by YoBro
Khan frowned as he jabbed his keycard into the lock, opened the suite door and stepped inside the sitting room.
What was that old American saying? Honesty was the best policy. Well, the honest truth was that he couldn't stop thinking about her… or, more accurately, how badly he'd reacted to her taunting.
He certainly hadn't thought about the kiss.
Why would he think about it? About the silken feel of her mouth under his, the honeyed taste? Why would he think about that little sigh or moan or whatever sound he'd thought she'd made as he kissed her?
It had probably been his imagination and even if it hadn't been, so what?
If she'd made a sound at all, it had surely been one of disgust.
Except—except there'd been that one instant, barely a heartbeat long, when she'd leaned into him so that he'd felt the softness, the warmth of her…
He muttered something short and sharp, slammed the door shut, tossed the keycard into the small crystal bowl that stood on an ormolu table near the door, and shrugged off his suit coat.
Enough.
He was tired and, thanks to the women in the elevator, irritable.
What he needed was a shower, a cold drink and a few hours away from talk of oil wells. And he could have all those things, tonight.
By some miracle, he was free of commitments until the morning, meaning he wouldn't have to smile politely and chat pleasantly or do anything except veg out on the sitting room sofa, hit the remote for the flat screen TV that dominated the opposite wall, and find something mindless to watch. Basketball. American football. If he was lucky, real football, what Americans called soccer.
Whatever he did, he was not going to think about the woman or the kiss—and, hell, was he out of his mind? He'd just vowed not to think about Laurel Cruz and what was he doing?
He was thinking about her.
Khan's frown deepened as he headed for the bedroom.
Time was supposed to put things in perspective. Her hostility had been out of line. So had his reaction to it. End of story, so why was he still replaying the scene in his head?
The answer was simple.
A lifetime of understanding the importance of self-control. Of diplomacy. And he'd blown it in, what, ten minutes?
Impatiently, he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his tie, his shirt, his trousers and Jockeys. The shower was big, all glass; the water was hot. He flattened his palms against one of the transparent walls, bowed his head, and let the spray beat down on his neck and his shoulders.
It took time until he felt the tension begin to leech from his muscles. When it did, he lowered the temperature, scrubbed his face, his body, turned the water to cold, and let it wash away the last of the day's stress.
Stress, more than exhaustion, was the reason he'd overreacted the other night.
He'd been on the go for weeks. For months.
Until his father's death, he'd spent most of his time living in New York, managing Altara's business affairs. His father had died unexpectedly—a heart attack that struck with unforgiving force. Khan had gone from running what was, in effect, an enormous corporation to running a country. He'd traveled to a dozen cities around the world, met with heads of state in all of them as a way of assuring them that Altara was still committed to stability in its role as the most important of the Black Gold nations. He'd implemented changes within the kingdom so it could take its rightful place in the modern world.
He wouldn't have said it aloud but he could, to himself.
He'd accomplished a lot.
What he needed now was some down time.
Starting tonight.
He toweled off, ran his hands through his still-wet hair, and dressed for comfort. Faded jeans. A well-worn Columbia University sweatshirt. Barefoot, he went to the wet bar in the sitting room, took a bottle of Montrachet from the mini-fridge and poured himself a glass.
Better. Much better, he decided, as he stepped onto the terrace and sank into a rattan lounge chair.
What would the Cruz woman think if she saw him now? Dressed like a thousand other guys, enjoying a glass of wine, just laying back and being himself.
She was so sure she knew all there was to know about him. About his culture. Would she be surprised to know Altaran customs were a centuries-old mingling of East and West? That he and his people wore jeans, drove cars, raised their kids and wanted bright futures for them? That their concerns were pretty much the same as everyone else's?
"Laurel is just outspoken," Travis had said the next day, casually but in a way Khan knew meant his friend was upset that such a thing had happened in his family home.
Khan had smiled tightly and said yes, she most certainly was.
But then, Travis hadn't seen all of it.
He hadn't seen that kiss.
Khan rose, went inside, refilled his glass, and went back out to the terrace.
Autumn in Dallas was pleasant. Shorter days, yes, but the weather was still warm, making the chilled white Burgundy even more welcome.
He brought the glass to his lips and took a long swallow. Then he sat back, stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle.
Never mind thinking about that kiss. It hadn't meant a thing.
This had been a long day but business days were always long, no matter the continent or country. Breakfast meetings. Lunch meetings. Appointments sandwiched in between. Drinks. Dinners. With CEOs or COOs or CPAs.
The corporate world never ran out of initials.
Khan turned his face up to the sun and closed his eyes.
Different initials. Different names. An endless succession of men in suits. Women had been scarce at this week's functions. He'd only met with one, and she'd been a personal assistant brought along by her male boss. The guy hadn't even thought to introduce her; Khan had been the one to offer his hand and ask her name.
The woman had been almost embarrassingly grateful.
He could just imagine Laurel Cruz's reaction to such a situation.
Not introduce her? The man who tried that would pay for it. She'd verbally flay him alive.
The way she'd done with him.
Amazing.
People he met socially, those he dealt with in business, were invariably polite to him. Well, more than polite. They were respectful. Some were even…
Obsequious.
Hell, they fawned over him. Yes, your highness. Really, your highness. How interesting, your highness.
He could stand in the center of a room, reading aloud from a dictionary, and nobody would object.
Khan opened his eyes and took another swallow of wine.
No danger of that ever happening with the Cruz woman.
She'd made her feelings clear. No backing down. No apologies. She was wrong about him, of course, and her accusations had been ugly…
But who wouldn't admire her for all that attitude?
And for more than that.
The high-cheekboned face. The deep blue eyes. The body that he suspected was a lot more voluptuous than he'd at first thought, that he knew was more voluptuous because he'd taken her in his arms, felt those elegant feminine curves against him…
Khan shot to his feet.
It was time to phone room service, order something simple. Steak. Salad. Coffee.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
His cell phone was ringing. Where had he left it?
He checked his pockets, went into the sitting room and looked around while the thing kept beeping. Frowning, he went into the bedroom.
There it was, on the dresser.
The beeping stopped just as he picked it up. The call had gone to voice mail. Good. Dinner first, then…
Who was he kidding? He had responsibilities. He couldn't simply ignore a message. Sighing, he retrieved it and heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, man, it's Travis. Nothing urgent. I just wanted to touch bases with you about tonight. Give me a call, okay?"
Khan blinked.
What about tonight? Was he supp
osed to be…?
Damn. Yes, he was. He'd completely forgotten that Travis had called early this morning.
"I'm having a few people over," he'd said. "Nothing fancy. Jeans and T-shirt casual. I'll put a few steaks on the grill, open some vino and you can do some off-the-record talking with a couple of guys you already met and a few others you haven't. Or you can avoid business altogether, just enjoy some R&R. No pressure, you know what I mean?
Khan knew.
It was code, meant to assure him that Laurel would not be there.
Damned right, she wouldn't. Travis knew that bringing them together again would be like mixing oil and water…
Or kindling and a match.
An image of her flashed through Khan's mind. Blue eyes bright with spirit. Rosy mouth made for kissing.
That would be one way to bring her to heel.
Take her to bed.
Strip away her clothes, her defenses. Touch her. Suck on her nipples. Put his hand, his mouth between her thighs until she cried out in his arms, screamed his name in passion, in pleasure.
His sex stirred, hardened as if he were a sixteen year old schoolboy. The cellphone fell from his hand.
"Goddammit," he snarled, as he bent and plucked it from the floor.
Maybe being alone was the last thing he needed tonight. Maybe being with people was a better choice. A relaxed setting. Some laughs. And, with luck, a woman. A beautiful woman, one who'd smile at his jokes, be flattered by his attention.
Call me, Travis had said, but what for? A glance at his Rolex and Khan had the answer. It was late. Almost 7:45, and Travis had expected him at 7.
He headed into the dressing room. The jeans were okay. The shirt wasn't. He yanked it over his head, exchanged it for a black T, slid his bare feet into a pair of mocs. A quick glance in the mirror. His jaw was showing its usual dark, end-of-day stubble but the keyword for the night had been 'casual.'
He grinned.
Stubble was about as casual as a man could get.
He scooped up his wallet, his keycard, his car keys, and headed for the door.
The lobby was busy. He moved through it quickly, knowing that the faster he moved, the less chance he had of running into another problem.
Outside, he tossed his parking stub and a fifty dollar bill at the attendant.
"Make it quick," he said, and the kid all but clicked his heels.
The Ranger skidded to a stop seconds later. Khan got behind the wheel, stepped on the gas and roared away.
Hello, relaxed evening.
Goodbye, Laurel Cruz.
She was out of his head, gone for good, and in case there was the slightest danger she wasn't, she certainly would be, after tonight.
What a relief.
********
Not very far away, in a luxury condo off Turtle Creek, Caleb and Jake Wilde stepped onto the long, wide terrace that wrapped around Travis's condo.
Casually-dressed people stood in small groups, laughing, talking, munching on goodies, drinking wine and beer. Classic rock poured from hidden speakers.
The brothers headed for Travis, who was tending the coals of a charcoal fire because, they all agreed, that was the only kind real Texans believed in.
"Good party," Jake said.
Travis nodded. "We aim to please."
Caleb peered at the bed of coals. "Too many briquettes."
"You do it your way, I'll do it mine."
"You never could take a little constructive criticism." Caleb took an olive from a small bowl on a nearby table. "Did you speak to Khan?"
The briquettes were starting to glow. Travis gave them a poke with a long-handled fork.
"I left a message on his cell."
"But you warned him, right?" Jake handed Travis an open bottle of ale. "You said that Laurel was coming tonight?"
"Thanks. No, I didn't warn him. I just asked him to call me."
Caleb frowned. "Maybe you should have said more than that."
"It'll be okay. He'll call any second now and I'll clue him in, tell him she's here and, if he wants, I'll give him a call after she leaves. I'm pretty certain he won't want to see her."
"Damned right," Jake said. "She's the one started all the trouble the other night, not Khan. He was ticked, but he was absolutely the innocent party." He picked up a cracker piled with something brown from a tray, gave it a look filled with suspicion. "What is this stuff?"
"I'm not sure. Amy brought it. I think it's some kind of eggplant thing."
Jake aimed the cracker at a trash container, wiped his hand on the seat of his jeans.
"That's what you get for dating a vegan."
"She's not a vegan, she's a vegetarian."
"Same difference. Stick with the meat-eaters, is my motto."
"He doesn't stick with anybody," Caleb said, picking up a long fork and jabbing it at the coals. "You know our Travis. Four weeks, six if he's really enjoying himself, and then it's adios."
"That's ridiculous," Travis said, elbowing Caleb out of the way. "I'm a bachelor, is all, same as the both of you. Variety is the spice of life."
"Indeed," Jake said, flashing a smile at a stunning brunette who blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers. "But Caleb's right. You should have told him."
"Told who what?"
The brothers looked around. Khan looked back at them.
"Hell," Jake said softly and then, with artificial good cheer, "Khan. My man. Good to see you."
Khan looked from one Wilde to the other.
"What did I miss?"
"Nothing," Caleb said quickly.
Jake glared at his brothers. Then he leaned toward Khan.
"Laurel Cruz will be here tonight."
Khan blinked. He thought of widening his eyes and saying, Who? but what would have been the point?
"I didn't invite her," Travis said. "Why would I? After the other night, I'd be happy if I never saw her again. But the senator called me said he wanted to get some papers to you."
"Then, why didn't he?" Khan said in a tone even he knew was sharp. He took a breath. "I mean, he never contacted me."
"I told him he could call you. Or have them delivered to your hotel. He said he wouldn't have them ready until this evening and I said, fine, he could have them couriered here, to my place."
"And Laurel Cruz is his idea of a courier service?"
Travis shrugged.
"I had no idea he was sending her until he phoned a little while ago. I tried calling you, man. I figured I'd tell you to stay put until she showed up, dropped off whatever she's supposed to drop off, and left."
"If you knew she'd be here, what did 'no pressure' mean?"
"That you didn't have to run into each other. You can, I don't know, you can hang out in my study. Or upstairs, in one of the guest rooms. Laurel will show up, I'll take the stuff from her—"
"I am not," Khan said coldly, "a man who hides from anyone."
"No. Of course you aren't. I simply meant—"
"I am most assuredly not a man who would hide from a woman!"
"Look, there's a simple solution. I'll call Laurel, tell her to leave the papers with the doorman or the concierge."
"I am also not a man who would ask his host to turn a guest away from his door on my behalf."
"That's my point. She isn't a guest. I didn’t invite her here. I wouldn't, not after the way she went at you."
Khan felt his face turn hot. The woman was a friend of the Wildes. Because of him, that friendship was now strained.
"Listen," he said, "you don't know all of it."
"I do," Travis said. "What she did was—"
"I kissed her."
Silence. The Wildes stared at him, at each other, then at him again. Khan cleared his throat.
"I was angry."
"And?"
"And, I followed her outside."
"And?"
"And, I—I kissed her."
Jake grinned. So did Caleb. Travis laughed.
"He kissed her
," Jake said.
"Yeah," said Caleb, "well, that's sure as hell one way to get even with a woman."
Khan glared at the three of them.
"I am glad that you find this so amusing!"
"Listen to him," Travis said. "His accent's coming back. It always used to, remember? When he got into a jam."
"I am not in a jam. I do not have an accent." Khan paused. "Hell," he said softly. "I owe the woman an apology."
Jake nodded.
"In that case," he said solemnly, "you're in luck. The lady in question just stepped out on the terrace—and she's spotted you."
"Wow," Caleb said quietly. "If looks could kill…"
Khan swung around.
The music, the laughter, the voices all seemed to fade away.
She stood just past the open wall of glass that divided the terrace from the living room.
She was wearing jeans. Some kind of silky-looking shirt. Spike-heeled boots that were the crimson of a tropical sunset. Her hair was loose, a wild waterfall of dark curls that fell to her shoulders and down her back.
She was beautiful.
Spectacularly beautiful.
And he knew, without question, that he wanted to start all over again, tell her that he wasn't the ruthless despot she'd pegged him for, or the barbarian he'd proven to be.
As for the kiss…
He wanted to kiss her again.
Taste her.
Draw a response from her as he almost had, the other night.
First, though, he owed her an apology. And he would make one. Now.
Khan took a step forward.
One of the Wildes—he didn't know which because he had not taken his eyes from Laurel—one of them laid a hand lightly on his arm.
"Khan." The voice was Caleb's. "Man, don't do anything you'll regret."
Khan shook off Caleb's hand.
"Everything's fine," he said, and started slowly across the terrace, toward Laurel.
And Laurel, who had been trying to decide what course of action to take when she found herself staring at the very last man she'd ever wanted to see again, the man she'd thought of endlessly for the last two days, did something she'd never imagined.
She turned and ran.
CHAPTER THREE
Coward, Laurel thought, as she pushed her way through the maddeningly crowded room.
