Highlander - Donna Lettow [49]
Slowly, his soapy hands circled upward, lathering her chest, spiraling up her breasts. Feeling a little devilish, he paid special attention to the hollow between her breasts where he’d discovered she was so very ticklish. Laughing, she pulled away from his slippery embrace. “Duncan, if you keep this up, I’ll never leave.”
“That’s the plan,” he said, running the soapy bar down her nose.
“No!” she protested, wiping the soap from her nose. “I have to get back to the hotel before six-thirty. Some of us have to work today.”
Sadly, he knew she was right. While he could be content to dally in the shower with her all day, much more important matters—at least in the grand scheme of things—awaited Maral. “Okay, Cinderella, you finish up here.” He handed her the soap. “I’ll start some coffee, and we’ll get you back before you turn into a pumpkin. I promise.”
He slipped from the shower and grabbed a towel from a nearby bar. He buried his face in the thirsty terry cloth as he walked from the bathroom toward the galley, then tousled it through his damp hair.
“Good morning, Mr. MacLeod.”
There, waiting patiently on his sofa in dark suit and Arab headdress, Farid. Assad and two more of Farid’s goons were ranged about the barge, their pistols drawn and trained on MacLeod.
MacLeod, preserving his dignity, made no quick moves to hide his nakedness. Instead, he acted as if there was nothing out of the ordinary in receiving groups of armed guests on the barge in his altogether. “You couldn’t have knocked?”
“You were otherwise engaged, I think,” Farid said with a look that, if he thought Farid actually capable of emotion, MacLeod would have called a smirk. “Where is Dr. Amina?”
MacLeod called into the bathroom. “Cinderella, your ugly stepmother’s here.” The sound of the shower stopped with an abrupt squeak. “I’d recommend the robe on the back of the door.” Chilly, MacLeod wrapped the towel casually around his waist.
“I’d recommend you gather the doctor’s things and take them to her, Mr. MacLeod,” Farid said calmly. ‘There is no need for all of us to be shamed.”
“I don’t suppose you could wait on deck.”
“I’m afraid not.” Farid and his men watched MacLeod intently as he collected bits of Maral’s clothing from around the sofa and delivered it to her in the bathroom. When MacLeod exited the bathroom, he closed the door soundly behind him.
“I was about to put on a pot of coffee. Interested?” Off the Arabs’ sullen silence, he gestured down at his towel-clad body, “Look, Farid, it’s obvious I’m not armed here. Tell the boys to put the toys away and tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s going on is that we are in the midst of an international security crisis and you’re luring this woman away to play your childish sex games.” Farid stood and faced MacLeod, nose to nose. “I could have you arrested for kidnapping a diplomat of the Palestinian people, Mr. MacLeod, but I would rather avoid the unpleasant press that would generate. But I will if you force my hand. Do we have an understanding?”
Something in Farid’s voice … “Whoa, back it up. What international security crisis? This is no longer about Hebron, is it?” Farid seemed unwilling to give him any details, and MacLeod pressed him. “Tell me. If this involves Maral, I need to know.” Still nothing. “I make a better ally than enemy, Farid,” and the look of warning in MacLeod’s eyes gave the Palestinian a taste of what it might be like to go up against him.
Farid conceded and, with a gesture of his hand, told the others to put their weapons away. “A public bus exploded outside Tel Aviv yesterday, killing four Israeli soldiers and a civilian bus driver. Someone worked very hard to make it look like the work of the Jewish fundamentalists, but we have reason to believe it was the work of the terrorist organization