His Stubborn Lover (Slade Security Team 1)

“Gives us about a minute.” She grabbed a dress from the floor and pulled it on. Something in a pale color, long and slinky. She fluffed her hair. “So what’s the story? Slade didn’t trust me?”

“New intel. Palace has a mole—or that’s the tip off.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, pulled off her heels, and pulled out shoes that looked as if they’d been made out of nothing but gold straps. “And…?”

“And Slade doesn’t like it any more than I do. We didn’t have a way to get you an update without it leaking.”

She nodded. “So you’re here. Who’s in charge?”

He was having a hard time concentrating. That dress had a low neckline and Keira had bent over to put on her strappy shoes. “No change there. Now, we really need to be in the garden.” Brock waved a hand.

She straightened up and fluffed out her hair. She pulled out a gold evening clutch, dug into her purse, and transferred her gun to the clutch. It left room for nothing else. Putting one hand on her hip, she asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”

His neck warmed, but he shut off the hair dryer and took her hand. “Come on, sweetheart.” Opening the door, he pulled her with him to the rear of the palace.

The house—most of it marble as far as Brock could tell—was built around a courtyard. The back door opened onto a fenced garden, lush and sculpted. Paths wound around plants he couldn’t name, but the center opened into a paved patio with fountains. A white tent had been set up to one side, opposite a stone terrace. Chairs, flowers, and ribbons seemed to be everywhere. Potted plants graced the terrace and the rest of the gardens. Brock could hear a string quartet playing.

He glanced around. Most of the guests were already seated. Traditional white keffiyeh headscarves for the men mixed with suits, and while some women covered themselves in modest, but brightly colored hijabs, others wore designer gowns. The air smelled of incense and a little sweat—hard to air condition the great outdoors.

Keeping his hand on the small of Keira’s back, Brock leaned close. “There’s your other surprise.”

She glanced at him, eyes narrowed, and then followed his stare.

Two men stood not far from the stone terrace that had been decked out for the wedding. Trent Larson and his brother Travis couldn’t have looked more out of place if they’d tried.

Except for the sleek suits, they fit the stereotypical profile of surfers—shaggy, sun-bleached hair, blue eyes in deeply tanned faces, toned, lean bodies. Brock would take one or both of them to back him in any fight, and they were just about the best when it came to electronics or computers. Right now they had cameras out and looked like the perfect wedding photographers.

“Oh, honey-bear, you shouldn’t have,” Keira said. It sounded like she meant it.

“I know you love how the Larson brothers make you look in print.”

Travis looked up and snapped a photo of Brock and Keira. Brock picked up on the unspoken message from Travis—so far, so good.

Brock watched the brothers as they moved around, keeping an eye on all the action. With a last look around, Brock headed to grab a seat, bringing Keira with him. He just hoped like hell that the rest of this day went smoothly. On assignment, they usually didn’t.

Chapter 5

The wedding was beautiful, even though Keira didn’t understand a single word said during most of the ceremony. Erin made a beautiful bride, dressed in the brightly-colored thobe that had been exquisitely embroidered with silver and gold thread.

With her vibrant red hair, she sparkled for her new husband. Erin’s hands had been decorated with a henna dye. The sheikh wore a traditional man's thobe and hata in white. With his dark good looks, Keira could see why Erin had fallen for him.

She didn’t have time to greet Erin until after the ceremony—the Katb el-Kitab. An imam gave a speech about how the Prophet honored his wives, how to honor women, and how women should treat their husbands and honor them. An older man then stood to talk. Keira kept scanning the crowd, wondering who had wanted to do Erin harm—who might still want her gone. She was also too aware of Brock sitting next to her.

His thigh brushed hers, as did his shoulder; the silk of his suit rubbing against her bare skin, leaving her aware of the nubby weave. His scent seemed to overwhelm her with a musky aroma that kept her on edge.

He was a presence anywhere he went, even outside under a warm sky and a pleasant breeze. She couldn’t help but notice him. He hovered just like a Viking guarding the goods he’d raided.

She was glad he was growing out his hair a little—she’d never liked the spiky red color, and now that it was longer, glints of gold could be seen. He wore it slicked back, which darkened the color. She also had the feeling he was taking advantage of how close they had to sit, just to rub up against her

.

Finally, the ceremony ended. Keira had a chance to greet the bride, kiss her cheek, and make sure Erin was playing along with Keira’s cover. Erin blushed like crazy over the greeting, so Keira moved away. The girl wasn’t very good at deception.

Erin threw her bouquet—white roses and jasmine—just like any bride, and Keira caught it. Everyone clapped and started for the reception area. As the band started up, PJ headed over to greet Keira.

Grabbing glasses of what looked like iced tea from a passing waiter, PJ offered one glass. “This is fabulous—it’s spiced and sweet and just one of the many things I love about this place. And don’t think I didn’t pick up on that diversion tactic.” She gave a nod to Brock, who stood across from them now, talking quietly with the sheikh.

PJ took another sip of her tea and smiled at a tall, dark-haired man in an even darker suit.