A/N: Whoo! Here I am again with a fresh new chapter, with more Kurtis this time as promised. Those of you who've been hankering for some more sexual tension will hopefully be happy. ;)

Chapter 10: Too Close For Comfort

After that night I barely saw Trent for several days. Instead, Paul accompanied me when I left the suite. I met with El-Aziz for lunch on the second day as planned, and then again on subsequent days. The Egyptian tycoon seemed quite taken with my company, and I took every advantage of our meetings to probe him for information about the excavation site. For the most part I was just myself, and didn't need to come up with any elaborate stories to pull the wool over his eyes.

The only times I was worried about raising his suspicions were when we docked at the stop-off destinations along the way. I, of course, didn't have a chance in hell of being allowed off the boat until we reached Egypt, even with an escort. Gunderson wasn't as foolish as some of my previous 'employers'. Natla and Willard, for example, had both underestimated me, only realising what a serious threat I posed to them when it was already too late. Gunderson knew better, and made sure to keep me under close supervision at all times. During the stop-offs I was held prisoner in my own room most of the time with an armed guard posted outside in the corridor. Making excuses to El-Aziz was tricky; the evening before we docked in Lisbon, I called him to say that I had a nasty stomach bug and wouldn't be able to join him on land. After that I came up with a story about being tired of sight-seeing, and all I really wanted to do was enjoy the luxuries of the liner. Miraculously this seemed to do the trick, and he disembarked at the ports in Morocco and Algeria without me.

While we were at sea, and Gunderson was content that I wouldn't try to abandon ship, I had more freedom. Paul accompanied me when I wasn't with El-Aziz, and I was allowed to visit the impressive gym and swimming complex on the lower decks. Occasionally Kurtis or one of the Russians would call by to pass on a message to Paul, but otherwise I seemed to have been entrusted to the Frenchman's guardianship. This was definitely a good thing, and helped me to stay out of trouble with Gunderson. Unlike his colleagues, Paul was amiable and relaxed, and had a particularly wicked sense of humour, so I didn't begrudge spending time with him. In the gym I could let out all the tension that had built up during the periods when I was locked up in my room, rather than taking it out on my captors. My obedience was vital here until I could figure out a way of escaping that would not jeopardise Winston and Daniel's safety.

To my extreme annoyance, the fact that Kurtis was out of my sight did not mean he was also out of my mind. I found my thoughts returning to him time and time again, working me into a slow-burning rage that I would then take out on my own body through a vigorous work-out, or on the nearest punchbag in the gym. I was growing obsessed with thoughts of the bloody retribution I would bring down on him, just as soon as I had the chance to do so. I blamed him for all of this.

We were somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean when the hostility between Kurtis and I came to a head. I had no plans with El-Aziz that day, and so I had been in the gym all morning, working off some of the boredom that built up over the long days at sea. I had even sparred with Paul a little, which was an interesting change to working out alone. Despite his easy-going temperament, he had alarming strength and speed when fighting. I made a mental note of his strengths in case I came up against him in a less friendly situation later. After the gym we were thirsty and he decided that there would be no harm in going for a drink in one of the bars near the dining hall.

We got a bottle of red wine and sat talking about trivial matters: movies, music, the places where we grew up. With the wine flowing and the informal atmosphere, I had almost managed to convince myself that all was well. Sadly the illusion didn't last very long. In the middle of an anecdote about my parents' house, I glanced up to see Kurtis striding across the room towards us. My voice trailed off and I felt my good mood sinking like a stone.

He stood by the table, irritation pulsing from him, and I wondered how long he'd been looking for us.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

I scowled. "Oh, bloody wonderful."

Paul grinned, and raised his glass to Kurtis. "Look! It's Kurtis. I too think you are bloody wonderful. What may we do for you, my friend?"

Kurtis' eyes narrowed. "Are you both drunk?"

I looked at Paul. "I'm not drunk. Are you?"

He scratched his head. "I don't think so. We've been drinking all this wine, but it just doesn't seem to be working. I think we should complain."

"Absolutely," I said, trying not to laugh. "Well, would you look at that. There's a bottle of wine right here." I picked it up – it was our second, or possibly even third bottle - and started sloshing some more into my glass. Kurtis reached across the table and wrapped his hand around the neck of the bottle, pulling it away from me.

"That's not very nice," I pouted. I turned to Paul again. "Did I tell you he stole a bottle wine from my house?"

"No," Paul gasped in pretend shock. "I hope it wasn't expensive."

"'Fraid so," I replied. "A rather lovely 1998 Zinfandel."

Paul shook his head at Kurtis. "That's a very bad thing to do, Kurtis. Stealing such a lovely wine. From such a lovely lady. In France, stealing wine from a lady is a capital offence."

"Really?" I said loudly. "What about stealing my knickers? He did that too."

"Ah, well, Lara, you cannot expect a man to resist stealing your panties. Especially someone like Kurtis. You know, when we used to share barracks he was forever stealing mine."

That was it. I cracked up. A couple of elderly toffs at a nearby table looked around disapprovingly as I shrieked with laughter.

"Jesus Christ," Kurtis growled. "What the hell were you thinking, Paul? We're supposed to be keeping a low profile here."

I sniggered. "Well we are keeping a low profile, but people keep noticing you, then they come up to us and saying 'Who is that funny man dressed as a cowboy?' and we have to keep coming up with excuses." He gave me a withering look which caused me to giggle even harder, until even Paul had to cover his mouth to hide his mirth. "So really, you're the one who's blowing our cover," I finished, my voice wandering between exaggerated seriousness and shaky laughter.

"You're coming back up to the suite now. Both of you. Before you do any more fucking damage."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, piss off and let us have a drink."

He leaned down over the table and looked me in the eye menacingly. "Just keep your mouth shut, or-"

"Or what? You'll hit me? Tie me up? Great cover, Kurtis." My voice was getting louder again. "Why don't you wave your gun around a bit too? Shoot a couple of chandeliers, maybe? There might be some people on board who still don't know I've been kidnapped."

He grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me from my seat and towards the corridor.

"Hey!" I protested, wriggling in his grip. Behind us I heard Paul get up and call to Kurtis to calm down, but Trent simply cast a look over his shoulder and told him to back off. He hauled me into the deserted passageway outside the bar while I let loose a string of insults that would have made most men blush.

He shoved me roughly into the wall, winding me. "I've told you before, and now I'm telling you again, don't fuck with me. You've got way too much to lose."

"Thankyou so much for the reminder," I spat, my every word dripping venom. "And thankyou again for bringing me on this lovely little trip. Let me ask you something. What exactly did I do to deserve such special treatment? After doing every fucking thing you people have told me to, and letting you treat me and the people I love like dirt, why now do I get to be kicked down yet again by you? Why the hell did you have to drag me into this, you bastard? Tell me!" I yelled.

"Are you really so self-obsessed that you think this is all about you?" he hissed back. "I've told you before, we're here to do business. I do my bit, you do yours, Paul does his, and nobody ends up having to hurt anybody else. I don't give a shit about anything else."

"No? So why are you breathing down my neck when I'm already doing everything you want? What do you think I was trying to do in there? Get so drunk I fell overboard and escaped?" As we locked horns, something started to dawn on me: the reason he and Gunderson had been arguing that night. It was because he couldn't keep things strictly business with me, no matter how hard he tried. Gunderson must have heard the way Kurtis had spoken to me in the bathroom that first evening and realised just how dangerous it was to let us get close to each other. That was why Paul had been escorting me instead, and Kurtis had stayed in the background. He'd been told to keep away. My eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Why can't you just keep the hell away from me? What are you trying to achieve by torturing me like this? Do you want me to fail?" My voice, like my body, was shaking with anger, ready to explode.

"You think I'm torturing you?" he snarled. "Jesus Christ. It's not my idea of fun having you around. It's a fucking nightmare. Having to spend every day near you, hearing your voice, watching you act so innocent while you work your way under everybody's skin. You're driving me fucking crazy."

"Good!" I yelled. "I hope it kills you!"

I turned to stride away towards the stairs, but Kurtis grabbed me by the shoulder, fingers digging into my collarbone. He spun me round and pushed me back against the wall.

"Don't walk away from me."

I slapped his face with as much force as I could, watching the skin redden where my hand had struck. He wrestled with me, trying to get hold of my wrists as I struck out at him again and again, landing blows on his face and chest. It barely slowed him down at all, and he kept coming at me, pitching his weight against mine to limit my movements.

"I fucking hate you," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"Tell me something I don't already know," he said, glaring back at me. He snatched my forearms and pinned them down at my sides, crushing my elbows against the wall. I let out a gasp of pain and rage, struggling for freedom but only succeeding in pressing our heaving chests closer together. His eyes blazed from between the unruly locks of dark hair that hung in his face, twin blue fires fuelled further by every ragged intake of breath.

His anger was turning into desire now, and I realised with horror that mine was threatening to do the same. In a single quick motion his hands were on my back, sliding under my shirt, squeezing me tightly against him, and his mouth was on mine. Impulsively my eyes closed and my lips parted, the tip of his tongue pushing against them. The feel of his lean body pressed close to mine was dizzying, and a shiver of excitement ran down my spine as I suddenly imagined how good it would feel to be naked with him, how good he would feel inside me. But that was just my body talking, and I refused to give in. Instead I jerked my head back from his, and wrenched my arms up to form a barrier between us. I pushed him away, and he let me withdraw, looking half angry and half ashamed.

I backed away, still stunned by the kiss, then turned and ran back into the bar.

"Take me back to the suite," I told Paul, who looked up in surprise at my thunderous expression. "Now," I ordered as he opened his mouth to speak. He grabbed his jacket and followed me out into the corridor and towards the stairs. I shot a quick look back along the hallway. Kurtis was still standing there watching us leave, a hand raised to his lips in grim confusion as though he had been bitten.