Page 53 of Hot Nights in Morocco
I turn in surprise as one of Jake’s anonymous, mountainous bodyguards emerges from the building behind me. He’s tall and broad with a shaved head and an air of barely controlled menace about him. He attempts to raise a semblance of a smile but it looks more like a twisted grimace on his fleshy boxer’s face. “Please. If you’d like to step this way…”
With one giant arm he attempts to usher me down the steps, but I skip sideways as my self-preservation mode kicks in again. “Why? Where are we going?”
“To your vehicle,” he says, gesturing as a familiar black jeep appears out of nowhere and glides to a stop next to us.
“But Mr. Dalton’s in Marrakech,” I say in disbelief.
“He requested that we collect you tonight.”
He did?
The second bodyguard climbs out of the driver’s seat. He’s shorter than the first guy but twice as wide. It’s all hard muscle, though. When he moves to open the passenger door, there’s barely a ripple of uncoordinated movement beneath his shirt. Up close, he’s not quite so intimidating. I’d almost call him handsome, in a battered sort of a way.
“Did he really ask for this?” I ask, hesitating again.
“He was veryinsistent, Miss Winters.”
That sounds like Jake.Relenting, I slide into the backseat as the two men move to occupy the front. We pull out of the studio lot, but instead of the usual route home, we turn right and head north. I feel a frisson of panic as I stare out at a dusky scene that is sparse and unfamiliar.
“Just relax,” croons the driver, catching my eye in the mirror. “We’ll be there shortly.”
Relax?Not when Jake is pulling the rug out from underneath my feet again. I’ve given up trying to anticipate his next move.
I glance at the bodyguards. These men are as ever present in Jake’s life as I am, yet I still don’t know their names. I can sense a cloak of curiosity separating the backseat from the front. The taller of the two suddenly switches off the radio and reaches round to offer me his hand.
“William,” he states gruffly.
“Nice to meet you, William.” I take it and wince at his firm grip.
“Mason,” says the second, nodding at me in the rearview mirror again.
“How long have you worked for Jake? I mean Mr. Dalton.”
“Two years,” says William, shifting in his seat to adjust the position of his holster. My body gives an involuntary shiver when I see the weapon shielded there.
We’re cruising through the outskirts of another strange town when my stomach turns to mush.Is that the perimeter fencing of an airport complex up ahead?
Sure enough, the car slows to a crawl and approaches a security checkpoint. I angle my head and spot a sleek white private jet resting on the tarmac in front of us.Holy crap.I’ve never been this close to such a blunt display of wealth before. My stepfather is loaded, but this is a whole different league of green.
The vehicle continues toward the aircraft’s steps, and that’s when I see him. He’s lounging against the railings with his arms crossed, chatting away to the pilot, completely oblivious to the mess he’s made of me today. That’s when the penny drops.
This is his jet.
Hisreality.
And mine?
I’m in lust with a Hollywood tsar.
He’s changed his shirt again. This time it’s black and fitted, and he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. He looks composed and relaxed, his deep tan intensified by the harsh glare of the open aircraft door.
Why isn’t he in Marrakech?
He turns when the car stops, and I watch the easy smile fade from his lips. He’s put me through hell and he’s expecting me to give him some major shit about it.
Mason opens the passenger door and I exit as gracefully as I can on trembling legs. This is what Jake does. He shakes me up and makes me feel a somersault of emotions, ones I never dreamed I could feel, not after everything that’s happened to me.
I take a deep, steadying breath, and then disarm us both by walking straight up to him and throwing my arms around his neck.
