Page 15 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)

Chapter Thirteen

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."

I turn back to him; Ash is to the side but definitely between us. "Rashid, was it?" I ask, even though I know. He nods. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course."

"Then you know the premiere of my most recent film was shut down because of a shooting and bomb threat?"

"Yes."

"So if you think I don't know about safety protocols, I think you are the one confused here."

"I apologize—" Before he can finish the sentence, a door on the other side of the dining room opens. Ash turns and steps closer to me, facing the movement, blocking me from it. He's close, only inches away, and his scent pulls me back to being carried through that theater. To being helpless. Held.

"Rashid." I recognize the prince's deep voice. "I don't think we need to worry about Ms. Daniels assassinating me."

I take in a steadying breath. Ash doesn't move. He's still blocking me from that side of the room, from the prince, from any dangers the restaurant might hold.

"Of course not, Your Highness. It is protocol."

"Let's ignore it for this evening."

"As you wish."

Ash steps aside, revealing the prince standing next to Rashid.

He smiles at me and butterflies take flight in my stomach.

Omar is wearing a dark blue tailored suit.

The top button of his white dress shirt is undone; a thin gold chain sparkles against his burnished copper skin, dipping into the hollow of his throat.

A vivid memory of licking that part of him floods my mind and it takes all the skills I've gained to keep a blush from stealing over my skin.

"You look stunning." Omar steps forward and leans in for a kiss on my cheek. His skin is smooth, his scent familiar; warm, and woody, slightly sweet, earthy, with a hint of citrus.

He steps back, keeping his hand at my waist, his face still close. The space between us is intimate and simmering with promised pleasure.

Ash and Rashid stand to the side, spectators to our sport. Omar turns to them. "You can wait outside; I think we can dine without chaperones." His tone is teasing, but the command is clear. Ash looks to me and I nod.

"We promise not to kill each other," I say. "Right?"

Omar smiles down at me. "Agreed."

Neither Ash nor Rashid look amused but they leave, pulling the doors closed behind them. "Alone at last," Omar says. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"Yes, please."

"Champagne? Or something else?"

"I'll have what you're having."

We cross to the table, and he pulls out one of the gray velvet dining chairs for me. I take a seat and he helps push the chair in. All very proper except I can feel his eyes on my cleavage. I glance up at him, and his gaze finds mine. I saw you looking.

Good.

He steps away, leaving a chill at my back, then takes his seat across from me. Reaching over to where an iced bucket of champagne waits next to his seat, he pours a glass for each of us, then raises his. "To not allowing schedules to stand in our way."

"And not killing each other." He smiles and our glasses clink. "So," I start. "Do you come here often?"

Omar laughs. "Yes, it's owned by a friend. I thought it best to dine alone."

"Yes," I agree, sipping my drink. "We don't want to start rumors. Though the paparazzi did follow me here. I imagine they will ferret out our clandestine meeting."

"But at least they won't have photographic proof." I nod, sip more champagne. "I understand you're traveling the continent for a few more weeks. Where do you plan to go?"

"You make it sound so leisurely. I'm on a press tour—it's grueling answering the same questions over and over again and being charming every time."

"I can't imagine that's much of a challenge for you." He gives me a very charming smile.

"You might be surprised."

"Oh?" He smiles like he's a fan of surprises.

Candlelight flickers off my wine glass, dances over Omar's face, and reflects in the window.

It's all so romantic?—