They breathed. And they were eternal.
Like screaming.
Like blood.
Like death.
“I’m sorry we won’t be able to sightsee.”
“Maybe someday, I’ll be able to travel and see the world. When my people are free, I’ll be free.”
“My offer still stands.” That would take care of everything. The threat would be neutralized and Damara would be safe.
“To kill my brother?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t. He’s my brother.”
“Even though he hates you? Even though he’d do any number of things that could be worse than dying to get what he wants from you?”
She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “Even so.”
He vowed at that moment that if her plans failed, that was just what he would do. She deserved to be safe. If she hated him for what he’d done, well, so be it. It occurred to him again that was what he was for. He did the jobs that no one else would—or no one else could. And bearing her hate, he could do that, too.
Resolve hard as stone, he changed the subject again. The port was in sight. “Look over there. It’s Barcelona.”
She perked up like a tiny wren who’d spotted a succulent worm. The closer they got, the wider her eyes were. “It’s so beautiful, even from here. Are we just going to dock and walk into the city like we didn’t just escape pirates?”
“Yeah. Why not?” He shrugged and flashed a smirk. “Half of my job requires balls.” There was a slim chance there’d be some of Grisha’s men stationed at the port to watch for them, but he’d have to take that chance. He’d burn that bridge when he had to cross it.
“Excuse me?” She arched a brow.
“Balls. You know...guts? Half of it is fake it until I make it. I fake a lot of things a lot of the time. Most of the time, if I act like I know I belong, I’m not questioned.”
“Even dressed like a guerilla from hell?”
“Even then. We’ll get a taxi and have him drop us off a few blocks from the hotel. I’ll check in to the penthouse, if it’s available. You need a special key to get on to that floor and that will help with our security.”
“From a stinky fisherman’s boat to a penthouse suite. This has been an adventure.”
Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. He could see that she was scared. She’d have to be stupid not to be. Everything was uncertain, and it was likely the Russians were still after them. Even when she got to the States that was possible—even likely.
“That’s the way to look at it, Princess. An adventure.”
He maneuvered the boat through the port, dodging larger ships and other crafts until he found an abandoned slip and docked.
“You ready to go?”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“Just think about the room service. It’s exquisite.”
“I am hungry. I could eat a goat.”
“I don’t think they have any goat.”
“Lamb?” she asked hopefully.
“Most definitely.” He thought of the garlic-roasted lamb he’d had on his last trip. It had been so good his mouth watered even now. “But it’ll make your mouth stink like a dead—well, it will give you bad breath.” His comparison to a dead body wasn’t exactly fodder for royal ears.
“Good to know. I’ll brush my teeth before I kiss anyone.”
The idea of her kissing anyone but him didn’t sit well. Not at all. But it wasn’t his place to say anything about it.
Things happened just as he’d said they would.
They disembarked from the small boat and walked up the dock and through the marina and no one said a word to them. It was as if people did such things all the time. It wouldn’t be too long, though, before they found the boat and discovered its owners were nowhere near Barcelona. The boat would be impounded and dusted for prints; there would be an investigation.
Although by then, Byron hoped they’d be long gone.
He had no trouble getting a taxi, and it dropped them at the hotel. He always kept a variety of monies on him, and he had just enough euros to tip well without being overly generous.
As soon as he walked into the hotel, the staff recognized him.
“Mr. Hale. What brings you back to Barcelona? Business or pleasure?” the desk clerk asked him in unaccented English.
“Pleasure. Most definitely.” When he noticed she was examining his attire, he said, “Cave exploration. Been wanting to do it since my first visit.”
“I would have been happy to set that up for you.” She made a show of wetting her lips. “And anything else you need, Mr. Hale.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for my next trip.” He gave her an easy smile. Part of him wanted to take her up on it now. He could just bend her over the couch in the office and slake his lust. Something, anything, to ease his body before more hours of confinement with the beautiful but innocent princess.
Except he wasn’t actually interested in anything this woman had to offer him. She was beautiful, accomplished and he was sure from the way she moved she’d be great in bed.
But she wasn’t Damara Petrakis.
He had to get those thoughts out of his head—he didn’t know how, but it would be so much easier once he’d put some distance between them.
“The penthouse suite is available. Shall I charge it to the card you have on file?”
“Yes, thank you. Double the room service order from my last visit, please. And I’d like to access my box while I’m here, as well.”
“I’ll let security and the kitchen know. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Hale? Anything at all?” She smiled and leaned over the desk, emphasizing her ample and lovely cleavage.
“Not at the moment.” He accepted the key and winked at her.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hale?” Damara said in a sickly sweet voice as he took her up to the penthouse.
Byron laughed. “Are you jealous?”
“No, of course not. But that was just pathetic.” She rolled her eyes. “Even I know that a man won’t buy the cow if he can get the milk for free.”
“I don’t want to buy the cow.” He snorted.
“Glad you see it my way.” She harrumphed.
He laughed again. “Call me Brian while we’re here. It’ll most likely be for only a few hours, but just in case, okay?”
“Yes, Brian.”
“And what’s your name?”
“I get to play, too?” Her pique seemed forgotten. “I want to be Holly Golightly, like Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“You know she was a prostitute, right?” He raised a brow.
“It’s not a bad profession. It’s not unlike being royalty.”
“How’s that?” He couldn’t wait to hear how she’d managed to work that out in her head. Byron opened the door to the suite.
“Pay to play, right? I have to trade myself to my husband for his resources. It’s basically the same thing. He gets to sleep with me, but he has to pay for it.”
“I think that’s