Page 26 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)

Chapter Twenty-Two

The sheets are soft and the room dark, but I can't sleep.

My brain is spinning, pulling up images from the past and throwing them at the walls—my grandmother's voice snarls at me.

Jack Axelrod's hands roam. Vladimir's brain splatters.

The urge I felt to murder Martin wells up, aching and dark.

The word yet bangs a steady beat underneath everything.

Dawn presses against the closed curtains. Temperance brought me back and let me in the garden gate but didn't walk me to my room. I navigated through the dark gardens alone, the marble busts looming at me. The compass a heavy weight in my purse.

Fear and numbness warred inside me. Chris was at my door and didn't ask any questions, I offered no answers. Exhaustion dragged me to bed.

I put the compass in the hotel safe, washed my face, brushed my teeth, changed into my pajamas and climbed into the elegant bed where Temperance greeted me hours ago.

Once my head hit the pillow, thoughts and images exploded, filling my body with the frenetic energy that is the love child of anxiety and a bone-deep need for sleep.

After an indeterminate amount of time, I push off the blankets. Slipping on a light cotton robe with the hotel's logo on the breast, I pad barefoot out of the bedroom into the sitting room, headed for the kitchen.

The giant flower bouquet Omar sent blocks most of the couch but a dark figure behind the blooms catches in my peripheral vision. I let out a choked scream, leaping away from it, and smashing into the wall, knocking a gilded frame painting hard with my shoulder.

"It's me." Ash's voice is muted by the whooshing in my ears. "Sorry."

"Sorry?" I rub at my shoulder. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Didn't want to disturb you."

"Mission not accomplished." I push off the wall, resettling my robe and pushing my hair behind my ears. Adrenaline churns my stomach.

Earlier when I found Temperance in my bedroom, I expected him. Thanks to Ash. But who will warn me about this man’s agenda?

Ash stands. The pale beginnings of dawn creeping through the window cast a dull glow over his face—making it paler, grayer than normal. He's wearing all black, the better to hide in the dark like a nightmare.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"I couldn't sleep." I wrap my arms around myself, the adrenaline fading and leaving me chilled and shaky. "I was going to make myself a cup of tea…" I shrug. "Or something. I don't know. I just couldn't stay in bed anymore."

He holds up an arm, gesturing toward the kitchen. Go ahead, I will follow . I turn and continue through the sitting room and into the narrow kitchen, flicking on the light as I enter the space.

It's a galley space behind the living room, designed for staff to fill drink orders for guests.

The cabinets are dark wood, the counters smooth stone the color of the beach in Malibu.

Homesickness hits me like a wave, crashing over me and sucking my mind away for a dragging moment.

I miss Archie so much it feels like a part of my heart is literally missing.

I pull open cabinets, looking for tea—every size glass and mug greet me. Ash finds a kettle and fills it from the filtered water in the fridge. He puts it on one of the electric burners and then opens the cabinet above the stove, pulling out a tea box.

"You want some?" I ask, holding up a mug. He nods his agreement. I place two mugs on the counter and then lean my hip against it. Ash stands in front of the stove, staring down at the kettle.

"Temperance took you to meet Rebecca Levi," Ash says.

"He told you?"

"I followed you," he tells the kettle.

"Always on duty." My tone is teasing, but there is no humor in Ash's gaze when he meets mine.

"What did she want?"

I chew on my lip. His eyes drop to it and then bounce away, finding something fascinating over my left shoulder to examine. "I want to ask if I can trust you, but the question seems so dumb."

"Because you know you can." His eyes come back to mine—the cobalt heated, almost angry. Daring me to deny it. "You saved my life, Angela. That's not the kind of thing I'd ever forget."

I can't look at him anymore. Not when he's staring at me like I'm some kind of hero. Like I could have left him to burn to death and didn't. The truth is I never could have left him. But a different part of me wanted to murder Martin.

Ash steps closer—the distance between us shrinking to an arm's length. He could grab me if he wanted. I could fall into him if I needed. "Angela." That pain is back in his voice.

I look up at him. He's staring down at me. Earnest. A man this big, this dangerous…earnest. It's hard not to believe him. Impossible not to want him.

"Levi thinks she can beat Grand." I pause, lick my lips, trying to find the words that will explain it. "Wants me to…" I take a breath. Ash waits in the silence of my exhale. I shrug. "I don't even know. Talk with the princess. See Omar again.”

Ash nods, takes a step back, turns to look at the kettle again. "They will ask for more."

I let out a laugh—jaded and harsh. "Obviously."

He looks over at me and there is a storm brewing behind his eyes. "They will want you to build a relationship with Omar. To gain his trust. To manipulate him in ways that benefit Levi and hurt Grand." His tone is dull and even, as though he's telling me something of little consequence.

Ash's black sweater is made of something soft—a baby alpaca maybe. Something cuddly. Something very unlike the iceberg standing in front of me. "Don't do this," I say.

He blinks but doesn't respond.

"Don't go robotic on me again,” I continue. “Don't tell me they want me to fuck information out of someone without any emotion. It's…bullshit."

His brows raise, surprise touching his gaze. "Do you want to help them?" he asks, his voice more normal, face less masked.

"I think she's better than Grand." Obviously. "But I'm not going to be romantically involved with someone to…spy on him." I shake my head, the idea making my skin crawl. "They didn't ask for that, anyway."

"They won't, not yet. Not until you're more likely to say yes."

I huff a laugh. "Never going to happen."

The kettle whistles and Ash turns to it. He finds a hot mitt and pours the steaming water into our mugs.

"You don't believe me?" I ask.

"I believe you," he says, but there is something hidden behind the words. I believe you believe that, but I also believe you can be manipulated.

"Ash, I'm not some naive girl." His gaze flicks to me and then away. "Excuse me." I stand straighter. "What was that look?" He has the decency to grimace slightly. "Seriously? You think I'm someone who can be manipulated into sleeping with someone to advance someone else’s political agenda?"

"No." He shakes his head. "But…"

"But what?" My spine is a straight rod, my arms by my sides, hands fisted.

"Once you are involved, it wouldn't be so bad to share information, would it?"

"Ash Fraser." My voice drops an octave. My nails dig into my palm, anger making me shaky. "You don't know me at all." I turn on my bare heel, pissed and on my way back to bed.

He grabs my elbow. "I'm sorry, that's not what I—" His eyes catch on mine. Ash looks…sad. Like the world is a sick and horrible place and that truth makes him…sad.

I wait, not helping him explain away the implications he made. Ash sighs, his shoulders rounding, head dropping. He's staring at where his hand holds my arm. His fingers relax, fall away. "I'm sorry," he says again.

I want to push him, knock him back, fight him. Make him react. Force him to respond. Instead, I continue back to bed without my tea.

Sleep doesn't come until we are driving to the airport after another day of press. One where Zade was straight up horrified by my face. "You will be the death of me," they promised several times throughout the day as they touched up my makeup.

Nausea had gripped me from when I dressed until I slid into sleep hours later. It was the kind of tired so deep it no longer felt like exhaustion—it became something new, something sickening.

"We're here." Ash's murmur of a voice is close. Prying open my eyes, I realize my head is on his solid thigh, his suit jacket over me like a blanket. Pushing up to sit, I look around, disoriented.

Outside the tinted windows is tarmac. Another car follows us. It's carrying Zade and Lloyd. My gaze falls on Ash. He watches me like a scientist examining an experiment. What's his hypothesis? Does he think I will break under the strain?

Unfurling my legs, I put my feet on the floor and move back into my seat, crushing Ash's jacket. "Oh, sorry." I pull it out and pass it over to him.

The car rolls to a stop. A private jet looms outside Ash's window. Alesana opens my door and offers me his hand. I take it, needing it. He steadies me as I climb out of the Mercedes. Ash is speaking with Chris, directing him. Alesana escorts me to the aircraft steps.

He follows me up the metal stairs. A woman wearing a pencil skirt, white blouse, and silk scarf tied at her neck gives me a wide smile. "Welcome," she says. "My name is Claire, and I'll be your attendant for the flight to Berlin."

"Hi." I clear my throat. "I'm Angela, nice to meet you."

Her smile widens. "Please, follow me." She leads me into the aircraft. Claire shows me the seats, telling me about the amenities. I'm only half listening when she says: "There is a bedroom in the back."

"I'll take it," I say.

"Of course." She opens a door at the rear of the cabin and steps into the small space.

The bed looks like it's a double with white sheets and several pillows.

It takes up most of the room except for two chairs by one of the windows—pale leather with seatbelts neatly crossed on the seats.

"The bathroom is here, if you'd like a shower once we are underway.

The captain asks that you be seated and belted for take-off and landing. "

"Of course. I'll just." I gesture toward the bathroom. She nods and backs out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The bathroom is small but well-appointed with a shower stall and a well-lit mirror. Which is how I find out that I am a wreck. My hair, which was up in a chignon when I got into that Mercedes, is sticking out on one side—the side that was on Ash's lap. The man could have said something. Or Alesana.

I clean up and then head back to the main cabin. "Alesana," I say. He's sitting with Chris in facing chairs. He looks up and smiles. "Next time I look like a hot mess you need to say something."

He grins. "You've never looked anything but perfect."

I shake my head. "I'm not kidding, Alesana." But I am smiling. "If I was photographed like that…"

"You'd end up on their ‘just like us’," Zade says from the next seating area over where they and Lloyd share a section.

"Yeah," I drawl. "It's very everyman to look a wreck while boarding your private jet."

"Well, it's not yours," Zade points out with a wink. It's paid for by the studio—Mary negotiated private transportation for my safety. The studio couldn't refuse.

My phone rings before I can respond. I pull it out of my purse and check the caller ID. Omar. My heart takes flight, skittering for a short moment then pounding. Turning back to the bedroom, I answer. "Hi, Omar," I say, putting warmth into my voice.

I don't look back at Zade but can feel judgment hot on my back as I retreat. "How are you?" Omar asks in that voice of his—the one that almost got me blown up.

"I'm okay," I say. "Thank you for the flowers, they were beautiful.” I walk back toward the bedroom, ignoring Zade's dramatic throat clearing.

We do not date men who get us blown up. Or that presidential candidates want us to manipulate for reasons to be determined.

"How are you?" I ask as I close the door behind me.

"Fine, mild concussion but nothing serious."

"Good," I say. "I'm glad."

"I am so sorry this happened. I was having a lovely time."

A laugh escapes me as I sit in one of the chairs next to the window. "Explosions will really put a damper on a first date."

Omar's laugh is rich and somewhat irresistible. He's not an iceberg. "I've been trying to reach you for days. I'd really like to see you again, Angela."

My throat tightens. I've had plenty of time to prepare for this question and yet I have no answer. "That's hard, Omar. I mean, I'm traveling for another week and then I have other projects lined up. I'm not…easy."

"I'm not interested in easy. I'm interested in you." Well, when you put it like that… "It's my understanding you have another week of the European tour and then a break before the Pacific leg begins."

"Have you been reading US Weekly ?"

Omar laughs. "I don't know where Rashid gets his information but I trust him implicitly."

"I see." The engines start up, vibrating the room.

"Meet me in Scotland—join me at Balmoral Castle at the invitation of the the Duke and Duchess of Balmoral.” There is a smile in his voice. “Benjamin and Victoria would love to see you again.”

Temperance and Rebecca said this invite would come from the princess. Omar did something they apparently didn't expect. "I don't know," I say.

"The security is very tight," Omar promises. "And, of course, you'd be welcome to bring your own team."

A tinny voice comes through unseen speakers. "This is your captain…"

"I have to go," I say. "My flight is about to take off."

"Just think about it, please."

"You sound good when you beg," I admit.

Omar laughs again, and it sends tingles over my skin. I do like him. Would it be so bad to share information … Ash's question floats through my mind.

Ash, who never laughs. Ash, who looks at me with pain in his eyes. Ash, who I want to shove as much as kiss. Ash, infuriating and yet somehow safe. Ash, who I need to get out of my head.

"I will think about it," I promise.