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She knew because she’d always possessed a weird extra sense when it came tohim.
A Yana’s stupid-for-this-man sense.
A basic, lizard-brainwantingthat screamed she was prey even though he’d never played predator. A let’s-ditch-any-self-respect-and-make-a-play-for-him urge.
Nasir Hadeed.
World-famous fantasy author, current political strategist and retired investigative journalist, reclusive billionaire and most important of all—her stepbrother for just four years.
They’d only ever spent a few months under the same roof out of the four years his father had been married to Diana. During the time when she’d transformed from a gangly, awkward fifteen to a leggy, brazen, stupidly confident nineteen, who’d imagined herself to be a tempting seductress.
Already, Nasir had been successful, renowned and respected in literary circles and the political world as a just-retired war-zone correspondent.
Twelve years older than she was, he’d not only been incisively brilliant in ways Yana couldn’t comprehend, but also effortlessly suave and stunning with a roguish glint in his eyes that the world didn’t see. His brilliant, award-winning tracts on war zones and world issues hadn’t captured her heart, though.
It had been the fantasy novels he’d written, garnering worldwide acclaim that had thoroughly captivated her. Those brief months she’d spent with him had been in a different universe in which he hadn’t loathed her. An alternate, upside-down timeline.
He’d indulged her overlong, extravagant breakfasts at the palatial mansion that had been his father’s house in Monaco—when she’d demanded to know why a loathed character had to be redeemed or a favorite one had met her demise—with a dispassionate fondness and that dark smile. As if she were a stray dog he’d pat on the head and throw a few morsels of affection at.
But thanks to her behavior on her nineteenth birthday, when he’d returned from the incident overseas that had given him all those scars, he’d written her off forever.
How Yana wished she possessed one of those time stones he’d written about in one of his novels. So many wrong and questionable and self-defeating decisions she could erase with one turn of the stone. Especially when it came to Thaata and him.
Two men—two of the most important men in her life who’d influenced her, made her want to be more than who she was. One of them, her grandfather, was forever gone now thinking the worst of her, and one was determined to think the worst of her forever. She wiped at a stray tear that flew into her hair, donning the superficial persona that had become like a second skin now.
Because if Nasir pitied her, she’d just fall apart.
One signal from Nasir to the nearly invisible bartender and bright lights illuminated the dark corner. Immediately, he moved to block the glare that made Yana blink gritty eyes.
Shards of light traced the blade-sharp cheekbones, the hollows beneath and the wide, thin-lipped mouth. And the scar that bisected his upper lip and zigzagged through his left cheek—the remnant of a near-fatal knife wound that had changed the trajectory of his life. And hers, in a way.
Awareness pressed down on her as he took her in with that quiet intensity. She’d never understood how there could be such intense energy between them when they detested each other.
“Hello, Yana.”
A full body shiver overtook her and still, she lay there, stupidly gaping at him, gathering her armor, which had already been battered by grief and loss. “Am I in hell, then?”
In response, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her mostly exposed chest and bare shoulders. She’d always marveled at how cruel and dispassionate Nasir’s kindness could be. Still, she couldn’t sit up. Couldn’t get her heart to stop thundering away in her ears. “Go away, Nasir. I’m in full party-girl mode and as we both know, you’re lethally allergic to that.”
It was like craving the warmth of the sun but spending years trying to figure out how to ignore its existence in the sky.
Of course, the hateful man sat down on the coffee table, cornering her. Despite the dark, even with her stomach hurting because she’d barely eaten anything the whole day, even with her head in a weird limbo of grief and self-directed rage, warmth unspooled low in her belly at the familiar scent of him.
Bergamot and sandalwood—it was as if a chemist had experimented and figured out the perfect combination of scents that provoked all of her sexual fantasies and then doused Nasir Hadeed in it.
Two minutes in his company and Yana wanted to kiss the man senseless and curse him to whatever hell would torment him the most. The only constants in her life were her abiding love for her sisters and this mad obsession...for Nasir.
She took a puff on her cigar, blew out a ring like a photographer friend of hers had taught her. Not her fault that Nasir chose to sit right in that space.
Shadows created by the interplay of darkness and light gave his face a saturnine cast. As if those stark features needed to be tarred with any more harshness. Light, amber-colored eyes, deep-set and invasively perceptive, met hers. The large beak of his nose—which should have rendered him ugly but instead made him look intellectual—made it effortlessly easy for him to look down on her.
“How are you, Yana?”
She took another puff of the cigar. “How did you know where to find me?”
“One of your staff followed you here and called me.”
Raising a brow, she went for insouciance that she didn’t feel in the least. “Keeping tabs on your favorite supermodel, you naughty man?”
