Kofi had haunted Kamar last night.

When he opened his eyes, and bolted upright in his bed, Kamar’s heart thumped in his chest and his gaze darted to take in the darkest corners of his room. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find: a ghoul in the shadows, perhaps, or maybe a certain black-clad vice-chair of defense?

Massaging his tight chest, Kamar kicked out of the bed covers, his legs swinging over the edge of the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers locking between his legs, his concentration on the detailed, complex weaving of the carpet below his bare feet and curling toes.

A sharp knock on his door had him snapping his focus there.

The knock came again, three demanding raps that did nothing to quiet Kamar’s rapidly thumping heart.

Remembering he had locked the door, Kamar called, “Wait.” Hurrying over to open the door, pausing when he got a good look at his state of half-dress, and then returning to the door with a robe tossed on and tied over his bare chest and ass-snuggling boxers.

“Sir,” the butler bowed quickly, straightening and keeping his eyes professionally level–not making Kamar feel any more self-conscious about answering the door in a fluffy bathrobe. “Sir, your father would like for you to take these.” He held out a folder. “And deliver them personally to Vice-Chair Kofi Abd Al-Kareem.”

Snuffing the groan creeping up his throat, Kamar accepted the thick folder with a tight smile. Closing the door and locking it, Kamar wondered back into the room, his hand already working off the elastic holding the folder’s contents inside.

So, there had been a reason Kofi had crawled into his dreams.

“I must have a sixth sense or something,” Kamar huffed, dropping down onto his bed, the folder on his lap.

To be fair, Kofi hadn’t been awful, intolerable company. That was a huge compliment; given most of his father’s connections were some of the most conceited, asinine people Kamar had ever had the displeasure to know, Kofi had been…a breath of fresh air.

Kamar’s lips twisted. “Or is that a breath of frigid air?”

Because that’s what continued to chill his mind, how cold and disconnected Kofi had been. Sure, he carried on a conversation easy enough, and he seemed intelligent, but then there was something else…something darker that Kamar couldn’t put his finger on. Everything from the shrewd glitter in the other man’s eyes and the sardonic curl of his lips left Kamar feeling out of the loop about some secret.

In the end, the tour had closed with the promised lunch. His father hadn’t abandoned Kamar, and he’d gratefully taken over most of the conversation. Even Kofi got a break as once the Prime Minister caught second wind of whatever topic he’d ranted on about, it had been near impossible to cut him off. Not that Kamar wanted to intervene, as he was usually wont to do when it looked like a guest was about to doze off.

Kofi, oddly, had remained alert. Never adding too much, and always appearing the part of the consummate favorable guest. That had to be why Kamar was snooping now, searching the files. Kofi seemed too damn perfect. It was obvious what his father wanted from Kamar, a marriage as soon as possible. Kofi was clearly going to be thrust on him, and Kamar didn’t know how to feel about it.

His first instinct was to learn more about the vice-chair of defense. Hence the snooping in progress. Though even he had to acknowledge the small voice that clamored up with Mikhail’s name as Kamar flipped and perused the carefully edited files casually.

When thoughts of Mikhail continued to linger as he abandoned the files that made no sense to him, and persisted as he showered and dressed himself, Kamar finally paused to assess the conflicting emotions ready to swallow him whole.

Staring at his reflection and vehemently buttoning his dressy shirt, Kamar muttered, “It has nothing to do with Mikhail.”

When his reflection stared back mockingly, Kamar snapped, “Really, I’m doing this for me. Anyways, I’m only delivering a folder stuffed with top-secret defense files.” Which meant his father trusted him, which meant Kamar had to do this, and it had nothing to do with choosing Mikhail over Kofi. Or so that’s what he told himself.

“I don’t even know Kofi,” Kamar straightened his collar, smoothing out imaginary creases. The laundry always arrived in his room from staff perfectly pressed. Any fussing he was doing now was delaying his task to deliver the files personally to Kofi. “I’m going to go in and out, and maybe linger long enough to give a polite ‘hello.’”

Nodding at his reflection, Kamar couldn’t resist poking his tongue out, and then leaving his room, braving the distance between him and the folder’s recipient. He had enough time to gulp down a breakfast.

The driver was waiting for him. Kamar sure as hell hadn’t told him anything about leaving, so when he glanced back at the house, he focused one second-floor window. The window to his father’s office had the curtains drawn, but Kamar knew it was the old man who’d started the ball rolling.

Like he knew Kamar would accept being his errand boy.

Kamar scowled, sliding into the seat and allowing the driver to close the door after him before rounding to the front. The car eased from the entrance and soon they were sliding past the open gates of the Prime Minister’s residence.

As he looked out on the world soaking in the new day’s golden rays, Kamar wondered where Mikhail was, and what he was up to. It felt like forever since they spoke, when it had only been yesterday. A pang of yearning in his chest responded to his inquiry. Kamar ignored the emotion.

Burying it by concentrating on what he’d say to Kofi when they were face-to-face again, all too soon for Kamar’s liking. For all he knew, Kofi was aware of the Prime Minister’s desire to match them as a couple. But Kamar didn’t sense social climbing was Kofi’s thing.

What was his thing?

That’s what was bothering Kamar. Unlike Mikhail whom he had been able to read so easily, Kofi was like a tall fencing with a layer of barbed wire. Impenetrable; hard to define; therefore, dangerous.

Then again, wasn’t it Mikhail who lied about being a former king? Lied about being a simple merchant? Lied about his name?

Kamar sucked in and chewed his bottom lip, contemplative all the way to their stop. When they did stop, Kamar regarded the gates the car was in front of. As imposing as the truck parked on the curb, adjacent to them, filled with half a dozen young men armed to the teeth with assault rifles and machetes.

Swallowing hard, Kamar slid down the butter-soft leather car seat, hiding from the eyes drilling holes through the tinted car window.

Glad the car was moving forward again, away from the narrowed gazes of the armed soldiers, Kamar sat up to peer at the mansion coming into view. The driver steered the car right up to the entrance, rather than parking it with the other vehicles strewn in the open courtyard.

Shrinking back, Kamar had a brief few moments to mentally prepare himself before the driver opened his door and expected his passenger to exit.

“Thank you,” Kamar murmured, his attention dragging to the residence in front of him. No doubt he had a clue whom it belonged to. But if he was still questioning that, it was all cleared up when the butler left Kamar in the spacious living room and Kofi entered minutes later.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Kofi didn’t look apologetic, but he did come over for a handshake.

Kamar dropped his hand too quickly, he realized now that Kofi stared hard at him. He also wasn’t giving Kamar much space. At least he’d shed his somber-colored robe, trading it for a more traditional white robe. Of course, it didn’t help when he looked ready to blast holes into Kamar’s head with his gaze.

“Ah, it’s fine.” Kamar thrusted the folder between them, happy when it did the trick and Kofi looked down to regard what he was holding out. “My father wanted this delivered to you.” Now that he said it aloud, he realized how dumb he sounded. Kofi probably thought him pathetic.

Accepting the folder, Kofi placed a hand on top of it, his stare returning to scrutinize Kamar’s face. “Did you look inside?”

Before the lie rolled out, Kofi’s eyes narrowed and Kamar’s mind blanked with the quicksilver shift in mood.

“I’ll know if you’re lying,” Kofi said.

Gulping, Kamar laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t,” he said, hoping he didn’t squeak.

“Not even a peek?” Kofi wondered.

Kamar shook his head too vehemently. If he’d been Kofi, he would have pounced a long time ago. As it were, Kofi drummed his fingers over the folder, his eyes remaining sharp and critical on Kamar.

“Because I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had,” Kofi said, winning this staring match of theirs. Kamar had to blink rapidly to keep himself from looking away. Intense was the perfect word to describe General Ishmael’s vice-chair.

“Though, I can’t imagine it would have made much sense.” Kofi slipped the elastic off the folder, his hand pulling out a page of illegible scrawl along with blacked out sections. Very top-level security stuff, Kamar knew that much. And Kofi, who looked to be Mikhail’s age, so a bit older than Kamar himself, had the ability and the responsibility to decipher the super-secret contents.

And, no, Kamar wasn’t jealous. He was curious, if anything. How had Kofi gotten such a position when there had to be older eligible candidates that could have fit the bill? Most of his father’s crooked government friends were old enough to be Kamar’s father. Kofi was old enough, and certainly Alpha enough, to claim Kamar as his Omega.

Not that Kamar approved.

Feeling his scowl, and sensing Kofi’s eyes tracking down to assess his mouth, Kamar fixed his thought pattern.

“Why does your father have you delivering it?” Kofi asked.

Kamar shrugged, realizing his theory about Kofi being in on a marriage pact was wrong. “I can’t explain my father’s thinking, sadly. You’d have to direct that question to him.”

Kofi tucked the page he’d pulled from the folder back and then he did that little kick of his lips–a smile that was too hard to catch, too hard to hold.

“Since you’re here, I’d love to have you for breakfast.”

“I can’t,” Kamar started, and when he noted Kofi’s questioning gaze, blurting, “I have an appointment. A meeting, one I can’t cancel.”

There was a beat when Kamar expected Kofi to argue.

Then he said, “How…unfortunate. Next time, I hope.”

“Yes, next time,” Kamar said, realizing Kofi wasn’t going to move which left him to awkwardly two-step his way around toward the exit. Over his shoulder, he acknowledged his name.

“Kamar,” Kofi said again, rolling the name out on a deep, curious rumble. “Thank you for the folder, and for not peeking into it.”

Kamar swallowed, nodding, and giving him a wobbly smile. With the fire of humiliation lighting his ass, Kamar rushed out of Kofi’s home and to his getaway car. Because that’s what it felt like now: a getaway car. As in a car that was going to get him far, far away from Kofi’s calculating, all-knowing stare.

Because he didn’t want to head home yet, Kamar lowered the privacy screen to inform the driver of the change in plans.

“Take me to the market,” Kamar said.

And to the merchant I’ve been avoiding.