Swallowing, she turned. ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ she asked, alarm rising when her stomach roiled harder.
The receptionist was still staring at her as if she’d grown extra limbs, but Jasmine was too desperate not to heave onto the polished floor to decipher why. Eyes wide, the other woman pointed down a small hallway. ‘Through those doors.’
Nodding, she rushed into the bathroom and locked the stall. Five minutes of wretched heaving later, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and groaned.
How did she expect anyone to take her seriously when she looked like an electrified corpse? She dampened another roll of hand tissues and pressed them to her cheeks. Whatever was ailing her would have to be investigated later.
Drying her hands, she pinned a confident smile on her face, exited the bathroom. And came face to face with Prince Reyes Navarre.
* * *
The pounding in Reyes’s head when he’d learned that Jasmine Nichols was in his embassy had subsided to a dull throb.
For a single moment his rage had been total. All-encompassing. The feeling had been followed closely by shock at her sheer audacity.
It’d been several moments before he’d realised the ambassador was about to turn her away. His countermand had raised several eyebrows around the conference table where he’d been conducting his meeting. He hadn’t explained his reason.
He didn’t need to.
His plan for retribution where Jasmine Nichols’s betrayal was concerned was no one’s business but his.
He watched with satisfaction as she paled. That prim little smile on her face disappeared and her eyes rounded.
‘Reye—Prince Navarre!’
Was that a tremble of fear? Good.
‘You will address the prince as Your Highness.’ His ambassador spoke sharply from beside him.
Jasmine’s gaze swung from him to the short, fatherly figure, and back to him. Noting for the first time that they had an audience, she blinked. Reyes noted her drawn features.
If she had a conscience, he hoped it was eating away at her. But he knew women like her possessed no conscience. They seduced and betrayed with no thought for anyone else but themselves.
His jaw tightened as her lashes swept down in a false gesture of apology.
‘Of course. My apologies, Your Highness. I wasn’t...expecting you here.’ Her hand shook as she clutched her handbag. When she bit her lip, Reyes smothered the memories threatening to awaken.
Turning to where his bodyguards hovered, he waved one forward. ‘I have confidential business with Miss Nichols. Take her down to the basement. Until I say so, she’s not allowed to contact anyone or leave the premises under any circumstances.’
‘What? You can’t do that!’ She’d paled further and her breaths jerked out in shallow pants.
Reyes smiled. ‘You’re on Santo Sierran soil. I can do whatever I please with you.’
‘But I came here to help. Please, Reyes—Your Highness!’ she screeched as Reyes stepped back. Her fear was very real.
Reyes steeled himself against it and walked away. Never again.
He’d failed his people because of this woman.
Remembering brought a burn of pure white rage that obliterated any lingering mercy.
Even before he’d come fully awake the next morning on the yacht, he’d known something was wrong. The silence had been deafening. Complete. Where he should have heard the soft breathing and felt the warm, supple body of the lover he’d taken to his bed, there’d been a cold, empty space.
His instinct hadn’t failed him. Even faced with the discovery of the theft, he’d hoped he was hallucinating. For endless minutes, he hadn’t believed what he’d let happen. How much he’d let his guard down.
How spectacularly he’d failed in his duty to protect his people. That was what made the burn sting that much deeper. The full realisation that he’d taken a stranger to bed, a stranger who’d turned out to be a thief, had pointed to a singular lack of judgement, preyed on his mind like acid on metal for the last four weeks.
In the time since then Reyes could’ve hired a team of investigators to find and bring her to justice. But that would’ve served no purpose besides granting him personal satisfaction. Seeking personal vengeance, although tempting, had been relegated very low on his list. Rescuing the trade talks with Valderra had been paramount.
Of course, Mendez, handed the perfect opportunity to sink his hands deeper into the Santo Sierran coffers, had sought to do exactly that.
Relentless greed had threatened to destabilise the economy. Jasmine Nichols’s actions had accelerated the process as surely as if she’d lit a fuse to a bomb.