God, she had to get a grip.
“Spoken like a true princess, Princess,”
“I’m not a princess.”
“If the Louboutin shoe fits…” He snorted, shaking his head. “You’re the spoiled little sister of a tyrant king.”
As they neared where the boat had been lowered to the water, he took two handguns offered to him by one of the guards. Checking to make sure both firearms were loaded, Christian donned the chest holster and tucked the other into the back of his jeans, letting his shirttail conceal it.
“I’m not a spoiled brat,” she sniped. “And my brother is not a king, either—tyrant or otherwise. I very much doubt you would call him that to his face. He’s a businessman.”
Christian snorted. “Of course, he is… Princess.”
What was wrong with him? Didn’t he know they could be overheard? Didn’t he care? She shouldn’t give a damn about him, except there was something in the way he spoke to her that made her think he knew something he shouldn’t. Was he on to her? Was Fariq? Were the other surveillance devices his?
Stepping up to the gap in the railing, he glanced down at the boat drifting alongside them at the bottom of a short twelve-step ladder, then he held out his hand.
“After you, Princess.”
Folding her arms, she glared and didn’t move.
“All right.” A corner of his mouth curled. “After you, little girl. Is that better? You’d best pay attention to what your brother said. He’s quite right about my knowing how to handle spoiled young ladies who won’t behave.”
A warm pulse thumped between her legs, making her tighten her thighs in an effort to smother the sensation. She hated that he was doing this to her. Did he even know? Did she want to know if he’d handle her in reality the way he did when she laid in her bed at night, trying to sleep? It was bad enough her dreams and fantasies were filled with images of Christian Reid. Dealing with him and her reaction to him, when she needed to focus on what she was doing, might throw her off. Today, she needed to be on top of her game.
For heaven’s sake, he wasn’t even that good looking!
Well, okay… he was that good looking, but not in a gorgeous way. He was rather handsome in a patrician sort of way, his classic and chiseled visage marred only by a little too much stubble on his chin to be clean-shaven but not enough to be called a beard. She didn’t like scruffy men, she suddenly decided, only to find herself immediately wondering how he might look clean-shaven or what it might feel like to have that cheek and chin, with its blond facial hair, scrubbing against her breasts or between her legs. Never mind how broad his shoulders were or how his muscular forearm bulged as he held out his hand for hers. And she really shouldn’t be thinking about his washboard abs and well-developed butt, which she’d once caught a glimpse of when he’d used the outdoor shower by the pool. He was absolutely the sort of man ladies swooned over and precisely the kind her brother would never have allowed within fifty yards of her if he didn’t work for him. In a suit, he was too pretty… too polished. In the raw, he was all sex and violence—she didn’t want that.
She wanted a nice man who worked a regular job in a legal business and who would treat her like… well, a princess. She wanted to be made love to sweetly, gently, and romantically. Even knowing the very little she did of him, that wasn’t what Christian would offer. He would take her whenever, wherever, and however he chose. She’d wake up every morning underneath him as he mounted her and fucked her silly before starting their day, only to end it again by fucking her into exhaustion and oblivion. She didn’t want that… or did she?
Refusing to take his hand, she slipped past him but stopped when she looked down and saw who stood below them, holding the boat steady against the yacht’s ladder.
“Over you go, Princess,” Christian said, annoying her all over again.
She backed away from the ladder. “I… I can’t.”
A flicker of irritation flashed quickly through his eyes and across his face before he masked them again. She had no idea what she’d done, but if she weren’t so upset right now, it might have made her happy.
“Changed your mind about shopping?” he asked. “Because I have plenty to do without playing bodyguard to you. Or are you just trying to be difficult? Let me warn you explicitly, I don’t accept difficult from little girls.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Naughty princesses get their cute little bottoms spanked to a fiery red before being made to do all kinds of nasty things you don’t even have a clue about.”
Aliya glared at him, so startled by the sudden tightening of her nipples and the liquid desire that threatened to leak down her thighs, she didn’t know what part to protest first.
“I do, too, have a clu… I am not being diffi… I’m not a l-little gi… You have no right to speak… Stop calling me princess!”
He chuckled as she folded her arms over her chest, worried her thin sundress might reveal her beaded nipples. The flames of desire licked up in her belly and caused her face to flush as she tilted her chin up with all the confidence she didn’t possess and tried to stare him down, not something she could actually do. He was at least five inches taller, even when she was in heels. Besides, he wasn’t a man who accepted being stared down by her.
“Get in the damn boat,” he ordered.
Her right knee buckled with the ferocity of her ache to obey, but she stopped herself just in time. Why was it that everything inside her craved to submit to this man? Confidence gave way to fluster, and every ounce of the annoyance that had bolstered her just seconds ago abandoned her. She couldn’t go down the ladder, but she couldn’t stay on this ship. It was embarrassing as hell to have to tell someone like Christian Reid why, but she didn’t see where she had any other option.
“I can’t,” she confessed. Lowering her voice and hoping he didn’t just laugh at her, she whispered, “That’s Lamar in the boat. He likes looking up my skirt.”
Christian blinked at her. Stepping up to the gap in the rail, he looked down at the man in the waiting speedboat, then looked at her again. He didn’t laugh, but part of her thought he was working hard to suppress an eyeroll as he grabbed the rail and climbed over onto the ladder.
Hugging herself, she quickly looked away, so he wouldn’t see how fiercely she could feel herself burning up from the inside out. The heated brush of his breath caressing the line of her jaw toward her ear snapped her back around, bringing her eye to smoldering blue eye with him and mouth to smirking handsome mouth.
The pulse that hit between her tense thighs ignited a wave of the most delicious spams to ever wash over her. It felt as though she was having an orgasm right there on the spot. Her heavy breasts swelled, her nipples thrusting against the shield of her own arms, and her pussy pulsed with need, aching.
“Next time, Princess,” he purred, “wear pants or take pity on the poor bastard and go commando.”
She opened her mouth, only just stopping herself before exploding in outrage. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t make a scene. She had to get off this boat. Her whole body shivered.
He noticed.
Rumbling a low chuckle, he winked and descended the ladder, leaving her fuming, annoyed, and throbbing in ways she was positive ladies in her brother’s world would never do. Or if they did, they certainly didn’t do it for people like Christian. And if they did, it was in the privacy of their bedrooms, or in her case, her bathroom where she could pretend she was having yet another bubble bath and the cameras couldn’t see her.