Page 285 of Wild Mustang Security Firm

Hugging herself, she quickly looked away, so he wouldn’t see how fiercely she could feel herself burning up from the inside out. The heated brush of his breath caressing the line of her jaw toward her ear snapped her back around, bringing her eye to smoldering blue eye with him and mouth to smirking handsome mouth.

The pulse that hit between her tense thighs ignited a wave of the most delicious spams to ever wash over her. It felt as though she was having an orgasm right there on the spot. Her heavy breasts swelled, her nipples thrusting against the shield of her own arms, and her pussy pulsed with need, aching.

“Next time, Princess,” he purred, “wear pants or take pity on the poor bastard and go commando.”

She opened her mouth, only just stopping herself before exploding in outrage. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t make a scene. She had to get off this boat. Her whole body shivered.

He noticed.

Rumbling a low chuckle, he winked and descended the ladder, leaving her fuming, annoyed, and throbbing in ways she was positive ladies in her brother’s world would never do. Or if they did, they certainly didn’t do it for people like Christian. And if they did, it was in the privacy of their bedrooms, or in her case, her bathroom where she could pretend she was having yet another bubble bath and the cameras couldn’t see her.

She gritted her teeth, wanting to say something capable of extricating her from this mire of humiliation, but he was already in the speedboat, and Lamar was coming up.

“Ms. Abdal,” the other man said, doffing his cap, his smirk nowhere near as endearing as she wished Christian’s wasn’t.

Great, now Christian was in the boat, where he would have no problem looking up her skirt. Her stomach did warm acrobatic tumbles, sending liquid tickles like warm summer’s honey, slipping down through the slit of her folds.

Holding the speedboat steady against the ladder, he beckoned to her. “Get a move on, Princess. I haven’t got all day.”

Maybe she could get NATO to just blow her brother’s yacht up with the lot of them still on board. No, that was wrong. The yacht’s staff—chef, sommelier, housekeeper, captain, etc.—were just honest, hard-working people, trying to make a living. They likely hadn’t a clue the monster they were working for.

Damn it. Annoying or not, upskirt Peeping Tom or not, Christian was her only way off this boat.

Mindful of her heels, she climbed onto the top rung of the ladder and with every descending step, did her best not to think about the full-on panty shot she was treating him to under her dress. She was glad she’d worn one of the two pairs of lace panties she’d been able to acquire. At least he wouldn’t see her in those dreadful, child-like briefs, Fariq liked to purchase.

Maybe Christian was being a gentleman. Maybe he wasn’t looking.

A whisper of cool sea air caressed up the backs of her thighs, the skirt of her dress billowing gently as she finally neared the bottom. Taking her arm, Christian held her steady as she dismounted from the ladder into the bottom of the boat.

“Good girl,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Nice panties, too. Personally, I’d prefer you in a thong… or nothing at all. Still, it’s hard to blame Lamar for taking advantage of such a lovely view.”

Her brother had no gentlemen in his employ.

She rounded on him, wobbling on her heels as the boat rocked with the waves rolling beneath them. She quickly caught her balance. So did he, for that matter. He grabbed her elbow, steadying her long enough for her to get her feet back under her, then she yanked free again. He let her go with nothing more than a lift of his eyebrow.

“Ladies,” she told him in her best imitation of her brother’s withering tone, “do not wear things like that. They especially don’t go about in nothing at all!”

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d have killed for a pair of pants or better yet jeans, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She swore when she got free of here, the first things she was going to buy were sexy lingerie and a pair of skin-tight jeans. She wasn’t about to tell him that, either.

“I know a few who’d happily argue that point with you,” he scoffed. “But fine if that’s the hill you want to die on. Put on shorts.”

She’d have killed for a pair of those, too.

“Never!” she hissed.

“Come on,” He fed her a knowing smile. “I’ve seen you through the rails on the uppermost deck. You’re not wearing a burqa or even a dress when you’re swimming in the pool. Are you seriously going to tell me that hot pink number I’ve glimpsed through the rails is all proper and respectable?”

“Of course, it is,” she snapped back. Her brother had bought it for her. He’d bought all her clothes. She wouldn’t have it if it hadn’t passed his quality inspection. “It’s not something I wear in the presence of others. You’re not supposed to be looking at me! Men should never look at ladies outside their family!”

So, why did the idea of Christian watching her while she wore nothing more than a swimsuit—better yet, her pink bikini—flood her with such intense, tingling heat? Her face grew hotter still.

“If that was true,” he snorted, “we’d be one hell of an inbred society.” While he didn’t exactly roll his eyes, he did let the argument drop.

Letting go of the ladder, Christian bent down and before she could react, reached between her legs. The caress of his knuckles against her knee sent fizzles of excitement, light and airy, racing like carbonated water through her veins. She wanted him to run his hand up the inside of her thigh until he could cup her mons and tear away the delicate lace underwear. She yelped as he caught the back of her skirt and pulled it through her thighs to tuck it into the belt around her waist.

“There.” In just a few startled seconds, he’d turned the skirt of her sundress into an impromptu pair of shorts. “Now, you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing something they shouldn’t… unless you want them to.”

That fizzle of excitement turned into an electrified jolt. Shock, fear, arousal—all leapt under her skin, attacking every part of her from her achingly needy nipples to her tight-curling toes.

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