Yes. The window looked down on a mostly dark courtyard. Light from the party played across the court but it looked deserted.
She was only one story up from the ground. Granted, it was a tall story. Maybe more like two up. But she could do this.
Regina unlocked the window and hoped it wasn’t alarmed. She swung the glass outward and breathed in the fresh air she didn’t realize she’d needed so badly. Freedom. The air was perfumed by night-blooming jasmine vines covering the walls on either side of the window. All she needed to do was grab one and climb down.
In a tiny, tight dress.
And heels.
Maybe not the heels.
“Bombs away,” she whispered as she dropped the heels straight down to the tiles below. If a heel broke off one, oh well. She was a party girl, right? Accidents happened.
Now, to keepherselffrom breaking.
She set her purse on the ledge, reached into the dark green foliage beside the window, and found exactly what she wanted. Several rough vines had twisted together into a thick trunk of sorts. She hoped it was strong enough to hold her weight as she shimmied down.
Regina swung out the window feeling a little like Tarzan and gripped the vine. The smell of jasmine was stronger now, cloying enough to tickle the back of her throat. If she gagged or puked, well, see the previous comment about being a party girl. She grimaced at the splinters stabbing her palms but she didn’t slow down. Hand over hand, she carefully felt for any footholds in the branching jasmine vines.
Just a few more feet and she’d step down onto the tiles, smooth out her dress, assess the damage, then walk casually into the party and find her parents. If Rashid saw her with them, it would send the subtle but clear reminder that she was an American after all, one with very prominent and influential parents. They weren’t a perfect shield, but better than?—
Big, strong hands gripped her mere feet from the ground and plucked her off the vines. As soon as they set her down on the ground one hand went around her mouth.
“Hey,thereyou are, lass,” the man said casually. His accent was American with an ever-so-slight tinge of Scottish. “Didn’t know quite where you went for a second there. We’ve been watching you and it’s rude to go and disappear like that.”
SEVEN
Lachlan, age 33
Crushing out a cigarette under his boot, Lachlan Campbell stood in the shadows of the palace’s dusty courtyard, looking up and trying not to laugh—whether out of amusement or frustration, he wasn’t sure.
What in the ever-loving hell is that lass thinking? He folded his arms and shook his head at the ridiculous sight of the American diplomat’s spoiled daughter sneaking out of a second-story window.
She’s crazy. Absolutely insane. And it was his job to babysit her. He was not impressed.
Stupidest mission ever.
Lach had no idea whatsoever why his team had been called in for what amounted to ‘stand around and wait, do a little babysitting, and while you’re at it, we’re going to treat you like a mushroom—keep you in the dark and feed you shit.’
Damn CIA.
Except things had just gotten interesting and amusing. Regina Sparda was shimmying her ass out a window exactly where she should not be. The upper floors were specifically off-limits during the party tonight by order of the party’s host, the crown prince. Which was why Lach was stationed in the courtyard. Regina had gone missing from the party earlier and camera footage caught her on the stairs to the second floor. Jeremy Heath, who was with the CIA and in charge of this mission, was inside waiting near the stairs when he saw the crown prince coming down without any sign of Miss Sparda. Lach was outside just in case she decided to exit in a more creative way. They’d come to expect damn near anything from her and tonight, she did not disappoint.
He had to hand it to Regina. She didn’t hesitate or look down. She reached into the tangle of clinging vines, found a handhold, and swung out over the courtyard. He wondered how many windows Miss Sparda had sneaked out of as a kid and stifled another chuckle. Now he understood why the CIA had its eye on the Sparda family—it wasn’t her father but Regina who had caught their attention. He wouldn’t be surprised if they handed her an invite to The Farm on a silver platter.
Regina looked like she had things well in hand, so he didn’t shout up to her. Last thing he wanted was to startle her into falling. As he watched he couldn’t help but admire her. She was beautiful in a fresh-faced way, not overly made up unless she had to be. Athletic build, which was easier to maintain when you were in your early twenties, but he knew that she worked out religiously. And dammit, now he was focused on her pert little ass under that dangerously short black dress as she made her way down the side of the building.
She’s above your paygrade and below your dating age limit, Lach, so stop staring, you dirty old man.
Still, it was literally his job to keep his eyes on her, right?
Lach stepped out of the shadows when she was only a couple of feet above the courtyard tiles, intent on grabbing her. God knew what she was planning to do once she hit the ground—but judging from the state of one of the shoes she dropped, she’d be hobbling off to her next adventure. Though, having observed her for a few weeks now, Lach was sure she’d make it look graceful and effortless.
He deftly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her off the vines. Her body stiffened as predicted so he quickly covered her mouth.
“Hey,thereyou are, lass,” he said as lightly as he could. “Didn’t know quite where you went for a second there. We’ve been watching you and it’s rude to go and disappear like that.”
Lachlan waited for any move she might try—going for his balls, his throat, his in-step. Lach wouldn’t put it past her to have a weapon stashed somewhere on her person. It was better for him to focus on her as a possible threat rather than dwell on how good it felt to hold a woman after so long.
