Protecting His Princess (22 page)

Harris’s breath brushed against her hair. “I know this is hard. We’ll find a way to work it out.”

How? Laila wanted her mother happy and safe. She wanted to be happy and safe. Those weren’t both possible. “My mother kept saying she wants me to be happy. She thinks I’m in love with you.” Laila laughed, though it sounded forced even to her. It was a test. How would he respond to the idea?

Harris’s arm tightened around her. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her what I could. I kept our cover. I didn’t risk our mission.” She turned her head to gauge his reaction.

“I meant, what did you tell her about being in love with me?” Harris asked, his voice tight, his intelligent eyes watching her.

A pointed, direct question. One she didn’t want to answer. “I told her I had feelings for you.” In so many words. She felt the tip of her ears burning. Could he sense the omission or read into her words? Was the truth plain on her face? She wished she knew how he felt about her.

Emotion clouded his eyes. “It’s good that you do, because I have feelings for you. Actually, I have more than feelings. I’ve fallen in love with you, Laila. We have a lot to face in the future, but I want to face it together.” He slid to the floor, kneeling in front of her. “I talked to my family today. I had to call them. I had so much in my head. I finally got it. I know what I need. I know what’s been missing from my life.” He met her gaze and held it. “I need you. You’re what’s missing.”

Laila watched him, her heart beating fast. Love and desire swelled inside her. He had spoken to his family about her. He’d let her into his circle of trust. Nothing could have meant more to her.

“Saafir stopped by to see me. He gave me a ring that belonged to your great-great-grandmother. It’s simple and elegant, like you. I want you to accept it along with my promise that when I can, I will buy you a ring fit for a princess. I will do and give you everything I can to make you happy. I want you to be my wife.” He withdrew a gold ring from his pocket.

Her eyes filled with happy tears and emotion tightened her throat. She hadn’t expected this from Harris. Her great-great-grandmother’s ring. Her mother had worn it before marrying her father. The gesture was more important than the ring. “I don’t need another ring. I just need you.”

He slipped the ring on her finger over her henna art, and she launched herself into his arms. She clung to him, exchanging long, slow, deep kisses. The more she kissed him, the more she wanted him. She hoped the kiss communicated what she felt: love, hope, excitement, tenderness.

“What about the future? What if we can’t be together in America?” she asked, running her index finger down the side of his face.

“We’ll be together. We’ll find a way,” Harris said. “It won’t be easy. I know I’m not who you thought you’d marry.” His arms looped around her waist, holding her against him, while he buried his face in her hair.

“Maybe not. I think you’re better for me. My parents wanted me to be happy, and with you, I am. I won’t believe there’s anything wrong with that.”

He tilted his head back to look at her. “You should have everything you want and every happiness,” Harris said. His voice poured over her, hot and thick.

A tremor shook her. “Every happiness? You know what makes me happy? You. I want you in my life. In my heart. This ring means I am yours. It also means that you are mine.”

His eyes flickered with provocation. A moment later, his lips again found hers, and she sank into the kiss. His breath tickled her neck, and she held his head in her hands. The magnitude of what they were doing wasn’t lost on her. She had waited for the right man, and though he didn’t come courtesy of an arranged marriage, she had found him.

She turned her body over to him and let him take the lead. He stood, setting her lightly on her feet, and drew back the bed sheets. Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. She sat, and he lifted her legs, running his hand along each calf as he moved them on top of the mattress. Heat blossomed where his hands stroked her bare skin.

He joined her on the bed. With unpracticed fingers, she unbuttoned his shirt. He slid out of it and peeled off his white T-shirt. She had her first look at his bare torso. Running her hands over the hard planes of his broad shoulders, masculine chest and pumped biceps, sharp pleasure seared her with longing.

He delivered another passionate kiss that left her breathless and needy. He unzipped his pants, slid them down his legs and tossed them to the floor. Off with his socks, and he was naked.

He moved over her, and Laila drank in the sight of him as he held himself over her. His iron biceps, his hard, taut stomach, his lean waist and oh... The evidence of his arousal was undeniable.

Fixing her gaze on him, she reclined into the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. She touched his light hair, forking her fingers through it.

He unknotted the belt at her waist and opened her robe, taking time to run his hands over every inch of exposed skin. His lips followed in their wake, and the slowness and the care made her feel unspeakably precious. Skin to skin, nothing between them, her senses felt on fire and arousal scented the air.

His mouth drifted lazily from her lips to her cheek. “Is this okay?” he asked, cupping her breast in his hand. The caress was mind-blowing and her body responded, wanting him to touch her everywhere.

A current of heat ran between them. “Yes,” she said, both thrilled at how unhurried he was and anxious for him to go faster.

Harris kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her chin. Laila couldn’t do anything except feel. She couldn’t get enough of him. If she had tried to picture this in her mind, she never would have imagined the perfection of the moment. She had made the right decision. Falling for Harris had been an unexpected joy.

She was relaxed and weightless against the bed, the sheets soft at her back, his hard body on top of her. He touched her hair and moved the long length of it to the side of the pillow.

He positioned himself over her, pushing her legs apart gently. The muscles of his body flexed, every movement edged with barely restrained control. He took her left hand in his and touched the gold ring on her finger. “I like the way it looks on you. I like knowing what it means. Your henna is beautiful beneath it. You are beautiful.”

She closed her eyes and thought about marrying Harris, about being his wife and about the future they would have together. “I like that I am yours.” Every image that flickered in her mind was laced with happiness and love.

He kissed the tip of each finger. “You have delicate hands.”

“Yours feel a little rough.”

He slid his nose along her jawline. “Too rough?”

“No,” she said. “They’re perfect.”

His hand slipped between her legs. After an initial moment of astonishment, she was right with him, his talented hands evoking a response.

She held back the moan that sprang to her lips. Someone might hear them. She had to remain quiet.

“Look at me,” he said, nudging her chin up to meet his gaze. He brought his mouth down, brushed his lips to hers and then tilted his hips against her, his hardness sliding between her thighs. It felt so good she wanted to scream. She bit her lip and waited. She understood the mechanics of making love, but this was so much different. So much better than she had expected.

“Relax,” he said. His low voice was soothing.

Laila closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Tell me this is what you want,” Harris said.

Brown eyes met blue ones. “This is what I want.”

He slid inside her and a shockingly sensuous feeling ripped through her. He stilled. Waited. Then pushed farther inside her. The pain dissipated quickly, the uncomfortable pinch and tightness fading away as pleasure and warmth consumed her.

Harris arched and closed his eyes, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He seemed to grapple for control.

“You feel amazing,” he said, withdrawing slightly.

The muscles of his arms flexed underneath her hands. The scent of spices washed over her, a clean, male scent.

Laila shifted her hips, taking him deep. Nothing could have prepared her for this moment. The hot blaze of arousal and passion urged her forward, beckoning for more. She slid her hands to his back, wanting to hold him against her and never let go. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

Harris answered her body’s silent plea, and he rocked against her, slow at first, the pace building, their bodies finding a synchronized rhythm. Her breath escaped on a whispered sigh. His body coaxed wicked pleasure from hers, every movement escalating her enjoyment, every stroke of his hand fueled an already blazing fire.

“Tell me what you need,” he said.

She didn’t have words, and he seemed to understand.

“We’ll go slow tonight. I promise,” he said.

He used great care with her, building her anticipation until it felt like too much, as if the pressure would burst in her chest. She grabbed his hips and urged him faster. Forget slow. She needed more. Deeper. Harder.

She clamped down on him as her body exploded in frantic pleasure. Harris stilled as her climax eased. Breathless and spent, he rolled to the side, tucking her against his body, their skin in contact, heat simmering between them.

“Are you okay? Was I too rough?” he asked.

“I’ve never felt more like a princess,” she said. Her skin was pulsing with excitement, and her mind was hazy with delight.

“I am yours to command,” Harris said.

She made a noise of contentment and fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter 11

L
aila checked her appearance in the mirror for the tenth time. Did she look different? She felt different. Her body was sensitive from making love with Harris, her stomach fluttered with excitement and the moments they’d shared were branded on her heart. The golden band he’d given her glimmered on her finger, a sign of his promise and commitment to her. She glanced over at Harris still asleep in her bed. Waking him didn’t seem fair. Should she say goodbye before she left to help with wedding preparations?

She needed to help Aisha get ready for the processional through town before the wedding ceremony. Glancing at the clock, Laila had only a minute to spare.

She circled the bed and leaned over Harris. She brushed his light hair away from his face and ran the back of her index finger down his cheek.

He opened one eye. “Where are you going? Come back to bed.”

She was tempted. His tight abdominals disappeared under the sheet covering the lower half of his body. “I wish I could. But I’m meeting Aisha to help with the processional to the mosque. I’ll meet you outside the Grand Mosque. We won’t be sitting together once we’re inside, but I want to see you.” Waiting to see Harris would be distracting. She wished they could spend the whole day together.

“Give me a minute. I’ll come with you,” he said.

“No, no, it’s not appropriate. Trust me on this,” she said.

He reached out and snagged her wrist before she could go. “Be careful. Please keep your phone on you. Al-Adel hasn’t been spotted near the compound, but if the bombing in Doha is his work, he’s in the area. We’re banking on him making an appearance today, and his appearance might not be pleasant.”

Cold water on her romantic fantasy. She hadn’t forgotten about Al-Adel, but she’d wanted to focus on Harris. Thinking about Al-Adel brought to mind that she could be fleeing the country soon and starting over in America. “I’ll keep my phone on me. If you learn anything, call me.”

“You do the same,” Harris said. He pulled her closer and kissed her on the mouth. A long, lingering, need-to-have-you kiss.

Laila slipped out of the room, feeling as if she was walking on air.

* * *

The scene in Aisha’s parent’s house was chaos. People were coming and going, carrying gifts, decorations, flowers and trays of food. At least a dozen people were talking on their cell phones, likely arranging final wedding details and coordinating the processional. Security was heavy around the house, guards patrolling and checking packages and people who entered the home.

Aisha’s bedroom was in the back of the house, her windows overlooking a large swimming pool covered by a white trellis wrapped in flowers and greenery. Laila tapped on her door, and Aisha beckoned her inside. In contrast to the scene outside her bedroom door, Aisha appeared calm and unfazed. She was surrounded by three friends.

“Aisha, you look beautiful,” Laila said.

Aisha’s hair was styled in an elaborate updo, and though no one would see it beneath her veil, it was for Mikhail’s benefit that night. She was wearing her wedding gown, a gold dress with long sleeves and a high neck. The designs within the dress were sewn of the same golden beads threaded through the fabric in an elaborate display.

“How can I help? Do you need something to eat or drink?” Laila asked, hugging the woman that would soon be her sister.

Aisha shook her head. “Could you check with my mother that the processional car has the right flowers? This morning they were blue. Unsightly. I don’t want to drive through town and have those pictures in the newspapers.”

Laila nodded. Though the detail had likely been rearranged to the bride’s preferences, this was a big day for her and for everyone in Qamsar. The wedding would be a happy day and lift morale at a time when the country desperately needed it. “I will check on it. Don’t worry. I’m sure it looks great now,” Laila said.

Aisha turned in her chair away from the vanity. “Thank you, everyone, for your help. The processional is leaving in about twenty minutes, and I want to be alone for a few minutes to meditate and pray.”

The pressure on Aisha was tremendous. She was marrying the emir. Her life would be easy in some ways, challenging in others. A few of her friends protested, asking if she was upset or nervous. Aisha shook her head at their worries. “I’m fine. This is a big day, and I’d like a few minutes alone. It might be the last moments of quiet I have as a single woman.”

Her request for privacy was reasonable. The women in the room left quickly.

One of her friends dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll fix you some tea for the trip.”

Laila followed after them and was halfway down the hallway when she realized she hadn’t asked what color or type the flowers were supposed to be on the processional car. “Not blue” wasn’t detailed enough to be sure the task was done to Aisha’s liking. Laila debated returning to the room and interrupting Aisha’s prayer or conferring with Aisha’s mother about the detail.

Laila guessed Aisha’s prayers included a wedding day free of explosions and mishaps courtesy of the Holy Light Brotherhood and anyone else who decided the emir’s wedding was the opportunity to make a scene.

After another moment of internal debate, she decided it was best to check with Aisha. No point in starting the processional with an unhappy bride. Laila turned and saw someone slipping into the bride’s suite. A man. Her breath caught in her throat.

Was it a servant? Or Mikhail sneaking in to see his bride? How had anyone gotten to Aisha’s bedroom door past her security without been seen? Then again, in the chaos, one more person milling around wouldn’t draw attention.

Feeling uneasy about the man who’d gone into Aisha’s bridal suite, Laila crept to the door. What if it was a stranger? Or an attacker? Could Al-Adel have sent someone to harm the emir’s bride? If he wanted to send a message, hurting Aisha would do it.

Laila opened the door a fraction of an inch and stifled a gasp when she saw the man Aisha was speaking to.

It was Ahmad Al-Adel. Aisha was locked in an embrace with him. They weren’t strangers. She wasn’t screaming for help or fighting him.

Laila couldn’t take her eyes off the sliver of the scene shown from the crack between the doors. She focused hard to hear the conversation, trying to drown out the noise around her.

“I am so pleased you could make it,” Aisha said, clasping his hands.

Surprise reverberated through Laila. How did Aisha know Al-Adel? Did she realize who he was?

“It wasn’t easy slipping inside the borders of Qamsar. Your betrothed seemed intent on keeping me out. I’ve been here a few days.”

Aisha laughed. “His security measures aren’t half what they should be if you got inside. I knew you were here when you managed to set off the bomb in Doha. I delayed Mikhail enough that we hadn’t even left the compound.” She gave Al-Adel a wicked look. “When I am the emir’s wife, I can make everything easier. We’ll work together, and I’ll have access to the resources you need to meet my goals. Our goals. America will not control us.”

Laila stumbled back, her mind reeling, her heart slamming hard. Nausea and a sudden sharp headache sliced in her brain. Aisha had been playing Mikhail for a fool, pretending to be a loyal bride while plotting against him to use her position to help Al-Adel.

How had no one seen her deception? How had the CIA not known or suspected her?

Saafir wasn’t working with Al-Adel. Mikhail wasn’t, either. But it was someone in Mikhail’s close circle, just as the imprisoned American spy had warned Harris. They hadn’t considered Aisha, not even for a moment. Why?

The answer came immediately. For a woman in Qamsar to wield any power, hold any status or have any connections with powerful men was unheard of. Aisha was overlooked and dismissed. She’d played the subservient role of dutiful female to perfection. She’d fooled Mikhail. She’d likely fooled her parents. She’d fooled an entire country of people.

Why would Aisha do something like this? The bombing in Doha had almost caused the cancellation of her wedding. It could have injured or killed the people Aisha had invited as her guests.

What should Laila do now? What could she do?

Harris. She needed to find and tell Harris. Should she stay and listen to anything else they discussed? What if they were planning another bombing? If she was discovered, she would be killed. She needed to talk to Harris and then pretend everything was normal until Harris could do something to help.

Laila fumbled for her phone and started typing a text message to Harris. She had typed a few phrases when the door to Aisha’s room swung open. Laila pressed Send and came face-to-face with one of the most dangerous men in the world.

* * *

Harris switched his cell phone to his other ear. He was listening to the world’s longest conference call, and it was going nowhere. Every CIA director involved in the mission wanted an update. A dozen field operatives stationed throughout Qamsar were on the call, giving what information they could. The FBI was interjecting when they could. It was a last-minute scramble to see if they had missed an important element in locating Al-Adel.

The CIA’s operatives in Qamsar were working their assets and information networks looking for more on Al-Adel, the Holy Light Brotherhood and the bombing in Doha. At the CIA district office in Colorado, Tyler and the team were analyzing the chatter on the channels they monitored.

Harris’s mind wandered to Laila for the hundredth time that day. His future. His wife. Though he had already been thinking it, last night had cemented it. He would find a way to be part of her life when she returned to the United States. Even if it meant going off the grid and starting over with her, he would do it. He couldn’t lose her.

He didn’t know how this day would play out, but his instincts told him something big was going down soon. None of Harris’s bugs had picked up a visual or audio on Al-Adel. Rumors post-bombing spread fast and furious, and sorting reliable information from wild gossip was time-consuming. For his sake and Laila’s, he had to focus.

“Maybe we should pull Harris out,” Tyler said. “We’ve had unconfirmed reports that Al-Adel is planning a bombing at the Grand Mosque during the emir’s wedding. We don’t know why he’d want to destroy his ally, but if he’s successful, we’re looking at heads of states, ambassadors and politicians from around the world being hurt or killed. It would be a show of his power.”

“The emir’s guards are checking every person who gets within a hundred yards of the mosque. They have the perimeter fenced and secured,” Harris said. Even as he spoke the words, he knew Al-Adel would get inside if it was his intention. He would buy off people and pay for favors.

“We caught word that some of the countries with high-profile politicians attending the wedding sent extra security,” Tyler said. “We have more help on the ground in that area.”

More discussion and more demands for Al-Adel’s location from the top-level CIA directors. Harris didn’t state the obvious. He couldn’t give them what he didn’t have. No one had pegged Al-Adel’s location.

“I need to interrupt,” Tyler said. “I just received a message from our analysts that they’ve picked up critical information from the video feed from one of the bugs Harris placed. A few nights ago, Tariq Salem was in the emir’s library and read from the book with the Holy Light Brotherhood symbol on the front. Devon retrieved the book, and our analysts say it’s a covert way the emir or someone with access to that library is communicating with the Holy Light Brotherhood. They believe the emir’s brother Saafir is in mortal danger. Based on the schedule I’ve seen, Saafir should be at the Grand Mosque. We need to get him protection. You on it, Harris?”

“I’m leaving now. I’ll get to him and make sure he’s okay.” Staying on the line, but not listening, Harris was moving in the direction of the emir’s fleet of cars. If he couldn’t get a ride to the Grand Mosque, he’d steal a car.

Harris searched for a free vehicle and driver. Not finding anyone, he popped the lock on a vacant car and climbed inside. Two minutes later he’d hot-wired the car and was pulling out of the emir’s compound. Harris sped through the streets of Qamsar. He’d find Saafir before Al-Adel did.

His phone beeped, and he glanced at the display. Laila had sent him a text message:
Send help. Al-Adel.

Al-Adel what? She hadn’t finished the message. She’d been interrupted. Fear struck him hard and fast. If Laila was anywhere near Al-Adel, she was in danger, and he had to get to her. She was his to protect. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Harris interrupted the conversation in progress. “I need to call my asset. She’s reporting an Al-Adel sighting. Her last known location was the emir’s fiancée’s house. Send backup.” His words set off a storm of discussions. Harris disconnected. Laila was his priority. He looked up the address of Aisha’s parent’s house on his phone and changed directions. At his current speed, he’d be there in five minutes. Five minutes too long. Too many bad things could happen.

He called Laila’s phone. Once. Twice. She didn’t answer. He left a voice mail for her to call him as soon as possible.

He should have gone with her. She’d said it wouldn’t have been appropriate, but Harris should have ignored protocol and gone anyway. He should have stayed close to her.

Harris’s phone rang. It wasn’t Laila. It was Tyler. “You need to be our eyes and ears on the ground until we can get more operatives in the area. I’m trying to get someone else to lock down Saafir. We’ve alerted Devon, although he’s dealing with another issue at the moment. We’ve called this in to local law enforcement and let them know Al-Adel’s been spotted. All available staff are assisting with wedding security,” Tyler said.

“Someone else will recognize Al-Adel if he’s at the bride’s parents’ house,” Harris said. If Qamsar’s police force was looking for problematic guests, Al-Adel had to be on that list. After the bombing in Doha, Harris would bet Al-Adel was number one on that list. Unless Mikhail had paid his police and security team not to report in if they saw him.

“As long as any person who recognizes him approaches with caution and in the right way, we’ll be fine. But we’ve got to assume Al-Adel has security and a backup plan if he’s approached,” Tyler said. “We don’t know who is on whose side, either. We don’t know who we can trust.”