“Look at me,” he ordered.
I merely squeezed my eyes tighter and cocked my chin. I kicked the pooled sheet off my feet, balling my hands.
“Fuck, you’re too brave for your own good.” His fingers curled around my chin, holding me tight, pressing my skull against the mirrors behind me. “Do you have any idea what you do to me standing there so regal and unbroken when your body tells a completely different story?”
I clamped my lips together, ignoring the fresh throb in my tongue.
His mouth skated over mine in a barely there kiss, his breath hot and angry. “I’ve been able to restrain myself up till now, but every second with you, it gets harder and harder.”
With a feral growl, he pushed away, pressing himself against the other side as the doors chimed merrily, announcing our arrival.
The lift swung open.
The corridor was empty.
Elder stepped out. “Get dressed. Meet me on deck seven in half an hour.” Before I could collapse under the colossal weight of just happened, the doors swung closed and trapped me.
Morocco suddenly wasn’t the playground I’d hoped to play in—it was more of an executioner’s holding pen.
For the first time, I craved white because white kept me focused on who I truly was.
I’d begun to forget.
Elder had successfully just reminded me.
I won’t forget again.
YOU FUCKED UP.
You fucked up.
You fucked up.
The ceaseless mantra echoed in my head with every step.
I didn’t know why I’d slipped. Why that moment was the moment Pim drove me insane enough to contemplate taking her in the lift. It went against everything I thought I wanted. But fuck me, having her body wedged against mine had been far too bloody tempting.
I had blue balls from trying to be the perfect host. I layered frustration upon frustration trying to be her councillor, protector, and friend.
Who was I kidding?
I could never be her friend.
I couldn’t even be alone with her without doubting I’d have the power not to touch her.
Marching faster, dust kicked up around my dress shoes (I’d traded my flip-flops) as the sun did its best to turn us into jerky. Pim scurried beside me, never looking at me but exquisitely aware of every move I made.
I didn’t think she even knew she did it. Knew how her body flowed in accordance to how fast I travelled, how it paused if I slowed, how it swayed to the side if I lifted an arm. It was as if strings connected her to me, and I had full control over making her dance.
Had she always been so in tune to others or had her captivity given her a sixth sense? An innate ability to duck an incoming blow or pre-empt a threatening kick?
Either way, she distracted me, which was not a good thing.
I was here to work.
I should’ve left her on the fucking boat.
In the time I’d given her to dress, I’d done my best to get myself under control. It didn’t work. And when I’d met her on deck seven where the ramp rested to reach the dock, I had a headache and was in a sour mood.
It hadn’t improved when Pim arrived in yet another dress far too big for her. The baby blue material hung with navy panels on the contours of her hips—the same hips I’d clutched in the elevator.
On a curvy woman, the darker fabric would make her curves pop into an hourglass figure. On Pim, she just looked like a model that’d stepped off a runway and had forgotten to eat in decades. At least, she’d had the good sense to bring a large white hat that flopped over one side of her face, keeping her protected from the sun.
It also protected her from me.
She kept me constantly in her awareness but never let me catch her eye. She’d returned to the girl I’d met at Alrik’s—the one with a shawl of icy protection beneath the guise of submission. The one who intrigued me so damn much that I’d practically begged for a night with her.
This woman lived with me on my yacht. We slept a deck apart, and she wanted nothing to do with me. Why the fuck did I continue to torture myself? I should get rid of her before I did something I regretted.
The idea of removing her from my life (before it was too late) soothed my mind enough to find peace and concentrate. I ignored my silent guest and paid attention to the city of spices instead. It helped a little, concentrating on other people who didn’t have nearly as much power over me as she did.
Morocco was exactly as I remembered.
Hot, dusty, archaic in its organised chaos.
My thoughts normally found sanctuary here away from its own internal jumble, but that was before I made the idiotic decision to steal Pimlico.
The entire drive to the arranged restaurant where we were to meet His Highness, Simo Riyad, she’d peered out the car window, studiously ignoring me.
Did she remember sprawling on my lap in that very vehicle as she choked on her blood? Did she remember me hugging her close, whispering I wouldn’t let her die and she was mine now?
If she did…there was no sign.