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Walid’s two-man security detail trails him. Only two and one isn’t in front? Sloppy. Someone’s been spending too much time at his isolated ranch in Mexico, gotten comfortable and lazy. Explains the paunch around his middle.
The elevator opens and one of his guards finally takes the lead, stepping inside. Walid doesn’t follow. In fact, he turns on his heel and—crap. Walid is heading this way. His guards stay at the elevator, holding it open. What the hell? Don’t they know an assassin could be lurking nearby?
I nearly give myself a headache trying to surreptitiously watch Walid while still pretending to read. He passes so close, his expensive cologne hits my nostrils and makes me want to retch.
Fuckity fuck. I’m itching to stick a leg out and trip the bastard. Then stab him in the throat. He’s so close I clearly hear his raspy voice and oh-so-coy British accent ask the concierge about area restaurants.
The concierge makes suggestions and Walid picks one, instructing the concierge to make a reservation for two tomorrow night.
The concierge doesn’t miss a beat. He looks at his watch, as if seeing into the future. “Two for dinner at seven. Of course, sir.”
Two? Interesting. To avoid a host of threats, the Brothers Grim risk these meetings every two years for each other. So, what are the chances theyaren’tgoing out together tomorrow? Near zero. That and the sloppy guards have me rubbing my palms with anticipation.
Luck of the Irish or luck of the draw; if there were a deity dedicated to saving women’s lives, that deity just handed me an opening. I mean, it’s destiny. Even Tony would understand me forsaking recon to jump all over this.
* * *
Back at the Amman Marriot,I give a big “fuck you” to the fact that I had to sweat in an abaya all day at the Four Seasons by whisking down to the bar in a short silk dress that skims my upper thighs. Good thing Jordan’s a lot less strict than other parts of the Middle East.
Smiling and pleasant, the bartender asks what I’d like. I want a stiff drink. Or something stiff to help me get out of my own head. Because I can have neither, I settle for espresso. I’ll drink when I get home.
After today’s events, the opportunity of it, I’m beginning to feel optimistic, like I can end this quickly and get back home to deal with my siblings. I need this to be over. The number of times I’ve imagined it—Walid dying… Aamir dying… A knife under the ribs, a sharp point puncturing hearts as the boom-boom rhythm slows… that would be best. Their eyes knowing death came from me.
I’m so fucking mad, so fucking eager to have them hurt, have the men who denied Hope breath be unable to breathe.Take that, you fucks.
“Justice, are you going to drink that?”
Surprised he’s here, I blink up at Sandesh. This man could distract a statue. Seriously, is it fair that he’s so damn handsome and nice? There should be a law. What’s he pointing at?
Oh. I look down at my espresso. Turns out, I’d been mindlessly tapping the edge of the tiny cup with a finger, spilling dark liquid onto the white ceramic saucer.
I push the small plate toward him. “You’re welcome to it. It’s a little cool now.”
Unlike you, who are hot as hell.
He takes the cup, sips, then sits beside me. “Are you okay? You look a little intense.”
Sheesh,Iwouldhappen to be traveling with a man trained to pay attention—and not just regular attention, but military-detail attention. I can feel the laser of his observation as if it’s a shiny red light pointed between my eyes. “I’m fine.”
He snorts.
God, he’s even hot when he’s skeptical. I doubt he could get more skeptical. Hmmm, I could use a distraction. Now that I’ve moved up my plans, there’s no reason to keep my distance. I’ll be gone soon. No one the wiser, and he’ll be left to his own devices. Maybe, he could use a distraction too.
It’s a good thing none of my siblings are here, because they don’t know when it’s a perfectly good time to take a risk. Playing it safe has never been my strong suit.
I pump my eyebrows at him, swing my chair toward him, then breathe, “Let’s dance.”
14
SANDESH
The music at the bar is barely loud enough to hear, but Justice’s sultry invitation to dance runs down my body like a hot finger. I can’t help the desire that surges through me. Or the hungry gaze that travels the silky blue dress clinging to her ass and hips like a warm hand.
I remind myself that I need her family money. Remind myself of her insults. Of her hot-and-cold tendencies. Of the complications this would bring.
She says nothing. She doesn’t have to. Sun-drenched legs, nipples pressed against silk that swoops low against her breasts, say it all.
And, ah, her lips. So full. So damn sure. Her grin announces the game is won and dinner is ready all in one long, lazy, predatory stretch.
