An invitation to Drugov’s party arrived within an hour of them returning to Brie’s villa. Brie proceeded to try on the three gowns that hung in her closet, asking for Bastian’s opinion on which would be best for the evening. He didn’t give a damn what she wore—she looked hot in all of them.

She was pumped and excited after the news from Armando, and he enjoyed seeing her light energy. They’d had precious little of that in the past few weeks.

She twirled before him. “What do you think of this one?”

He chucked her under the chin. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

She groaned. “I suppose we were due for a Casablanca joke.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to work in ‘we’ll always have Paris’ for the last twenty-four hours.”

She snickered. “More like South Sudan. Or USS Dahlgren.”

He chuckled and rubbed the silky fabric of her dress between his fingers. “Where did you get this?” She wore a shimmery black number with a tight, low bodice that gave him a hard-on with each bounce of her breasts. “I thought you didn’t have money for designer stuff?” And even his untrained eye could see this dress was quality. Except for the items she’d bought at Dior and the things Savvy had acquired for her, he’d expected her wardrobe to be more casual. After all, she’d been just as broke last year when she visited.

“I purchased most of my clothes from a consignment shop in Seattle before I visited last time. Later, Armando bought me the gowns and a few other items because he wanted me to attend social events with him.”

“So he knows of your estrangement from your family?”

“Yes. I didn’t hide my strange financial situation of living in a palace but not being able to afford rent in Seattle. It was nothing to him to buy me clothes, and I let him because he wanted my company at events I couldn’t attend otherwise.”

Bastian smiled. Armando had been pleasant, and there’d been no tension between the two of them over Brie. “He’s not really your type,” he said.

She laughed. “Handsome and charming isn’t my type?”

“No way. You fit better with men who are rugged. Ethnic. Maybe a bit of an asshole. Men who aren’t afraid to get dirty. Not polished, pretty rich boys.”

She grinned and pushed him onto the couch, then straddled him. The evening gown hiked up, almost to her hips. She draped her arms on his shoulders. “My preferred type is a man who fucks like a god and makes me feel alive. Beautiful. Exquisite.”

“You are all of those things. Any man who doesn’t make you feel that way has no business being inside your body.”

“Make love to me now. Make me feel exquisite.”

He thrust his hips upward, brushing her clit with his ready but covered erection. “Oh no, sweetheart. You’re going to wait for the next one. Tonight. After the party. We’re going to have our own celebration.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.” But then, because he was a masochist, he tugged down the shoulder strap of the gown, exposing her breast. She hadn’t put on a bra for the fashion show. He sucked the tip into his mouth. She groaned and pressed her pussy harder against him.

Exquisite was the right word.

This was a dangerous game. They had to get ready for the party and bring Savvy up-to-date. She might have intel for him on the party guests. But all he wanted to do was suck on Brie’s tits, lick her clit, and hope she’d return the favor and take him deep into her mouth.

He slid a hand under the skirt and cupped her ass. Maybe he could go down on her a little bit. An appetizer.

He felt a vibration against his chest, but not the good kind that was shaped like a bright-colored dick that he could play with, teasing her inside and out. No. This was his cell phone.

She glanced around the room. “Could the room be bugged so someone will always interrupt when things just start to get good?”

He laughed. “I sweep the room for bugs every time we return. So far nothing.” He pulled out his phone. Savvy. She must’ve gotten his message that they were a go for the party. He had no choice but to answer.

“We’re seriously taking a limousine to the house next door?” Bastian asked as they walked down the red carpet toward the circular drive where the family chauffer waited by the open rear door of the stretch vehicle. Her brothers, she’d been informed by Youssef, were already inside and waiting.

“Yes,” Brie said, smiling at his outrage. He was right. It was ridiculous, even if she was wearing three-inch heels. “Walking up a long driveway to arrive at a black tie event just isn’t done.”

“Rich people are so damn weird. We could climb the wall. Now that would be an entrance.”

“I don’t think I’m quite dressed for wall climbing.” She smoothed the tight black silk gown. The dress was simple, with a low V-shaped neckline that hugged her breasts and set off a glittery bib necklace with over a hundred small-to-large teardrop rubies that came to a point with a flawless five-carat stone that rested between her breasts.

“Aww. I’d give you a boost.” His hand cupped her ass.

She laughed. He was probably quite the skilled wall climber. She wanted to see that, but not in his evening dress uniform, which was hotter than any tux she’d ever seen.

She’d watched him dress earlier with the avid interest of a sailor at a strip club, except he’d gone in the wrong direction, covering his perfect muscles, but she approved of the end result.

“Why aren’t you wearing your green beret?” she asked as they approached the limousine.

“No cover is worn with the blue mess uniform, or I would. I wish I could wear it. If I had cover, I’d have to keep it on inside because I’m carrying. I wouldn’t mind letting Drugov know that not only am I Special Forces, but I’m locked and loaded. But…it isn’t done. I can’t wear cover tonight. If I did, anyone who knew protocol would know something is up and I’m flashing Special Forces status needlessly. Savvy said she thinks there might be other military there. Too risky for me to break protocol.”

They neared the vehicle where her brothers waited. She didn’t want to share Bastian with the world tonight. She wanted to keep him to herself and make love and show him exactly what his service meant to her. But they were on a mission—part of his service—and she wouldn’t fail him now.

She had a role in this op. He couldn’t do his job without her, the gateway into Drugov’s world. And she wouldn’t fail him or her country. She owed both so much.

They climbed into the limousine for the quarter-mile trip down one long driveway and up another. JJ glared at her and said nothing, wearing his usual sour expression as he took in the decorations on Bastian’s uniform that proved the Native American was a thousand times the man JJ was. But then, JJ was an alt-right drone masquerading as pond scum, so even comparing the two was an insult to Bastian.

It took all of a minute to leave their driveway and roll up the next. At least when it was time to head home, she and Bastian could skip the limo and leave her brothers, but for this, it was best that the Primes arrived as a unit.

Drugov’s entryway put the Prime red carpet to shame. The walkway was an abstract mosaic of bright colors. Stunning and a work of art worthy of a museum.

The inside of the house was even more beautiful. It was too bad the homeowner had a cruel, sadistic heart. Brie took a deep breath as she crossed the entryway on Bastian’s arm, braced to face their host, a man she hadn’t seen in at least eight years.

He hadn’t changed. A few more lines around his eyes, but otherwise he remained the same Nikolai. Ten years her senior, he was forty-three but looked older. Hard drinking, a notorious playboy lifestyle, and living in the whirl of Russian Mafioso aged a man quickly. Some might consider him handsome, but she’d always been repulsed by the way he looked at her. His nature overrode his looks.

Piercing blue eyes fixed on her the moment she crossed his threshold, and the familiar unease settled in. She’d felt this since she was thirteen and he was twenty-three. No adult man should ever look at a child that way. But then, thanks to her modeling, she’d received that look a lot in her teens.

She came to a dead stop, and Bastian turned to her with a quizzical gaze. “You okay?” he whispered.

“Touch me. Every moment we’re around Nikolai. Make it clear that I’m yours. Please?”

He dropped an intimate kiss to her neck, lingering longer than was acceptable in public. His lips teased her ear as he whispered, “Sure thing, babe. No hardship for me.”

She smiled and brushed his lips with hers, fortifying herself. “Thank you.”

Far too soon, she was presenting the creep of the hour with her hand. He squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips. He kissed the back, holding her skin to his mouth too long. “Gabriella, my sweet. So good to have you back.”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t release her.

Bastian calmly extracted her hand from Drugov’s. He cradled her fingers against his chest. She felt the steady, hard beat of his heart.

“Nice to meet you, Drugov,” he said, taking the oligarch’s hand. “She’s with me, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your hands and mouth to yourself.”

From the look on Nikolai’s face, Bastian was crushing his hand.

“Bastian, love,” Brie said sweetly, “I think you’re hurting him.” To Nikolai she said, “So sorry, Nick. He doesn’t know his own strength.”

Nikolai’s eyes glittered, but he said nothing, not even a soft grunt of pain. Bastian released him, and he flexed his fingers. Nothing broken. A shame.

“Your new toy lacks manners, Gabriella. Just what I would expect from a heathen.”

“No, sir,” Bastian said. “I know exactly how to behave. The question is, do you?”

Brie dragged Bastian away from the receiving line before their host could answer. She stopped short of the archway that led to the main ballroom. She pulled him to the side, next to a thick column, and said in a quiet voice, “You’re going to get us booted from the party.”

“So? The point was to make contact with Drugov, and we have. I’m game to go home now.”

“We need to meet the other guests. It’s possible Lawiri will be here.” It was a long shot, but Drugov always behaved as if he were above the law, so he might openly host the exiled general.

“You’re the one who wanted me to stake my claim,” Bastian said.

She rose on her toes and kissed him. “And I love that you did. Unequivocally. But now we must behave.”

Bastian kissed her, a soft, warm intimate caress. “Okay. Starting…now.”

She wiped lipstick from his bottom lip with her thumb. “Now.”

He leaned down and kissed her neck, then whispered. “Instead, why don’t we shock all these lily-white rich folks with some heathen ways?”

She laughed as her skin tingled from his lips and breath. She wanted to lick his throat, rip off his bow tie, and slide her tongue along every inch of exposed skin. God, the uniform with all his medals and awards was such a turn-on.

“What the fuck is the deal with baiting Drugov, Gabby?” JJ asked, walking up behind her. “I thought we were here to play nice so we can get the pipeline project back on track.”

She turned in Bastian’s arms and flashed her teeth at her brother, feeling rather feral. “I don’t give a damn about your pipeline project, and Nikolai was being creepy, as usual. So back off.”

“If you don’t help us here, there’s no way you’ll be reinstated,” he said, his eyes hard and cold.

“By help you mean you want me to fuck him, right?”

“Don’t be crude.”

“Why not? That’s what Prime Energy always wanted from me. You know how many smelly middle-aged assholes I had to fight off in my early twenties? I lost count. My answer remains no. Never.”

“It’s too late to pretend outrage. You screwed for the job. Repeatedly. I’ve heard all the stories.”

The truth was, when she was using, she probably had slept with some of them. She couldn’t be certain, and some of the men she’d rejected had certainly lied to save face.

“How many have you fucked for the business, JJ? You do that, then talk to me about taking one for the team. But remember this, I’m not on Team Prime anymore. I’m done being exploited by you and Dad and Rafe.”

“Hey, don’t include me in your list. I’ve never—” Rafe said before she cut him off.

“You looked the other way every single time, big bro. That makes you complicit. Silence favors the oppressor.”

“Oppressor?” JJ scoffed. “What do you have to bitch about? You had everything a person could want.”

“You think because we had money, I had no reason to complain when you and Dad tried to pimp me out? You think that just because we had a nice house and cars, I wasn’t being exploited? Your sexism is just delightful.”

She pivoted and crossed under the archway, entering the ballroom. She spotted the open bar at the side and made a beeline for it.

Bastian caught her arm, stopping her midway. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She halted and shook her head. “Shit. That was ingrained. The bar was always my refuge when JJ baited me. I haven’t been to one of these kinds of events with my brothers since I quit.” She frowned. “I wouldn’t have ordered a drink. I’m not that far gone. I’d have gotten a soda.”

He looped her arm through his. “I know. But we should change your pattern so your instinct isn’t to veer toward the bar. Develop a new coping technique.”

She grinned. “I’m a big fan of sex as a coping mechanism.”

Several of the tuxedoed men around them turned at her loud declaration. Bastian grinned. “Later,” he said equally loud. “And I’ll help you cope all you want.”

A waiter appeared with a tray laden with champagne. Bastian waved him off. While Morocco was a Muslim country, alcohol was legal—although sometimes hard to get—and most of the guests tonight were either foreign or not religious, but there were waiters circulating with nonalcoholic beverages for those who didn’t drink. Bastian grabbed two lemonades from a passing tray.

“You can drink, you know,” she said. Her limits didn’t apply to him, although she appreciated his support. “I’ll be okay.”

“No. I need to stay sharp tonight.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Besides, I plan to enjoy a different coping mechanism later.”

This party couldn’t be over fast enough.

Annette and her husband appeared, and she insisted on introducing Bastian around, cooing over his uniform. The medals and ribbons made Bastian stand out in a room full of gorgeously gowned women and tuxedoed men. The wealth at the party represented a sizable chunk of the world economy, and there was no doubt Brie and Bastian were the poorest guests at the event, but she had the best date in the room. He was by far the best man in the entire country.

No. Of all the men on the continent.

Screw it. All the men on the planet.

She enjoyed watching women fawn over him. How their eyes followed him and they lit with a warm glow when he gave them his full attention, engaging their interest. Did she do that? Light up when Bastian was near?

Probably. She definitely felt warmer. Safer. Energized.

She sipped her lemonade, standing back as he worked the room, watching, enjoying. Chief Warrant Officer Sebastian Ford was all hers.

A man at a grand piano in the corner of the ballroom played accompaniment to a torch singer. Couples danced in the center of the room, and she looked forward to dancing with Bastian when he was done being paraded around by Annette. She nodded to Armando, who danced cheek-to-cheek with a gorgeous brown-skinned woman wearing an exquisite Indian sari.

Meanwhile, Bastian leaned down to hear the soft-voiced words of an elderly Moroccan woman. He clasped her hand in his and spoke to her in Arabic, causing Brie’s heart to split wide open, allowing the emotions she’d been trying to hold back to flow freely.

She was crazy in love with him.

It didn’t matter that he’d spoken to Savvy without warning her. None of her reasons for pushing him away mattered. At his core, he was a good man. The very best of men.

And he loved her. In spite of who she was, what she’d done in the past, he loved her. She’d never thought anyone would be able to love her—the real her. She had no money to entice him with, and she came with a crap ton of baggage. But still, he wanted her.

She felt an unpleasant tingle at the back of her neck a millisecond before Nikolai spoke in her ear. “Panting after a lowlife doesn’t suit you, Gabriella.” She could smell cigars and alcohol on his breath.

She wrinkled her nose. “Go away, Nick.” He’d always hated being called Nick.

He pinched her elbow and pulled her to his side. “We need to talk.” His hold on her elbow tightened as he tugged her away from Bastian, toward an archway that led to another hallway on her right.

Should she fight him? Or was this the opportunity they needed? He would say things to her that he’d never dare say in front of Bastian. But she wasn’t supposed to be alone with him. Not even when there were two hundred people just thirty feet away.

In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to cause a scene. If she did, they’d be forced to leave the party, and they’d have learned nothing about Lawiri. She’d use this opportunity to ask Nikolai about the general. It might be her only chance.

For this reason, she found herself at the far end of a long dark hall, alone with Nikolai Drugov and his gross cigar breath.