CHAPTER ONE
Leaders of Bedouin Tribes shouldn’t be despotic as well as rich. That generated enemies. They should have more than one legitimate son, too. And they’d be well-advised to keep said son under lock and key, rather than let him roam freely about the world, or settled like some potentate in a club in New York where it was so very easy to die.
Game on.
Sasha eyed the five burly gentlemen grouped on either side of the prince. Distractions, and they weren’t even good ones. A few moments would see them dispatched, despite the guns beneath their loose coats, numerous blades, and at least one had a high voltage stunner. He called himself a prince. Right now, he looked more court fool. Sasha blinked slowly and tipped her chin, eyeing her target with the same fascination he appeared to have for her, before she changed it subtly. A little slide farther down her stool opened the slit in her skirt just a bit more, revealing more leg that ended with a stiletto designed to show off every curve. Short men were always fascinated by statuesque women. Always.
She tilted her head slightly as she focused, feeling her hair slide like black silk along her bare back and arms. The prince nodded and licked fairly plumped lips, before gesturing one of his boys over to her. As if she’d be an easy addition to his cadre of women.
Sasha pursed her lips.
The man bowed before her, blocking her view for a few moments with six-and-a-half feet of brawn. The .38 hidden in his left armpit was completely superfluous to what the man was capable of doing with bare hands.
“Prince Hussein Ada Majin would be pleased to meet with you, Miss.”
“A…prince?” Sasha asked, with just a hint of awe staining it.
The man nodded.
“Oh. My.”
Sasha slid from her stool, doing a fair impression of intoxication, to stand next to Burly Guard Number One, looking slightly up at him. In these heels, he had her by two inches, max.
Strategize
.
The closer they got to the prince and his posse, the easier they all looked. Burly Guard Number One was getting the heel of her left hand to the nose. Quick. Clean. Brutal. Number Two would get a right elbow to his windpipe. Number Three was eyeing her with dark eyes glinting with intent. It wasn’t for a fight. Sasha lifted an eyebrow at him. He was getting a pointed toe right to the
cojones
. Number Four didn’t turn until she was close. He didn’t have any extra bulk on him. He was maybe a six on the BMI scale, all lean muscle and taut strength. She’d seen his type before, ready for action and annoyed when it failed to materialize. He’d be fast. Lethal. It would be her pleasure to slam her right fist – flat-knuckled – right into that six-pack.
She doubted Number Five would stick around for the finale. But a stiletto heel in his forehead would probably do the trick – and if not, she didn’t wear a steel cuffed bracelet for jewelry. That piece turned into razor-honed blades with a flick. Then there’d be just her and Prince Hussein.
Sasha leaned on one hip in her model pose, making certain the Prince’s eyes followed every curve all the way to her face. He looked even shorter as he reclined, sprawled into a thick leather chair, showing flabby muscles and soft skin in every line. He looked exactly like his photo.
“May I offer you refreshment?”
He waved an arm, granting her anything on the table. Even the thick lines of white powder that probably cost him more than it was worth. He had the sing-song diction of his culture in his words. Sasha smiled slightly. He wasn’t getting it easy. She would make him beg.
“Not what I came over here for,” she replied.
He nodded. “I wanted to tell you I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Sasha smiled and pulled up enough fluid for a blush. “Thank you,” she finally replied.
“My name is John. And you are?”
“Eve.”
She gave a slight nod, felt a brush of motion past her cheek, and then watched the prince
Leaders of Bedouin Tribes shouldn’t be despotic as well as rich. That generated enemies. They should have more than one legitimate son, too. And they’d be well-advised to keep said son under lock and key, rather than let him roam freely about the world, or settled like some potentate in a club in New York where it was so very easy to die.
Game on.
Sasha eyed the five burly gentlemen grouped on either side of the prince. Distractions, and they weren’t even good ones. A few moments would see them dispatched, despite the guns beneath their loose coats, numerous blades, and at least one had a high voltage stunner. He called himself a prince. Right now, he looked more court fool. Sasha blinked slowly and tipped her chin, eyeing her target with the same fascination he appeared to have for her, before she changed it subtly. A little slide farther down her stool opened the slit in her skirt just a bit more, revealing more leg that ended with a stiletto designed to show off every curve. Short men were always fascinated by statuesque women. Always.
She tilted her head slightly as she focused, feeling her hair slide like black silk along her bare back and arms. The prince nodded and licked fairly plumped lips, before gesturing one of his boys over to her. As if she’d be an easy addition to his cadre of women.
Sasha pursed her lips.
The man bowed before her, blocking her view for a few moments with six-and-a-half feet of brawn. The .38 hidden in his left armpit was completely superfluous to what the man was capable of doing with bare hands.
“Prince Hussein Ada Majin would be pleased to meet with you, Miss.”
“A…prince?” Sasha asked, with just a hint of awe staining it.
The man nodded.
“Oh. My.”
Sasha slid from her stool, doing a fair impression of intoxication, to stand next to Burly Guard Number One, looking slightly up at him. In these heels, he had her by two inches, max.
Strategize
.
The closer they got to the prince and his posse, the easier they all looked. Burly Guard Number One was getting the heel of her left hand to the nose. Quick. Clean. Brutal. Number Two would get a right elbow to his windpipe. Number Three was eyeing her with dark eyes glinting with intent. It wasn’t for a fight. Sasha lifted an eyebrow at him. He was getting a pointed toe right to the
cojones
. Number Four didn’t turn until she was close. He didn’t have any extra bulk on him. He was maybe a six on the BMI scale, all lean muscle and taut strength. She’d seen his type before, ready for action and annoyed when it failed to materialize. He’d be fast. Lethal. It would be her pleasure to slam her right fist – flat-knuckled – right into that six-pack.
She doubted Number Five would stick around for the finale. But a stiletto heel in his forehead would probably do the trick – and if not, she didn’t wear a steel cuffed bracelet for jewelry. That piece turned into razor-honed blades with a flick. Then there’d be just her and Prince Hussein.
Sasha leaned on one hip in her model pose, making certain the Prince’s eyes followed every curve all the way to her face. He looked even shorter as he reclined, sprawled into a thick leather chair, showing flabby muscles and soft skin in every line. He looked exactly like his photo.
“May I offer you refreshment?”
He waved an arm, granting her anything on the table. Even the thick lines of white powder that probably cost him more than it was worth. He had the sing-song diction of his culture in his words. Sasha smiled slightly. He wasn’t getting it easy. She would make him beg.
“Not what I came over here for,” she replied.
He nodded. “I wanted to tell you I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Sasha smiled and pulled up enough fluid for a blush. “Thank you,” she finally replied.
“My name is John. And you are?”
“Eve.”
She gave a slight nod, felt a brush of motion past her cheek, and then watched the prince
Similar Books
