Page 62 of Arrogant Bastard

Thoughts of the evening ahead sober me up enough to drag my head from the clouds. Killian’s eyes meet mine, and his features turn serious too.

He takes my hand, and I shamelessly cling to him as we leave the bedroom, and the villa.

We travel in a convoy of two SUVs because his cover of obnoxious, ostentatious billionaire is perfect for the extra security we have with us at all times. Our trip takes us deeper into the desert. The farther we go into the barren landscape, the tenser we both get.

Fifty minutes later, we arrive at the property that looks suspiciously like a hotel. The armed guards at the towering gates trigger another layer of apprehension. I clutch my purse a little tighter and thank God for Killian’s reassurance of GPS trackers on both our clothing and vehicle. Our drivers are part of the team and can provide additional backup if needed. But despite all of that, I’ve been trained to accept that whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, and to adapt quickly.

Although I don’t know how to adapt to the fact that, as we drive under a series of elegant arches into the heart of the hotel, all I can think of is the new life inside me and the risk I’m already exposing him or her to.

More grim-faced armed guards greet us when our vehicle eventually stops. Several more SUVs and rough-terrain Jeeps are lined up on the drive.

We walk through a series of corridors, and I force myself to focus and create a mental image of the landscape. Maybe I need to get Killian to create an app for that for our next assignment.

Another mosaic-tiled corridor brings us out into an open courtyard filled with sharply dressed guests. Mostly men, I note, with another shiver of discomfort. Besides the handful of women sipping cocktails, the only females are the entertainment, mainly scantily clad belly dancers.

I’m clocking exit points when I spot Paul and Raj coming toward us.

“Killian, Faith. You made it.”

Handshakes are exchanged. I try not to stiffen when Paul leans over to brush kisses on my cheeks.

“We said we would,” Killian responds coolly, his arrogant billionaire persona fully in place.

“And we’re honored by your presence,” Raj adds with a wide smile. He’s already halfway to getting drunk, and possibly high as well, if the slight slur in his speech and the rabid glint in his eyes are any indication.

Like before, Paul’s eschewed his motherland’s attire for a sharp gray suit with a white open-necked shirt. Raj is dressed casually in a white shirt and white palazzo pants. And Moses, who joins us a few minutes later, is a cross between the two.

Champagne is offered along with caviar and truffle-topped blinis. For the first time, I get to try the technique of pretending to drink without actually taking a mouthful. I catch Killian doing the same.

“Is this a hotel?” he asks, looking around.

Paul nods as he walks us around the lamplit courtyard. “As yet unopened. It belongs to an associate of mine. He ran into a couple of financial snags that pushed back his schedule. I’m helping him out by paying him to throw a few parties here. It’s perfect for entertaining, don’t you think? I like the…exclusivity.”

“Absolutely,” I concur, but his interest remains on Killian.

“Come, I’ll give you the tour. Show you where you’ll be staying tonight.”

Killian and I exchange glances. “We weren’t expecting to stay the night.” His tone suggests he’s not on board with the surprise move.

“Nonsense. It’s an hour’s drive back to your villa. That sort of journey isn’t recommended once you’ve partied like we intend for you to party.”

“That’s why we have chauffeurs,” Killian replies with a tight smile.

“I’m sure they will appreciate being given the night off too. Or are you one of those billionaire assholes who craps on everyone who’s not as wealthy as him?” Paul says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

I stiffen.

“Whoa, let’s hold the insults until we’ve gotten past the canapés, okay?” Killian’s voice is coated with chilled steel, and the arm around my waist tightens fractionally.

Paul makes an offhanded gesture of contrition. “Come on, I was just kidding. Besides, who the fuck is going to call you out on who you crap on? Being a billionaire should automatically give you that right, if you ask me.”

I take a slow breath and talk myself down from the urge to throw my champagne in his face.

“But, hey, you came here to have fun, am I right? The true fun doesn’t start until half of these assholes here go home to their vanilla beds. So”—he slaps Killian on the arm—“you two are staying. End of discussion.”

He struts off, and I see the tide of fury wash over Killian’s face. Luckily we’re a little distance from the other guests, so no one witnesses his silent rage or how quickly he gets himself under control.

“I want to rip that fucker’s throat out.”

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