101 Nights Box Set: Volume Two Read online

  The George from last night … him I want forever. I lowered my guard completely for the first time in my life, and the worst possible thing happened.

  I fell for him. Hard. Completely. In a way I’ll never recover from.

  Part of me knows the night of sex was the culmination of what’s been building for two months. I spent weeks deciphering the incredible mind of my greatest hacking enemy, learning his secrets and grappling with the knowledge he was learning mine simultaneously. Our relationship has been complicated from the beginning, a tug of war of epic proportions that started with our brilliant minds and ended last night in the physical throes of passion.

  For one night, I wasn’t alone anymore, and I’ve never been happier.

  “Ugh, Alisha. Don’t go all mushy.” I roll my shoulders back. A traitorous voice whispers that I should tell George what I’m planning, that maybe I can trust him during the day the way I did last night. He has a knack for pulling me out of the trouble I manage to create.

  The idea of trusting him does more than upset me. It terrifies me. He’s been honest about who he is and what he wants, and he doesn’t want me, a relationship or strings attached to anyone other than his employer.

  “No George.” I decide. Mostly in agreement with the decision, I open the door to the living room and stop. How the fuck does he always do this?

  He’s waiting, seated on the couch with a mug of coffee in one hand. If I were fevered thinking about him, I’m on fucking fire seeing him. My insides respond in a way that scares me with the crippling intensity of desire. He rocked my world, and I want him to do it again and again and again. The images of what we did last night are on a replay loop in my head. Gazing at him, I can imagine every inch of his naked skin, from the gloriously oversized dick to the birthmark on one of his ass cheeks.

  “Going out?” he asks with his normal cool casualness.

  I’m on fire, and he’s calm. Like last night was just another night with a whore to him. It was everything to me.

  This man twists my emotions in ways I can’t understand, but there is an instinct I’m shocked to feel: a sense of control. Power. I had it last night, and this morning, it’s lingering, the feeling that my world no longer rules me but that I, for once, am in charge of it. It started when I decided not to live in Tony’s shadow and chose to fuck George until I couldn’t move.

  It started the first time he uttered the incredible words, command me.

  “No,” I lie.

  George’s grey eyes lift to mine, and my inner thighs tremble from his intent look. He’s wearing another perfectly tailored suit, this one in slate grey. It clings to the narrow hips that were so recently clenched between my thighs and highlights the muscular torso whose muscles I traced with my fingers and tongue.

  “Is the AC on?” I mumble and go to the temperature controls on the wall next to the kitchen. It’s a cool sixty-five degrees in here, and I’m about to melt. I’m not freaking out for once. I can’t recall the last time I experienced any sort of inner calm, and I can’t explain why I feel it now. It has something to do with the man seated on the couch waiting to crush my soul.

  “I thought you might want to speak to Layla. If you have other plans …” He stands.

  “You’re being an ass!” I can’t help the words. I’m physically agitated and mentally excited.

  He lifts his eyebrows in polite offense. “You’re dressed to leave, and I doubt you planned on letting me know.”

  The tension between us is even heavier today, the compulsion to be close enough to smell his expensive cologne and feel his heat strong enough that I clench the back of the chair between us. I have the urge to straddle his pretty mouth and order him to make me come with his tongue once more. I thought the desire would be lessened since he got what he wanted last night, and I was shagged into exhaustion.

  “Layla,” I manage in the thick silence.

  He graciously motions to the door. I’m figuring out that the more polite he is, the more pissed off, too.

  I go to the door, far too aware of how close he is. Opening it before he can reach around me to do so, I step into the hallway. His two beefy guards glance at me without speaking.

  George joins me in the corridor and begins walking without a look at me.

  There are moments when I want to turn into my mother and fling something at him. She had the ability to hit any of us kids with a cup, shoe or pan square in the back of the head from fifteen feet away. I hated that about growing up but right now, I wish I’d taken a lesson or two from her.

  I trail George as he leads us into a part of the palace where I’ve never ventured. There are armed guards at every corner. What I thought of as over-the-top décor in the rest of the palace pales in comparison to the garish luxury in this wing. If somehow I fail, and Natalie stays here to marry that asshole Elijah, I hope with all my heart she redecorates.

  There are no guards stationed at this hallway. George turns down the shallow corridor with only two doors opposite each other. He glances at his watch and stops with his hand on the doorknob of one of them.

  “We have five minutes and not a second more,” he warns me.

  I look up at him, a thrill shooting through me at his scent and the knowledge I’m about to find the final piece of the puzzle as to where Natalie is. I nod. I can barely stand still.

  George opens the door to reveal a luxurious living area of a penthouse. Seated on the couch, looking as bewildered as she did on the television, is Layla. She’s wearing a traditional long robe of rich purple covered with gold lace. Her crutches rest against the cushion beside her. She’s wearing makeup with her hair in an elaborate mix of braids and golden flowers.

  Fidgeting, she looks up as I walk in. Her eyes go immediately to George, who follows closely behind me. Recognition crosses her features, followed by joy, and she stands.

  “Uncle George!” she calls.

  “Hello, Layla.” His tone is soft. He goes to her without hesitation.

  I watch, surprised, when she wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. George picks up the fourteen-year-old and gives her a bear hug.

  “Are you okay, love?” he asks her gently.

  It strikes me then that George and Elijah have spent years hiding her. She doesn’t know who she is, but she knows her protectors. More importantly, George truly cares for her. His features are relaxed, his expression containing more warmth than I’ve ever seen. Why does it shock me so much to see this side of him? I’m envious of the girl who’s at the center of his attention.

  “Yeah. They won’t tell me where EJ is,” she said in a tight voice. Her arms are wrapped tightly around his neck. She’s not about to let go.

  “Don’t worry, Layla. EJ is safe,” he assures her. “You trust me?”

  “Always.” She smiles.

  Ugh. I couldn’t catalog my emotions if I tried, except that they make a lump form in my throat and my chest feel like it’s in a vise.

  George sets her down. She won’t let go of him, so he perches on the corner of the ottoman. “I brought someone to meet you,” he says.

  Layla lets go of him reluctantly and regards me in a combination of fear and uncertainty.

  “Her name is Alisha, and she’s Natalie’s best friend,” George continues is the soft, soothing voice. “Did you meet Natalie?”

  Layla nods.

  I swallow hard and move forward, kneeling beside the couch in an effort to mirror George’s unintimidating pose.

  “Alisha,” Layla echoes. “Natalie said you’d rescue her.”

  I laugh, caught off guard.

  “Are you being treated well?” George asks.

  Layla hesitates before nodding. “That man is gone. He was mean to Natalie. She protected me from him and then he turned me over to … my father.” She struggles with the words.

  My breath catches. The haunted look on her face tells me more than I want to know. Please be okay, Natty. I’m coming. I promise.

  “I don’t want to talk abou
t it, Uncle George,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.

  “You don’t have to,” he assures her. He pulls up something on his phone and holds out to her. I lean forward to see Hasan’s picture.

  She cringes away, confirmation of the identity of the man she’s talking about.

  “It’s okay, love,” he murmurs. “Just know I’ll make sure he doesn’t ever bother you again.”

  Layla nods. She trusts him completely, and I can’t help thinking she has no clue how far he’ll take that promise.

  “Layla, I need your help to rescue Natalie,” I say, aware of the time constraint we’re under. “Is there anything about where you stayed that you remember? How many people were with you? If they had computers or phones?”

  “No computers,” Layla replies. “Lots of men, and it smelled like fish and … rocked.” Her nose wrinkles.

  Definitely the wharf district. “Good,” I smile at her. “Anything else? What was around you?”

  “I was blindfolded the whole time,” Layla replied. “I heard their voices but I never saw anyone but him.”

  My heart sinks.

  “Natalie told me to tell you a secret.” Layla glanced at George. “I can’t tell you, Uncle George. She made me promise.”

  “Secrets are serious business,” he says solemnly. “Go ahead and whisper it to Alisha. I won’t listen.” He makes a show of covering his ears.

  I glare at him briefly, knowing if he doesn’t overhear it, he’ll probably interrogate me about it when we leave. I shift forward, aware that Layla is weak after her ordeal, and wait for the young teen girl to tell me the message Natalie sent.

  “Boston Tea Party,” Layla whispers to me.

  I start to smile. Natalie and I grew up together, two poor kids in the slums whose parents worked double shifts. Left to our own devices after school was out, we were smart enough not to get involved in drugs or gangs. We created our own language, one we occasionally use to this day. Boston Tea Party was a code for a place we used to meet after school. Without knowing the wharf area, it won’t help me find her until I can see the buildings in person.

  “You are amazing.” I hug Layla. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Layla hugs me back. She’s small and frail for her age, and I suspect much of her stunted growth has to do with the car accident that almost killed her five years before.

  George taps his watch.

  “We have to go,” I say and pull away.

  “You’re going to rescue her,” Layla guesses.

  “Yep, we are.”

  “I want Uncle George to hurt the man who made Natalie bleed.”

  I stare at her, startled by the dark sentiment coming from the innocent girl. The shadow is back in her dark gaze, a flicker of something that breaks my heart to see. “Sweetheart, we’ll get her back. Hurting people is never acceptable, even if they hurt you. You just learn to move on and someday, you forgive them, because the only reason someone hurts you is that they’re broken and need help. You don’t want something bad to happen to someone who needs help, do you?”

  Layla hesitates. “I guess not. EJ is broken and helped me.” She blinks away tears. “I don’t want him to hurt Natalie again.”

  The desperate need to act is churning in my belly. It takes all my self-control to continue talking to Layla when I want to bolt and sprint all the way to the wharf. “It’s called karma, sweetie. Broken people who don’t go on to help others like your brother did eventually get what’s coming to them. Just never wish ill on anyone. It’s not good karma.”

  She rolls her eyes, and I laugh at the typical teen behavior. “Will you come back for tea with Natalie?”

  “We will,” I promise and stand.

  “We need to go,” George tells her. “Can you keep our talk a secret?”

  Layla nods without hesitation. It’s clear she worships him.

  “If anyone scares you, call me. I’ll make sure they stop.” He hands her a card with his number on it.

  “Thank you, Uncle George.” She’s looking less freaked out than she has in any of her official press photos.

  I smile. I can’t say farewell. The lump in my throat is back. All I can think about is how scared Layla is and how much danger Natalie is still in.

  We leave, and George leads us quickly through the wing back to the main corridor. I’m fighting tears by the time we get there. I can’t wipe them away fast enough, and I can hardly breathe for want of crying. I follow his blurry grey form down a quieter hallway.

  Seconds later, I feel George’s arms around me. Any part of me that wants to fight him out of principle if not anger evaporates at his solid heat and strength. His tangy cologne tickles my senses while the sexual attraction between us makes it harder for me to control any of my emotions.

  I cry. He shields me from the world in a way no one else ever has, his chin resting against my temple and his arms wrapped securely around me. I feel safe with him, like we might survive this after all.

  “It’s okay, love. We’re minutes from saving her,” he whispers in the same gentle tone he used with Layla.

  Calming, I cling to him for a moment, my mind racing. “You have to take me with you.”

  “No, Alisha.”

  “George, I know how to find her.” I lift my head to meet his gaze.

  He studies me and brushes tears from one cheek. “I saw the ping.”

  Figures he hacked my laptop. “But I know what Natalie’s code means. If you don’t take me there now, I’ll go on my own!”

  “Listen, Alisha.” He lowers his head until his lips move against my ear and his voice is too quiet for anyone to overhear. “The port is a known smuggling hotspot with what I’ll call accepted hours of operation. EJ is supposed to come in this evening during the timeframe where the port authorities are paid to look the other way,” he explains. “My safest course of action to avoid drawing Hasan’s suspicion is to wait for him to arrive and then free Natalie on our way out. If we go now, we risk spooking them.”

  I hate how logical he is about everything. I press my cheek to his chest, enjoying the way he always steadies my spinning head when I’m in his arms.

  “Do you understand?” he prods.

  “Sure,” I snap.

  “Alisha.” The dangerous note sends a thrill through me. “I cannot spend my day ensuring you stick to the plan.”

  “Okay. Then no. I have no intention of following your plan.”

  “You have no weapons and an aversion to blood. What do you plan to do?” he demands. “Walk in and ask Hasan to hand over Natalie?”

  “Fuck you, George!” I push at him. “I’m not an idiot!”

  He holds me tight. “You’re the most brilliant person I know, Alisha. But you act without thinking about what happens next.”

  “George, it’s hours until sunset!” I say. “Hours! Do you know what someone like Hasan or Tony or hell, you, can do to a woman in hours?”

  “It’s nothing compared to what someone like Hasan or Tony will do if we fuck up their plan right now. We can’t risk her life by acting impulsively.”

  He’s right. I can’t react out of emotion when it’s Natalie’s life on the line. I sink against his hard frame once more and rest my cheek against his chest. His warmth sizzles through the cloth of his shirt, and I can’t help wishing he was bare chested, so I could feel his skin once more.

  “I won’t risk you either,” he adds.

  “I thought you’d be glad to get me out of the way,” I retort with no heat.

  “You’d be wrong.”

  I’m not going to read anything into this, aside from the fact he wants another night of crazy sex. Seeing him with Layla makes me realize how incredible it’d be if I were the one woman on the planet he cared enough about to protect the way he has Elijah’s sister.

  I’m not, though. The woman who captured his heart died five years before. I found the pictures of them together on his computer. He deleted them, but I know how to put the zeros and ones back togethe
r to recreate files. It didn’t bother me like I thought it would to know he’s been in love before. I think it gave me a little bit of hope that he hasn’t always been the asshole he is now, and that maybe he is this way because he was once capable of human emotions.

  If that’s true, then it’s possible for him to have the capacity to care again someday, when he’s ready. With the right person. Which is probably not me.

  “Okay,” I say finally. “We’ll do it your way, George.”

  “Alisha, if you fuck me over this time …”

  I rest my chin on his chest and gaze up at him. “I won’t. I promise. I’m trusting you. Whether or not I should, I don’t know, but I am. Please don’t let anything happen to my Natalie, George.”

  He considers me, and one of his hands slides down my back to squeeze my ass a moment before he claims my lips. His kiss is hot and deep. He tastes like coffee this morning, and I respond with hunger that catches me by surprise. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything the way I do George, and no amount of reminding myself he’ll crush me will keep me from falling under his spell now.

  Or ever, I’m afraid to admit.

  He presses his hips against mine, his erection pushing into my lower belly. I’m wet and ready for him, and I almost don’t care if we rip off our clothes in the middle of a hallway.

  He breaks off the kiss. “I can’t do this again,” he rasps. Even as he speaks, he’s clutching me to him and his breathing is uneven. We breathe each other’s air. He’s struggling for control, and I’m biting back a plea for him to fuck me right here. “Forgive me, Alisha.”

  With effort, he releases me and walks away, disappearing around the corner.

  I watch him go, stunned and too aroused to think straight.

  It’s the beginning of the end. I knew it was coming and am still surprised.

  It’s too soon. It took me two months to see the side of him I did with Layla and two minutes after that to lose him.

  “I. Will. Not. Cry.” The effort to contain the tears causes physical pain.

  Defeated, scared, I return to his room. I can’t trust him with my heart, but I do trust him with Natalie.