Shayma bint Amr Kahlan juggled the numerous Christmas packages in her arms, trying to free up a hand to reach for the door handle. In hindsight, she could’ve planned her day better. Perhaps she should’ve done her shopping after meeting her new friend Melody Ebons-Hascall for lunch, but she’d been too restless to just sit around all morning in her suite at the Plaza. Now though, seeing how she was at a grave disadvantage when it came to her mobility with all her purchases, a simple walk around Central Park might’ve been the wisest choice.

“Here, allow me to help you,” a gentleman said, reaching past her to open the door to Nerai, the trendy Greek bistro Melody had chosen. A brisk, wintery breeze nipped at her skin and sent shivers down her spine. She couldn’t wait to get inside and sip some nice warm tea.

“Thank you so much.” Glancing up at the chivalrous stranger with a polite smile, she took in his crisp suit and striped silk tie. He looked maybe mid-thirties, light brown hair, dark blue eyes. The man would’ve been attractive, if not for the darkening scowl on his face. Without thinking, Shayma took a step back out of self-preservation, not liking the way his posture was stiffening before her eyes or his white-knuckled grip on the door handle. Her psychology degree from Barnard College kicked into high gear. The man looked ready to murder someone, but surely it wasn’t her. She didn’t know him from Adam. Then she noticed his gaze was locked on something behind Shayma.

Slowly, she turned to see another man approaching. This one she knew. Her heartbeat stumbled, fell, then righted itself within the span of seconds. Oh, boy. This was not going to be good. Not at all.

Murphy Coen, Navy SEAL and her ex-fiancé’s good friend, strode toward them with the restrained, lethal grace of a trained killer. Hot anger sparked in his coal black eyes and for a moment, Shayma found herself hypnotized by him—all long legs and lean muscle wrapped in a solid package of sex on a stick. His faded tight jeans and black leather motorcycle jacket gave him a thug look that sent an illicit thrill straight to her girly parts. She’d always been a sucker for a bad boy. Maybe because she’d always tried to be such a good girl herself.

No, no, no. This was not happening.

If anyone was off-limits for her, it was Murphy Coen. He was too slick, too masculine, too close to the mess she’d just gotten herself out of. Besides, if she didn’t do something quickly, he’d be too incarcerated to date anyone other than the guy in the next cell block, if his steel-edged stare at the chivalrous stranger was any indication. She’d seen friendlier looks from the Egyptian protestors toward the Mubarak soldiers back at the Cairo protests in 2011.

In direct opposition to the cold war happening before her eyes, heat and the luscious smells of roasting fresh seafood drifted out from the still-open door of Nerai. Shayma quickly looked inside and the hostess gave her a peeved stare.

Behind her, Murphy was close enough now that she heard the steady pound of his heavy, black boots against the snow-slick pavement, and the suited man finally let go of the door. Fury pulsed off of him in waves and he appeared ready to burst, a vein in his flushed forehead thumping visibly beneath his mottled skin. If she didn’t act fast, an actual homicide might take place right there on the threshold of the bistro. Which wouldn’t do at all, especially since she’d just bought the pretty cashmere coat she was wearing. Blood tended to stain rather badly.

Another unfortunate lesson she’d learned that forbidden summer in Cairo.

Acting on pure instinct, Shayma waited until Murphy was close enough for the fog of his breath on the frosty air to tickle the back of her neck, then she turned suddenly. Bag and packages went flying everywhere and from the periphery of her vision she saw the suited stranger bolt across the street, dodging cars and honking horns as he went. The man ran straight for a black limousine parked at the opposite curb and clambered into the back seat before the car pulled away in a hurry.

“Well, shit,” Murphy muttered, running a bare hand through his windblown black hair. Given his coloring, she would’ve placed his origins in the Middle East, same as her. But Melody had mentioned that Murphy was, in fact, Irish of all things. He certainly had the temper for it, that much was certain. Still cursing under his breath, he crouched in front of her to gather up her scattered belongings, soft faded denim stretching tight over his hard, muscled thighs and perfectly formed butt. Not that Shayma had noticed. Nope. Not at all.

Busy New Yorkers continued to bustle around them in the hazy December sunshine. It was only two weeks until Christmas and the city was aglow with lights and decorations and about as much cheer as one could hope to find in the world’s largest metropolis. Which was to say, not much.

“Watch it, lady,” a portly man who looked like he’d walked off the set of the Sopranos shoved his way out of Nerai and nearly barreled over the top of Shayma. “Idiot tourists.”

Shayma stumbled back a step, only to feel Murphy’s steadying hand against the small of her back. Warm tingles radiated outward from the point of contact before she could tamp them down.

Murphy gave the guy a dark stare, one brow raised. “Apologize to the lady.”

“Huh?” Mr. Rudeness scrunched his nose. “You talkin’ to me?”

“Apologize,” Murphy growled low, the threat evident in his tone. “Last chance.”

Flustered, Shayma shook her head and forced a tremulous smile. “It’s okay. Really. No big deal.”

“See?” the rude man said. “She doesn’t care.”

“I care.” Murphy tensed behind her and Shayma’s breath caught. Seemed she’d averted one disaster only to rush headlong into another. “Say you’re sorry,” Murphy snarled.

Grumbling, the guy gnawed on his toothpick as he turned away. “Sorry.”

After a final glare in the rude man’s direction, Murphy crouched again to grab the last of her packages before shoving them at her one by one. “You shouldn’t let people treat you that way.”

“What way?” she asked, doing her best to hold all of her items again. At least they didn’t look too worse for the wear from her impromptu collision. “I’m pretty sure a thank you is in order.”

“Okay.” He handed her the last bundle then crossed his arms. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?” It was Shayma’s turn to frown.

“My thank you.”

She snorted. “Wait a minute. You’ve got that backwards. You should be thanking me. If I hadn’t stepped in there and stopped you from clobbering that poor man who opened the door for me, you’d be in the back of a police car right now, headed for jail.”

“Wrong.” His dark gaze narrowed. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have finally gotten my hands on one of the bastards who kidnapped my sister.”

* * *

“Excuse me?” Shayma asked, her flawless mocha skin somehow still managing to remind him of lush tropical nights despite the frigid temps. “What happened to your sister?”

“Never mind.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and started to walk away. He should’ve brought gloves, but he’d been in such a hurry to catch that EnKor guy when he’d left for lunch that he’d forgotten them back on the rooftop where he’d been stationed all morning. “I need to go.”

“Wait.” She pursed those cherry red lips of hers, making him focus on her mouth again and think of all sorts of improper thoughts about the things that mouth could do for him, where it might drop kisses on his body. Christ, he must be harder up than he thought if he was fantasizing about his best bud’s ex like that. Shayma adjusted all those packages again and gave him an imploring look. “Please. You were right. I should thank you, at least for picking all this stuff up for me. Let me buy you lunch. It’s the least I can do.”

Murphy Coen was really not in the mood for a frou-frou lunch in a fancy bistro, but damn it was freezing outside and he needed a warm place to thaw his fingers out so he could call his buddy Heath and let him know he’d seen Frank Kent, the head of EnKor, and that the guy was still on the loose.

She stood by the doors to Nerai, her gaze darting between him and the entrance, and damn if his good manners didn’t win out in the end. Reluctantly, he walked over and held the door for her then followed her inside the restaurant. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as fussy as he’d expected. Busy? Yes. All the white-linen clad tables appeared to be filled. Near the back of the long narrow room was Melody, Daveed’s new fiancée, waving them over. Seemed a bit odd to him that Shayma and Melody were friends, considering one had basically stolen the other one’s man, but then it wasn’t his business to say. Not like he was an expert on love anyway.

He’d learned long ago from his father that women were fine to have a fling with and admire, but they were not to be trusted. That lesson had been driven home for him when his own mother walked out on them. Since then, he’d been fine playing the field and notching his bedpost, never getting too serious, never making the same mistakes his father had all those years ago. And if his life was a bit lonelier for it, well it was a small price to pay for keeping his heart intact.

They walked across the pristine dark hardwood floor to Melody’s table, where the hostess offered to store all of Shayma’s purchases during their lunch and she thankfully accepted. Murphy doubted there’d be enough space for all three of them plus those packages.

Ever the gentleman, he helped Shayma off with her coat—noticing once again that she was tall for a girl, five-ten if she was anything. Being six-four himself, it was hard to find girls that didn’t look as if they’d break in two if he touched them the wrong way. But Shayma seemed like the kind of woman who could handle her own, trim and fit, yet curvy in all the right places. The bright emerald green turtleneck she wore beneath her gray overcoat hugged her hourglass figure and showed off an excellent rack. He wasn’t looking, of course.

Swallowing hard and frowning at the table, Murphy took his seat across from Shayma and beside Mel at their four-seater. A waiter came by and they ordered drinks—tea for the ladies, just water for him. He’d thought about getting an ale, since from the menu it looked like they had an excellent selection of regional micro-brews, but decided against it. He was here to warm up and call Heath, that was it.

“So, tell me what’s happened to your sister?” Shayma said once the waiter had delivered their drinks and departed once more. “If she’s been kidnapped, you must get the police involved.”

“The police won’t help.” Murphy took a long swig of water and checked the layout of the place, noting all the exits and potential threats. Occupational hazard. He’d just finished his third tour with the SEALs and they were strongly encouraging him to re-up for a fourth. Murph wasn’t opposed to going back to the Middle East again—it was where he’d met Heath and Daveed after all and formed those lifelong friendships—but he didn’t want to make a decision until after he made sure his sister Aileen was safe and sound.

Unfortunately, the deadline for re-enlistment was looming ever closer and he had to tell them one way or another by December twenty-seventh or he’d lose his opportunity and the only livelihood he’d known for the past twelve years. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore if he wasn’t a soldier. The military was in his blood, in his bones, in his DNA. If he wasn’t a SEAL anymore, then who was he?

He glanced over at Mel and realized she’d been talking, though he’d only caught the last half of her final sentence, “…so the guys have been investigating who might have wanted Aileen to disappear.”

Heath had always complained that Mel loved the sound of her own voice, but at the moment, Murph was grateful she’d done the explaining for him so he didn’t have to. Each time he went over Aileen’s kidnapping it was like taking a dagger to the chest. The telling always left him raw and feeling far more vulnerable than he liked. He wasn’t a man who liked to ask for help. He was independent to a fault and the fact he hadn’t been able to find his sister on his own still bugged the crap out of him.

“Is that true?” Shayma asked him, all big brown eyes and silky black hair, her husky voice edged with a hint of concern that he felt like a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. Damn. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cared about him like that. It was almost…nice.

He shifted in his seat and gave a non-committal shrug. “We’re on it. We’ll find her.”

“Yes, we will,” Mel agreed with a smile.

Murphy avoided an eye-roll at her sunny optimism. Barely.

Melody was Heath’s ex. They’d been engaged for four years, though neither seemed overly fond of the other. From what Heath had told him, the marriage had been her parents’ idea and his folks had gone along for the ride. Then, Mel had run off with some Broadway actor to Tahiti and all hell had broken loose. Soon, she’d been back on Heath’s doorstep, but Daveed had been there instead and one thing had led to another.

Even thinking about it all gave Murph a headache. He chugged the rest of his water then signaled the waiter for more. At least his fingers had thawed enough that he could get his phone out now. Time to call Heath and get this over with. This place, this lunch, Shayma. They were all distractions he didn’t need.

He thumbed in Heath’s number then excused himself and walked to the back of the restaurant and down a short hall where the bathrooms were located before he hit the call button.

Heath answered on the second ring. “You got him?”

“No.” Murphy exhaled slow and scrubbed a hand over his face. “He bolted before I could grab him.”

“Seriously? You must be losing your touch, man.” Heath said, his tone wry. “If some businessman can outmaneuver a Navy SEAL then we’re all—”

“He didn’t outmaneuver me, okay?” Murph stepped against the wall to allow an older woman past him in the hall. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Like what?”

“Like Daveed’s ex, Shayma. She ran into me and her stuff went flying everywhere and next thing I knew the guy was scurrying into a limo and taking off.”

A deep chuckle echoed through the phone line. “Sounds like somebody got distracted.”

“Fuck you, dude.”

“Not my type, man.” Heath’s smile was visible through his tone. “Where you at now?”

“The girls invited me to lunch with them, so we’re waiting to order now.”

“Girls?”

“Yeah, Shayma was meeting Mel.”

“Shit.” The smile in Heath’s tone turned into a frown. “That’s the second time this week. They’re getting awful chummy, right? Seems weird to me.”

“Hey, don’t ask me.” Murphy gave a curt nod as the same little old lady who’d passed him earlier returned, this time from the direction of the bathroom. She gave a slow appraisal then kept moving. He felt like he’d just been checked out by his grandmother. Ugh. Shuddering, he got back on the line. “I gave up on understanding women a long time ago. Just tell me what you want me to do next and I’m on it.”

“Stay put.” Scuffling noises sounded over the phone. “I’m meeting Daveed and we’ll be over. What restaurant is it again?”

“Greek place called Nerai. On East 54^th.”

“Cool. Hang tight, be there in a bit.”

Before Murph could say anymore, the call ended. Great. The last thing he wanted to do was sit around this place lusting after the last woman on planet Earth he should ever want, but it looked like he was stuck. He visited the men’s room, splashed cold water on his face, straightened his hair, and basically wasted as much time as humanly possible before heading back to the table with the women. Unfortunately, Mel and Shayma were still there and still talking. At least they’d had food delivered. His stomach growled and he realized he’d not eaten since the night before.

He took his seat again and Mel passed him a plate. “We weren’t sure what you liked so we ordered a bunch of different appetizers. There’s tiger shrimp cocktail, spinach pies, and crispy calamari. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” He reached for a spinach pie at the same time Shayma did and their fingers brushed. Tiny sparks of awareness jolted up his arm from the contact and he pulled away fast. “Sorry.”

“No, no. Go ahead.” Shayma gave him a shy smile, that pretty pink color rising in her cheeks again. Apparently, he’d not been the only one who’d felt that jolt. Mel, of course, sat across from them, watching their interaction with interest.

“So,” Mel said, nibbling on a piece of calamari. “You’re not dating anyone right now, are you Murphy?”

He nearly choked on his bite of spinach pie and hurriedly gulped water to avoid embarrassing himself. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” Mel gave him an innocent smile. “Shayma’s here through the holidays and she’s alone too. I thought it might be nice if you two spent some time together, kept each other company.”

“I’m working this afternoon,” Murphy said, swallowing a lump of tiger shrimp, though it could’ve been cement, for all he tasted it. He gave Shayma a quick glance. “Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. Mel and I have plans today anyway. We’re going wedding dress shopping for her.” She shrugged and sighed. “I believe she was talking about later, like tonight or tomorrow.”

Murphy knew damned well exactly what Mel was talking about and he didn’t appreciate it one bit. Just because she and Daveed had hooked up and were full of pink hearts and rainbows for each other didn’t mean the rest of the world had to join in. Bah humbug was right. Maybe old Scrooge wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He grunted caveman-style in reply, then shoved the rest of his shrimp in his mouth and washed it down with another gulp of water. He was going to float away pretty soon if he didn’t get a handle on himself. Normally he kept his emotions under a tight lid, safely tucked away deep inside where they belonged. But there was something about Shayma that seemed to bring out the beast in him, and not in a good way either. Seemed all it took was one flick of those pretty brown eyes of hers his way and his hormones switched into the red-zone.

With more effort than he cared to admit, Murph forced his attention away from the tantalizing, totally confounding woman across from him and back to Mel’s incessant chatter. He didn’t know wedding dresses from work clothes, nor did he really want to either.

“I honestly have no idea what to get,” Mel said, admiring the sparkling engagement ring on her left hand for the umpteenth time. Murph would bet that rock cost his pal Daveed a pretty penny. Not that the guy couldn’t afford it. He was frigging Middle East royalty after all, due to inherit the sheikhdom of Al Dar Nasrani from his father one day. And yeah, there’d been a bit of turbulence following Daveed’s sudden breakup with Shayma in favor of America’s Favorite Socialite Mel, but apparently that had all been smoothed over, at least according to what Daveed had told him yesterday.

“Why don’t we start at Bergdorf’s?” Shayma suggested. “Then we can branch out from there.”

“Yikes. That’s all designer though.” Mel frowned. “Daveed’s still rich, but I really want to learn how to live on a budget. I’ve kept my job at MAC too, so I can earn my keep.” She tossed her napkin down and grabbed her impossibly tiny purse off the table. “I need to hit the ladies’. Be right back.”

Like the rest of us humans, Murphy wanted to add, but refrained as he watched Mel walk away. Mel’s parents had forgiven her too, after they’d discovered Daveed would be the proud ruler of an entire island someday. Ugh. Murph shook his head and sat back. He wasn’t usually so pessimistic about everything. Had to be the holidays getting him in such a dour mood. All their excessive cheerfulness and emphasis on family always made him painfully aware of what he didn’t have.

He glanced up to find Shayma watching him again, her gaze far too perceptive for his comfort. Then she shocked the hell out of him by saying, “I know what you’re doing.”

Brows knitted, he scowled. “Huh?”

“Working with the guys. You need to find your sister, before the people who took her hurt her.”

Yep. That about summed it up. And also had him pushing to his feet. Sitting here snacking on overly-priced seafood wouldn’t help find Aileen. “I need to go.”

“Violence won’t solve things. That’s why I stopped you out on the sidewalk. You can’t go beating up everyone you think is responsible for your sister’s disappearance and expect anyone to talk to you or want to help.” Shayma crossed her arms, highlighting those perfect breasts of hers, and not for the first time Murphy wondered why the hell Daveed hadn’t married her. Yeah, Shayma could be a bit nosy, as evidenced by this lunch, but she was downright, stunningly beautiful. She sort of reminded him of that actress, the one from Israel everyone was talking about from the new superhero movie—except even more gorgeous, if that were possible. If Murph had a gal like Shayma waiting for him at home, he’d never leave the house. Hell, he’d never leave the bed, for fuck’s sake.

She leaned closer, near enough for him to catch a hint of her spicy, sweet perfume mixed with warm, clean woman and shit if his cock didn’t twitch. He shifted in his seat to hide his growing arousal. Not acceptable. No way. He just needed to get laid. It had been too long. That was all.

“Mel told me your sister was doing a story on a clean energy firm—EnKor—and that you think they know something about what happened to her,” Shayma said, her low whisper brushing over him like crushed velvet. His skin tingled and his throat constricted and Murphy knew right then and there that he was in more danger from this woman than he’d ever been in from deadly snipers out in the Afghan deserts. “I can help you with that.”

It took Murph a second to realize she was talking about Aileen’s disappearance and not his rapidly hardening cock. Grateful for the change of topic, he sat forward. “You know about EnKor? Tell me.”

“Must be nice to take leisurely lunches anytime you like,” Heath said as he plopped down into the empty chair at the table beside Murphy. “Where’s Mel?”

“Bathroom,” Murph said, scrubbing his hand through his hair, thankful the napkin in his lap hid the evidence of his still persistent arousal. Damn. He’d been so distracted by Shayma that he hadn’t even noticed his buddies come into the restaurant. As a trained SEAL, used to being in the roughest, toughest hotspots around the world, such lapses were unacceptable. Such lapses would get a man killed. “I was just getting ready to head back to my post and see if I got another chance to nab one of those EnKor bastards for questioning.”

“I told him I have a better idea,” Shayma said, giving Daveed a quick nod of greeting as Mel returned from the restroom. “My father is minister of energy in Al Dar Nasrani. Chances are good he can get us in to talk with them. If you’d like, I can call him when I get to my hotel room later and ask him to set something up for us.”

“There is no ‘us’,” Murph said, giving her a stern look. “This mission is for me and the guys to handle. Thanks, but no thanks on the help. We got it.”

“Seriously?” Heath stared at him flatly. “Stop being a stubborn ass. Aileen been missing for a few weeks now. Every day that goes by the trail gets colder. We can use all the help we can get right now. Go ahead and call your father, Shayma. Then let me know once the meeting’s set up.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” Murphy sat forward and glared at Heath. “This is my sister we’re trying to save here. Don’t I have any say?”

“After the way you looked ready to murder that poor man earlier today, I’d say you could use some time to unwind,” Shayma said. “I studied psychology in college and you showed all the classic signs of impending violence out there on the sidewalk earlier. Agitation, increased physical tension, hostile stares.”

Heath snorted. “Like the one he’s giving me right now? Don’t worry, I’ll kick his ass before he ever leaves that chair.”

Murphy took a deep, calming breath and prayed for patience. “I was trying to apprehend that man for questioning. He knows something about my sister and I damned well intend to find out what it is.”

“And I just told you I have a way to get the same information without resorting to smashing anyone’s face in.” She patted his hand, and fresh awareness zinged through him despite his overloaded nervous system. “Don’t worry, I’m trying to help. We’ll make a good team.”

“Oh, I’d worry all right, if I was you,” Daveed said, shaking his head. “Last time I heard those words come out of her mouth was the day my parents forced us to get engaged. You’ve seen how that turned out.”

“Well, I think it turned out perfect,” Mel said, leaning over to kiss Daveed on the cheek. “Everything always works out for the best in the end.”

“Ah, my darling optimist,” Daveed said, cupping her cheeks and kissing her sweetly. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

No holding back the eye roll this time. Murphy swallowed hard to keep his lunch down and gave Heath a deadpan look. “See what you started? I hope you’re happy.”

“Not yet. But I will be. As soon as we figure out what happened to Aileen.”

At the mention of his sister, worry overtook the resistance in his system and he slumped back in his seat. The last thing he wanted to do was have Shayma more involved in his life than she already was. She was a distraction he didn’t need, on so many different levels. But if she had access to information that might bring Aileen home again, he couldn’t turn his back on that—no matter how badly he might wish to. “Fine. But you don’t make a move unless you run it by me first, understand?”

Shayma smiled slowly, a glint of heat and knowing in her dark eyes. “Understood. I’ll call my father tonight after Mel and I get back to the Plaza.”