Captured in Croatia

by Christine Edwards

  I tilt my chin up higher and come face to face with my darkest fantasy framed within a stunning visage. It’s Juric’s main bodyguard. I couldn’t make out his features before. The distance and darkness made it difficult, and I was focused purely on my mark.

  A full force body rush washes over me. I have never seen a man like him before. If I were forced to describe him in one word, I’d choose “imposing” or maybe “dominant.” Those are the only terms that would do him justice.

  Close cropped coal black hair frames a broad, masculine forehead. Slowly roaming his face, I quickly become lost in gunmetal gray eyes set beneath perfectly arched dark brows. His eyes are hypnotic and pale enough to seem out of place in contrast with his clean-shaven, olive-hued complexion. Any model on the planet would commit serious crimes in exchange for his chiseled bone structure and perfectly straight nose; yet his mouth is set in a taut, grim line. It’s so firmly closed, in fact, that I can’t make out the natural shape of his lips.

  There’s a cruel beauty about this powerful man, the likes of which I’ve never encountered before. His eyes are flinty, tight, and watchful as I drink him in. I would peg him to be in his mid-thirties, because he appears both hardened and worldly, like a soldier who has seen too many gruesome deaths firsthand.

  Breathe in, Carew. Calm, nice and easy. A well-guarded part of me has privately yearned for an alpha male strong enough to take charge. Why in the hell did he have to land in my vicinity in the middle of a job? And in Croatia, of all the places on earth!

  Recovering quickly from his jarring, magnetic appeal, I hold his frosty stare and wait.

  Nothing.

  I decide to address him in English. “Was there something you needed?”

  Against my will, I feel my heart begin to thunder away in my chest as those impenetrable eyes lock onto my lips. Thick seconds pass and my heart flutters like a hummingbird.

  Oh God, this man is sex in a suit.

  His expression is more animal than human. Wild and fearsome. The scientific portion of my brain is holding everything tightly in check, but my body is reacting according to its own agenda: nipples hardening, Tanga panties dampening. I can’t hide the fact that I want him intensely, more so than any other man I’ve ever encountered before.

  Keep it together, Carew ….

  Stern, smoky eyes lock onto mine with penetrating intensity, as if daring me to look away.

  A low, rich rumble cuts straight through the thumping beats of the music as he finally addresses me. “Mr. Juric would like you to join him.”

  That voice … so fluid and strong.

  His accent is very thick and all of his R’s flow like a river. However, his English is well-spoken and articulate.

  I clear my throat and try to act casual while feeling anything but. The smooth glass of the bar presses against my back, and he’s so close that he nearly brushes up against me. Is that amazing, masculine scent coming from him? He smells like amber, warm spice, and perhaps a little vanilla. It’s not a cologne I know. I would remember.

  I suddenly feel out of sorts but manage to reply, “Oh, well, tell him thank you. However, I’m just lovely right here.”

  Alert eyes watch me carefully as he states, “You need to rethink your answer.”

  The nerve! I’m going to play supremely hard to get now. My goal is to be invited back to his boss’ mansion so I can get my hot little fingers on his computer, which we know he keeps in the study just off his master bedroom. Juric is going to have to beg before he has my company tonight. If I make it too easy, chances are he won’t try to get me back to his place. Our intel tells us that Juric likes a challenge in everything he does, and I’m more than capable of giving him one.

  I tilt my head to the side and give Mr. Imposing a smile that intentionally doesn’t make it to my eyes. “I’ve thought about it, and I believe that I told you that I’m just fine right here.”

  I flinch inwardly as his wide shoulders lock in place and those already stormy eyes turn severe. He pins me with a dangerous scowl before turning away to stalk back toward Juric. The people in his path wisely choose self-preservation and get the hell out of his way, lest he run them the fuck over.

  He bends down to tell Juric the blow-off news. Just as Juric leans to look around Mr. Imposing, I casually redirect my attention toward the action-packed dance floor.

  Come on, Juric, like a tiger to a juicy steak, let’s see what you throw out for me next ….

  Just as I take the final sip of my martini, a sexy voice behind me asks in Croatian, “Hocete plesati?” Want to dance?

  Turning around, I take in the handsome Croatian boy. He’s maybe twenty or twenty-one, who knows, but he’s built like a soccer player. He is smartly dressed in a fitted, dark blue Lacoste polo and sleek, charcoal-colored dress pants. Perfect.

  I’ve studied my Rosetta Stone Croatian language discs relentlessly since we started putting this job together three months ago, but my comprehension of the Croatian language is basic at best. As long as it’s spoken in direct sentences, I can pick out several words and conclude what they mean to say from that. However, speaking it myself is a different matter. The language feels clumsy on my tongue.

  Grinning at him, I respond politely in English, “I’d love to dance with you. Lead the way.”

  Nothing like a little competition to spur you on, Juric ….

  Thankfully, he doesn’t speak as we make our way out to the quaking dance floor. His smooth hands wrap around my waist, his warm thumb brushing against the exposed skin at my side, and we begin to sway together amid the sea of partiers. His pretty, dark eyes gleam down at me, full of hope that he’s about to get lucky.

  You’re hot, but not tonight, my friend.

  We continue our smooth rhythm and begin to dance even more provocatively, hips grinding and warm palms seeking out bare skin, as we dance beneath the vivid, pulsing lights. I’m really getting paid for this?

  My other three jobs in the field were less involved than this one. Two were in-and-outs that took place in posh European hotels where I never even had contact with my marks. The last one was three months ago in Paris. Our American client was convinced that his nefarious ex-wife was secretly selling off his French-based assets, including a multi-million dollar jewelry and art collection. He needed us to get into her personal records to prove this was indeed the case. I pretended to be an American investor who didn’t mind shady deals. With our client’s money, I even bought an heirloom piece of his mother’s jewelry that he was distraught to lose. She was guilty. One night I snuck into her apartment in the Marais and retrieved all the information we needed. He was able to find the peace of mind he was seeking, knowing she was guilty, and take proper legal action.

  I’m startled when a large hand bands around my bare upper arm in an unapologetically painful grip. My first instinct is to deflect it, grasp hard with both hands and pull the person off balance to the ground, but I hold fast out of curiosity. The last thing I want to do is draw unwanted attention to myself, especially in public. In the same instant I see the anger and irritation begin to rise up on my dance partner’s handsome face.

  This is not going to be pretty.

  The powerful bodyguard speaks directly against my ear. “Turn to him and say goodbye. You are coming with me to have a drink with my employer. Now.”

  A shiver runs from my neck to my toes at his warm breath and the unwavering intent flowing through his deep, rich voice. This is my in. I turn to tell the young guy goodnight, but he’s already arguing in Croatian with Mr. Imposing.

  Oh no, this is so not good!

  The valiant kid may be tall, perhaps six-foot-two, but this bodyguard is absolutely tremendous in size. I’m five-foot-eight and at least six-foot tall in my fancy high heels, but he completely towers over me.

  There is absolutely no way this kid would last a single round in a fight with him. Actually, there would be no fight, just a brutal knockout, if the size of his huge paws are any indication of what can be
done with them. Also, based on his rigid demeanor, I get the feeling he’s ex-military or at least highly trained in some form of hand-to-hand combat.

  Mr. Imposing keeps his hand locked around my arm as he leans forward, way invading the kid’s personal space, and growls at him in Croatian, “Odjebi natrag.” Step the fuck back.

  Assuming my translation is accurate, it’s correct or very close to something along those threatening lines.

  Direct, of course. Something must have clicked because the kid throws me a look of utter disbelief that says, ‘I feel sorry for you.’ He turns on his heel in disgust and disappears into the packed crowd. Juric must have strong connections with the club’s owner. There are cameras everywhere and the watchful bouncers would definitely not tolerate a female being manhandled on their premises. Unless, of course, you are a powerful, influential man like Vasilije Juric. I bet computer chip manufacturing is not the only pie he has his fingers in. He must be politically connected, as well. In smaller European countries, money and politics are cozy bedfellows.

  Before I know it, I’m swiftly led away from the dance floor by a hot, callused hand still latched possessively onto my arm.

  The bodyguard releases his hold after we are isolated behind the black silky rope separating the alcove from the rest of the club. I should be nervous, yet heady anticipation courses through my veins.

  “Please sit, my lovely, and tell me your name.” Vasilije Juric delicately pats the snow white sofa seat beside him.

  He is calm, almost regal, and speaks elegant English. Perfectly cut, medium brown hair frames a serious face with almond-shaped, cinnamon-brown eyes. He’s quite refined and looks handsome in a beautifully tailored, dark gray designer suit.

  From the dossier our intel group compiled, I know that he is forty-seven years old and divides his time between a luxury home in Zagreb and his seaside mansion in Dubrovnik. He studied at Cambridge and it shows in his confident but careful speech and controlled image. Based on his business prowess, he is undoubtedly wicked intelligent.

  He takes my fingers gently within his cool hand as I sit down beside him and cross my legs in a smooth, lady-like manner. He’s watching every move I make very closely.

  “Good evening. My name is Sonia Reese.”

  I’m used to the fake names by now. Often I enjoy pretending to be someone else. If all goes according to plan, he’ll never have an inkling as to who I really am.

  His silky, full lips lower slowly to skim across the back of my fingers in a chivalrous kiss. Old school. Very nice.

  “Sonia, it is a pleasure to meet you, my lovely. My name is Vasilije Juric. Thank you for joining me this evening. Tell me, may I offer you Champagne?”

  His hand sweeps out toward a silver ice bucket placed in the middle of a circular, chrome and glass table. Rivulets of condensation trail down the sides of the shiny bucket, and a bottle of Krug Clos d’Ambonnay chills in the ice. I adore Champagne and the latest issue of Food & Wine magazine I flipped though in the Atlanta airport on the way here pegged this coveted prize at $3,500 a bottle. He doesn’t mess around.

  “Yes, that would be wonderful,” I reply breezily.

  Stay calm, Carew. Keep everything in check. It’s game time.

  Juric smiles and flashes a perfect set of gleaming teeth. He leans forward and pours me a slim crystal flute full of the bubbling beauty. As he does this, I chance a brief glance up at the bodyguard, who stands directly beside Juric’s shoulder. The guard stares straight out, dutifully scanning the crowd with a look of suspicion plastered on his stunning face. As if anyone would dare approach Juric with his three fearsome attack guards at hand. Not likely in the least.

  He seems to sense my eyes on him and turns his face from the crowd toward mine. His tumultuous gaze is mesmerizing … and impossible to read. Our quick exchange is broken as Juric sits back and hands me the fizzing flute. A folded linen square rests beneath my glass. His manners are impeccable.

  “Now tell me, Sonia, I’m curious. What are you doing here in Zagreb?”

  I level him with a smile and lean in seductively. “I’m here on a modeling assignment for Bulgari. A jewelry show, actually.”

  He places a hand on my knee and smoothly strokes my skin. It’s not unpleasant in the least, just different. His moves are so confident. I study his face and muse that he must have been stunning in his twenties. He’s still good-looking, although almost too refined and pretty for my taste. I naturally lean toward men with a hard edge to them. The uncommon. But I have to admit, his genuine charm puts me at ease.

  When he lifts his flute in a toast, I raise mine as well. With a flirtatious glint in his eyes, he says, “A toast to newfound friends and adventures. Zivjeli, Sonia.”

  “Zivjeli? ‘Cheers,’ I presume?” I ask in a sensual voice.

  “Yes, my lovely. Zivjeli. Cheers.”

  “Zivjeli.” I say sweetly as I lift the flute to my lips. The flavor of the French wonder is a vibrant symphony in my mouth. It has a creamy, delicate texture combined with a blend of fresh fruit, the dominant one being raspberries. In a word: divine.

  “Why, Mr. Juric, you certainly have excellent taste in champagne.”

  He grins wolfishly, obviously pleased with the praise, and leans in closer. When he’s inches away, I begin to detect a crisp cologne. It’s fresh and subtle and reminds me of mountain air. I’m certain that it’s also rare and costly. This man would settle for nothing less.

  He says in a quiet murmur, “I could tell from across the room that you are a model. I’m very attracted to your timeless beauty, Sonia. Let’s cut to the chase, my sweet, because as you will soon learn, I am a direct man. What will it take to get you to accompany me back to my villa this evening?”

  His hand sweeps out before us and he continues on before I have a chance to reply. “While this is a pleasant distraction, it’s merely a gathering of children. I have, how should I say, far more distinct and private adventures in mind for us.”

  My brain blips into freeze mode for a second before I quickly recover. I’ve never been propositioned for sex so directly. I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Man, he’s smooth. I bet he’s done this countless times … with countless models. His accent is so sexy that it lulls you into compliance. All right, Juric. Let’s play.

  I look innocently into his warm eyes. “I’m not a call girl, Mr. Juric. I’m in town for work and received an exclusive invitation from Bulgari to come here tonight.” I pause and sigh. “I would also enjoy getting to know you better, but going to your home, well, I simply don’t know you. You could very well be dangerous.”

  His manicured hand weaves its way beneath my hair, coming to rest in a possessive hold on the back of my bare neck.

  His low voice purrs close to my cheek. “Oh yes, Sonia, you are right. I could be dangerous. But, I assure you, the only danger you are likely to encounter is exhaustion, after I make you come over and over. You will be too satiated to move, my beauty.”

  My lips fight a twitch of amusement at his direct approach. This man must have the libido of a stallion, or at least he’s convinced that he does.

  I lightly touch his thigh while responding in a coy voice, “Your offer is intriguing. However, I need to freshen up. Let me have a bit of time to think it over, if that’s all right with you, Mr. Juric?”

  “Please, Vasilije, I insist. And yes, my lovely, take your time. But know that when I want something, I will stop at nothing to obtain it.” His eyes blaze with serious intent.

  Hmm, would you even steal to get what you want?

  As I stand and reach for my clutch on the low table, he calls out a command in Croatian to his lead guard. “Zoran, idi s njom.” Zoran, go with her.

  Zoran? Now that’s just sexy.

  As I step down from our platform, I sashay in an exaggerated way for Juric’s benefit. I cross the two steps toward the hanging rope and wait. Zoran leans in close and extends his long arm around me to unhook the clasp. A shiver runs through me from his
heat and closeness.

  I begin to step forward, but Zoran reaches down to clasp my hand in his. I nearly jerk back in surprise at the electric connection as his huge, rough hand presses hotly against mine. I look up and see the look in his eyes. The attraction and hunger is there as plain as day, if only for a split second.

  In the next instant he breaks contact, re-latches the cord, and clears his features of any emotion. Gruffly, he commands, “Come.” He’s all business once again as he begins to move us through the crowd. As we wind our way to the restrooms, he’s in the lead with my hand still clasped possessively in his. If I was on my own it would have taken me twice as long to get there. People just move away from him, as if sensing from a distance his predatory nature. It’s clear that humanity simply fears him.

  Who is this man?

  When we arrive at the long, dimly lit hallway, there are only a few people milling about. Most of them are hanging out on their mobiles, either texting or chatting away. One couple at the far corner are all over each other, making out in the shadows as if no one were watching. Good for them.

  I’m about to take the last few steps into the ladies room when he takes hold of my bare shoulders and pushes me right up against the modern, sleek bamboo wall. I gasp as his impressive, hard body presses full-on against mine. His palms feel like warm weights against my cool skin as he pins me like a Monarch butterfly trapped on a piece of felt.

  “Wha-what are you doing?” I stammer, genuine concern threading through my voice as I crane my neck up to speak to him. What is his angle?

  He takes his time scanning my face and then those tempestuous eyes wander lower, to my heaving breasts.

  When his liquid-gray eyes meet mine after what seems like forever, he finally says in his low, rich voice, “I know that you’re up to something. This is your only chance to walk away and I suggest you take it, woman.”