Desert Princes Bundle Page 4

  But beneath Laura’s pleasure ticked the worries which had arisen as the result of her meeting with Xavier, and her automatic questions about whether she could have handled it any better.

  It had all seemed so simple when her boss had called her into his office to ask whether she would like to take a short sabbatical and earn enough money to substantially reduce her debts by working for the royal house of Kharastan.

  Laura had still been reeling from the huge hole in her finances—if not quite her heart—left by her boyfriend Josh’s departure, and she had blinked at her boss, wondering if she’d misheard him.

  ‘Working for a royal family?’ she had verified.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You mean I’d have to fly out to Kharastan?’ she asked.

  ‘I certainly do,’ replied her boss, smiling. ‘All expenses paid. Private jets. Designer clothes—the lot!’

  ‘Don’t! It sounds too good to be true,’ Laura protested.

  ‘Well, it’s not. It’s legit.’ Her boss smiled. ‘I’ve been approached by a friend of a friend—that’s how these things work. They want a lawyer who’s young, enthusiastic, discreet and…female.’

  ‘Why female?’ she asked.

  Her boss gave her a wry look. ‘Women bring a different dimension to matters which have the potential to be emotionally explosive—which this one does.’

  ‘But it’s…safe?’

  He burst out laughing. ‘Hell, yes! You’re a single woman, and you’d be under the protection of the Sheikh himself in a notoriously strict and old-fashioned country—you’ll be as safe as houses!’

  It had sounded so easy. Too easy, she now realised—or perhaps she hadn’t actually taken into account how the illegitimate son would react to such a piece of news.

  Yet maybe she should have done. She should have had the sense to realise that reactions to events weren’t straightforward. You could never predict the outcome to a situation, because people weren’t predictable.

  Laura walked slowly back to the Paradis, wondering just what to do next. Should she ring the Sheikh and tell him about Xavier’s initial reaction? Or give the Frenchman time to mull it over?

  She was so deep in thought as she walked into the foyer that she barely registered the man who sat in the shadows, observing her with eyes that gleamed like jet.

  Who then rose noiselessly to his feet to follow her, his grim gaze never leaving the provocative sway of her bottom.

  Laura had just walked into her suite, and was preparing to close the door when it was levered open. Her automatic open-mouthed fear was not banished when she saw that it was Xavier.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she cried, as he shut the door behind him as if he had some inalienable right to do so.

  ‘What does it look like? You wanted to talk, didn’t you?’ His voice dipped into a caress of pure silk. ‘Well, here I am, cherie…all yours.’

  Had he intended to make that remark sound tinged with sexual promise? And did he know that it had worked? ‘I would have liked a little notice,’ she said breathlessly, her fingers flying to her bare throat. ‘Being jumped on like that isn’t my idea of fun.’

  A nerve flickered at his cheek and an added tension crept into his body. ‘No? Then you have not lived. And anyway—I thought you liked the element of surprise,’ he drawled softly, enjoying the soft creep of colour into her cheeks which followed his sexual taunt. ‘Wasn’t that precisely how you ambushed me?’

  Laura attempted a smile, but it wasn’t easy—not when he was looking at her that way. Did he look at all women as if he could melt their clothes off their body with that sizzling black stare? And did some treacherous side of them always want him to? Assert yourself. Sound professional. Pretend he’s just walked into your office. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

  He glanced around the room, his gaze coming to rest on the vast four-poster bed. ‘And where should we sit…over there? Wouldn’t that provide something of a distraction? I don’t know about you—but I would find it very difficult not to get horizontal if I was on a bed with a woman as beautiful as you.’

  Laura’s heart hammered. ‘Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘Disgusting? All I’m doing is telling the truth. I wonder, are you always so uptight, cherie?’ Her body belied her words, he noted with satisfaction, as he saw the tips of her breasts harden in response to his words, outlined with disturbing detail through the fine material of her dress.

  Ruthlessly he dragged his thoughts away from the physical—there would be time enough for that. ‘But let us forget about the bed and all its delightful possibilities and concentrate on the matter in hand.’ His eyes glittered. ‘I want some answers.’

  Laura nodded. Answers she could deal with. ‘That’s what I’m here for. Ask away,’ she said.

  ‘You think that—even if I had the desire—I could just drop everything and travel east with you?’

  ‘Of course. You’re the boss—a powerful man who can do as he pleases.’

  ‘You flatter me.’

  ‘I wasn’t intending to.’

  ‘Weren’t you? Don’t you know that all men love to be flattered?’

  ‘It isn’t something I’ve made a special study of,’ she said archly, something in his taunting tone making her forget her vow to keep this on a strictly business level. ‘And perhaps some men have had a little too much of it all their lives. I suspect you might be in that category, Monsieur de Maistre.’

  Xavier gave the kind of smile a wolf might give to a helpless lamb before he devoured it. With her defiance, she had sealed her fate—for no conquest was more exciting than that of a woman who was trying very hard not to be interested.

  Why had she been chosen for this job? he wondered. Was she bait, designed to bring him back to the Sheikh—chosen for her particular type of beauty to ensnare him as women had ensnared men since the beginning of time?

  Should he test her out? Kiss her now? Quell his anger and frustration at her revelation by losing himself in the softness of her lips? But lovemaking would distract him from this curious dilemma he found himself in.

  Ever since he had ordered her out of his office his thoughts had been in turmoil, and it was not a state he usually experienced. He despised being at the mercy of such feelings—but it was as if a silent and very necessary battle was taking place inside him.

  The cold, calculating side of his character was telling him that there was no point discovering a father at this stage in his life—even if her bizarre claim should turn out to be true, which he doubted. He didn’t need a father.

  He had made a success of his life and he had done it on his own terms—it was not in his character to yearn for some kind of reunion. More importantly, he foresaw a million complications—both practical and emotional—should he choose to pursue this line of action.

  Yet her astounding revelation had awoken a curiosity inside him, and he knew that to leave the possibility unexplored would be to leave him with a lasting sense of regret. And—as he had already said—he didn’t do regret.

  And wasn’t there an added enticement which would make the trip worthwhile? The thought of bedding the delectable Laura Cottingham, who was doing her best to pretend she wasn’t interested! Xavier gave a slow, steady smile of anticipation.

  ‘You are right,’ he said slowly. ‘I can do as I please—within reason. I have never in my life received such an intriguing invitation issued by such an irresistible woman—how could any man refuse it? So you can lose the look of anxiety which is tightening those pretty lips and relax, cherie—for I will return to Kharastan with you.’

  For a moment Laura could hardly believe what she was hearing—she had been so convinced that he would do the opposite.

  ‘I’m very…pleased,’ she said, aware that it was a ridiculous word to use—but her relief was tempered by a prickly awareness that she was dealing with a man who spelt danger, and that was sending her thoughts haywire.

  ‘I expect you are,’ he said cooll
y, because he needed to maintain control in this extraordinary situation—and in order to do that he needed to keep her guessing. She must be in his power. She would be his to control and his to command. ‘But I am not there yet, so I suggest you contain your excitement until then.’

  Laura nodded. ‘A car will pick you up at nine-thirty tomorrow morning and take you to the airfield, if that suits?’

  ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘It doesn’t?’

  Xavier allowed himself a smile—a devilish curve of his lips which hinted at a wicked kind of pleasure. His peers at La Bourse—Paris’s famous stock exchange, built by Napoleon himself—would have trembled if they had seen that smile.

  ‘Non. I do not think you understand how I operate, cherie. You will not dictate a time nor a place nor a method of travelling,’ he demurred silkily. ‘You will fit in with me.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure I…understand,’ said Laura unsteadily.

  ‘It is quite simple. I intend to arrange my own transport to Kharastan.’

  Laura stared at him. ‘But that’s crazy!’ she protested. ‘The Sheikh has a luxury aircraft ready and waiting to fly you there at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘You think I am tempted by a luxury aircraft?’

  ‘No, of course not. I didn’t—’

  ‘I will not be beholden to the Sheikh,’ interjected Xavier. ‘These are my terms, and either you accept them or you return empty-handed—for I will not compromise and neither will I change my mind.’

  The steely glint of determination in his eyes told Laura that he meant it, and there was a pause as she looked at him speechlessly. Because what could she say? He had her over a barrel, and he knew it.

  ‘But there’s no direct flight to Kharastan,’ she pointed out. ‘It could take ages to pick up connections.’

  His eyes mocked her. ‘You think I fly on scheduled airlines? I will use the charter company that I always use. At least I can entrust them with my life.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Think about it. If I am, as you say, the son of the Sheikh—then surely it is in the interests of more than one member of his family to wish me harm.’

  She wanted to tell him that people didn’t think or act like that—until she remembered the dizzying array of events which had led her to this bizarre moment, and suddenly anything seemed possible.

  But it was not the imagined threat of physical danger which had set Laura’s senses tingling with fear—but the real and present risk of being in this man’s presence. Of this terrible, almost aching awareness of his powerful sensuality.

  Xavier’s eyes narrowed as they raked over her face. So pure, he thought. So white. So…wary. He felt his loins tighten. ‘What is the matter, cherie?’ he mocked softly. ‘You look nervous.’

  ‘Why on earth would I be nervous, Monsieur de Maistre?’

  ‘I think we both know the answer to that.’ His eyes flashed. ‘And perhaps you had better start calling me Xavier from now on.’

  He was only telling her to use his Christian name—yet with that rich, French accent which flowed over her skin like silk it sounded as if he was suggesting a breathtaking intimacy.

  Laura looked into the mocking depths of those eyes, and suddenly she was scared.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘WE WILL be landing in just under an hour, monsieur.’

  Xavier glanced up from the sheaf of papers he had been studying and into the doe-like eyes of the beautiful stewardess.

  ‘Merci bien,’ he said, and turned his gaze to Laura, who was sitting opposite him, reading, in the opulent cabin of the aircraft, which had been created to resemble a rather smart salon.

  She had surprised him during the flight for he had expected her to babble, to make conversation just for the sake of it, as women inevitably did—never seeming to realise that silence could sometimes be the most alluring quality of all. But instead she had picked up a rather serious-looking novel and proceeded to read it.

  It was ironic that for once he could have used some inane chatter in order to distract him from the troubling nature of his thoughts.

  Last night his sleep had been haunted with strange, disturbing dreams, and he had woken with a start. He had sat up in the bed of his Parisian apartment, his body naked amid the rumpled sheets, and stared into the black mantle of the night—aware that the Englishwoman had forced him to address an area of his life which had always been a mystery. Even if her claim were true he was unsure whether he wanted that mystery revealed—and yet somehow he felt compelled to commence this voyage of discovery by something he hadn’t known was within him.

  For a man used to being in control, it had unsettled him. But Xavier had done what he did best—compartmentalized, shutting out the disquieting feelings and the what ifs with a steely determination. What was the point in trying to imagine what he might find when they landed in Kharastan when they would be there soon enough?

  So he had brought work with him for the journey and attacked it with his usual thoroughness. But now he had finished he was left alone with thoughts he would have preferred not to have. And the glossy redhead was not paying him the deference he would normally have expected—which of course made him want her all the more. Desire was something he could deal with—far less disturbing than the subject of his identity. Desire had a beginning and a conclusion, and once he had this Laura Cottingham under his spell he would tire of her.

  ‘You would like something more to eat?’ he queried softly. ‘Or to drink?’

  Laura looked up from her book and wondered if he had noticed her reading and re-reading words which had been stubbornly refusing to make any sense. He was a difficult man to concentrate around.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry.’

  ‘But you barely touched your lunch,’ he observed.

  This was true. The perfectly poached piece of fish and green vegetables had failed to appeal—and even a chocolate extravagance of a pudding which would have normally had her drooling back home in England on a night out with the girls had made her feel very slightly queasy.

  She could blame her lack of appetite on the flight—but that would have been a lie. The plane journey had been smooth and noiseless—with only the slightest turbulence when they were flying over the mountainous terrain of Dashabhi.

  No, her lack of appetite and extraordinary feelings of self-consciousness could be attributed to one cause and one cause only—and it was sitting staring at her now.

  ‘Women don’t eat as much as men,’ she answered stoutly.

  The black gaze changed direction, lingering appreciatively on the outline of her legs, which were stretched out in front of her. ‘English women never eat properly,’ he observed caustically. ‘They skip breakfast and eat crisps for lunch.’

  ‘Well, actually I never eat crisps—I wouldn’t be able to deal with clients all afternoon if I existed on junk food. And, as well as being an outrageous generalization, I really don’t think my dietary habits are a suitable subject for discussion, do you?’

  ‘Au contraire,’ he demurred, because flirting was a lot easier to deal with than thinking about what might lie ahead. And her lawyer’s tongue was sharp enough to make him want to pit his wits against her. ‘If you do not want a man to remark on your sensational body, cherie, then you should not show it off in quite such a way.’

  Laura looked down at herself as if her outfit had been replaced while she had been reading without her noticing—as if she might suddenly find herself sitting there in a skimpy little bikini. But of course her new wardrobe was still taking a bit of getting used to.

  The stylist had chosen clothes for Paris and clothes for Kharastan—and the two were vastly different. Paris was cling and Kharastan was camouflage, and today she had dressed accordingly—in a manner befitting an employee of the Sheikh soon to arrive in a land where women’s clothes were expected to be modest.

  From neck to ankle she was covered in a long-sleeved dress of pure silk in a pale butt
ermilk colour. A fairly demure split went only as far as the knee—and that was to facilitate movement rather than to show off any leg. Gold sandals shimmered on her bare feet, and the only real extravagance was a pair of heavy and intricate dangling earrings set with beautiful deep green stones.

  ‘But I am not dressed provocatively!’ she defended.

  ‘No?’ He raised a dark brow. ‘Surely that dress was designed to emphasise the very feminine shape beneath? One of those cleverly cut shapes which is supposed to be modest and yet looks anything but—particularly to a member of the opposite sex. Sometimes concealment can be unbearably exciting, as I am sure you know. I commend your taste, cherie.’

  He was making her sound like some kind of temptress who had deliberately set out to seduce him! Should she tell him that this was a million miles from what she would normally have worn? That she had been guided by the expert eye of a stylist employed to dress her by Sheikh Zahir? But why tell him more than he needed to know? That sort of information would probably result in him interrogating her as to what she usually did wear, and then no doubt those intelligent black eyes would narrow and that sexy voice would start asking her even more personal questions.

  And she didn’t want to get personal with him, for that way lay danger—instinct told her so. In the past, she had been guilty of ignoring her gut feelings—of doing what she believed was the right thing to do instead of what she knew in her heart to be right for her. But not any more. From now on she stayed true to herself—and a cool, professional distance was exactly what was required.

  Laura looked at him. After telephoning the Sheikh’s disbelieving and angry aide last evening to tell him that Xavier had stubbornly insisted on arranging his own transport, she had done a lot of thinking.

  It seemed to be a given that Xavier was going to flirt outrageously with her. He was good-looking and he was French—and even if he was only half-French weren’t they a race of men who prided themselves on being superlative lovers? And if the rest of his blood really was that of a royal sheikh—sheikhs also being renowned for their sexual prowess—then of course he was going to behave in a way Laura wasn’t used to. A totally inappropriate way—or was that just her lack of experience?