CHAPTER ONE
JAGSTRODEINTOthe bright, vast garage in time to witness a dark-haired woman wearing an obnoxious lime-green jumpsuit reach out to delicately caress his priceless vintage Ferrari GTO.
The Ferrari, which gleamed in glacier-blue perfection, rested atop a round white platform beneath a bright spotlight.
The woman’s hand upon it was gentle and lingering, like that of a lover’s cupping of the curved hip of their beloved.
Something unfamiliar and powerful jolted through Jag’s body at the sight of it, though he remained where he stood.
Hard or soft, the pressure of her touch didn’t matter.
She did not have permission to touch his car.
“Mmm...” she purred, unaware of Jag’s presence, her voice lingering on the sound with the same sensuality with which she handled his vehicle. “Practically perfect,” she continued in a low, throaty voice. “In every way. It’s an outrage that I don’t get to keep you all to myself. Only I know how to take care of something as precious and rare as you.”
Her words were slightly breathless, each syllable heavy and erotic, as if she and the car existed in a private world of their own.
Jag swallowed, his hand clenching at his side so that he didn’t involuntarily lift it to accept an invitation that he logically knew she was not offering to him.
But maybe by proxy?
Shaking the outrageous thought out of his head, he blinked slowly, intentionally unclenching his hand at his side.
That he was here at all, at the very western edge of the United States—as opposed to attending to any number of the many interests he had as Crown Prince of the independent emirate of Hayat—was absolutely ridiculous.
To have arrived in time to discover a strange woman pawing his precious jewel was utterly unconscionable.
Equally offensive was the fact that the car was the one thing left in Jag’s world that could be used to manipulate him. And while NECTAR did not directly control that, he’d certainly revealed to the world that it was true.
Which was, naturally, the point that offended Jag the most.
Manipulation by means of the heart was the thing he hated most in all of creation.
Through restricting the output of his love, doling it out rarely and only to those in command of their own security forces with at least a modicum of demonstrated martial acuity, he had thought himself to have been thoroughly cured of that particular weakness, and for a very long time now.
But he had been utterly immovable on the decision to travel all this way—against his better judgment and adviser’s wishes—for the humble pleasure of having his own property back.
Adding insult to injury, he had done so at the demand of a man whom literally no one had ever met, no one could physically describe, and now, only Jag knew the location of. Well, now Jag and his security team. Obviously, he had not walked into an American blind spot without a contingency and retrieval plan. He was too important for that. That would have been irresponsible.
But at least the beauty that shone before him was worth it—beauty of the four-wheeled variety, he mentally insisted.
Though her back remained to him, he could sense that the woman, too, was beautiful, as well as appreciate the tantalizing view of her generously rounded rear end and shapely thighs and calves.
But he didn’t have time for the woman. He was here for the car.
While Jag was happy to play light and carefree in the company of the few individuals he loved in this world, and to become a master seducer when he needed to let off a little steam, since stepping into his role as Crown Prince and officially instituting his plan to bring his father to ruin, his playboy prince persona had been put firmly behind him.
His people wanted their prince to be a wholesome family role model and, to the best of his ability, he would give his people what they wanted—both because a good leader put the needs of his people above his own, and because he needed to be popular if he was going to overthrow his father without bloodshed.
For not the first time, Jag deliberately pulled his attention away from the curvy creature of flesh before him and returned it to his angel on four wheels, drawing in a long breath as he did it, and exhaling only once he got there.
The car was pristine. Possibly in the top tier of most stunning objects he had ever laid his eyes on.
And there would be plenty of time to admire it, and women, when he returned to Hayat.
But between planning the largest international event that Hayat had ever seen and launching the final phase of his plan to oust his father from the throne, there was not a lot of room in his schedule for leisurely exchanges with reclusive automotive geniuses.
There was simply too much at stake.