Why is he so happy when his country is burning around him?
My gut clenches. Nothing good comes out of Lucien being entertained.
Chapter 7
IRIS
The water pressure in this jungle luxury villa’s is absurd.
Not polite-hotel-shower absurd. More like rainstorm-on-the-verge-of-becoming-hail absurd. I stand under it longer than necessary. The hot water pounds my muscles, releasing tension I didn’t realize I carried. I exhale loudly and allow the steam to blur the edges of the last twelve hours.
Fucking Julian in the elevator, even though I knew I shouldn’t, but had to because I couldn’t spend one more minute in his company without his dick inside me.
The gunshots scared me so badly I froze, but then Julian’s hand, strong and certain on my back, mobilized me as he guided me into action.
Julian.
Who had a to-go bag stashed at the hotel. Who absolutely is not just a British diplomat.
I close my eyes and swallow hard, refusing the tears gathering in my eyes to fall. I’ve only just met the guy and his lies shouldn’t hurt me, but they do, deeply.He’s just another asshole incapable of telling the truth, I tell myself.You’ve met plenty of those in your life.
I sigh and turn off the water. My fingers are pruned and my pulse feels calmer. My body has resigned itself to another disaster in my dating life. I bark out a sharp laugh.
This didn’t even go as far as a date, unless I count the breakfast on the rooftop. At least I found out about Julian’s lies early in our acquaintance, unlike my previous relationship. But I refuse to spend even one cubic inch of brain space on my ex.
I step out of the shower, grab a big fluffy towel and wrap it around.
Lucien, or more likely someone who works for him, left clothes folded on a low stone bench. There’s a soft linen dress the color of sunshine, simple leather sandals, and a set of plain cotton underwear with a matching bra. For a moment, I wonder if Julian still has my ruined panties in his pocket, but then I force myself to focus on the here and now. There are more important things to worry about.
Everything fits perfectly, including the bra. This should bother me more than it does. Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that Lucien figured out my size with just a few glances. Or that he has women’s clothing in different sizes on hand.
I towel my hair dry and use the clean brush I found in the vanity drawer to untangle the strands. There are also some hairbands and pins. I take one of the stretchy loops and use it to secure my hair in a loose bun at my nape. The reflection in the mirror shows my face as too pale and my eyes as too big and bright.
I look like a woman who followed a stranger into the jungle, to another stranger’s house, and now she doesn’t know what to do. Or if she’s in danger.
I push that thought aside, cross the bedroom that Lucien said was mine for the stay, and step out into the corridor. I need to find a way to contact April, well, more like her husband Jay or his brother Nick. They run a security company together that,among other things, extract hostages. Not that I’m a hostage, yet.
At least I don’t think I am.
My stomach growls as the sounds of clinking cutlery and plates carry down the hallway. I follow them to discover that dinner is set on a wide terrace that opens to a view of an expansive lawn surrounded by jungle. The evening air is humid and warm, but the large fans above keep the temperature bearable.
Lucien is already sitting at the table. He stands when he sees me and pulls out the chair beside him. “You look much better,” he says approvingly. “And after we get some food in you, you’ll probably feel better too.”
“I hope so,” I say. “I’m still a little shook up.” I sink down into the chair and he helps me scoot it closer to the table. My hands shake, so I place them in my lap to hide my nervousness.
Lucien’s unusual pale-gray eyes warm as the study me. “That’s understandable.” He squeezes my shoulder briefly before taking his own seat. “Your safe here. Relax, eat, and recuperate. We’ll figure out how to get you home in the next few days.”
I look around the beautiful dining area. Candles flicker on the table and on the railings surrounding the terrace. Out in the jungle, insects buzz insistently, sometimes interrupted by larger animals’ hoots and shrieks.
“Julian isn’t here yet?” I ask casually.
Lucien pours wine. “Julian is… recalibrating.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Only if you know him well.”
I accept the glass. “You do?” The relationship between these men fascinates me. Obviously they have a history, and they’re friendly, but not friends.
