Dollars (Dollar #2)(44)

Who was I kidding?

I could never be her friend.

I couldn’t even be alone with her without doubting I’d have the power not to touch her.

Marching faster, dust kicked up around my dress shoes (I’d traded my flip-flops) as the sun did its best to turn us into jerky. Pim scurried beside me, never looking at me but exquisitely aware of every move I made.

I didn’t think she even knew she did it. Knew how her body flowed in accordance to how fast I travelled, how it paused if I slowed, how it swayed to the side if I lifted an arm. It was as if strings connected her to me, and I had full control over making her dance.

Had she always been so in tune to others or had her captivity given her a sixth sense? An innate ability to duck an incoming blow or pre-empt a threatening kick?

Either way, she distracted me, which was not a good thing.

I was here to work.

I should’ve left her on the f*cking boat.

In the time I’d given her to dress, I’d done my best to get myself under control. It didn’t work. And when I’d met her on deck seven where the ramp rested to reach the dock, I had a headache and was in a sour mood.

It hadn’t improved when Pim arrived in yet another dress far too big for her. The baby blue material hung with navy panels on the contours of her hips—the same hips I’d clutched in the elevator.

On a curvy woman, the darker fabric would make her curves pop into an hourglass figure. On Pim, she just looked like a model that’d stepped off a runway and had forgotten to eat in decades. At least, she’d had the good sense to bring a large white hat that flopped over one side of her face, keeping her protected from the sun.

It also protected her from me.

She kept me constantly in her awareness but never let me catch her eye. She’d returned to the girl I’d met at Alrik’s—the one with a shawl of icy protection beneath the guise of submission. The one who intrigued me so damn much that I’d practically begged for a night with her.

This woman lived with me on my yacht. We slept a deck apart, and she wanted nothing to do with me. Why the f*ck did I continue to torture myself? I should get rid of her before I did something I regretted.

The idea of removing her from my life (before it was too late) soothed my mind enough to find peace and concentrate. I ignored my silent guest and paid attention to the city of spices instead. It helped a little, concentrating on other people who didn’t have nearly as much power over me as she did.

Morocco was exactly as I remembered.

Hot, dusty, archaic in its organised chaos.

My thoughts normally found sanctuary here away from its own internal jumble, but that was before I made the idiotic decision to steal Pimlico.

The entire drive to the arranged restaurant where we were to meet His Highness, Simo Riyad, she’d peered out the car window, studiously ignoring me.

Did she remember sprawling on my lap in that very vehicle as she choked on her blood? Did she remember me hugging her close, whispering I wouldn’t let her die and she was mine now?

If she did…there was no sign.

Thank God we weren’t in the car anymore because I might’ve done something I regretted.

Just to add to all the rest.

Selix strolled in front of us, protecting me as he was paid to do. We followed a little alleyway to a quaint beachfront restaurant where bodyguards rested in shadow, leaving the royal family to eat in safety.

Entering the airy space with its windowless walls and earthen design, I slipped into Elder Prest—boat builder, millionaire, and ruthless businessman.

The moment Simo Riyad spotted us, he stood and waved.

Selix subtly put his hand on his torso where his concealed weapon rested before branching to the left, letting me know he had my back but wouldn’t interfere with business.

He caught my gaze, raising his eyebrow at Pimlico.

Did I want him to take her or did I want her near me?

I’d been trying to decide that since we left Phantom.

I was screwed either way.

If Selix took her, I’d wonder if she’d call my bluff and run—if she’d vanish before I had a chance to interrogate and sample her. But if she sat beside me, questions would come and what answers could I give?

Who the f*ck cares?

They’re business associates, not confidants. They don’t need to know.

Straightening my shoulders, I shook my head and took Pimlico’s elbow, guiding her away from Selix and toward the table where Simo, his wife, and two young children sat prim and proper.

Pim stiffened under my direction but didn’t pull away.

Drawing up to the table, Simo’s wife smiled demurely, her attention flicking from me to Pim and back again. The kids smiled too—perfect manners for royal offspring. All of them had mocha skin and rich dark hair, reminding me of a culture different to the Western world where I’d grown up, even though I had ? exotic blood running in my veins.

“Ah, we finally meet.” Simo stood, holding out his hand to shake. His turban hid most of his head, and his cobalt three-piece suit was too stuffy for the sticky heat.

“It’s been a long time coming, Your Highness.” I placed mine in his, glad to finally meet the man who, on paper, I genuinely liked. Compared to the other *s I dealt with, he was an innocent puppy dog.

However, no one truly knew another—even when living together.

I threw a scowl at Pim.