Frightening.
"Please," she whispered. "If someone witnesses this..."
His hands brushed her belly just below her br**sts once before he stepped away, his search complete, no weapon discovered since she did not have one. Why would she? How useless to expect her negligible strength could outmaneuver any of these armed men. Especially one this large. She would outthink him instead.
Once she stopped seeing spots in front of her eyes.
Her uncle expected her to ferret information, to discover if this was truly a deployment to assist with the distribution of humanitarian aid, something that happened often in her country. Or was it another American mission to destroy secret training camps in their endless war on terrorism. Since Ammar might well have other spies in place here, she would have to tread this double game warily if she wanted out of the country in one piece.
The soldier with sea-blue eyes and mountainous shoulders dusted his hands along the mottled tan print of his uniform pants as if he sought to clean away the feel of her. "Who are you?"
"I am Bahijah Faris, not that it matters. You have my note. Did I not express myself correctly?" She knew full well she had. Thanks to her American mother, Yasmine spoke English almost as fluently as Arabic. "I seek asylum in the United States. And you are?"
"The wrong man for you to play your flirting games with, little girl. So let's hope you're being straight up now." His fingers banded her arm again.
She shivered, but refused to be daunted by his threats. She'd heard worse.
He charged forward, propelling her down the abandoned corridor stacked with crates. Apparently the sensitive soul she found in his eyes was housed by a brusque exterior. Of course, many men were afraid to show anything that might be perceived as weakness. "Little girl? I think you misunderstand. I am twenty-three years old, well of age by your country's standards, unmarried, without ties to this place, so there is no reason for me to be denied my wish."
"I'll keep that in mind, Methuselah," he barked, boots thumping cadence down the split-tile floor.
"Where are we going?" She doubled her pace to match his long-legged strides without tripping.
"To headquarters for you to speak with our military counterintelligence personnel about your request."
Military security? Her blood chilled with every step deeper into the building toward the inner offices. She stopped. "Please wait." She panted, from racing feet and heart. "I do not want to speak with them. I want to talk to you."
"Too bad. That's not how things work here."
"But I chose you. I trust you. I have no reason to trust them." Her attempt to leave the country after her parents' deaths in the flu epidemic had been foiled by a mole in the American embassy to Rubistan, another spy loyal to Ammar.
"Well, your choosing ended once you placed that note in my hand. We have procedures." He stared down at her, disbelief slipping past the hard mask. "Did you expect me to tuck you in a suitcase for a trip over the border?''
She sniffed back indignation. He didn't need to make her sound foolish. But now was not the time to roll out her diploma. "Actually, yes, I expected something very much like that. It has been done before, so there is no need to mock me."
"Well, put away your Samsonite luggage, lady, because it's not going to be done today."
How dare he treat her like a truculent child? If grief aged a person, then she had many years on anyone here.
"Wait," she demanded, desperation shaving the edge off her original intent to appear ditzy and humble.
"What now?" His words rode an exasperated sigh.
Apparently this man did not respect youth, so she pulled herself taller to make use of every bit of her five feet, two inches of height while attempting to add years and command to her voice. "We need to speak first before you dump me into the hands of your security persons."
His brows slammed down. "Listen up, I've had just about enough of this Queen of Sheba shit. I don't take orders from you. You made an irrevocable step back there when you put that note in my hand. Do you want to go with dignity? Or do I call security forces to 'escort' you? Your choice."
Time to switch tactics again. Temper never worked with men, anyway. She lowered her gaze, peered up through her lashes. "I'll do anything."
His eyes narrowed, exasperation hardening to a cold mask, no sign of warmth in those ice-blue eyes. Oh, my. She was out of her depth, but that didn't mean she would stop swimming.
She slowed her words to give her brain time to restart, and clarified, "I will cook for you."
He winced.
Her stew.
Wrong suggestion and time was short. Desperation grew. "I'll clean for you, watch your children."