leaned closer and whispered, “We’ll finish this later, love.”
Miah laughed…at him, at herself, at the situation.
MIAH’S LAUGH held a throaty, sensuous tone that roused a carnal awareness in Javid. Her lips were the richest wine, the sweetest berry, forbidden fruit. She was a vixen. One moment playing hard to get, the next compliant, teasing. She had inherited the worst of her sire: his cunning. His charm. His treachery…as evidenced in the engagement ring she wore. A ring given to Nana by Grandfather Hayward for their twenty-fifth anniversary. Zahir had to have stolen it, for Nana had been looking everywhere for it and was heartsick at its loss.
When this was over, he would be sure to take it back to Nana.
Meanwhile, Javid decided, if he wanted to stay one step ahead of his bride, he’d best keep her off balance. He handed her a champagne flute, but when Miah started to drink, he stopped her. “No, love. Like this.”
He twisted his arm through hers, offering his glass to her lips, taking her glass to his.
She frowned.
He grinned and whispered, “From this day forward you are all mine.”
“I’m not a possession, Zahir. If ever I am ‘all yours,’ it will be because I choose to be,” she whispered back.
Her defiance, as much as the brush of her body against him, as much as her gentle jasmine scent underscored by something wholly feminine, wholly Miah, started a deep pulse within his lower belly, filled his mind with imaginings of actually making love to her, something he could not, would not, in all good conscience do…no matter how great the temptation.
With difficulty, he forced his attention off his new bride and cast a surreptitious glance over their guests, but it was the sense that someone was watching him that set his internal radar on alert. He had studied his brother, learned his mannerisms, his peculiarities of speech, his walk, the way he held himself. He played his role well—but was it sufficient?
He supposed he’d know soon enough.
Javid and Miah moved to stand near the candelabra to receive their guests, who offered best wishes, kissed Miah and shook Javid’s hand, then filed to the buffet table.
Khalaf came toward them.
Miah’s father had a lean, wiry build, swarthy skin and a large, straight nose above a full black mustache. In contrast, his daughter towered over him by a good three inches, and nothing in her exotic face spoke of her sire. Javid surmised Miah took after her mother—which explained what Khalaf had seen in Anjali, but not what she had seen in Khalaf.
“You seem different somehow, Zahir.” Khalaf narrowed his keen black eyes, peering at Javid like a chemist viewing a disease through a microscope.
Javid’s breath hitched, but he warned himself not to panic. He had honed the arts of diplomacy and tact, and wielded both with the same daring he’d used as a boy handling Grandfather’s treasured dagger. He gentled his smile and his voice. “Oh? Perhaps it is marriage that agrees with me.”
“It is too soon to tell that.” Khalaf’s steely gaze raked over him, and a nerve twitched in Javid’s jaw. “It is the suit, I think,” Khalaf said at last, folding his hands over his formal robe. He sneered. “Too Western for my tastes.”
“Ah…I thought perhaps it was my clean-shaven face.” Javid stroked his chin, bare of the beard and mustache Zahir usually sported.
“Yes, this is the first time I have seen you thus shorn.” Khalaf gave a disapproving shake of his head.
Javid’s shrugged. “I prefer much that is Western.”
Khalaf scowled with disapproval. “Do not forget who you are, my friend.”
“I will never forget that.” Javid touched the spot behind his left ear where a fake scar had been applied. Zahir had carried a scar there since the fateful day they’d dared play with Grandfather’s swords.
“Good, good.” Khalaf clasped his hand and smiled, revealing a mouthful of uneven, yellowed teeth. “We are family now, Zahir. United against our enemies. Soon, we will overcome the wrongs that have been done to us.”
“Soon,” Javid agreed, returning his father-in-law’s knowing look, despite the fact that he had no idea how Khalaf and Zahir intended to overcome those enemies. Or why the sheik was so certain that the United States wouldn’t place sanctions against Nurul when it discovered this newly formed familial connection. Javid could not, however, come out and ask Khalaf. Especially not at this time, no matter how quickly he felt his window of opportunity closing.
Felt time running out.
Whatever Khalaf and Zahir planned would happen within the next couple of weeks, between now and their departure for the Middle East. Javid felt it in his bones. He would have to get Khalaf alone, carefully pick his brain. Before it was too late.
With a tight band of frustration gripping his chest, he watched Khalaf kiss Miah, seeming to be a gentle, kindly father delighting in his daughter’s joy. The deception soured Javid’s stomach. God, how he ached to see this man behind bars, caged like the animal he was.
The sound of a high-speed motorboat approaching the yacht intruded on this thought. Shouts erupted outside. China cups rattled on saucers and voices inside the cabin collided. An outer door burst open and Khalaf’s private bodyguards raced inside, consulted the sheik, then hurriedly hustled to the launch at the aft deck of the yacht before Javid could protest.
The launch was gone in the next moment, the powerful motorboat slicing across the water at twice the speed of the boat approaching the yacht.
Quint Crawford ducked into the salon, his head all but brushing the ceiling. He wore a security uniform, a baseball cap and his cowboy boots. He said to Javid, “Looks like paparazzi. How do you want it handled, sir?”
“Oh my God, it’s Bobby!” Cailin headed for the door. “I’ll get rid of him.”
“No.” Javid stopped her. “If Redwing sees you, he’ll only become more persistent. I’ll talk to him. Security will keep him from boarding. Everyone, please go on with the celebration.”
“Zahir…?” Miah moved as though to stop him.
“Visit with our guests, love,” he whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Javid and Quint hurried out into the heat of the afternoon.
Quint grumbled in his Texas drawl, “Damn reporter scared Khalaf off like a sidewinder in a windstorm.”
“I thought Andy has Ramses waiting on the pier to pick him up.”
“That’s the plan. You get anything out of the varmint?”
“Nothing helpful.” Javid followed Quint to the aft deck to join the other Confidential agents, disguised as security, who were positioned there. The speedboat didn’t slow as expected, but raced past with a spray of water.
“Hell, that’s not Redwing,” Vincent groused, his brow pulled into its perpetual frown. “Just some damn joyrider.”
“False alarm, folks.” Law tugged at the sleeves of his uniform as though he were adjusting a dress shirt with French cuffs.
Vincent nodded grimly. “You can put your weapons away.”
A smile started to relax Javid’s tensed face, but vanished at Quint’s “Look out!”
Javid froze. The speedboat had circled around and was coming back. The driver wore a ski mask, a rifle at his shoulder. Quint tackled Javid at the same time he heard the teak paneling near his head explode. Screams issued from within the salon.
“Miah.”
As Javid fell, a second blast went off. He felt a sharp pain in his forehead, then something dripped into his eyes.
The agents returned fire on the passing