ask about their future and press him about his feelings. She was afraid the honest answers would hurt. She didn’t understand men and had no experience with them. What she was feeling for the first time was intense and honest. What if he didn’t feel the same for her?

  “We don’t have a problem,” she said. A lie. She still had the same problem, the same gnawing in her stomach like something was about to happen, but she didn’t know what.

  “If you need something that I’m not providing, you need to tell me,” he said.

  Confusion and insecurities muddled her thoughts. “I’m fine. We’ll have time together tomorrow,” she said, unable to keep her voice steady.

  “You’re even beautiful when you’re lying to me.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not lying to you,” she said. Her voice came out in a whisper, and she hated that she wasn’t stronger about this. She should lock away her feelings and forget about them. Her father had raised her to be strong and in control. Losing control of her emotions was a weakness.

  He traced his thumb over her lower lip. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I told you that at the beginning. But I’m not lying.”

  “I know a way to get the truth from you.”

  She lifted her brow. “Oh?” Some secret agent trick? A lie detector test? Checking her pulse to see how fast her heart was beating?

  He brought his mouth close to her neck and he kissed her, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin at her nape. She caught the game he was playing. She shivered. “You can’t seduce the truth out of me.”

  He didn’t say anything. His hands drifted down her sides, stopping and resting at her hips. The nerve endings in her skin tingled and danced. “Tell me what’s going on in your head,” he said.

  The demand was soft and gentle, and Laila wanted to spill the truth. To confess that her life felt in flux, her ideas for the future had changed, her feelings for him had evolved, and that she wanted more than he could give her. She’d grown closer to him, gotten to know him, and she didn’t want to end their relationship when this mission was over.

  In other words, to tell him she wanted to alter their arrangement, and that he should trust her to be in his life in a real, concrete way. Trust her. Something he’d implied he couldn’t do, not with the memory of the woman who’d betrayed him burning on his mind.

  What could she say and not ruin their connection and send him emotionally fleeing? “I enjoy spending time with you. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t see you tonight,” she said.

  The word “tonight” hung heavy between them. Laila had never spent the evening alone with a man. Had never gone to dinner and out dancing, and then returned to a man’s place for kissing on the couch. Or other things. Those other things she hadn’t explored, and for the first time, she wanted to explore. Or at least was curious about them.

  “I’ll see if I can find a way to see you,” he said.

  Excitement spread from her chest to her hands and feet. She leaned closer to him and gripped his shirt in her hands. Maybe he did understand he was important to her.

  He was offering a compromise. He didn’t have a mission-related reason to see her. It meant a great deal that he was willing to try. Maybe she was blowing the situation out of proportion, or assigning meaning that wasn’t there, but he was taking a chance. Any time they were together like they were now, they risked being caught. The emir’s guards had made it clear they didn’t respect a closed door.

  If someone walked in on them right now, with Harris’s hands on her waist, her fingers fisting his shirt, his lips on her neck, licking, kissing, what would happen to them? She had no desire to be caught or to face the repercussions of behaving in a manner
she knew was inappropriate in Qamsar.

  Harris drew away from her. “If you’re okay, I should go.”

  “You could stay for a few more minutes.” A few more minutes in his arms wouldn’t hurt.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I could stay here for much longer than a few minutes. But we both know what would happen if someone finds us together. Alone.”

  She pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Be safe. I worry about you leaping across balconies. Someone might see you.”

  “I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and he went to the balcony doors. He looked back once at her, winked and then disappeared outside.

  * * *

  Mikhail had arranged for his private party to take place outside the compound with transportation to and from the location for his guests.

  Two large tents were erected in the desert sand, the sky was clear of clouds and filled with stars, and ornate rugs covered most of the area around the tents.

  Most odd were the generators humming into the night air and the portable satellites affixed to the top of the tents. If this was an outdoor adventure, it certainly lacked any of the features of “roughing it” or becoming one with nature.

  Following the other guests inside a tent, Harris could only think of the word harem to describe the scene. He removed his shoes and stepped deeper inside. Mikhail’s private “closest friends” party wasn’t exclusive to his friends. A group of lovely, half-naked women danced to music piped over the speakers in the corners of the tent. Men played poker at two round green-topped tables.

  Harris surveyed the room, and though the lighting was patchy, casting shadows into the corners where he guessed more carnal activities were taking place, he didn’t spot Al-Adel. Also missing from the festivities was the emir’s brother, Saafir.

  More than one glass was filled with what Harris knew wasn’t soda.

  Apparently at this pre-wedding party, social, cultural and religious rules were forgotten. Half-naked women, alcohol and gambling were acceptable in this realm.

  Though Harris was used to hiding his emotions, he let surprise show on his face. The setup was something he’d expect from a Western bachelor party, not in the middle of a desert in the Middle East. Some of the men in the room seemed intent on their card game, whether they were uncomfortable with the women’s dance or loving the game, and others were openly enjoying the women’s performance.

  Harris quickly decided how to play his cards. His character wasn’t a prude, although engaging with these women could put his relationship with Laila in jeopardy. If she, or any of the other girlfriends or wives knew what was transpiring in this place, he couldn’t imagine how to explain it to her. That was how a boyfriend would think, right?

  Harris didn’t need to explain his actions or behavior to Laila, and anything he did on this mission was for the successful location and capture of Ahmad Al-Adel, and anyone else they could tie to his wrongdoings. Even as he composed the rational argument, guilt assailed him.

  Earlier that day, he’d known Laila was upset when he’d mentioned this party. Though she wouldn’t tell him all the reasons why, he caught the thread of the problem quickly. The kisses they’d shared had confused her. This situation had confused her. He couldn’t blame her. It had scrambled his thoughts, too, and he’d made some questionable decisions when he was alone with her, like kissing her.

  He was undercover, spying on the Emir of Qamsar and searching for a dangerous, internationally wanted terrorist. Those actions alone should occupy his waking thoughts. If it wasn’t enough, he had the sharp experiences of Cassie’s betrayal to remind him that his safety and the protection of his team and success of the mission required every precaution in bringing someone into his confidence. But those thoughts didn’t shut out his feelings for Laila. She interrupted his thoughts during the day, and she invaded his dreams at night.

  The mission had to come first. He was in Qamsar and at this party for his job. Getting into this tent was a milestone. The situation and the alcohol would loosen tongues. He scanned the room, looking for Mikhail, and found him sitting on a leather wingback chair, surrounded by a small group of friends with two scantily clad women perched on the edge of his chair like decorations.

  Harris hid his disgust. He strode to Mikhail, avoiding colliding with the gyrating women. Holding his hand up several times to decline a personal dance, he navigated the room. He didn’t find that type of entertainment sexy. It was seedy and awkward, both for him and the woman. A woman pretending to be interested in him for cash was as appealing as snuggling with a flatulent camel.

  When he reached Mikhail’s side, the emir turned to acknowledge him. “Harris, glad you could make it.”

  His demeanor was friendlier and more casual than it had been earlier in the day. Mikhail might have been pleased with the business connections Harris brought to the family. Or, while he didn’t have a drink in his hand, perhaps he had indulged.

  “I appreciate the invitation. Nice setup you got here.” Harris gestured around the room.

  It had to have taken Mikhail’s staff hours to rig the tent and equipment, to move the furniture and supplies to the middle of the desert. It was a strange cross between the history of the country and the modernization of the culture.

  Mikhail introduced him to the men sitting in the circle with him. One of the men caught and held his interest, a man named Tariq Salem. Harris had seen his face before and recognized the name. He was one of the men on the CIA’s persons of interest list because he had ties to Al-Adel.

  Harris eased into the conversation. He spoke the language fluently, having no problem with the regional dialect or local slang.

  “You’ve got to give this up, my friend,” one of the men said, gesturing around. “Aisha’s not the type of woman to turn a blind eye.”

  Mikhail laughed. “Aisha is a good woman. She knows her place.”

  One of the older men smiled. “All women know their place. But take it from someone who has been married for thirty-five years. It’s a happier life when your woman is content. I never understand young grooms who want to prove a point by controlling their wives and making them miserable. Let the women have their fun and keep them happy. If you do, when they get into bed with you, they are more than happy to let you have your fun then.”

  The men broke into laughter.

  “I know Aisha,” Mikhail said. “She can have her women’s events and her dessert parties and buy expensive things to wear. But I draw the line at involving her in my personal life.”

  “She is your personal life,” the older man said lightly.

  Mikhail nodded. “Maybe I can manage to have a life with her and a life to myself.”

  The men shared stories about their wives and lovers, some admitting having both wasn’t worth the expense and effort, others talking about their second and third wives, and how it had made their life more complicated, but worth it.

  “And what about you?” Mikhail asked, drawing Harris into the conversation. “Living in Germany, you must have a different perspective.”

  He’d been content to listen, both to the conversation in front of him and those around him. Mikhail had invited him for a reason, to check him out and make sure he was for real, but perhaps also to get a sense if he could be trusted. If Harris didn’t offer anything toward the conversation, he was losing his chance to build a relationship with the emir. “I’ve had to be careful. In the past I’ve gotten the attention of gold diggers and status seekers. It’s one of the great parts of my relationship with Laila. She comes from wealth. Besides most of the relationships I’ve seen, at least the ones that are worth working for, one woman is more than enough. I don’t see how I’d keep up with more than one.”

  “Are you calling my sister a handful?” Mikhail asked, amusement in his tone.

  “A handful implies I need to handle her. That’s not the case. She has a life and a world of her own, and I’m glad to be part of it.” Speak
ing the words was easy because he spoke the truth.

  “You’re happy with her being independent? Fine that she’s living in America?” one of the men asked.

  Harris wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. A woman who was dependent on him, needy to the point of not functioning alone, didn’t appeal to him. “It works for us,” Harris said, careful not to insult any of the men around him.

  “If she gets out of line, beat your wife once, and then she’d know not to cross you,” Tariq said. “Maybe twice if she’s especially willful.”

  Harris controlled his temper and the angry retort that snapped to mind. Salem had to be baiting a reaction. Many of the men appeared uncomfortable. Why weren’t they saying anything? Were they afraid to speak out against Al-Adel and his network of terrorists? Did anyone else know of the connection between Salem and Al-Adel?

  Mikhail took a sip of his drink. “What goes on in a man’s household is his business. But I think good Arabic women know their place without the need for fists.”

  Harris tasted bitterness on the back of his tongue. Growing up in a household where his mother ruled and strong, capable women were admired, he didn’t agree with a woman needing to “know her place” or with ever, ever using his hands against a woman. A wife deserved to be touched one way by her husband: with loving, worshipful hands.

  The image of running his hands over Laila came so quick, he didn’t have time to censor it. He’d never touched the bare skin of her stomach, but he’d guess it was soft, like the threads of her hair running through his fingers. He physically ached to touch her.

  When he forced his mind back to the distasteful conversation, Mikhail was laughing at something one of the men had said. “My mother is a good woman. When she becomes your wife, you won’t have to do any training.”

  His mother? Harris had missed an important part of the exchange.