Desire’s Addiction by Mari Carr & Lila Dubois

Author:Mari Carr & Lila Dubois [Carr, Mari & Dubois, Lila]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter Thirteen

“Nik, the fleet admiral is downstairs.”

Nikolett looked up from her computer. Vadisk Kushnir stood in the doorway of her room. They hadn’t been able to get a suite on short notice, and hotels with connecting rooms were hard to come by in Dublin, so Vadisk had instead found a small bed-and-breakfast and gotten them both of the rooms on the top floor of the narrow house. He’d spent several hours this morning putting security measures in place on the stairway, and she knew he planned to sleep with his door open, so he’d be able to intercept anyone who came up the stairs.

The security measures seemed excessive, but Nikolett knew better than to say that. It would be painfully naïve of her to assume that someone wasn’t out to get her.

But Eric…he was a different kind of danger.

“What do you want me to do?” Vadisk asked.

“Is he alone?” she asked.

“Three Spartan Guard.”

He hadn’t come alone. That probably meant this was business. “Give me ten minutes, then we’ll meet them downstairs; maybe we can use the dining room.” The host had assured them they were welcome to make use of the house.

Vadisk hesitated. “The security is better up here.”

Nikolett froze, hand on the blouse she’d just recently changed out of. She looked at her security officer.

“Give me an hour and I’ll find someplace in the city that we can secure,” he assured her.

Nikolett shook herself. “No. It’s fine. We’ll meet up here.”

Nikolett’s room, with its partially sloped ceiling, was the larger of the two. It had a small sitting area, a desk, and a lovely, large bed with a lace bedspread. A folding screen hid a claw-foot tub and pedestal sink, while the only door in the room led to a small water closet. The bed was still made, her things tucked neatly into the large armoire.

This room wasn’t really her space. It was just a hotel room. Inviting Eric—and his guards—up here wasn’t intimate. Shouldn’t feel intimate.

“Ten minutes,” she told Vadisk, slipping behind the screen with her blouse in hand.

Eight minutes later, she was back at the desk, but rather than facing the small window, she’d turned the desk so she was facing the door, the desk itself a barrier between her and the open door.

She’d put her cream-colored blouse back on, her hair up in a simple twist. Her slacks were wrinkled, so she’d left on her stretchy black lounge pants rather than wearing something crumpled, but her feet were back in her heels rather than the soft sock-slippers she’d been wearing a moment ago.

She bent over her computer, staring at the random spreadsheet she’d opened. But she didn’t really see the screen. She was listening to the sound of heavy footsteps on the wood stairs. Her breath hitched as they grew louder, her pulse pounding.

Calm down. Calm down. Cool, composed, in control. Anything less and they won’t respect you, won’t listen to you.

Except this wasn’t about the faceless “they”—the men who’d ignored and dismissed her when she’d

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