Page 32 of Lone Spy

He nods, something new coming into his gaze. Not amusement or anger. Something burning hot that isn't rage. "Yes."

"Why?" My voice is low, just above a whisper almost like I'm scared of the answer.

"Zade, Lloyd, and the hair stylist are here," he says, turning to the door as if he's going to answer it and not my question.

I take a few steps toward him, which causes him to turn back to me. I keep coming, grabbing his arm, staring up at him, making my eyes big and wide and desperate. "Why?"

He frowns down at me. "Because I don't want you to kill me."

"Is that, was that…a joke?"

He grins at me, and I almost fall over. I've barely seen the man smile, and now he's flashing me this. Ash's eyes are bright with humor, he's got fucking dimples high up on his cheeks. It feels like I've been in a dark room and just yanked open the drapes onto a dazzling day. The grin is gone as quickly as it came and Ash is turning toward the door. I'm still gripping his forearm.

He looks down at where I'm holding him. His attention brings awareness back into my body and I let go quickly, as if the touch was burning me. He winks. He fucking winks.

ChapterThirteen

Ash at my back,Chris leading the way, we are walking to the elevator. Chris leaves us as we descend alone. I inspect myself in the reflection of the doors.

My hair is swept into an elegant updo, the better to see my throat, now wrapped in a gold chain. The neckline of my skin-hugging black shirt scoops down, exposing the tops of my breasts. My skirt is short and pleated, a dark tartan of deep purple and raven. New suede boots reach past my knees. The heels are high but chunky.

I'm carrying a clutch—beaded black, the texture just sharp enough to help pull focus when I squeeze it. Inside is my phone, a lipstick, and the compass. Ash doesn't know I've got it with me. But some instinct made me pull it from the safe. I know Chris will be guarding my room while Alesana covers me with Ash. But still, somehow it seemed safer.

We leave through the front entrance. I drop my gaze and stride between the two giants guarding me as the cameras’ lights flash, making sure the watch I'm being paid to wear is obvious.

The cool, misty London night air breaks goose bumps across my skin. I should have worn a coat. Alesana opens the door for me. I'm mindful of my short skirt as I climb in. The door closes, muting the world outside. The flash bulbs are dimmed by the tinted glass.

Ash joins me in the back while Alesana drives. We don't speak as the Bentley weaves its way through evening traffic toward the restaurant. Paparazzi follow us on motorcycles, darting around like moths circling an enclosed flame.

We pull into the parking garage of a tall building, leaving the paparazzi outside. Alesana navigates the brightly lit cement space, circling up to an elevator bank flanked by two men in all black, wires curling from their ears.

Ash gets out first and comes around to open my door. He offers his hand and I take it. His expression is totally shuttered. Iceberg Ash back on duty. But now that I know the man who hides underneath, I can't stop searching for him.

Ash greets the men by the elevators and soon we are inside, riding up into the sky.

The elevator opens onto an elegant lobby. A chandelier sparkles above marble floors. A striking woman stands under it. She's wearing a one-shoulder black gown that hugs her slim figure. Her short, dark hair falls straight and silky to sculpted shoulders. She smiles at me, red painted lips parting over perfect teeth.

Ash steps off the elevator first and pivots to the side to create a space for me to take the lead. "Good evening, Ms. Daniels," the woman says, approaching, her heels clicking rhythmically on the hard floor. "My name is Samira Rahman, I'm one of the prince's assistants. He is so pleased you were able to join him this evening."

"Thank you," I say.

"If you'll follow me." She turns and begins walking toward French doors on the far end of the room. I trail after her, Ash close behind.

The doors open as we approach. A tall, exquisitely dressed man with pitch black hair and dark brown eyes offers a soft smile. "Ms. Daniels." He bows. "I am Rashid Talib, equerry to His Royal Highness, the Prince of Jordan, Omar bin Rami. We are honored to host you this evening."

"Thank you," I say again. This is all so much. My outfit suddenly seems too casual. Should I be wearing a ball gown? Perhaps glass slippers?

"If you would please come in." He steps aside, revealing a restaurant dining room. The tables are bare except for one two-top. Draped in white linen and lit by two candles, it's set up next to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. There is nothing but glass between it and the misty night draping the lights of the city. The view looks almost apocalyptic.

"If you don't mind, Ms. Daniels." Rashid gestures toward my purse as if to check it.

"I do mind." I smile at him.

His placid expression stays in place. "It is protocol, I'm afraid. We must check your bag. And your security agent will need to leave any weapons with us."

I smile at him. "Understood. We can show ourselves out." I turn to leave, Ash shifting out of my way so that I can pass him.

"Please, Ms. Daniels," Rashid says. "I do apologize. I understand this must be new to you."

---