“I’m Ziya,” the man introduced.
“Midnight,” she curtly replied.
A few seconds of silence passed. Midnight kept her eyes locked on the elevator floor numbers as they lit up. Her fingers twitched with the need to make sure her scarf was covering her face.
“Do you have any weapons on you?” Ziya finally asked.
“Loads of them,” she replied.
Another beat passed.
“If you harm Prince Junayd, we will kill you.”
Midnight laughed and shook her head. “You’ll try to kill me,” she corrected.
The fancy deathtrap slowed to a stop. She breathed a sigh as the doors opened, showing an expensive apartment with few personal touches. Issa touched her arm, and she paused, looking up at him. An approaching battle was there in his eyes, conveying both a warning and a wariness.
“He isn’t the kind of guy I target," she reassured. "Now, your guy, Yahya? I don’t like being tracked, so he might be a different matter. How close are you to him?" she taunted.
Issa stared at her for a moment. She waggled her eyebrows—and he burst into a deep laugh. Ziya snorted and grinned.
“I like her,” Ziya said.
“What is so funny?” Junayd demanded—and just like that, attraction hit her with the force of a freight train. Her feet were rooted to the ground but the space between them shrank as the prince stepped closer.
I am well and truly screwed,she thought when Junayd cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes.
Eleven
Ziya’s explanation barely registered in Junayd’s mind. There was something about weapons and killing Yahya. The rest was a blur.
“That will be all,” he said, dismissing the two guards.
The moment they were alone, he reached for her scarf, pausing at the last moment to wait for consent. Their eyes met. She gave a brief nod.
He smiled and gently removed the silky cloth, unveiling her face. He caressed the scar along her cheek, following it with his lips. Her breath shuddered.
“Junayd,” she breathed.
“You vanished behind a stone wall,” he growled against her cheek.
She jerked when he nipped her ear in reprisal.
“You had me tracked,” she accused.
“You went over the side of a building after suffering a gunshot wound. Has anyone even looked at it since?” he demanded.
He leaned back far enough to see her lips pressing in a mutinous line, but her cheeks were pink as she looked away. He picked her up, ignoring her startled cry as he did so. She stared at him as if he had lost his mind when he carried her bridal-style in his arms across the living room and into his bedroom.
He pushed the door open with his foot and crossed to the bed where he gently laid her down. Heat infused every part of his body as he locked eyes with hers. Color came again to her cheeks and her skin warmed noticeably where he was touching her. He broke eye contact in a token attempt at professionalism and made quick work of removing her tote and unzipping her hoodie.
“Careful with my tote! It has Ju—it has my marshmallows in it,” she chided. She pushed his hands away and tried to get up. “What are you doing? I’m fine.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” he rumbled, putting one hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist.
She looked up at him defiantly, her weight leaning on her hands behind her. Their proximity sent a thrill through him, and it was a struggle to not let his eyes drift down to her breasts.
"What are you afraid of? That you can't keep your hands off me?" he asked softly.