by Leslie North
Phylis Jerome—but no one ever called PJ anything but PJ—was another complication. She’d become involved with someone here, so she’d be leaving Slade Security behind. That was the trouble with romance—emotions messed with your mind. Slade had drummed that lesson into Keira, but she was still struggling to master the Zen-like detachment that made Slade—and Brock—two of the best. Her problem wasn’t losing her heart, but losing her head when her temper heated up.
Well, at least the cover of her being Erin’s best friend from her New York days would prove easy. She had that cover down pat—a fashion model who worked the runways, and the only trouble she’d had was finding places to secure her slim Kel-Tec PMR-30 pistol.
She had on a mini that covered the essentials, and a huge Coach handbag covered the rest of her essentials—her .22 and a few other tricks she liked to keep handy. Jimmy Choo heels, gold earrings from Cartier, and lots of tan on display served up the rest of her distraction.
The houses thinned out and the limo turned off the main road and onto a narrow lane. It paused in front of iron gates before heading up a winding road and finally drifting to a stop. She fixed her lipstick, checked her reflection in the rear view mirror, and slipped into the role she was here to perform. Smile on, girl.
The driver opened the door for her, and she slid across the seat and stepped into a garden courtyard. The house—okay, maybe mansion or a full out palace—looked to be three floors with an arched colonnade that enclosed the center courtyard on three sides.
Gates barred the front and she noted with approval guards in discreet suits, with obvious bulges and ear buds. She pegged the gardeners tending to the lush display of flowers as more security—either that or she really did look great, going by the way they were stopping to check her out.
She gave the grounds a quick once over for fast exits. Over the roof was possible, but the tile would be slick underfoot, and it’d be easy to fall. She’d have to look for other options. The house sat on a hilltop, judging by the view down to the high-rises in the city. She looked at the house again.
The place smelled of flowers—jasmine maybe, she thought. Roses. Lush green things, and a soft breeze brushed her skin like a caress.
She had no trouble with an easy grin. Okay, so I could get used to living someplace like this.
She gave the driver a flirty smile, tossed her hair back, and then a man stepped out of the shadowed colonnade. Tensing, she eyed him. But she’d know that guy anywhere.
Brock stood well over six feet with muscles hidden under a loose suit and an open-neck shirt that left him able to move smoothly and quietly, like a man who used his body a lot.
Startling green eyes glittered. Her heartbeat kicked up. She didn’t know if she was supposed to know him or not in this job, but damn, he looked fine. It also looked like Brock was finally letting his hair grow out of that military buzz cut. Who would have known he had shots of gold in the brown.
Swallowing hard, she kept to her act. She slipped on her sunglasses to hide any expression and kept her face neutral.
Brock would let her know how to play this. What she didn’t expect was for him to come up, grab her, dip her back in his arms, and kiss her like he loved her.
Chapter 3
Brock was enjoying this—well as much as he could, given that his first instinct was to grab Keira and get her out of here. He did not like the idea of her heading into the field, but Slade insisted she was not only ready but needed to spread her wings. Slade had also said this was a milk run, and that was proving to be wrong, too.
Watching the limousine pull up in front of the palace, Brock kept to the shadows. It was hot enough that he didn’t mind a little shade. Sweat stuck the back of his shirt to his skin. He stared at the pair of very tan, very bare, and very long legs that had emerged from the car. Keira had always had attitude, he had to give her that.
She glanced around like she was thinking of buying the place. Then it was time for him to dive in and let her know plans had changed. This supposed walk-in-the-park job had shifted from something easy for her to tackle for the first operation she was running to a heads-up deal.
It looked like it could go south all too easily, and he’d already had a fight with Slade about leaving her here. Slade insisted it was still a good job for her to tackle. He was probably right, but that didn’t mean Brock had to like it. Still, he had to get the job done.
Since he didn’t have much time to brief her on the changes, he used the best way he knew how to get close to her fast.
Stepping out of the shadows, he wrapped her in a hug, then bent her backwards in his arms. Her eyes went wide. He sealed his mouth to hers before she could say anything and blow his all too new cover.
For a second, she stiffened. But she went with it, opening her mouth to his, fitting her body to his demands like she’d done this a thousand times.
She kissed like a dream—one he’d been having ever since he’d met her. That lush mouth of hers lived up to its promise of sin. Her scent wrapped around him, something with spice in it, ginger maybe. He had one hand on her ass, the other wrapped around her trim waist, and her bare legs tangled with his. His heart seemed to stop and restart and he barely held on to the idea that this was for show. They were only playacting. His body didn’t think that.
He went hard fast, and his heart rate kicked up higher than usual.
Straightening, he put her back on her feet and grinned. “Keira, sweetie. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the airport. Forgive me?” He hoped she’d take the hint he’d just offered on how she was to play this. Slade had put her in charge—this was supposed to be an easy job. But new information had surfaced, and Slade had sent in Brock to be Keira’s back up. Would she blow it for them both now?
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth pulled down. He held his breath. She smiled and brushed his shoulder as if dusting him off. “You’re always neglecting me! And this was supposed to be a girl’s vacation. What are you doing here, honey?”
She put enough spite into the words that he had no worries about her acting like a bitch—a spoilt one. That would work. He kept an arm around her and reached into his pocket. “Now, sweetie, don’t you even think about sending me away. I was missing you too much, and I brought my work with me. I also got you this.” He pulled out the watch. Diamonds glittered around the face, but the most important part was the GPS tracker hidden inside.
Keira gave a small squeal. “Oh, honey. It’s so pretty. But couldn’t you have gotten some bigger diamonds? And you know I like the yellow ones best.”
Brock let go of her so he could fasten the watch on her wrist. She leaned up. In heels she was tall enough that she didn’t have to stretch very far to kiss his cheek. She also whispered, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Later, sweetheart.” He patted her ass.
She leaned into him, brushing her breasts over his chest. He swallowed a groan. She was getting him back for being a little too touchy-feely.
He’d always been attracted to her—but this was work, and their cover of being a couple was work, too. He was supposed to act like a guy who was crazy enough to follow her anywhere. She was supposed to be the gold-digging model who was using him for his money. Only, holy hell, this was going to be more than hard. He was more than hard.
Keeping his arm around her, he led her inside, asking about her flight, telling her how he was here to do some financial consulting, which would cue her in on his cover. He wasn’t going to be able to talk to her until he was sure they were alone and in a place where there was no chance anyone or anything could be listening. Drones had made the world a much less private place.
He kept talking, dropping hints so she’d realize Slade had sent him here to review security. He didn’t have a chance to tell her they’d discovered there was a hole in the palace security—something that was going to require both of them working this operation.
The tip had come in that someone within the El-Jawhara family was pissed off about
the sheikh marrying an American. What worried Brock the most was that the tip had even come in at all. He was damn sure someone was trying to manipulate events. Those kinds of situations could always blow up in your face.
He glanced at Keira. She was keeping up her cover—which might already be compromised, but he had no way of telling that. So he kept her hand and told her, “You almost missed the big event. We’ll catch up on missed time later, sweetheart. Right now, we have a wedding to attend.”
Chapter 4
Keira froze. Only for an instant. Brock stood tall enough that she had to look up at him to meet his eyes—and she stood six foot tall in heels. He looked a touch red from the Jawhara sun, but he had the fair skin and red hair of his Celtic ancestors. She also figured there had to be some Viking blood in him, too, with the way he tended to come on strongly.
She blinked and started moving again. It was bad enough that Slade hadn’t told her Brock would be here, now she had a wedding to attend? Right now? Was it Erin’s? It would make sense to move up the date, shift it around to prevent anyone from being able to cause a problem. But was Slade going back on his promise that she could run this op?
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of complaining, honey-bear.” Brock winced, and Keira wondered just how sappy she could get with the names she could think up. She pressed up close against him. “I just love how you couldn’t stay away from me.”
Glancing at her, Brock gave her a look that just about stripped the short dress off of her skin. His green eyes darkened.
Heat rushed over her and through her. She pulled back a step. “A wedding?” she asked. She glanced down at her outfit. “I’m not attending a wedding dressed like this. I’ll have to change.”
“Sweetheart, there isn’t time for that.” Brock crossed his arms over his chest. His muscles bunched nicely, so she squeezed a bicep.
“Make time,” she told him. “Now where’s my room? And see that the nice driver gets a good tip and my luggage gets up to my room.”
Brock skimmed a hand over her hip. He pulled her to him. He nodded to a side door. “There’s a small room you can use, but only if you can change in under two minutes.”
“Two minutes? What, you think I’m a magician? Art takes time.”
“Okay, one minute fifty seconds now.”
She put on a pout, but grabbed a bag. “Fine. Want to come watch?” She stepped into the small side room.
***
Brock followed her, watching the way that tiny dress of hers clung to her backside. She put sass into her hips, and he was having a hard time trying to think about anything except how she’d felt in his arms. Skinny, hell. She was all soft curves and molten fire underneath. He shut the door behind them and watched as she zipped open a bag and started to pull out clothes.
She pulled off her dress, leaving herself in a skimpy bra and panties. He licked his lips and tried to think about anything except that kiss that had left him with the taste of her on his lips.
Handing him a hair dryer, she said, “Honey-bear, plug that in, will you? My hair’s a mess.”
He grinned and did as she asked. When the hair dryer was humming, he said, “Not bad for white noise.”
“Gives us about a minute.” She grabbed a dress from the floor and pulled it on. Something in a pale color, long and slinky. She fluffed her hair. “So what’s the story? Slade didn’t trust me?”
“New intel. Palace has a mole—or that’s the tip off.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, pulled off her heels, and pulled out shoes that looked as if they’d been made out of nothing but gold straps. “And…?”
“And Slade doesn’t like it any more than I do. We didn’t have a way to get you an update without it leaking.”
She nodded. “So you’re here. Who’s in charge?”
He was having a hard time concentrating. That dress had a low neckline and Keira had bent over to put on her strappy shoes. “No change there. Now, we really need to be in the garden.” Brock waved a hand.
She straightened up and fluffed out her hair. She pulled out a gold evening clutch, dug into her purse, and transferred her gun to the clutch. It left room for nothing else. Putting one hand on her hip, she asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”
His neck warmed, but he shut off the hair dryer and took her hand. “Come on, sweetheart.” Opening the door, he pulled her with him to the rear of the palace.
The house—most of it marble as far as Brock could tell—was built around a courtyard. The back door opened onto a fenced garden, lush and sculpted. Paths wound around plants he couldn’t name, but the center opened into a paved patio with fountains. A white tent had been set up to one side, opposite a stone terrace. Chairs, flowers, and ribbons seemed to be everywhere. Potted plants graced the terrace and the rest of the gardens. Brock could hear a string quartet playing.
He glanced around. Most of the guests were already seated. Traditional white keffiyeh headscarves for the men mixed with suits, and while some women covered themselves in modest, but brightly colored hijabs, others wore designer gowns. The air smelled of incense and a little sweat—hard to air condition the great outdoors.
Keeping his hand on the small of Keira’s back, Brock leaned close. “There’s your other surprise.”
She glanced at him, eyes narrowed, and then followed his stare.
Two men stood not far from the stone terrace that had been decked out for the wedding. Trent Larson and his brother Travis couldn’t have looked more out of place if they’d tried.
Except for the sleek suits, they fit the stereotypical profile of surfers—shaggy, sun-bleached hair, blue eyes in deeply tanned faces, toned, lean bodies. Brock would take one or both of them to back him in any fight, and they were just about the best when it came to electronics or computers. Right now they had cameras out and looked like the perfect wedding photographers.
“Oh, honey-bear, you shouldn’t have,” Keira said. It sounded like she meant it.
“I know you love how the Larson brothers make you look in print.”
Travis looked up and snapped a photo of Brock and Keira. Brock picked up on the unspoken message from Travis—so far, so good.
Brock watched the brothers as they moved around, keeping an eye on all the action. With a last look around, Brock headed to grab a seat, bringing Keira with him. He just hoped like hell that the rest of this day went smoothly. On assignment, they usually didn’t.
Chapter 5
The wedding was beautiful, even though Keira didn’t understand a single word said during most of the ceremony. Erin made a beautiful bride, dressed in the brightly-colored thobe that had been exquisitely embroidered with silver and gold thread.
With her vibrant red hair, she sparkled for her new husband. Erin’s hands had been decorated with a henna dye. The sheikh wore a traditional man's thobe and hata in white. With his dark good looks, Keira could see why Erin had fallen for him.
She didn’t have time to greet Erin until after the ceremony—the Katb el-Kitab. An imam gave a speech about how the Prophet honored his wives, how to honor women, and how women should treat their husbands and honor them. An older man then stood to talk. Keira kept scanning the crowd, wondering who had wanted to do Erin harm—who might still want her gone. She was also too aware of Brock sitting next to her.
His thigh brushed hers, as did his shoulder; the silk of his suit rubbing against her bare skin, leaving her aware of the nubby weave. His scent seemed to overwhelm her with a musky aroma that kept her on edge.
He was a presence anywhere he went, even outside under a warm sky and a pleasant breeze. She couldn’t help but notice him. He hovered just like a Viking guarding the goods he’d raided.
She was glad he was growing out his hair a little—she’d never liked the spiky red color, and now that it was longer, glints of gold could be seen. He wore it slicked back, which darkened the color. She also had the feeling he was taking advantage of how close they had to sit, just to rub up against her
.
Finally, the ceremony ended. Keira had a chance to greet the bride, kiss her cheek, and make sure Erin was playing along with Keira’s cover. Erin blushed like crazy over the greeting, so Keira moved away. The girl wasn’t very good at deception.
Erin threw her bouquet—white roses and jasmine—just like any bride, and Keira caught it. Everyone clapped and started for the reception area. As the band started up, PJ headed over to greet Keira.
Grabbing glasses of what looked like iced tea from a passing waiter, PJ offered one glass. “This is fabulous—it’s spiced and sweet and just one of the many things I love about this place. And don’t think I didn’t pick up on that diversion tactic.” She gave a nod to Brock, who stood across from them now, talking quietly with the sheikh.
PJ took another sip of her tea and smiled at a tall, dark-haired man in an even darker suit.
Keira followed her gaze and asked, “Okay, what’s with the gorgeous guard over there? The tall, dark, and sexy one who keeps watching you like you’re on the menu tonight?”
With a shrug, PJ leaned close. “He is kind of gorgeous, isn’t he? He’s Talib, and he’s mine. So hands off.” She snagged something off one of the trays being passed around and offered it to Keira. It was spicy and sweet at the same time, and Keira wondered if she could get more of it.
Eyebrows lifting, she also watched the tall man—Talib—walk across the garden and join them. He was worth watching. He moved like a dancer, all grace and ease. He had the swarthy coloring of most Jawhara men, but he had finer features, she thought, and his dark hair had been swept back—it just about begged for a woman’s fingers to disorder the strands. When he was close enough, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Keira Mantz. So you’re the thief who’s stealing PJ away, huh?”
He gave a small nod, but instead of shaking her hand, he kissed the back of it and gave her a small bow. He draped an arm over PJ’s shoulder. “Welcome to Jawhara. I saw you with Erin a few minutes ago. It looked like you were old friends.”
