Anything He Wants: Castaway #2 (Anything He Wants 7) (3 page)

I shook my head, and after a moment’s hesitation so did Jeremiah. Lucas nodded. “It should be easy enough to get replacements, provided you,” and he pointed at Jeremiah, “aren’t already an outlaw.” At my confused look, Lucas grinned. “The media is trumpeting the news that our golden boy here has skipped the country, although nobody seems to know why yet. Authorities don’t sound pleased but so far there hasn’t been any arrest warrants posted.” He glanced at Jeremiah. “I have it about right, don’t I?”

Jeremiah looked away, clearly annoyed by the conversation. I leaned forward to put a hand on his knee but stopped myself in time. Despite my best efforts, my heart ached for the large man. Jeremiah Hamilton thrived on control, and if his brother really had taken away all communication equipment, then he’d lost the upper hand.

“Tonight we rest.” Lucas spread his arms wide. “Tomorrow, we leave for Dubai.”

Maybe I should have been used to the weird turn my life had taken by that point, but I still blinked at the sudden news. “Dubai? As in, the Arab nation?”

“One of the richest.” Lucas winked at me. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“But why can’t I go home?” Perhaps I was whining when I asked, but I figured I was entitled to lodge some form of complaint. “I’m not related to either of you; if it’s really as personal as you say, then I can’t be a target.”

“And what would you do,” Jeremiah asked, “when you got home?”

I glared at him. “Contrary to what you obviously think,” I snapped, “I can stand on my own two feet.”

“I didn’t mean...”

“Yes you did.” I crossed my arms, irritation bubbling up. “Since I’ve met you two, I’ve been shot at, poisoned, kidnapped – twice I might add – and attacked by strange men. I don’t care how rich you are or how many foreign countries you drag me into, this whole thing is ridiculous.”

“See?” Lucas spread his arms and gave me a bit smile. “Bet your life has never been this interesting.”

There was nothing I could say to that. I sat back, wordless, watching in a daze as the conga line disappeared back inside the bar. Two beautiful faces, so very similar to one another, stared at me: Jeremiah’s gaze was as stony as ever, and Lucas grinned at me like a buffoon. As much as I wanted to scream and rail at them, I couldn’t seem to form the words.

“There are many ways to hurt a man.” Jeremiah leaned forward. “Sometimes, the easiest is to go after those in our care.”

“What, like the girl you’re sleeping with?” My voice had a nasty, self-recriminating note and I bit my tongue. “You’ve made it clear what I am to you.”

“Others might see it differently,” Lucas murmured, but I just stared at the table, trying to hang onto my anger.

“This is stupid,” I muttered after a moment of silence, as the conga line appeared again from inside the bar. “What about your mother then? Why isn’t she the one you’re whisking off to foreign lands?”

Lucas snorted. “They probably know better than to try hurting us from that angle,” he said.

“My men are keeping an eye on her,” Jeremiah said, and I looked over to see him watching me. His eyes flickered to his brother. “I agree however that she’s not likely in any danger.”

“Imagine, my little brother agreeing with me.” Lucas smirked. “Boy, it must have hurt to admit that.” Not waiting for a response, he suddenly stood. “We’re in the Caribbean, let’s have a little fun.” He held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

I rolled my eyes and looked up to see the scarred man waggle his eyebrows. “It’ll make my brother jealous.”

“Maybe I don’t want to make your brother jealous,” I muttered, not looking at the man in question, but when Lucas grabbed my hand and pulled me up I didn’t protest. The conga line was passing near our table and it didn’t take much for Lucas to steer me to the end of the line.

“I’ll be good,” he said, laying his hands on my waist. When we entered the bar however, he still pinched my rear. “Okay, mostly good,” he murmured in my ear as I elbowed his rib cage.

I hadn’t really noticed what was happening inside, and found that a wedding party had taken over the bar area. The twang of the steel pan drums and the overall festive atmosphere in the room brought a reluctant smile to my face. It was impossible to keep a sour mood amidst the crowd of people; between the loud music and dancing figures, I felt my temper ease a bit. Lucas kept his hands to himself, which likely contributed to my improved disposition, and for a brief moment I let myself get caught up in the party environment.

When the conga line made its third trip through the outside dining area, however, I noticed that Jeremiah’s seat was empty. Scanning the murky area outside the dining area, I saw a familiar shape, outlined by the Tiki torches, walking alone into the darkness. Abandoning the conga line, I pulled free from Lucas’ grip and followed after Jeremiah’s retreating figure.

He stopped beside a maintenance hut when I called his name, but as I came to his side I didn’t know what to say. My eyes were still growing accustomed to the darkness so it was hard to see his face. His shoulders were hunched forward and he kept his face turned from me, and although my heart ached I tried not to read too much into it. Reaching out, I laid a hand on his arm, and was gratified when he didn’t pull away from me.

“I don’t like feeling useless.”

I blinked at his words. Jeremiah didn’t move, just continued to stare out into the darkness. “Well, join the club,” I murmured, and felt the muscles under my palm tense.

“Maintaining control keeps me sane. My father...” He stopped talking for a moment, and I squeezed his arm. “When my father died, I lost control of my life. My brother’s right: I took his as surely as Rufus Hamilton took mine.”

Moving closer, I curled my hand around his arm, hugging him close. “You did what you had to do back then,” I murmured.

Ethan, Jeremiah’s former chief of security, had filled me in on some of the sordid details. Rufus Hamilton, the former Hamilton patriarch, had ruled with an iron fist both in business and family life. When Jeremiah had enlisted in the military, defying the older man’s plans for the boy, the elder Hamilton had arranged it so that everything fell to Jeremiah’s shoulders once Rufus passed away. Faced with the potential collapse of the empire and the loss of jobs for thousands of employees, Jeremiah had left the military and a life he loved to take over the business. He’d also been forced to deal with charges that his own brother had embezzled millions, accusations that had proven untrue but still sent Lucas down his own dark path.

Jeremiah ran a hand through his hair. “Now I’m stuck under the thumb of a brother who hates me, forced to take part in activities that I once fought against, and facing an unknown enemy.” He sighed. “Meanwhile at home, my family name is being dragged through the mud, the business I sacrificed everything for is slowly crumbling, and I can’t do anything to protect those in my care.”

I didn’t really think about what I did next: sliding my arms around his body, I hugged Jeremiah, laying my cheek against his chest. He stiffened against me for a brief instant, then his arms fell against my back and shoulders and he pulled me close. I closed my eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of his body, tightening my hug.

Why do you have to be such an utter fool?
I thought, miserable about how bad affairs had grown between us. Days ago, I would have done anything for the man in my arms. Now, I wasn’t sure why I was even touching him. I sighed inwardly, knowing the answer.
Because he needed comforting and, despite everything, I still loved the bastard.

It would be so much better if I could switch off that part of my brain. There was so much clarity when I was alone and angry, but the moment I stepped back into Jeremiah’s presence, everything grew muddled. Even at the worst of times though, I didn’t hate him. His privileged life had been rough, and I understood at least partly why he was who he was. However, that didn’t make dealing with him any easier.

When his hands moved up my back, a flame flickered to life in my belly. I didn’t protest as he maneuvered us around until my back was against the maintenance shed beside us. He lifted my arms up and around his neck, pressing me back against the rough wall, and I trembled at the contact. My body betrayed me, melting at his touch, and when he lifted my chin and leaned down to kiss me, I didn’t protest.

Always before, Jeremiah had been in control, but somehow this was different. He didn’t try to restrain me in any way; his kiss wasn’t an assault or struggle. His lips caressed mine like a lover, making no demands other than for permission to continue. When I opened to him, still he held back, tongue dancing and teasing. I tightened my grip around his neck, pulling him close and wanting more, but he took his time, lips and tongue a gentle torment that was nothing like I’d experienced in his hands.

He broke off the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine. Firelight danced in his eyes and, my breath catching, I traced his beloved face with my fingertips. His eyes searched mine, holding back none of what he was feeling. I read him like an open book, and the knowledge was intoxicating.

“Lucy,” he murmured, my name a benediction on his lips. Desperate longing shone through his eyes as he kissed me again before asking softly, “Stay with me tonight.”

I shut my eyes, licking my lips, then looked back up at him. Desire ached in me, alongside a bleak loneliness, and ever fiber of my being screamed for his touch. He shifted, running a hand down the side of my neck and arm. A cool island breeze brushed against my hot skin, and I shivered as he whispered my name again, lips moving across my forehead.

“I’m sorry, Jeremiah.”

For a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard my low answer, then without a word he pushed free of me. Cool air swirled around me at his sudden absence and I gripped the wall for support, but Jeremiah didn’t speak. I swallowed my agony as he walked away, disappearing into the dark night. Covering my eyes, I bit my lip and tried not to cry even as my heart broke for him.

“My brother isn’t good with rejection.”

I dropped my hand and looked over at Lucas standing against a palm tree nearby, but the gunrunner’s eyes were off into the darkness where Jeremiah had disappeared. I didn’t trust myself to speak without breaking down however, and Lucas seemed to understand. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

We stayed silent all the way up the elevator, Lucas trailing a step behind me. The hotel rooms ran along the outside of the building, and in the light of a rising moon I could see the reflection of the water just beyond the tree line. I pulled my card out and opened the door just as a voice behind me asked, “Do you want some company tonight?”

I looked back to see Lucas studying me. Any hint at a smirk was gone; he waited patiently for my answer, but the words wouldn’t come to my lips. I looked at him and realized, with no small amount of regret, that I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be held tonight, told everything was going to be all right. But, more importantly, I wanted it to be with Jeremiah, and my pride wouldn’t allow that.

He seemed to read my decision because he nodded and took my hand. “Good night,” he murmured, laying a kiss on my knuckle before turning away. I watched his retreat until he disappeared around the corner of the walkway, and then closed myself in my room. Skipping a shower for morning, I left the lights off and curled into the bed, wrapping my arms around myself and trying to hold on to the remnants of Jeremiah’s scent still on my skin.

N
othing I’d ever seen in my life could have prepared me for the Arabian city we flew over.

Dubai itself was not a mystery to me. I’d read about it online and in the news, and had at least a basic understanding about the many sights and attractions. Nothing however could have prepared me for the real deal. Not even a seventeen-hour plane trip dimmed my excitement at seeing the coastal emirate from the sky. The shaped islands, the Babel-like spire reaching into the heavens – everything was larger than life, so over the top and stunning.

When we’d left Jamaica, I’d been depressed that our time there was so short. I had never been to the Caribbean islands before, and would have enjoyed a tour or some fun, but the Hamilton men were all business. At breakfast, Lucas gave us both passports that were identical to the ones we’d left behind. Oddly enough, he’d chosen to replicate my Canadian one, saying it offered greater potential mobility within the Muslim nations. While I knew he was right, now I worried about what he planned to do with that dubious “bonus.”

There was no private jet this trip, at least not for the first leg of our journey. We still flew first class, landing in London’s airport before continuing to Dubai. Once we crossed Customs and Immigration in the Arabian city however, a helicopter had been waiting to take us to our hotel.

“Is this one of yours?” I asked both Lucas and Jeremiah through the headsets we’d been given.

Lucas shook his head. “Belongs to our host,” he said. “A welcome gift of sorts.”

Jeremiah didn’t say a word, just stared out the window at the view below. I found it difficult to look at him; he hadn’t spoken to me since the previous night when I’d rejected his advances. There was no way for me to tell whether he was angry at me, or angry at the situation, and I feared the answer enough to not ask the question. Still, his silence upset me, and the knowledge that I might have hurt him made my heart ache.

I need him to understand what he’s done.
Principles, however, were useless when all I wanted was his arms around me, to bury my face in his neck and breathe his scent. The large man was close enough to touch, but he ignored me, and I in turn was forced to pretend to ignore him.

Lucas, on the other hand, seemed quite chipper for a man who’d stayed awake for most of the trip. I might have been annoyed at his constant jabbering except the impromptu tour he gave of the city was fascinating. He seemed to know a lot about the city and country, which made me wonder how often he’d been to the opulent area.

We were high enough to see the full outline of the manmade land extensions. I remembered hearing about the palms, but my breath caught as I saw a series of smaller islands only a few miles down the shoreline. They were arranged in a flower pattern, with a “stem” leading to the mainland. While smaller than the palm islands, the flower seemed almost delicate, and as we drew closer I saw each individual island was actually very large. I counted at least twelve small “petals” surrounding a larger central island, and as we veered toward it I noticed a large structure. “Is that our destination?”

Lucas nodded. “The Almasi Hotel,” he said as we moved in closer. “The latest addition to an already flamboyant city.”

The hotel wasn’t as tall as some I’d seen, maybe twenty or so stories. The structure had a thoroughly modern appeal, yet hearkened back to an older Arabian style. A huge glass dome dominated the structure, the windows gleaming like diamonds in the Arabian sun. A flat pad spread out across the top of the main tower, a helipad for our transportation. Our helicopter made its landing atop the building, powering down the engines and rotors.

Lucas disembarked first, followed swiftly by Jeremiah. I unbuckled the belt and found, to my chagrin, two separate hands held out to help me down. Jeremiah and Lucas both looked at me expectantly, and I hesitated.
You have got to be kidding me.
I looked between the two men, then grabbed the handrail beside the door and lowered myself to the helipad. I smoothed out my clothes, deliberately not looking at either man.

On the stairs across from us, a small retinue of people appeared as the large blades overhead finally stopped. Lucas turned toward the man and I followed slowly, Jeremiah bringing up the rear. The stranger leading the small group spread his arms as he saw Lucas. “Ah, Loki my friend, it has been a long time.”

“Rashid,” Lucas said, his lips folding back into another smile. Neither man put out their hand in greeting, which I found odd. Lucas turned and gestured grandly toward us. “May I introduce my brother Jeremiah, and Miss Lucy Delacourt.”

“Ah, so this is the brother I’ve heard so much about.” Rashid stepped forward and held out to Jeremiah in greeting. “I have wished to meet you for some time. Business does not bring you to our shores often enough.”

Jeremiah inclined his head, his face a blank mask, but didn’t reply. Rashid turned to me, smiling big. “Ah, Ms. Delacourt,” he said grandly, inclining his head. “A woman like you would have garnered many camels from my ancestors.”

The words sounded like something he told every woman, flattery without anything behind it. Or perhaps that was my own bias from being dismissed so quickly. I sensed a faint bit of hostility toward me; his gaze was quick to dismiss me, nor did he offer me his hand, and I struggled not to be offended. “Welcome to the Almasi Hotel, the jewel of Arabia. Gentlemen, let’s retire inside and talk. My sister Amyrah will help your woman to the rooms.”

I bristled at the phrase, then again when neither Lucas nor Jeremiah spoke up in my defense. A woman dressed all in black, a white scarf carefully covering her hair, stepped shyly forward. She had an earnest expression on her face and was studying me like I was a rare and beautiful gem, which was a bit disconcerting. “Hi,” I ventured weakly.

The girl’s face lit up, and she seemed to remember herself. “I am Amyrah,” she said softly, holding her hand out. Her handshake was limp but she seemed pleased with the contact, and I made a mental note to read up more on Arabian customs. “May I show you to your rooms?”

She sounded very formal, but something told me she was near bursting to ask questions. She spoke English very well but her garb was so foreign to me; the scarf covered all of her hair and her clothing was more like billowing robes, robbing her of any feminine shape. We walked silently down toward the elevator, the men having already disappeared, and I struggled with what to say. Finally, I gave in to my curiosity. “What do you call the scarf on your head?”

Amyrah looked confused for a moment, putting a hand atop her head, then she smiled. “You are American,” she said, nodding, as if that explained my obvious lack of knowledge. “This is my
hijab
.”

“And the rest of your clothes?” I asked, vaguely gesturing to the dark robes shrouding her figure.

Her smile widened. “They are my clothes.”

There was no guile in her response, nor did she seem to be making fun of me. I laughed at my own ignorance, but the questions seemed to break the ice. “I must ask,” Amyrah said as we boarded the elevator. “Have you been to Hollywood?”

Amyrah was fascinated by American culture, and I quickly realized the Muslim girl hadn’t seen much of the world in her short life. She seemed excited when I told her I’d lived and worked in New York City, asking me questions ranging from the Statue of Liberty to the New York subway system. I found it impossible to tell how old she was. Sometimes, she seemed like any other well-educated young college-aged woman I’d met, and other times her questions were as naïve as a child. One thing was clear however, she’d led a very sheltered existence but sincerely wanted to see more of the world.

“Does your brother own this hotel?”

Amyrah shook her head. “He is one of the major investors and helped build it, but is not the primary owner.” She opened a door, and then motioned for me to go inside. “These are your rooms.”

Rooms?
I slipped through the door then stopped and stared around me. “Wow,” I said, a quick exhalation that didn’t at all cover what I was seeing. I turned back to Amyrah. “This is all mine?” At her nod, I turned back and stared around me in wonder.

Less than a month ago, I had been lucky enough to stay in the Ritz Carlton Paris, one of the richest hotels in the world. There, every decoration, every inch of floor space, had been old-world decadence. Ceiling to floor, the rooms and various hotel sections had been as ostentatious, as opulent as a person could imagine. No penny had been spared, no section left ungilded; the hotel had screamed its wealth and prestige, and I had loved every inch.

This room had a similar feel, but with a much more modern twist. The ceilings were tall, lending more vastness to an already-spacious room. None of the furniture was ostentatious, at least not at first glance; indeed, the entire suite had an almost spartan feel, at least in comparison to the Ritz. Yet the tiles and wood floors, the vibrant accent walls and dark wood furniture, lent it a modern appeal that was as rich as anything I’d seen in Paris. The farther I ventured into the suite, in fact, the bigger I realized it was. “This is
my
room?” I asked incredulously.

Amyrah nodded. “Your two men will be in the suites beside this,” she said, blushing. “My brother finds it unseemly for an unmarried woman to share a room with a man.”

My two men?
“Oh, no,” I said quickly, shaking my head emphatically. “They’re not both mine, seriously.”

“I am not judging you,” Amyrah continued quickly, mistaking my answer. “Many westerners come here with their own beliefs and practices. But my brother is very strict on the separation of sexes, at least while you are his guests.”

My jaw worked soundlessly and I groaned inwardly. This wasn’t a reaction I’d expected, and hearing the girl beside me speak so candidly made me blush. “I belong to neither of the men I’m with,” I said firmly, telling myself that it was not technically a lie. “What’s downstairs?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.

“The main floor has a variety of shops, catering to the hotel’s diverse clientele.” This part seemed almost a rote delivery, as if she’d rehearsed or practiced this part several times. “The concierge can help you with any tour options, and access to a private car comes as an option with these rooms.” Amyrah beamed at me. “You can also ask me any questions and I will do my best to help you.”

I studied the girl before me. “You live here in the hotel, don’t you?” Something about the delivery of that speech made me think she was often called to help out the guests.

Amyrah flushed and looked down shyly. “We do have a family home,” she conceded, “but when my parents died, my brother moved me here permanently.”

The simple way she spoke about her parents’ death made my heart break. “I lost my parents a few years back too,” I murmured, looking around the room to control my sudden tears.

“Oh!” Amyrah touched my arm. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

I almost broke down in tears at her selfless expression. Time, it seemed however, had given me enough strength not to do so; the memory hurt, but it was not the horrible ache I’d once been faced with. A thought occurred to me and I latched on like a bulldog. “That’s it, we’re going shopping.”

The sudden change in conversation left Amyrah blinking. “What?”

I smiled at her surprise, tugging at her arm. “Come shopping with me. We don’t have to buy anything, but we can still have fun. Anyway, the guys are probably doing their manly stuff, so let’s be girls for once.”

A bemused smile crossed the girl’s face, and I winked. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

––––––––

A
s it turned out, Amyrah was a lot of fun when it came to “girl stuff”. The rarity of this kind of trip for her was immediately apparent. From the way she ogled many of the window treatments for the stores, I could tell she didn’t do this often. She knew where each and every store in the hotel was located, but her wide eyes told me she rarely, if ever, went inside.

So I dragged her into several high-end boutiques, pulling out dresses and holding them up against her. The idea of showing her legs or arms in public seemed scandalous to the Arab girl, so I changed my criteria a bit and began looking at floor-length, long sleeves gowns. Not too surprising, there were quite a few of those to be had, as well as many different headscarves in a variety of styles. For me, it was a slight culture shock; from the outside, the stores all looked like what you’d find in expensive American shopping areas. Once you started taking a closer look however, their selection obviously catered to a different, more local crowd.

Amyrah tried on several of the more colorful scarves and I was able to see her with her with her hair down. She really was a pretty girl, with long hair as dark as her brother’s. I finally managed to get her to try one some of the dresses, promising her that nobody else would see her. It took a few dresses before she let me see her in a floor-length, long-sleeved red gown that went up to her neck but otherwise showed her curves. She fidgeted in front of me, tugging at the fabric. “It’s very tight.”

As far as I could see it was probably a size too big, but I beamed at her. “You look fantastic!”

A shy smile tugged at her lips. “I do, don’t I?” she murmured, looking at herself in the mirror. Then her face fell. “But my brother would never approve.”

“He doesn’t have to know about...”

“My brother knows everything.” She pinched her lips. “I should not have done even this.”

I tried not to let her see my own disappointment when she walked out of the dressing room in her old clothes. “Not even any of the scarves?” I asked, and saw the reluctance in her face as she shook her head.

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said, lips tugging up in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Well, this didn’t turn out like I’d planned.
Not that I’d had much of a plan, but I hadn’t thought things would end on a sour note. There was a lot about Arab culture I didn’t get, but I could see that Amyrah was unhappy, and I felt like much of the blame was mine. We exited the shop quietly, heading back toward the lobby, and I snuck a look at the other girl. I’d been cooped up with too much testosterone lately; first, locked in a house under constant guard, then stuck aboard a ship full of men.