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“ Y ou know, normally, if I let someone touch my knickers, I’d expect them to buy me dinner first,” she joked.

The customs officer paused. Then he glanced up, giving her an incredulous look.

Maggie cleared her throat. Yeah, that was kind of a stupid thing to say to a customs officer. She always got nervous at airports. She felt guilty even when she had done nothing wrong.

It was ridiculous!

But she couldn’t help it, which is why she was shifting from foot to foot nervously as this hot, scary-as-fuck guy pawed over every little thing in her suitcase.

Even more nerve-racking, she didn’t know where Uncle Willy was. A different customs officer had led him off somewhere else. Although at least that officer had seemed friendly.

Unlike Mr. Grumpy-Knickers-Man.

She hoped he was all right. Uncle Willy, not the guy touching her underwear. New situations often confused her uncle. “Can I please see my uncle?”

The customs officer, who she’d noticed wasn’t wearing a uniform, stilled and gave her a stern look. “No.”

Yikes.

She hoped this wasn’t a sign of Escanaian hospitality. Although this guy had dirty-blond hair and an English accent.

“Well, why not?”

“Because I said so.”

Because he said so?

Wow. This guy was something else. Who said that anyway? She wasn’t a naughty child asking for more pudding.

Although sometimes she had been known to be naughty. And she did love pudding.

“I’d kill for some spotted dick right now,” she muttered.

“What?” He gaped at her.

“With custard. And whipped cream.”

His eyes widened.

“You’re English, right? You can’t tell me you’ve never had some spotted dick before.”

“The pudding?”

Well . . . what else would it be?

This guy was a tad odd.

“Because you said so?” she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest, irritation filling her. “Is that really an answer?”

“Yep.”

She heaved out a long, loud sigh. Just so he knew how irritated she was. Then, she realized that wasn’t a very polite way to behave. This guy was just doing his job.

Even if he was being a bit of a prick about it.

He picked up her toiletry bag and unzipped it.

“Hey! Is that really necessary?” She grabbed for the bag, but he drew it away, giving her a quelling look.

“Yes.”

“Good grief. What the heck do you think I’m going to hide in my toiletry bag? There’s no bomb in my tampons, you know.”

Shoot. Why had she just said that?

The customs officer raised his eyebrows. “So I need to check your tampons. Good to know.”

“You can’t do that! This has got to be against the rules. Tampons are sacred.”

“Tampons aren’t sacred.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she added desperately.

“We have the right to search your belongings at any time. It was in the agreement you signed.”

Shoot. Had it been?

“I have really got to start reading things before I sign them,” she said.

The customs officer gave her a stern look. “Yes, you do.” Drawing out his phone, he tapped a message, then put it back in his pocket.

“I thought we couldn’t use our phones in here.” She really needed to check on Uncle Willy, though he probably wouldn’t answer her call. He said these new phones confused him.

But she knew the truth.

She sighed sadly.

“ You can’t,” the guy said.

Wow. “You should enter a personality contest. You’d totally win.”

“That so?” he drawled.

Yeah. For the grumpiest prick. But she didn’t say that. She had some restraint. See? She could be a good girl.

Well, sometimes.

“Uh-huh. Now, if I could just have that back . . . ” She reached for her toiletry bag again, but he drew it away.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured. “I still have to search through your tampons.”

She groaned. Bollocks.

Crap. Those weren’t even the worst things he could find. What if he saw her vibrator? At least she’d hidden it and Ziggy in a special compartment, so hopefully, he wouldn’t find it.

As soon as he opened up her bag, things started tumbling out. Why couldn’t she be tidier? Why couldn’t she have packed things neatly? Instead, everything was thrown in at the last moment without much thought.

Her cheeks burned as he started going through the packets of drugs and tubes of cream on the table.

“Laxatives and diarrhea medication?” he murmured, holding two packets up.

Just kill her now.

Her cheeks were so hot that she knew she must look like a tomato.

“I don’t think we need to talk about my bowel health,” she said stiffly.

“Maybe you do need to talk to a professional about it if you need these.”

“Well, sometimes when I travel, I get blocked up. And then other times, I eat something that makes me . . . look, I truly don’t think we need to be talking about this!” She attempted to snatch the items back, but he held them up high.

He was abnormally tall. Maggie felt sorry for him. It must be horrid to be able to reach everything without having to jump or get a stool.

Awful.

“Give them back to me! You . . . you complete shitdick!”

As she yelled that insult, the door to the room opened and a dark-haired man walked in. He had tanned skin and his face was clean-shaven. He was a few inches shorter than Grumpy-Knickers-Man, who looked like he hadn’t shaved in days and whose dark-blond hair was in desperate need of a cut. The jerk was built big. Wide in the chest, with thick arms.

And why did she care about what either of them looked like? She should be thinking about Uncle Willy and getting to him before he became upset.

Shit. She hoped he was all right.

“Uh, is everything all right in here?” the new officer asked.

How come he wasn’t in uniform either? This airport seemed very relaxed in some ways and extremely uptight in others.

And really? All right? Did everything look okay?

She’d thought observational skills would be a necessary skill for a customs officer to have.

“He won’t give me my drugs! He’s been touching my underwear. And he wants to inspect my tampons!” she cried.

Right.

Well. She sounded liked she’d lost the plot.

Rein it in, Maggie.

Before they kick you out of the country.

“Um. Right.” Second guy turned to the first one, who was shaking his head at her. “Ian, you want to give her back her medication? And, uh, stop looking at her tampons?”

“I wasn’t looking at her damn tampons or pawing her underwear. Why would I want to?” Ian grumbled.

Ouch.

“Some people like pawing my knickers, I’ll have you know,” she muttered.

Now, both of them were staring at her incredulously.

“What the hell?” the first guy muttered. “Lady, are you?—”

“Hey, I brought the condition of entry agreement,” the second guy interrupted Ian, a.k.a. Grumpy-Knickers-Man. “Why did you need it? Did you lose the other one?”

What had Ian been going to ask her?

“No, I didn’t lose the first one,” Ian said. “She didn’t read it before signing it.”

“Ahh.” The second guy turned to her with a grimace. “You really should read things before signing them.”

“I’m beginning to see that, since apparently I gave this dickfly the right to touch my knickers!”

The second guy made a strangled noise as though he was attempting to hold back a laugh.

“Dickfly?” Ian asked. “What the hell is a dickfly?”

“It’s you!” she countered, knowing that she should probably rein herself in.

The other man just made another strange noise. “Um, right you are. Here you go.”

Ian watched the mad woman take the piece of paper from Jack, holding it like she thought it was a bomb about to go off.

He was certain he’d never met anyone like her. Or seen anyone like her.

Long, dark hair that looked like it had once been contained in a braid was now partly falling around her face. If she had on makeup, he couldn’t tell.

She was wearing a dark gray T-shirt with rips, not ones he believed to have been put there purposefully. It was oversized and nearly covered the bottom of her denim shorts. She’d tucked it in at the front, revealing her belt buckle, which was gold and round and had the image of a smiley face on it. To finish, she was wearing a scuffed-up pair of black combat boots.

This was the assistant to one of the most famous photographers on the planet? He’d kind of expected someone more put-together. More corporate. Someone more like Chloe.

Not this scruffy, tiny nutcase.

“I need to see my uncle,” she insisted.

Ahh, that’s right. She didn’t need to dress to impress because her uncle was unlikely to fire her. Still, he thought she might have made a bit of an effort. She was going to be dealing with actual royalty. Surely, she didn’t want to embarrass her uncle.

“You’ll see him when I’ve dismissed you,” he told her sharply. “Now, sit down and read through the agreement.”

“And if I refuse to?” she asked.

“Then you’ll be sent back on the plane to London.”

She grew pale and he paused for a moment. Had that thought scared her? Why? Was there something back in London she didn’t want to face?

“You can’t do that. I’m here for a job.”

“I can if you’re a security risk,” he informed her. “And you are a risk if you haven’t read the agreement that you signed.”

Jack shot him an interested look. Ian knew he was acting like a nutter. He needed to be more professional than this. There was just something about her . . .

“You could get into trouble if you break a rule and ignorance is no excuse,” Jack told her gently.

She sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Fine.” She stomped over toward a chair in the corner and sat.

Lord. She was such a brat.

His hand was itching to give that ass of hers a spanking.

Easy. She’s off-limits. She’s the job.

He and Jack hadn’t been assigned to watch the photographer and his assistant. That was going to be Beta Team’s job. But they were currently busy, which is why they were here today with Aleki who was in the other room with the photographer.

Ian started searching her stuff again. “You do know there are pharmacies here, don’t you?”

“Well, I didn’t know if they’d have what I need.”

“You need all of this?” He gaped at her. There were five different types of creams. As well as painkillers, antihistamines, cold and flu medicine, antacids, motion sickness tablets, and fever medication. Oh, and a digital thermometer.

He was actually getting worried. “Do you get sick a lot?”

“No.”

Why did he get the feeling she was lying to him?

“You shouldn’t lie to me.”

“Ian,” Jack said warningly.

“I liked the name Ian,” she said sadly. “I guess I’ll scratch that one off the list.”

“List of what?” Ian asked.

“Potential baby names.”

“You’re pregnant?” What the fuck? Why had no one told him? And where the hell was her man? Why had he let her travel all this way alone while she was pregnant?

“What? No. Are you saying I look pregnant? That’s rude.”

“I didn’t say that,” he retorted. Holy crap. How was this girl running rings around him? “You said Ian was on your baby list.”

“My best friend is pregnant. I’m making her a list of potential baby names. Ian is off.”

Jesus.

“What do you think of Jack?” Jack asked.

“That’s your name?” she asked.

Jack nodded with a smile.

“Hmm. It has potential.”

His smile widened into a grin.

Suck up. And no, that was not jealousy he was feeling.

“Why shouldn’t I lie to you? Because you’re a customs officer?” she asked, stealing his attention back.

No. Because it will get you a spanked bottom.

That was not something he could say.

“I’m not a customs officer. I’m part of the palace security.”

“Oh, you’re a bodyguard?”

“We prefer security specialist,” Jack told her. “But there’s no real customs department here as we don’t have that many visitors. Normally, someone from the palace security takes over that job. Your bags will also be screened and tested for drugs.”

“You do this to everyone?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ian said. “We can’t take risks with the royal family.”

“I guess I understand that. Only takes one looney, huh?”

“Yes,” Ian said dryly.

She watched him through narrowed eyes.

“Read the agreement,” he snapped.

“Jeez, chill. It’s not like there’s a test at the end.”

“Actually, there will be,” he told her as he opened one of her compartments and drew out the box of tampons.

She groaned. Rather dramatically. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Does everyone have to take a test?”

“No. Just you.”

“You’re a knob.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t insult the person giving you the test.” He squeezed the item in his hand. Which exploded all over his hand.

“Hey!” She jumped up. “What did my shampoo ever do to you?”

“Uh, sorry.”

Jack gave him a look as if he thought Ian was losing his mind.

Ian was pretty certain he already had.

“How about I finish searching through the luggage while you go clean up?” Jack suggested. “Then you can quiz Ms. Albany.”

Urgh, fine.

Darn it. There was too much to read and remember in this agreement. Reading had never been her strong suit. She was a person of action.

Well, that wasn’t true. She loved reading romance books.

Sitting still and reading through something this dry and dull was torture.

Although there were some interesting rules. For example, women in Escana were escorted everywhere by a guardian or one of their men.

Uncle Willy had told her how cherished and protected women were, but she’d thought that his memories of the place were hazy. As it had been years since he’d lived here.

And she’d never paid much attention when Escana was in the news.

There were several rules around what she could and couldn’t do. She wasn’t to go anywhere without a security guard. No private meetings. That was weird. She had to tell her guards immediately if she was in any danger or felt ill.

Huh. These rules weren’t exactly what she was expecting.

“All right, that’s all done.”

She glanced up to see that Jack was zipping her suitcase. Whew, he hadn’t found her vibrator or Ziggy, then. “What? No strip search?”

“That part comes next.” Jack winked at her.

Uh-oh.

Bloody hell. She’d been joking.