Keira followed him and ignored the question. It wasn’t worth an answer. She also didn’t want to think about it. Brock’s attitude toward her was his problem. He was probably just being a typical guy, wanting to run the show just because he thought he knew better. The real problem was that he’d been doing this a lot longer than she had—he probably did know better.
She stepped through the doorway at the top of the staircase and looked around. She’d never seen anything that captured her senses as much as this place. She stood in a wide corridor now. Vibrant colors dusted the walls and tropical-looking plants graced tall vases on low tables.
Slanting sunlight caught dust motes in the air, leaving the world soft and golden. Patterned tiles outlined the hard surface of the floors, and the light fixtures—dazzling in the sunset—looked to be gold or brass. Carved, dark furniture—a chair and settee—held splashes of textured pillows and coverings added more splashes of color. She ran a hand over a pillow—silk and soft. “I could get used to living here.”
Keira wandered down the hallway. Low, brass tables set beside the chairs invited anyone to linger. Painting—oil colors of what looked like local markets—hung on the wall. She stopped beside one.
Shaking his head, Trent opened a door to the right. He held it open for her and followed her into the room. “This is yours. Pretty cool, huh? And before you try to put me off again, I’ll warn you that I’m really good at finding out information. Like, really good. Unless you want me to start digging, you might want to start talking.” He stepped back and snapped a photo of her. “You also need to pose a little more.”
Keira leaned out of the room to glance back toward the hidden stairway. “How many exits do we have?”
Trent stepped up to her. “The one we came up and the main stairs.”
She could hear male voices coming from the floor below and instantly recognized Brock’s deep tones. A shiver skittered up her back. Trent started to move in front of her. She put out a hand to block him. “I can take care of myself.”
Brock rounded the main staircase. He was easy enough to spot, given his reddish hair and the fact that he could fill up almost any hallway. His stare locked on Trent. “Get lost, dude.”
Trent snapped one more photo of Keira. He gave her a wink. “See ya around, beautiful.”
Stepping out of the room, Keira watched Trent leave. She had a ridiculous urge to call out to him to come back, but why not settle things with Brock now?
A terse silence settled. She could hear the party music from outside. Something was chirping a background rhythm—cicadas maybe. She rubbed her bare arms, even though the evening was balmy and warm, the humidity thick as a blanket.
“You trying to make me jealous??
?? Brock asked.
“Don’t you have to have feelings for someone before that works?” Keira replied. She headed down the corridor. “Where does the family sleep?”
“This floor. West wing. You know I’m here to—” He bit off the words.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Be my sweetie? My lovey-dove?”
“You can take it easy on those.”
“Can I now?” She let the words hang between them. She didn’t trust him not to take over for her—that was just him. But she also knew she was being touchy about this. She could use his experience. However, if she started leaning on him now, where would it stop? She’d prove nothing to Slade about her abilities.
Turning a corner, she saw four armed men—security. Two sat in chairs, the other two stood guard over the rooms behind them. “Must be the family quarters,” she muttered.
Just then a woman in a hijab exited from one of the doors. Veiled to her eyes, her head covered, it could be anyone, but Keira caught a glimpse of black, exotic eyes that tilted at the ends—and a flash of a ruby ring. Was this the same woman who’d left the party downstairs? The woman saw them and slipped back into her room.
Grabbing Brock’s arm, she pulled him to her and whispered in his ear. “I need to find out who that is.” Wrapping her fingers around his tie, she pulled him out in front of the guards, and then she kissed him.
***
Brock didn’t have time to grab a breath. Keira pulled him into the hallway and pulled his mouth down to hers. He put his hand on her slim hips and gave in to the heat washing over him. He couldn’t pull her close enough, couldn’t get enough of her. He heard a distant chuckle and knew the guards were watching.
Pulling back, Keira swayed. She gave him a lopsided smile and grinned. “Where’s your room, honey-bear?” She slurred her words as if she’d been drinking way more than she should. With a giggle, she headed for the guards, dragging Brock by the hand.
Picking up on her cue, Brock tried to hold her back—but not too much. “Sweetie, you’re going—”
She bumped into one guard. The guy grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall. She gave a screech, and Brock stepped between them. Keira slipped to one side, and Brock faced off with the guard. “Hey, buddy, that’s my girl you’re messing with.” He pushed the guy in the chest. All four guards stood and stepped between him and the rooms behind. Keira slapped a hand over her mouth as if she were going to be sick.
Moving fast, she ducked into a room—the same one the veiled woman had gone into. One of the guards started after her, but Brock tripped the guy. Guns came out. Brock spread his hands wide. “Not looking for trouble.”
Keira came out of the bedroom, her hair mussed and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She swayed and stumbled over to Brock. “I don’t feel so good.”
Wrapping an arm around her waist, Brock told her, “Let’s get you horizontal.”