Chapter Forty-One

ACACIA COULDN’T SLEEP.

Nicholas held her in his arms, but her mind would not rest.

She was afraid her father had seen her. She was afraid he’d find her mother. She was afraid her mother would never speak to her again.

She was also afraid she’d cost Nicholas closure to his family’s tragedy.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured to the semi-darkness.

Nicholas had insisted on leaving the bathroom lights on. Their warm glow spilled onto the bedroom carpet. On Acacia’s side of the bed, he’d lit a small oil lamp that flickered on her nightstand.

His arm tightened around her. “Sorry for what?”

“Everything.” She bit her lip.

He kissed her temple. “That’s too much to be sorry for, mon amour.”

Sorrow, keen and sharp, pierced her. She placed her hand over her mouth and willed herself not to cry.

Nicholas drew her back toward him, his naked chest flush against her shoulder blades. “Hanin, you are safe now,” he whispered in Arabic.

Acacia held her breath. “You speak Arabic?”

“No.” He hugged her. “This afternoon I asked the staff to translate for me, and then I practiced saying it.”

“You did that for me?”

“I’ll continue calling you Acacia, unless you tell me otherwise. But I want Hanin to know she is safe.” He kissed the back of her head.

“Hanin is lost.” Her voice was hoarse.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You aren’t lost. You’re right here.”

“I don’t know how to feel. I’ve kept secrets so long…”

He squeezed her gently. “Now you have someone who cares about you who knows the truth.”

“But I’ve put you in danger.”

“Don’t worry about me. Who else knows the truth?”

“My father, my mother, the government official she bribed in Rio, and you and your people.”

“I haven’t shared. My trusted team members know your father is a potential threat to you and your mother, but I’ve concealed as much as I can.”

Acacia sighed in relief.

“Does Luc know?” Nicholas’s tone was anything but casual.

“No. When he decided to join the BRB, I ended things. I was afraid of what would happen if he found out the truth.”

Nicholas’s body grew rigid. “What, specifically, were you afraid of?”

“I was afraid the truth would end his career. I thought it would put him in danger. I also worried someone would investigate me because of him.”

“But he knows you’re Muslim, and he accepted it.”

She shook her head. “I hid my faith when I came to France. I was afraid of my father, but I was also afraid I’d be discriminated against. I practiced my religion in secret, but I always wore my hamsa pendant.”

“Did you love him?”

“My father?”

“Luc.” Nicholas’s voice grew tight.

“Yes.”

Nicholas rolled her to her back and hovered over her. “Do you still love him?”

“No.”

Nicholas brought his forehead to hers. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Nicholas brushed his lips across hers, feather light. “The truth changes things.”

She looked away. “I understand.”

“Do you?” He caressed her cheek. “What I meant was that I’ll need to be careful to keep you away from the media. I don’t want your photograph splashed around.”

“How did you avoid having your picture taken as Pierre Breckman?”

“I avoided places where the paparazzi were known to congregate, and if a stray photo was taken, I bought it.” His thumb moved over her eyebrows. “You could have told me before. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her face. “You can’t say that. You have no idea what you would have done had I told you.”

Artfully, he moved his hand so he held hers instead. “I know myself. That’s all I need to know.”

She lowered her gaze to their hands. “Why aren’t you afraid of my father?”

“Why should I be?”

“He’s a terrorist.”

“As I said, I’ve dealt with men like him before.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “He could kill you, Nicholas, or have you killed.”

Nicholas didn’t respond.

Acacia’s breath seemed to catch in her throat. “Doesn’t that trouble you?”

“My sister was murdered. I’m on a mission to find her killer. I have an elaborate network in place, designed to protect me and those I care about. That network wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate a threat.”

Her gaze slid to the side, toward the lamp that shone from her nightstand.

“Acacia,” he rumbled. “Stay with me.”

Her eyes moved back to his.

He touched her cheek once again. “While my network is different from your father’s, I’m confident it can protect us. I not only trade in artwork and antiquities, I trade in information.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have contacts in various intelligence agencies around the world. I provide them with information, on occasion, and they do the same for me.”

“So you’re a spy?”

“No.” His denial was firm. “I’m only an asset to those agencies, as they are to me. I choose when to share information and what information I share. They do the same. Thus far, these relationships have been profitable for both sides.”

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

“Your father may be a threat to you, but I am a threat to your father. If he were to discover your identity, he’d find me as well.”

Acacia let out an unsteady breath.

“Mon amour, I’m not telling you this to frighten you. I’m telling you this to reassure you. You’re safe with me.”

“I want to go back to Paris.”

“Tomorrow. I’ve already made arrangements.” His hand slid down to her hip. “I have one request to ask of you.”

“What?”

“If the time comes for you to leave me, tell me before you go.”

“Nicholas, I—”

His dark eyes glittered. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He squeezed her hip. “I’ve got you, Acacia. I’ve got you, Hanin. Anyone who wants to get to you will have to go through me.”

She screwed her eyes shut and buried her face in his neck.