Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

“What little there is of it is silver and fringy.” He nuzzles his face into my neck then slowly kisses his way to my mouth. I honestly fully expected I’d have to fend him off if I sat topless with him in a bath, but he’s behaving very well.

Although part of me wishes he wouldn’t. I’m torn between my own desire and what I deem to be good for my mission.

I move onto the Prince’s lap. He smiles and wraps his arms around me and continues talking. I’m thinking that he doesn’t usually talk much to the girls he sleeps with. It helps that conversation flows easily between us.

“Before we go, I have to meet with the Saudi Prince again. He says his country is still concerned about our shipping lanes allowing him passage to Europe.”

“Why?” I ask, running my hands gently through his hair. I need to get his take on it all. I also wonder what the Saudis have heard that has made them nervous. “Is he a friend?”

Lorenzo squints, an imperceptible twitch that tells me no—regardless of what comes out of his mouth next.

“He feels our military is lacking, but we have controlled the Strait for over four hundred years,” he says, suddenly holding up his hand and studying it. “My hand is gold.”

“I’ll take all the glitter, so I will sparkle tonight.” I laugh, taking his hands and rubbing them down the front of me. “I can see why the Prince is worried, though, things have changed in the world.”

He glances at the clock letting me know that bath time is over, so we swim over to where the towels are.

“Yes, terrorism is an unfortunate side effect—”

“I’ve never really understood that,” I say, wrapping a fluffy towel around me. He does the same, and we sit on a bench and continue to talk.

“Terrorism? Extremism?”

“Yeah. I mean look through a history book. People have been killing each other for centuries in the name of religion, and I don’t get it. Nearly every religion teaches peace. Man’s ability to twist whatever gospel they believe—is where we get into trouble. People laugh at pageant contestants who say they want world peace, but isn’t that what we should all want?”

“All you need is love? Do you believe that?”

“If we truly loved our fellow man, yeah, I do. Have you ever heard of the Terra Project?”

“No. Wait, yes. Clarice was speaking of it the other night. But I don’t know what it is all about.”

I give him an overview.

“Interesting concept, but I don’t think it could work. You still need currency to barter. And a government to back the currency. Plus, I like things the way they are.”

To prove his point, his phone dings on the table next to me. I pick it up and hand it to him, noticing the text that says: My kitty misses you and is followed by a photo—of which you can assume is not her cat.

I laugh, goofily. Who the hell in the basement of Black X ever thought I had a chance in hell of capturing the Prince’s attention when cooter pics are sent to him daily?

“Friend or acquaintance?” I ask.

He tilts his head, considering. “Acquaintance, who wants to be a friend.”

“More like a princess. I bet that sucks, though, sometimes—having women throw themselves at you.”

He tries not to smile. It’s clear he doesn’t agree. He loves this shit. “Isn’t it every man’s fantasy?” he asks, taking another sip of champagne.

“I suppose, but what if it’s like anything you gorge on? Eventually, you lose your taste for it—or worse, grow to hate it. It would really be a shame if you lost the taste for kitty.”

He blows champagne out of his mouth, laughing. “You are funny.” He caresses my hair. “Would you like to be the one I gorge on?”

I back away. “I’d rather gorge on love, because that’s the one thing you never get sick of.”

“Hopeless romantic?”

“Maybe.”

“Yet, your first night in town you went home with a guy from the casino.”

“How would you know that?”

“He talks. Says you’re wild.”

“He was so drunk, he passed out before any wildness could take place,” I lie. In reality, I may have shot him with a tranquilizer dart and drug him to bed.

“You spent the night. When he woke up, you were naked.”

“No, I was wearing exactly what I’m wearing now—albeit, a larger version. Basically, I was wearing what one would to the beach in your lovely country.”

“You were in an evening gown at the casino.”

“Which was entirely hand beaded. I would have ruined the dress had I slept in it.”

“So, he lied?”

“Well, I may have led him to believe we’d had a good night.”

“Why?”

“Before I realized he was shit-faced, he was sweet to me.”

“How so?”

“I was at the bar and someone made a nasty comment about my dress. He told the guy to shut the fuck up. It was chivalrous, and I appreciate that in a man.”

“Sounds like you need a prince.”

“Oh, for gosh sake, give it a rest. You’re a prince. I get it. If I succumb to his royal sexual wishes, maybe I could live a fairytale. No thanks.”

“No thanks?” He’s taken aback.