Page 34 of Claimed

“Do I look okay?” she asked as he watched her, for once completely fine with the blush that stained her cheeks. Let him think she was flustered—she was. As long as he didn’t think she was going to faint, she was safe.

“You do. But I took you rather precipitously from the room. Getting back might be a trick.”

She shook her head. “You go first. No one notices me the way they notice you, and if you’re in the room for a few minutes, me slipping back in won’t cause a stir. If the reverse happens, they’ll start thinking about it,” she said. “It’s never good when people start thinking.”

He scowled. “I don’t want to leave you alone in this room.”

“Okay, don’t—we’ll go back partway, then split up.”

A strange expression flickered over his face, but he nodded. He took her hand and led her back to the door, then smoothly moved out with her arm curled over his, as if they’d just returned from an evening stroll. There was no one in the corridor, but his steps were so sedate and measured, they served to slow down Nicki’s heart rate by the time they reached the first sparsely populated sitting room. He glanced down at her and she shrugged.

“You know, as long as I’m not wrecked, I don’t think anyone will notice if we walk in together.”

“You don’t look wrecked,” he said, his gaze roaming over her face, her hair. “Clearly, I’m losing my touch.”

“That’s the benefit of not wearing much makeup,” Nicki said with a wink. “I always look like me. Even if I’ve been up to no good.”

He laughed, which lightened her mood further as they headed back to the party. She was right again, too: no one noticed them slip back in, precisely because it seemed like Stefan was moving in slow motion, as if by his own hand he could slow down the turning hands of time and preserve this moment.

They parted ways shortly after entering the room—him to mingle with the Turkish officials, her to meet and re-meet the remarkable number of the windsurfing community that knew or remembered her from past years.

It always surprised her, the sense of community that these athletes had. They were ferocious competitors, but for the most part, they were the glue that made everything work in between the competitions. Josef had clearly made the rounds before her, because she had no fewer than three job offers before she’d returned to the food table.

With another glass of champagne to steady her fingers, she gazed out over the sparkling town of Alaçati and into the cold gray building at the top of the southern ridgeline. She wondered about the inhabitants of that building, if the stories were to be believed. Was there a lost prince out there under all that gray? And how would life change if they found him—either dead or alive?

Twenty-Four

Stefan watched Nicki mingle across the room as he made his own rounds. With everyone she met, she was bright, vivacious, engaged—and authentic, despite her almost relentless cheer. Was that due to the people who connected with her, all of them athletes or former athletes? Or would she be that way to everyone who approached her, from toddler to grandmother?

He frowned, shaking his head at the unexpected thought. Nicki Clark had so far performed exactly as he needed her to. She’d shown up and done the work, logging the video blogs, going where he told her to go, doing whatever he’d asked. She hadn’t lost her nerve on the island—and she should have. She hadn’t balked at working long days doing articles purely for cover, not for pay—and she should have, given that she was a professional journalist. She’d endured his sarcasm and his judgment and taken it as her due.

That last continued to bother him, and he lifted his hand idly to rub his chest as he studied her. There was something about Nicki that was almost fatalistic, as if she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was only twenty-three...too young to have come by that belief the usual way. She didn’t appear to becrushed by life’s experiences, but instead was someone who took them on full force, learning and adapting to each new challenge.

So why was she so hesitant? Timid wasn’t the right word—no one would ever accuse her of timidity. But there was almost an expectation that she would somehow do the wrong thing, say the wrong words, react the wrong way. It didn’t make sense.

At that moment, Nicki caught him staring at her across the room. Another woman would have acted coy, or pretended she didn’t notice. Nicki merely grinned and raised her champagne flute, appearing for all the world like she was exactly who she was pretending to be: an adventure blogger thrilled to be rubbing elbows with the glitterati and her home crowd alike.

Only thiswaswho Nicki could be, if she truly wanted to be. He wasn’t unaware of the attention she was receiving. He overheard or intuited the job offers. That Nicki responded to each with gracious, non-committal answers once again left him wondering why. She was here as cover, yes, but these offers were for the life she would lead after the need for cover was through. This little jaunt to Turkey was three inconsequential days out of her life. Would she follow up on those opportunities later, if one truly caught her interest?

He shouldn’t care. He knew he shouldn’t care. Nicki Clark wasn’t his mission here, Aristotle Andris was. And Nicki was doing everything she could to ease their way so they could find Ari sooner—whether it was the prince himself, or simply his remains. She was working hard, sacrificing. The least he could do was the same.

If only every time she glanced over at him, his resolve to treat her with polite indifference didn’t shatter into a million pieces.

That…was an issue.

By the time they left the party, Nicki glowed like an incandescent bulb, attracting a stream of admiring glances—none more so than from Omir. She knew it too.

“Is he still watching?” she asked with a sunny smile, her words unusually biting despite her carefree expression.

“I think he might well stare a hole in the elevator door.”

“Then let’s take the stairs,” she said. “Anything to move us more quickly out of here is all right by me.”

The stairs didn’t take them down to the front of the lobby, however, but to the sitting room in the back—a sitting room that opened onto another wide veranda that led down to the water. They exited the hotel that way.

“Our hotel is on the waterfront. We might as well walk,” he said, and Nicki nodded.

“It couldn’t be a more beautiful night.”