Malak grinned, watching his princess blush, picturing her beneath him, and begging him to take her.

Suddenly a bullet grazed her arm and split her flesh. She was hit, confirming his suspicion they were very much visible to the miners.

“Is sex all you ever think about?” Gabriella’s lip twitched and her gaze fled from his.

“No, sweetheart. At this very moment I’m more worried about your wound.” He grabbed her other arm and pulled her behind a large boulder. “Think carefully. The magic word is one of your beloved childhood friend’s – a doll or a stuffed animal of some type- repeated three times and followed by your wish in the name of the Good Fairy of Uffizdome.”

Chuckling, she rolled her eyes. “Get real, Malak. This is all bull. Ana told me what is really going on.”

Cupping the back of her head, he pushed her down into his groin and double over on her. Another bullet sounded over them.

“You hit?” She tried to rise, but he held her down. Her soft, shapely body crushed beneath him in a manner he hadn’t anticipated.

“No,” he hissed. “Think of the damn name!”

“Barney, Barney, Barney transport me to a tranquil resort beach on the Mediterranean, in the name of the Good Fairy of Uffizdome.”

He raised his head and looked over the boulder. Two miners spotted him and aimed rifles directly at them. “Again, princess.”

“Binky Dee, Binky Dee, Binky Dee transport us back to our own time- in the name of the Good Fairy of Uffizdome.”

Nothing.

Malak lifted her in his arms and fled from their hiding spot. He spotted a set of tracks and ran along them out in the open, shielding her only with his body, and hoping the miners would be slow to reload. Depositing her into a cart on the rails, his legs pumped for all he was worth and pushed her along until they started downhill. He jumped in beside her, placing her beautiful body beneath him.

“Again, princess. Think something regal, something magical, something your mother would say when you were young.”

The cavern’s ceiling was low, and he had to duck to avoid being knocked unconscious. Once this damn buggy came to a halt, they would be surrounded by miners demanding there gems. She needed to think and get them out of this bind.

Gabriella wrapped herself around him and gazed dreamily into his face. “You saved my life.”

“Damn, woman. Not now.” They hit a straightaway and the rails curved upwards at a wall coming closer each second. “Stop being so impatient and compulsive. What did your mother say when she’d put you to sleep?” He stroked her hair as one would a child’s. Placing a tiny kiss at her temple, he breathed, “This is all you, princess. Please… try.”

She took a deep breath and chanted in the most lyrical voice he’d ever heard. “Queen Diana Leigh, please here our song. Take us away from danger and bring us home. In the name of the God Fairy of Uffizdome.”

The cart thundered toward the wall, shook uncontrollably and shattered. Engulfing her in his arms, he braced himself for an impact which never came. 

Last episode:

Malak nodded.  "There'll be plenty to go around.  You, me, Francis…Scott and Aidan.  All that money.  We'll be vacationing in the Caribbean soon, without a care in the world."

 Warren felt his stomach flip…

 He didn't have any intention of splitting anything.

 He wanted the money…and Gabriella…all to himself!

 *    *    *    *    *

“Brian Finnegan, I want my diamonds back.”  Gabriella stood in the pub doorway, the sun shining through her hair.  “Now.” 

Three regulars seated at the bar stared at her, not in an unfriendly way, but as someone would study an elephant in an ice rink.

The owner of Finnegan’s Pub, Ground Zero of her so-called bender, held his arms out to her.  “Why, ’tis Gabby, our little sotted lass.”  He clasped her in a bear hug, then held her at arm’s length for a good study.  “Lookin’ better, I must say—bright eyes, beautiful hair, and diamonds in your smile.”

“Diamonds, you say.  That’s exactly why I’m here.  You stole my diamonds and if you don’t give them back, I’m gonna call a whole contingent of secret agents down on you.” 

He backed away, holding his palms up in contrition.  “No problem, lass, I’ve got ‘em right here . . .”  He pulled out a drawer from behind the bar.  “What the—”

“Hand them over, Mr. Finnegan.” 

Sparkles floated around his head.  He swiped his hand over his bald dome and the air cleared.  “Nothin’ to hand over, they’re gone!”

“Aidan!”  She gritted her teeth.  Aidan had acted all nice and even mushy, but as soon as he’d handed her over to the pub owner, he’d melted into the crowd.  No gentleman, that man.  She’d bet her bottom dollar that he’d stolen the diamonds. 

No, wait, she didn’t have a bottom dollar—not unless she went along with Auntie Ana’s princess thing.  But hey, being a princess couldn’t be all that bad—great shoes, regular hair stylings, facials anytime she wanted them . . . what’s not to like?

“You called?”  He appeared beside her at the bar, more glimmering around him.  Something was really crazy here.

“I have the diamonds, Princess,” he patted his coat pocket.  “But you can’t have them until Finnie teaches you how to use them.”

“Use?  You put them in a nice setting and wear them.”

“Not these.  They’re the Coronation Jewels of Uffizdome.”

“Right, so hand them over.”  She was tempted to grab the diamonds right out of his pocket, but the regulars were watching intently.  Gabriella wondered if they believed Aidan and Mr. Finnegan.  She concluded that her strategy skills were sorely lacking; otherwise, she’d never have believed they’d actually give the jewels back to her.  Again, going along with the show seemed to be her only recourse. 

“I will,” Aidan said.  “They’re rightfully yours, I just don’t want you to be harmed.  The people of Uffizdome have waited a long time to get their beautiful little princess back.”

She shrugged.  Obviously the only non-violent ploy left to her was to go along with the two men’s notion.  “So show me how to use them.”

Mr. Finnegan flicked his fingers and their surrounding changed from a pub to a cavern with hundreds of candles burning all along the rock walls. Heavy throw rugs surrounded an altar decorated with red roses, a cross, and a plain tiara without a diamond in sight.  Gabriella stood before the altar, with Aidan on her right and Mr. Finnegan on her left.

She gently touched a rose petal.  It felt soft and velvety, just like a rose petal should.  With a step back, she wondered if she’d tripped out again.  The scary part was that no, she couldn’t be tripping out because she hadn’t imbibed any substance whatsoever.  Truth be told, this candlelit cavern, its golden ornaments, plush furs, and rough-hewn altar had to be real.

Aidan’s coat pocket glowed.  He extracted the jewels and handed them to the pub owner, then knelt in prayer. 

Mr. Finnegan held the diamonds in his palm as if offering them to the heavens, even though they were in a cavern.  “Faery Queen of Uffizdome, hear our song,” he intoned.

“Behold, the Faery Queen,” Aidan responded.

Whew baby, these guys were off their noodles.  “I think you’ve had one too many barley-pops.”

“Sshh!”  The pub owner acted as if he were listening for a slight sound.

Good grief!  Gabriella hated to be shushed.  Too bad she wasn’t Calamity Jane—she’d take those jewels and head back home.  To heck with the princess business, to heck with all the men chasing her . . . okay, not really.  There were a couple of totally hot dude in the pack, and Warren was a wonderful, tender, and satisfying lover.  Too bad he wasn’t Malak, who lit her blood afire.

On impulse, she grabbed half the diamonds and ran for the cave entrance.  When she ran outside, stone houses were replaced with log cabins, there wasn’t a car in sight, and she definitely smelled a strong aroma of horse manure.  Bullets were flying and one zinged right past her ear.  She hit the dirt and scrambled behind a boulder. 

Only another man had claimed that boulder, a dark-haired man with broad shoulders and tight buns.  He looked damned good in a Stetson and a tight pair of Levis.  And oh, did he ever smell good . . .

Malak!

“Hey there, little lady,” he drawled.  “You stick by me and I’ll keep you safe.”

“What are you doing here?” Gabriella spat.

“I told you before—I’m to be the father of your child.  It’s my duty, but mostly, it’ll be my pleasure.  I think we should have several children just for practice.”

“Stuff it, Malak.”

“Gladly.  Meantime, you didn’t listen to the instruction on how to properly use the Coronation Jewels, so now you’ve sent us back in time to 1880 Colorado.  And see those guys who are shooting at us?”

“Yeah, they don’t look happy.”  She flinched when a bullet ricocheted off the boulder about six inches above her head.  Rock splinters flew everywhere.

“That’s because you’re in their mine, and they think you’ve found diamonds on their claim.  Since you’re here, and you have diamonds in your hand, that would be difficult to dispute.”

“So what should we do?”

He pulled her body to his.  “Make mad, passionate, thank-God-we’re-alive sex.”  Ah, he smelled good, and the beating of his heart melded with hers, arousing intense feelings in places she’d rather ignore right then.

A bullet grazed her forearm.

While Gabriella was enjoying a chocolate martini with her Aunt Ana in a Thomas Kinkaid-cottage-like pub in the lush green countryside of Ireland…

            Warren punched the ‘UP’ button on the wall near the elevators in the lobby of the hotel.  He glanced at the box that lay tucked under his arm.  Warren had gone through great pains to pick out the perfect dress for Gabriella.  He felt heat wash over his body as he thought about her attempts to wriggle out of the last dress…

            The bell rang, the elevator doors opened with a whoosh.  Warren stepped inside.  As the doors shut behind him, his eyes grew wide…

            “It’s about time you got back.”

            Malak!

            Warren shook his head as the elevator whisked him up to his floor.  He couldn’t wait to see Gabriella again…couldn’t wait to kiss her again…to hold her…to make love to her…

            …and to find out where she hid the damned diamonds.

            “Nice play-acting.  Sure you’re not hurt?”  Warren glanced at Malak’s head.  “That’s some nice bump you’ve got there.”

            “I hit my damned head when I went down.”

            “Francis and Scott are some actors, I must say.  Firing those blanks at you from that ridiculous toy gun…”

            Malak drew his dark brows together in a fierce scowl.  “That was your idea.  Not mine.”  He glanced at the box Warren had.  “What’s that?”

            Warren’s cheeks heated.  “It’s uh…well, a new dress for Gabriella.”

            Malak shook his head and rolled his eyes.  “Now you’re her maid?”

            The elevator bell made a loud ‘ping.’  Warren pushed past Malak on his way out of the elevator and strode down the hallway.  “What I buy for Gabriella is none of your concern,” he shot back over his shoulder.  Was that him who just sounded so waspish, he wondered?  Since when? 

Since he met Gabriella. 

The thought of her making love to Malak in the jacuzzi made his blood boil.  He hated sharing Gabriella, but he had no choice.  Warren gripped the box under his arm tighter, crushing the corners.

            And tighter still when they stopped in front of Gabriella’s hotel room door…

            Only to find it wide open.

***

            Warren removed the pistol from his shoulder holster and aimed it at the space between the hotel room door and the jamb.

            “Gabriella!” he called out.

            No answer.

            He crept towards the door, his steps slow and measured. Damn her stubborn, adventurous hide!  Fear coursed through him.  His palm grew damp as he gripped the pistol in his hand.

            “Wait,” Malak laid a hand on his arm.  “Don’t go in there.  Someone…”

            “…might have killed her.”  Warren finished, dread filling him with each step he took.  “Gabriella!” he shouted again.

            Still no answer.

            Malak removed a gun from his shoulder holster.  He swept past Warren and entered Gabriella’s room, both hands gripping the pistol as he waved it in all directions in front of him. 

            Warren was right behind.  They checked everywhere – the closets, the bathroom…the Jacuzzi…

            But there was no sign of Gabriella.

            “Look,” Malak held up the torn dress.  “She must have struggled, maybe there was more than one of them who attacked her.  Maybe…”

            Warren shook his head and sighed.  He holstered the gun and eased his tall frame into a nearby chair, tossing the box containing Gabriella’s new dress onto the bed.

            “That was uh…me,” he replied sounding…sheepish.

            “Huh?”  Malak angled his head.  “What in hell are you talking about?”

            Warren felt himself blush from his feet up to his hairline.  “She couldn’t get out of her damned dress.  I had to rip it to get it off of her.”

            Malak raised one dark brow.  “Really?”  He threw the dress at Warren and grinned.  “That must have been some foreplay.” 

            Warren peeled the dress from his face.  He glanced around the room.  “Where in hell did she go?”  The room seemed okay – nothing out of place.  But wasn’t it just like Gabriella to forget to lock the door and leave the room wide open!  Warren ran a hand over his face and flopped back in the chair.  “I swear, Malak.  I’ve been in some of the worst situations possible.  I’ve been in the Gulf War, I’ve done covert operations…done some pretty dangerous stuff, but I’ve never been as scared as I was right now, thinking that something happened to that little blonde wtich!”  He gritted his teeth as he dug his fist into his thigh.

            Warren dragged over another chair and placed it near Warren’s.  He sat down and stretched his long legs out.  Cupping his hands behind his head, he began to whistle something that sounded like an old rock song, “Love Stinks.”

            “Knock it off!”  Warren glared at Malak.  Warren rose from his chair and paced back and forth, his stride wide, his movements agitated.

            Malak chuckled, the sound of his laughter low and deep.  “So…how long have you been in love with her?”

            Warren stopped dead in his tracks.  He turned to face Malak.  “What did you say?”

            “You heard me.”  Malak dropped his hands from behind his head and sat forward.  “How long have you been in love with Gabriella?”

            Warren shoved his hands in his pockets.  “I-I’m not in love with her.”  A slight tremor shot through him. 

            Malak raised both brows.  “Then how come you’re shaking like a leaf?”

            “Shit.”  Warren walked back over to the chair and flopped down into it. 

            Malak shook his head.  “You’re sunk.  And sinking deeper, my friend.”

            “I think I loved her the very first time I met her…on that ridiculous speed date.  The one where all I could do was talk about the goddamned weather.”

            This time, Malak burst out laughing.  “You’re really suave, aren’t you?”

            “What in hell was I supposed to talk about?  My job?  We can’t talk about our jobs to anyone…ever.  You know that.  Besides, I was…”

            “What?”  Malak cocked his head.

            Warren sighed.  “Lonely.  That speed date sounded like a good idea.  All I had to do was talk to someone for ten minutes at a time.  Easy, right?  Until I met Gabriella.”  He shot up from the chair and started pacing again.  “All I could do was stare at her.  That long blonde hair, I swear, Malak, I never knew blonde hair could have so many different shades of blonde in it and her eyes, why her eyes are…”

            Malak waved a hand through the air.  “When a guy focuses on a woman’s hair and eyes, he’s in love, my friend.”

            Warren’s jaw tightened.  He stopped pacing and gave Malak a hard stare.  “When I get my hands on her, I’m going to…to…”

            “What?”  Malak grinned.  “I’ve never seen you like this.”

            “That’s because I’ve never felt like this.  She’s got me tied up in knots, running around Ireland, around Europe.  She has no sense of danger no…”

            “Idea that she’s carrying a fortune in diamonds.”  Malak finished.

            Warren’s heart raced as he glanced around the room again.  Where had she gone this time?  He didn’t know if he would kiss her or paddle her gorgeous round backside when he saw her again…

            IF he saw her again…

            Malak got up and walked over to the bureau on the other side of the room.  A newspaper lay there.  He scanned the front page then his dark eyes grew wide.

            “Warren!  Look at this.”

            Warren was by his side in a flash.  He read aloud from the headlines, “Princess Uffizi visits Ireland.  Royal Party staying at undisclosed location while they sojourn through the Emerald Isle for two weeks…” He grabbed the newspaper and gazed at the picture of Princess Uffizi.  “Malak, does she seem familiar to you?”

            Malak leaned over his shoulder and gazed at the picture, pointing at the woman in the photo with long, blonde hair.  “Holy shit.  That looks like Gabriella!”

            Warren dropped the newspaper on the bureau.  His hands shook, again.  Lately, they shook an awful lot…

            Ever since he met Gabriella again on that plane.  “The resemblance is uncanny,” he told Malak. 

            Malak picked up the paper and scanned the picture.  “I’ll say.”

            “Come on.  We’ve got to find her.  I have a bad feeling about all this.”

            Warren strode across the carpet, his steps wide and purposeful.  Malak was hot on his heels.

            When they got to the lobby, Warren asked the door man.  “Did you see a woman leave here this morning?  She had long blonde hair and…”

            “Sure did.  Got in a limo.”

            Malak gripped the door man’s arm.  “Any idea where that limo was headed?”

            The door man shrugged.  “Dunno.”  He glanced at his watch.  “I heard her say something about a pub, though.”

            Warren took out some euro dollars and shoved them in the doorman’s hand.  “Think hard, man.  Think very hard.”

            Suddenly, the door man’s face brightened.  “I heard her say something to the driver about a pub called, ‘The Shamrock.’”

            Warren’s heart felt lighter.  The very though scared him.  His heart hadn’t felt anything in years.

            “Let’s go,” Malak pulled him along.  “We’ve got something more precious than diamonds to bargain with now.”

            They exited through the revolving door.  Once outside, Warren asked Malak.  “Oh yeah, like what?”

            Malak smiled, revealing a mouth full of even white teeth.  “Gabriella.”

            “I don’t understand…”  Warren shook his head and hailed a taxi.

            “If she’s the princess Uffizi, then we can kidnap her and ransom her.  I’ll bet her royal family would pay big bucks to get her back.”

            “You’re crazy.” Warren shook his head as a taxi pulled up to the curb.  He put his hand on the door and opened it.  He slid across the back seat and Malak did the same.

            “Where to?” the cabbie asked.

            “The Shamrock Pub.”

            “Right-oh.”

            As the cabbie eased the taxi into the stream of traffic, Warren’s heart raced…he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back.

            “What’s wrong?” Malak beetled his dark brows. 

            “Nothing.”  Warren glanced at the passing scenery.  The lush, green grass of the countryside sped by in a blur…

            Kidnapping.  It was perfect! 

            Now, he just had to get hold of Scott, Francis and Aidan…

            “Princess Uffizi is probably worth millions.”

            Warren gave Malak a sharp glance.  “Think so?”

            Malak nodded.  “There’ll be plenty to go around.  You, me, Francis…Scott and Aidan.  All that money.  We’ll be vacationing in the Caribbean soon, without a care in the world.”

            Warren felt his stomach flip…

            He didn’t have any intention of splitting anything.

            He wanted the money…and Gabriella…all to himself!

Gabriella stared at Warren. “CIA? A covert agent?”

He nodded. His expression was open and utterly trustworthy. He was empathy itself as she absorbed the information; wondered what to do with it and how to react.

Because the honest-looking Warren was lying through his teeth. Covert agents for the CIA never, ever told anyone what they did for a living. They stayed buried in deep cover—and they didn’t even know the real names of the classmates they trained with or the instructors who taught them. They didn’t know their bosses’ or co-workers’ real names, either. Warren might be employed by the CIA, but he certainly wasn’t part of its covert operations. No way.

It was Warren’s bad luck that she knew that. And it was also his bad luck that she was a blonde who could play dumb with the best of them. She went for the most clichéd line of all time. “So now that you’ve told me, do you have to kill me?”

Predictably, he laughed. “Not this time. But I do have to ask you never to reveal that information. It could put my life in jeopardy.”

Oh, please. But she had to admit that Warren was great-looking, even if he was a liar. Gabriella widened her eyes and assumed an appropriately horrified expression. “I won’t tell a soul, I swear.”

“Thank you.”

“So . . . you’re recruiting me to work for the CIA?”

He nodded.

“Oh my God! Really? I’ve always wanted to be a spy. I have a thing for trench-coats and sunglasses.”

He grinned. “Great. Because I’m partial to women in trench-coats with nothing underneath.”

“I also have a thing for international men of mystery, Warren,” Gabriella purred.  She ran her hands provocatively down his chest, checking for an Austin Powers mat of fake hair. Nope. Darn.

Warren covered her hands with his own. “Do you?”

“Mmmmm.” She tweaked his nipples. “Yes.” Gabriella wound her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for a long, steamy kiss to get his engine running.

Knowing that Warren was lying told her two things: one, that she needed to get away from him as soon as possible without revealing that he hadn’t snowed her. And two, that she could use him for sex without any remorse or fear of complication.

She was on vacation, after all. She was unbelievably horny after being around all of these gorgeous guys and constantly thinking that her life was in danger. She was a stress case and wasn’t about to pop a pill to relax, since she seemed to get drugged every time she turned around.

So wasn’t it time that she, um, got some? A rip-roaring orgasm would do a lot to calm her down, and Warren was looking an awful lot like well-hung Xanax in trousers.

“So, Mr. Secret Agent,” she murmured, dredging up another shop-worn cliché, “is that a gun you’re holding to my belly, or are you just happy to see me?”

“That, lady, is no gun.” He cupped her bottom in his big hands and tugged her against him, demonstrating the truth of this particular statement. It seemed that Warren didn’t lie about everything.  

“Good. I’d much rather that my virtue be in danger than my life.”

Warren picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Wow,” he said. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing, yet. So take off your pants already.”

He frowned and set her down.

“What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t like you.”

“This is completely like me,” Gabriella said, and pulled her dress over her head,

so that she’d be standing in front of him in nothing but her high heels, panties and bra. . . uh, oh. She was stuck. “Help!”

            “Now this presents an interesting picture,” Warren mused.

            Gabriella struggled to get the damned dress up and over her shoulders, to no avail. “Help!” she said again.

            “There’s a little gizmo back there known as a zipper. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

            “Warren, would you quit being cute and get me out of this?”  Gabriella wriggled, lost her balance and tottered dangerously on her high heels.

            “Hold still,” he said, “or I can’t get you out of the dress.” She felt his body heat, and then his hands slid around her bare stomach. Big. Warm. Moving upwards to cup her breasts through the lace of her bra. Moving down and sliding under her panties.

Oh, God . . .

            After this brief detour, he did try to pull the dress over her head, but she was well and truly stuck. So he tried to pull it down, which didn’t work so well either. “Gabriella, I hate to tell you this, but--”

            “Just get me out!” she wailed.

            Warren sighed. “Okay.” Then he ripped the dress from hemline to neck.

            She stood there blinking at him in shock. “You destroyed it!”

            “You asked me to get you out of it, so I did.”

            “But I didn’t mean . . . Warren, I can’t walk around Dublin naked!”

            “I’ll buy you another one,” he promised. “Now, where were we?”

            It was hard to strategize with his mouth there, and then there, and then—oh, my! There, in that x-rated, covert, hot spot.

            But strategize she must, because as soon as she sent Warren out to buy her another dress, she had to be outta here. Which meant—aaaaahhhhh! Oh, yes!

Which meant that she was going to have to pull a Scarlet O’Hara and make an outfit from the curtains or bed-sheets. Too bad she was fresh out of sewing machines, patterns and time. A toga was the only way to go. Gabriella hadn’t worn a toga since her sophomore year of college. She hoped that Dublin would appreciate the fashion statement.

            Warren proved within moments that sex was better than Xanax any day.  Finally, something had gone right on this vacation!

                                                                        #                     

            While Warren took a shower, Gabriella pretended to sleep while she tried to figure out who Warren really worked for. She remembered an explanation about a shadow group that was far more secret than the CIA. But had she dreamed this explanation? Because of the drugs, it was so hard to keep track of what she’d dreamed and what she’d really experienced. Who had mentioned this secret group? Had it been Henri, the doctor who’d examined her? She thought so. And she could have sworn that Warren had been right there . . . but if he had been, why would he have told her now that he was a covert agent with the CIA? Was he testing her somehow?

            Warren emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of warm steam, a towel tucked low and sexy around his hips. Hubba hubba. “You should have joined me, Princess. I’m very talented with a bar of soap, you know.” He grinned.

            Princess. There it was again. That annoying nickname.

            Gabriella faux-yawned and stretched. “I’m too comfortable and sleepy to shower yet. Besides,” she said pointedly, “I have nothing to change into, thanks to you.”

            “My chivalry is rewarded with ingratitude,” he complained.

            “Is that what ripping off a woman’s dress is called these days? Chivalry?”

            “Cave-man chivalry,” he amended. “And anyway, the cave man is going out right now to get you a new one. Any preferences?”

            “A simple cotton tank dress or an A-line is fine.”

            “Tank dress? A-line?” He looked puzzled.

            “What, they don’t teach you secret agents the finer nuances of fashion?”

            Warren sheepishly shook his head. “A tank dress sounds pretty big. Is it for an armored tank?”

            Gabriella sighed. “Think tank top. Sleeveless. Straight skirt. Nothing goofy or poufy. Nothing sickly pink or hospital green or covered with giant cabbage roses. Got it?”

            “What’s a cabbage rose?”

            “Never mind. Just no flowers.”

            “Got it. No flowers.”

            “And no polyester.”

“No polyester. Back in a flash.”  And Warren, who’d thrown on his clothes in the meantime, made his exit.

&nbs