Because this was a covert operation, they flew commercial from Djibouti City to Cairo and from there caught a flight to Casablanca. Brie did her best to ignore her companion on the journey, but given the length of the flights—the first being over three hours and the second over five—it wasn’t possible.

Not long after takeoff from Cairo, Bastian reached across the armrest and entwined his fingers through hers. She jerked her hand away, and he responded by pressing his palm to her knee. “We’re going to have to touch a lot in front of your family. You’d better get used to it now, or we’re going to fail.”

She relented and took his hand, hating that the simple affectionate touch was comforting. Hating that just the smell of his skin did things to her, reminded her of how good it had felt when he’d methodically possessed every inch of her body. How safe she’d felt in his arms.

How her heart had opened and she’d gotten a glimpse of what it might feel like to fall in love. And even to be loved in return.

She hadn’t slept well the night before and leaned back in her seat and tried to doze. She turned in the tight seat in an attempt to get comfortable, but sleep remained elusive.

Even though she was going to a twenty-two-bedroom estate of which she was one-third owner, she remained broke. The government had paid for these plane tickets, meaning they were crammed into coach. She didn’t miss much about her family’s money, but when flying, she did miss first class. Now in her cramped seat, she drifted toward the warm body at her side and settled against his shoulder, hoping he’d believe she was napping and unaware that she gravitated toward him.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her temple. “Sleep, sweetheart.”

She gave in to his offer and drifted off. She awoke with a jolt sometime later. A glance out the window showed they were just about to land. Extracting herself from Bastian’s shoulder, she stretched to cover her flustered state. She’d been dreaming of Bastian—not surprising considering she’d been breathing his scent for hours—and in her dream, he’d been so sweet—like the night he’d crawled into her bed on the aircraft carrier.

She longed for the simplicity of that night, but of course, now she knew even that had been fake. Savvy had put him up to it. Nothing was ever simple. Except maybe the time they kissed while dancing in South Sudan.

Now she needed to act like touching him, being near him, didn’t break her heart. She needed to look at him like she was in love with him, and more than anything she feared he’d see it wasn’t entirely an act.

While he’d been working, she’d been…herself. She’d let him get to know both her Stewart and Prime halves, something she’d never dared with anyone else.

She turned to the window. They were low over the trees now, coming in to Mohamed V Airport. This had always been one of her favorite places—as a teen, she’d loved the sights, sounds, and smells of Casablanca and spent as much time as she could away from the villa, exploring the North African city.

She’d loved the souks, traditional marketplaces that were a maze of alleys and narrow streets where vendors sold spices, jewelry, food, and clothing. The colors, the scents, the language—she’d drunk it all in. It was in the souks that she’d begun to learn Arabic. She’d also spent as much time as she could on the public beaches and exploring the medina—the old walled city.

She’d last visited a year ago, not long after learning she owned one-third of the property. She’d financed the trip by ditching her Seattle apartment—using her rent money to buy her plane ticket—and upon her return, she’d crashed on a friend’s couch as she made arrangements for the South Sudan job. It had been worth it for the month-long break.

The wheels of the airliner touched down.

She was home. Sort of.

Bastian wasn’t thrilled to discover that Brie hadn’t been teasing about taking him clothes shopping first thing. She took him to a fancy mall with a giant fish tank that featured small sharks along with thousands of other fish species. After buying clothes for herself at Dior, she dragged him outside to catch the musical fountain’s hourly performance, then she took him to Armani to outfit him.

“My dress uniform will be enough.”

“It’s perfect for Nikolai’s party, but you’ll need suits to dress for dinner and other social functions.”

“You don’t really dress for dinner.”

“When business is being conducted, always. And we will if Drugov comes to dinner. You need to look the part.”

“The role I’m playing—the part I need to look—is your boyfriend, who is Army Special Forces, not some asshole who can’t sit at a table without flaunting his wealth by wearing a two-thousand-dollar suit.”

“I call the shots on this part of the op. I know my family, these people. This world. And to fit in here, you need overpriced clothes.” She patted his cheek. “Think of yourself as Cinderella, cupcake.”

The jab set his teeth on edge. “You think I’m not good enough for you, Brie? As I am? Kalahwamish soldier?”

She scowled at him. “Of course not. This isn’t about me or what I think. If anything, you’re too good for Gabriella Prime.”

There she was wrong, but he wouldn’t say it. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to hear the truth and he wasn’t one to try to shout down brick walls. To breach a brick wall, you take out the mortar, and that was what he would do with Brie. One brick at a time, he’d chip away at the surrounding grout. “Then why the hell do I need to play dress up when the point is I’m not from your world?”

“But you’ve got to act like you want a spot in my world. If you don’t, if you play the part of the rugged soldier who has no fucks left to give, they’ll fear you. But if you act like you want in, if you play by their stupid rules and pander to them, they’ll think they have leverage, and their guard will drop.

“These aren’t tech billionaires or others who’ve made their own fortunes. For the most part, everyone you’ll meet here inherited their wealth. With this particular crowd, it’s all about the money and letting everyone know where they rank in Forbes. I’m not saying everyone who inherits is this way. It’s just true of my father’s crowd. They have no time for or interest in the quietly wealthy. In this instance, they’ll see you as just another guy who is fucking me for my money—and the last laugh is on you because I’m broke.”

“You’re one-third owner of a palatial estate in Morocco.”

“But I can’t sell it. I can’t mortgage it. I can’t turn it into cash in any way, and I’m maxing out my credit card buying us both clothes today.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t buy the damn clothes.”

“No. It’s exactly why I need to do it. For the same reason. If my brothers think I want back in the fold so badly I’ll mortgage myself to fit in, they’ll think they’ve got game when it comes to pushing me toward Drugov. As far as my brothers know, what I saw in South Sudan scared the shit out of me and I want the luxury and comfort of being a Prime again. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back in the fold. That’s the game we’re playing here.”

“No one is selling you to Drugov,” he said quietly.

“No. But we want them to try. And they can’t feel threatened by you or it won’t happen.”

He let out a sigh. “Okay.” He stroked her cheek. “I’ll do anything to protect you. Even follow you into hell and buy a pretty suit to wear when I get there.”

She held his gaze, and for the first time, the sheen of hurt slipped away.

He’d loosened the first chunk of mortar.

“But I’m buying the damn suit,” he said. “I’m not Cinderella, and you aren’t going to bankrupt yourself for this op.”

“They’ll run a credit check. They’ll know you paid for the suit.”

“I’m counting on that, darling. That way they’ll know how much I want to play their stupid game.”

She smiled slowly, and he liked the look of respect in her eyes. “You’re good at this.”

“Honey, my people have been playing the white man’s games for hundreds of years. Your brothers are fucking amateurs.”

She rose on her toes and brushed her lips over his.

One brick down. A thousand more to go.

Bastian pulled the rental car—a basic Honda because he didn’t intend to waste more money on a ridiculous façade—into the circular driveway. Before he could climb out to get Brie’s door, the valet was on the job.

They had a full-time valet?

“Miss Stewart, it is a pleasure to see you again.” The olive-skinned valet couldn’t be more than twenty-one.

“Thank you, Tarek. It’s good to be home.”

Bastian was impressed she knew the guy’s name, but then remembered she’d been here a year ago. He stopped at the trunk to grab their bags, but Brie gave him a slight shake of the head.

Right. The valet or the butler or one of the other servants could get it.

Servants. It wasn’t even a dirty word here.

He met her under the arch of an elaborate entranceway and offered his arm. She looped hers through his, and they strode up twenty-five meters of red carpet that was flanked by columns and raised a step at five-meter intervals. An arched roof covered the long walkway, which ended in wide ebony double doors carved in bas-relief.

One column and step before they reached the finish line, the doors opened, and a dark-skinned middle-aged man who must be the butler greeted them. “Welcome home, Miss Prime.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Youssef, ma’am,” he said with a slight bow.

“Nice to meet you, Youssef. You must call me Ms. Stewart.”

“Of course, ma’am. Ms. Stewart.”

“Are my brothers in residence, Youssef?”

“Yes, ma’am. But they are out for the day. Golfing, I believe.”

“We will settle into my rooms, then. Please have our bags delivered and unpacked. We’ll take tea in the pool garden in thirty minutes.” She cocked her head toward Bastian. “Cognac for Chief Ford. Hennessy.”

Bastian wasn’t a fan of cognac, but she must have other motives for ordering the drink.

“Yes, ma’am. Which room shall we have readied for Chief Ford?” There was a disapproving tone in his voice.

She laughed as if his question was a delight. “Mine, of course.”

With that, Bastian accompanied Brie into the most extravagant private home he’d ever seen. He couldn’t hold back a low whistle. “Shit, babe,” he said, intending for the butler to overhear. “We are not in South Sudan anymore.”

Seriously, the idea that she’d gone from this marble-columned foyer with triple archways and—he glanced upward—carved ceilings, to pit toilets and thatched-roof huts was astonishing.

Her laugh was light and bright, like a new penny. He doubted anyone else noticed it was fake. “Wait until you see our room.”

He slid a hand over her ass and turned her toward him. He kissed her lightly as he squeezed her butt. “Youssef, make it forty-five minutes.”

Brie had stiffened under his touch, but she recovered quickly and her body pressed to his, warm and sultry. Her tongue slid into his mouth, then withdrew, so fast he ached for a real taste. Her eyes were hooded and hot, but there was a hardness too that only he could see. Her voice was husky as she said, “Well then, we’d better hurry.”

They climbed the wide curved stairway to the third floor, and he learned she hadn’t been kidding about her room. It was at least eight hundred square feet with a curtained four-poster king-sized bed centered along the back wall. The room had three separate sitting areas with sofas and plush seats, a breakfast nook, and an office alcove. Double doors opened onto a large, lush private balcony that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean.

Brightly colored mosaic tiles decorated a deep sunken tub in the bathroom, which also had a separate shower with more masterful mosaic designs. He wanted to make love to Brie in that shower, in that tub, and on that bed. The sofas didn’t look comfortable, so he’d skip those, but the balcony…yeah. There too.

He stepped back into the bedroom after gawking at the shower and said, “You know what this room needs?”

“What?”

“Help from Ikea.”

Her laugh was genuine this time. “I think you’re right. I can just see my dad, cursing because he can’t find the hex key.”

“Do you ever miss this?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Not really. The price was too high. And my ass doesn’t care if the sofa is Ikea or something that was hand-stuffed by fairies in Belgium.” She gave him a wry smile. “Although today on the plane, I’ll admit I did miss first class.”

“I’ve never flown first class,” he said.

“It’s disgusting how airlines have made coach so miserable to justify the outrageous prices for first class. It doesn’t have to be that way, with a handful of people flying in comfort and the rest treated like garbage. Those were the things I didn’t see before I escaped the family.”

“Escaped? You sound like it was a cult.”

“Isn’t it, though? Worship of the almighty dollar? My father as the supreme leader?” She waved her hands to encompass the room. “I mean, who needs twenty-two rooms of this? No one actually lives here except the servants. There are ten servant rooms and a caretaker cottage. That’s eleven people who live here full-time, waiting for my brothers and me to visit. The trust set aside a budget for the staff, food, and maintenance. I can’t buy clothes, but I can order a four-thousand-dollar cognac to be delivered to you poolside.”

Bastian practically choked. “Four thousand dollars?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. I reviewed the house budget the last time I was here. There’s a cellar that holds at least half a million dollars’ worth of wine. I wanted to sell some of the bottles to cover the cost of my trip, but there’s a clause in the trust that prevents me from selling any of the house assets, and the liquor and wine is valuable enough to be listed on the assets and not just part of the food budget. Plus the staff knows I don’t drink, so the missing bottles would have been noted. The cognac is JJ’s favorite and hard to get in Morocco.”

“I don’t even like cognac.” But he had to admit, he’d try it, just for the novelty of tasting something so ridiculously expensive.

Brie had changed into one of her Dior suits at the mall, and now she stripped it off, dropping the designer clothes on the floor. “Strip,” she said. “The maid is going to be here with our bags to unpack in about thirty seconds. I gave instructions to unpack, but then you made it clear we were going to have sex. If we’re caught going at it, it will be easier to convince everyone we’re really a couple.”

Brie turned to the bed and spread the sheer curtains.

“The curtains won’t hide anything.”

“That’s why you need to strip. Keep your underwear on. We’ll be under the covers, waist down.” She dropped her bra to the floor.

Shit. Was this revenge on her part? A way to make him suffer?

But he was a good soldier and stripped, then followed her to bed. She lay on her back, and he settled between her thighs. His erection was all too real.

And as she predicted, the maid knocked a minute later.

Brie bade the woman enter in a husky voice.

The maid stepped inside, and her spine went ramrod straight when she spotted them. “I’m sorry, miss! I was told—”

“Unpack our bags,” Brie said, letting out a slight panting sound.

Bastian stiffened—and not in a good way. He’d expected Brie to send the woman away once she caught an eyeful, not invite her in. “What are you doing?” he whispered in her ear.

“Chief Ford will use the closet on the right,” she said, not missing a beat as she pressed up against him. This was no act. The maid wasn’t watching. The poor woman was studiously avoiding looking their way.

Which meant there was only one reason Brie was doing this. She was turned on and wanted to play.

He narrowed his gaze and leaned down and kissed her, filling her mouth with his tongue as he teased her clit with his cock. His briefs and her panties were all that was between them.

Oh damn, how he wanted to fuck her.

He released her mouth, then rolled over, pulling her on top of him. He grabbed the sheets to hide her panties. But at this point, they were just a thin and very wet barrier. Her breasts bounced as she smiled down at him, her eyes smoky with arousal. He licked his thumb, slid it inside her panties, and touched her clit.

She gasped and rocked into him. Seeking more.

The maid was in the closet, unpacking. This was for no one’s benefit but Brie’s.

He cupped the back of her neck with his other hand and pulled her down for a hot kiss, lifting his shoulders from the bed to meet her halfway. “I want to fuck you, Brie,” he whispered against her lips. “I want to bury myself in your tight heat and feel your body quiver from the inside as I make you come.”

She said nothing. She just closed her eyes against the stroke of his thumb, the pressure of his cock. He held her on the edge of orgasm.

“Please,” she whispered. “Finish me.”

“No.”

He understood her now. She wanted him—every hard inch—but after his betrayal, she wasn’t about to forgive and move on. No. She was going to get her needs met in other ways. Dress him up in pretty suits and fuck him like the boy toy he was, keeping her heart out of the mix. He’d been involved in enough no-strings liaisons to recognize the setup.

He gazed up at the woman he’d fallen in love with. The woman he’d betrayed. And for the first time since he’d told Savannah James everything Brie had revealed, he looked forward to the coming days.

Game on, baby.

He stroked her clit with his thumb, wishing he used his tongue. In due time. Maybe later in the sunken tub. Or in the Turkish bath. There would be plenty of opportunities.

Every time he felt her near the edge, he backed off and stopped thrusting his hips. From the look on her face, she was enjoying the prolonged ecstasy as much as she was fighting it.

He wasn’t exactly sure when the maid left the room. There was just an awareness that the reason for the charade was gone.

He removed his hand from her panties and rolled to his side, not completely dislodging her as he held her close, but his erection no longer teased her.

“You’re just going to leave me hanging?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Bastard.”

“You know it.”

She scowled, but he could see laughter in her eyes too. Finally, she sighed. “I guess I’ll take a shower.”

Remembering the shower massager, he said, “Can I watch?”

She leaned back. “Like when I bathed in South Sudan?”

“Exactly.”

“No. You can’t watch.”

He laughed. He’d have been shocked if she said yes.

He’d mark this round as a draw.