His Stubborn Lover Page 4

  Just before dawn, Brock pulled her back to her room. Once inside, he headed for her bed and pulled back the covers. He came over to her and whispered, “Need to make it look good.” Pulling her with him, he fell into the bed. He rolled her in the sheets, and she had to giggle. “Hey, serious work here.”

  “Sorry. It’s just...” She put her hands on his shoulders. This was crazy. Here they were in boots and sweats, bundled up against the chill of the night, dawn just starting to lighten the sky. He lay over her, and his weight should feel overpowering. Instead, she liked it. She liked the way he held her—like she mattered. She liked the way he balanced over her, pressing her down, but not smothering her. For a moment, she wanted to grab the back of his neck and pull his mouth down to hers.

  But this was Brock—Mr. Cool himself. He put the job first, and that’s what she was here to do.

  Pushing on his chest, she pushed him off. She got up and stared at him. “We need to make this look good.” Heading to the bathroom, she put on lipstick. She came back and smeared a kiss on his cheek and on his neck. He gave a shiver. “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  Reaching over, she dragged off his sweat top. “You need to look like you’re sneaking back to your room.”

  “What’s next—a hickey?” he asked.

  “Like I’d be that obvious,” she said. She glanced at the muscles on display—hard abs, strong biceps. There was no doubt that Brock was built. Her mouth watered at the idea of putting her lips on his skin. He had a light dusting of hair on his chest and she wondered if it would be soft or springy. She wanted to find out—but that was way too dangerous. Once she started touching, she might not want to stop.

  He stood up. Her breath caught in her throat. Was he going to kiss her again?

  Instead, he put his hands into her hair. “You need to look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet, too.”

  Batting at his hands, she nodded to the door. “I need my beauty sleep.”

  He left. But it took her an hour to get to sleep. She kept thinking about Brock, about that tempting body of his, and wondering what would happen if they made their playacting into something more.

  ***

  Keira met PJ for breakfast by the pool and the Jacuzzi. The hot tub jets made a great cover for anyone trying to put a mic on them, and any drone observation would see two women in swim suits having coffee and fruit under a canvas canopy.

  Birds seemed to love the garden as much as anyone. Some of them set up a song, but a few perched near their seats, just about begging for crumbs.

  Patting the chair next to her, PJ said, “Coffee, tea, or juice? And now I sound like some kind of 1960’s stewardess.”

  “You? Never. And I’ll take coffee…black.”

  After pouring two cups, PJ picked up her coffee and grinned. “So spill, girl. How do you like working with Brock?”

  “Mr. Take Charge?” Sighing, she rolled her shoulders. “I suppose he might be able to make this harder on me, but I’m not sure how. He’s making me think and re-think every action.”

  “And that’s bad? You need someone keeping you sharp.”

  Keira sipped her coffee, letting the hot, bitter liquid warm her. A light breezed bushed over her skin. She could hear water lapping in the pool, and the soft hum of the hot tub jets mixed with the buzz of bees as they circled the garden. She was pretty sure Brock had saved her life six months ago. No matter what else, without him, she would have probably ended up dead. Maybe that was why he was being so protective of her. She put down her coffee. “What’s your take on things?”

  PJ shrugged. “I think we’re chasing ghosts. Everyone’s a little jumpy because of what happened to Erin.”

  “And you. From what I hear, Erin wasn’t the only one keeping the rebels company.”

  Grinning, PJ looked over the fruit on the table. She speared a strawberry and popped it into her mouth. “I’m trained for it. Erin’s not. That’s the difference.”

  Keira sat up. “Trained? Why am I not trained for that kind of thing?”

  “Because Brock wouldn’t let Slade clear you for hostage scenarios. You’ve only been with the company what…six months? Seven? You can’t learn everything in a week, you know. But this is just a mop up. Everyone’s a little on edge. That’s all.”

  Watching her coffee go cold, Keira thought about mentioning the woman she’d seen vanish into a room. Would PJ think it was just her imagination? She hadn’t proven herself—not to Slade or to anyone. And maybe she was seeing more than actually existed.

  That veiled woman could have been one of the staff. Or, given how the hallways tended to look alike, Keira might have gotten the room wrong. She pushed out a breath. Was she getting more than a room wrong? Maybe she had things wrong with Brock, too—maybe he worked like this with everyone.

  “So…you and Brock? Butting heads? Or bumping uglies?” PJ asked.

  Keira pulled a face. “He’s supposed to be madly in love with me.”

  “Well, watch yourself. First time I worked with him, I got this mad crush on him. I thought…well, the guy doesn’t mind flirting. Soon as the operation ended, Brock couldn’t put enough distance between us. He’s the guy with no heart, and I should know about that. I was almost the same damn way.”

  “What happened?”

  A slow smile spread over PJ’s face, making her look younger. “Talib. I think it just may be fate that it hits when it hits, and there’s not much you can do except go with the flow. I didn’t see it coming with him, but it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “So you won’t be working with the company anymore?”

  PJ shook her head. “Slade’s said I can work from here—do some consulting for him, just like I’ve been doing. Hey, with computers, it doesn’t matter where you live. We’ll see where it goes from there. But, honey, a word of advice. Sit back and relax a little. You get too wound up over every little thing and you’ll wear yourself out. And let Brock help you. He’s a good guy. He’s one of the most loyal men I know, and that means he’s not looking to undermine you.”

  “I just wish I’d known Brock was going to be here. It would have…well, I was going to say it would have been easier, but I don’t think Brock ever makes anything easy.”

  PJ laughed. “Slade loves to be dramatic. Guy could have texted you about Brock, but no, that’s a possible leak that could get out. So you get the surprise. Now I hate to eat and run, but I need to meet Talib. With Kamal and Erin securing themselves in their apartments for the foreseeable future, I get a bit of down time. So does Talib.”

  Standing, Keira nodded. “I need to go find Brock. I’m going to put him in charge of Khalil’s security for now, and if you’ll take care of keeping Shira safe, that should cover our bases. I don’t imagine those two will be leaving the palace any time soon, any more than Erin and the sheikh will.”

  Grabbing her towel, PJ stood. “Got it, boss. By the way, with Brock, you never know what might happen if you give him a little encouragement. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  PJ grinned. “Very good. You two seem like a perfect match.” With a wave, PJ headed out.

  Growling under her breath, Keira threw off her cover-up and dove into the pool. Ten laps later, she shook the water from her head and clung to the side of the pool. Perfect match? She wasn’t here for that. But she couldn’t shake the sizzle that had settled under her skin. Given their cover, she couldn’t keep Brock at arm’s length, and she wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

  She dipped back into the pool and swam another ten laps. Maybe if she wore herself out, she wouldn’t be so damn aware of Brock’s body—and they could both focus on the job and nothing else.

  Chapter 8

  Heading out in his car, Brock took the back road into the city. He called Slade from a burner phone, one he hadn’t used before. A moving target was a harder one to follow, and he wanted to make s
ure this call wasn’t overheard. Two rings and Slade picked up.

  “How’s Keira?” Slade asked, his voice raspy, as if he’d been up all night.

  “You tell me,” Brock said. “Seems like you know a lot more about each of us than you ever told me.”

  Slade gave a slow laugh. “It’s my job to know each member of my team. It’s what enables me to make the best use of their skills. Take Keira, for instance. She’s still got her walls up. She’s never quite gotten over her folks abandoning her. I think she’s worried it’ll happen again.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Think about it. She puts herself at fault for not being loveable enough to hang onto her parents. That’s how she feels. Now she’s in a situation where possible failure looms again. If she’s not good enough...” Slade let the words fade.

  Glancing at the traffic, Brock changed lanes. “So she fails and she thinks we’ll dump her? That’s not going to happen.”

  “Because you’re there to make sure she succeeds? Sounds like you’re getting in deep with her.”

  Slade didn’t sound judgmental, but Brock winced anyway. “I’m here to watch her back. That’s why you sent me.”

  “Is it? You’ve still got your walls up, too, Brock. Keeping people safe by keeping them back. Doesn’t always work.”

  “Like you have to tell me that,” Brock said. He thought back to Tayra, his ex. They’d married straight out of high school and she’d stuck it out with him for six years. He could count on his fingers the number of days he’d actually been home.

  She’d finally had enough on Brock’s last mission with the SEALs. He’d gotten her letter in South America. He hadn’t seen her since. Tayra had moved back to Oregon to live with her sister and had asked Brock to stay away. It’d been like a blow to him. He never wanted to put any woman into that tough spot again.

  He certainly wasn’t going to do that to someone with Keira’s potential. But he also didn’t want her getting in over her head in this job. “Slade, just what angle are you working here? Do you trust Keira to run things, or do you want me taking over for her?”

  “Think of this more as setup for a long game. I want you to think about staying on in Jawhara and working with Talib and PJ—which means you need to get to know them. Keira might even fit into that equation.”

  “Fit? Slade, are you playing matchmaker?” Brock asked. “I’m not sure if I should be mad about that or just mildly upset.”

  “Don’t waste the time you’ve got, Brock. Now get back to work. I’ll expect a report in a couple of days. And remember it’s not just about trusting Keira, you know. You should look to trusting yourself a little more, buddy.”

  Brock hung up. He sat in his car, the air conditioner humming, blowing cool air on his face. He had a lot to think about—and all of it kept coming back to Keira. Did Slade trust her? What was this long game of his? Did Slade want a new division of the company set up here? It would make sense to have operations that could cover the Middle East—but what about that crack about Keira fitting?

  Turning around, Brock headed back to the palace. First, however, he had a stop to make; because there was no way could he ever come back to Keira empty handed.

  ***

  It took Keira a half an hour to complete a tour of the palace—it was like one huge hotel. By the time she found Brock, her temper had reached a low simmer. She’d gone up to her room to change into shorts, a sleeveless top, and sandals. Now, sweat stuck her shirt to her back, her feet had started to ache, and she had no trouble putting on a petulant pout.

  She was here to perform a very important job, and she took that very seriously. It seemed to her like Brock was goofing off.

  She found him tossing car keys to one of the guards in the courtyard. The car looked expensive and sporty—something convertible and sleek. Brock gave her a smile, as if he expected her to do some melting into his arms.

  Arms crossed, she demanded, “Where have you been?”

  “Think I’m cheating on you?” He wrapped an arm around her waist.

  She slapped his hand and stepped away from him. “I’ve been looking for you all morning. Why didn’t you tell me you were going into town?”

  “Miss me?”

  “Did you buy me anything?”

  “Sweets for my sugar.” He offered her the bag of honey candy he’d bought on his drive back from the city.

  She took it and put it down on a side table. “I’m on a diet.”

  “I thought you were also hanging out with the other women today.” He linked his arm with hers and pulled her with him. He took her into a room lined with books and without windows.

  Out of the sunlight, the air cooled. So did her temper. But she still had a role to play. She kept her pout in place and propped one hand on her hip. “Erin hasn’t stepped out of her room. PJ went to meet up with Talib. I’m bored!”

  Brock flopped down on an overstuffed couch. He scooted over, making room for her. He’d worn trousers and an open-necked white shirt that gaped now to show the cords of his tanned neck. “Have a seat. The room’s clean. Talib sweeps it twice a day. So it’s the one room—other than the sheikh’s private apartment –that we know is totally secure.”

  She shook her head and moved over to a decanter filled with what looked like lemon water. “Want a drink?”

  He shook his head. “Shira and Khalil probably won’t leave the palace for the next several days. But they’re planning on doing some travelling at the end of the month, and you and I will go with them, along with several of their own bodyguards.”

  She poured water into a cut crystal glass and turned to face him. The crystal bit into her finger—she loosened her hold. “No, we’re not going with them. PJ and Talib can keep an eye on Khalil and his gal. We’re going to stay on the sheikh and Erin.”

  Brock nodded. “If that’s how you want to play it. Might be a good idea. There’s a high probability the insurgents from Sumari will try to infiltrate the palace again.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “History repeating itself. Rebels have set a target—they don’t tend to back down from that.”

  Frowning, she came over to his side and sat down. “That’s not how they got Erin the first time.”

  “Ah—you read the report. They did infiltrate the guards—I’m worried about a repeat of that. But Erin was taken at a refugee camp that’s not far from the main city.”

  “So I read. What I’m wondering is what was she doing in the refugee camp? It’s the last place a woman like her should have been—way too much exposure, too many variables.”

  “Yeah, well, Erin’s a humanitarian at heart. She saw an injustice and sought to right it. The insurgents took advantage of her soft heart.”

  Swirling her water, Keira shook her head. “The sheikh must have been furious—with her and with his own guards.”

  “That’s an understatement. No guy wants to feel like he failed to look out for his girl. Anyway, that’s what led to PJ setting up the tracking pendants. Shira is being given one similar to Erin’s today.”

  “Nice of Slade to brief me on that tech.”

  “Don’t bother asking Slade about anything like that. He’s not a detail man. The pendants are a Lawson special.”

  “The surfer boys?” Keira asked. “Trent and Travis? I thought they were mostly here as eye-candy and to really take photos we might need later.”

  Brock laughed. “That’s their best cover. They look like they ought to be the models on a photo shoot, not be the ones holding the cameras. But don’t underestimate those two. Slade trained them both, and started them young. They’re all smiles until the fighting starts. Also, a word of caution. Stay close to the palace. Don’t go out without company. Tensions are high enough that you might just become the next target.”

  Keira frowned at him. “You really think I came down in last night’s rain, don’t you? Slade briefed me. The Sumari government has assured Sheikh Kamal that they dealt with the rebels…blah, bla
h, blah. Typical politicians. Plenty of double-speak, but there’s no way Sumari could have gotten all of the rebels. If they had, they’d be boasting about it, not trying to put a lid on things.” She stood. “Think I’ll grab a swim and some sun before dinner.”

  Brock stood. “Dinner? What about lunch?”

  She glanced back at him and handed him her glass of water. “Honey, I’m a model. That water was my lunch.”

  ***

  Time by the pool gave Keira a chance to check out the perimeter security. Young guys, all of them—gardeners as well as more obvious guards—looked tense and alert. They were ready for anything coming at them from the outside. What if the threat really was from within?

  She left the pool after an hour, headed to her room, and changed into a light-blue dress with long, sheer sleeves. She slipped on matching flats and checked the watch that Brock had given her. The damn thing kept terrible time, but it looked great, the diamonds flashing. She jigged her wrist to make the diamonds flash again.

  Before heading downstairs, she sent PJ a quick text. “Who’s my maid?” PJ would understand the code—Keira wanted a list of the staff who worked here. She’d gotten a guest list, and that had included about six royal cousins. Royal pains, she’d guess. The sheikh had a large family, and most of them seemed happy to hang around, not doing much of anything. She wanted to know about the ones who weren’t so happy. Meaning she needed to get in on the gossip.

  She headed for the kitchen. Maela Bint-Jamal had been with the family for decades—she basically ran the palace, supervising everything. If anyone knew the scoop on all of the guests, it would be Maela.

  Keira stepped into the cavernous kitchen and glanced around. Three chefs seemed to be working on dinner, with two more cutting and prepping the food. The place looked like a zoo—well, okay, more like a commercial kitchen, given all the stainless steel and Aga ovens. Keira stepped out again and headed for the dining room. She found an older woman who had to be Maela in a server black suit, directing three young men in black shirts and pants on how to set the table.