The Prince of Pleasure

by YoBro

  If that meant appearing aloof and permitting people to believe what they wished about him, so be it.

  How else to deal with idiots like those women in the elevator last week, or the guy who'd followed him into the men's room at a restaurant a few days ago and asked for an autograph while they stood, side by side, at the urinals?

  How he'd wanted to provide that autograph in yellow, all over the fool's shoes!

  As a result, he'd come to cherish the people with whom he could be himself, but there'd never been a woman in that group.

  Now, there was.

  Laurel made him feel like a man instead of a figurehead.

  At eighteen, female adulation had been heady stuff, but it had stopped being that a decade ago. He'd grown disgusted with being a possible 'catch' as a husband, or a celebrated notch on the bedpost.

  With Laurel, he wasn't a king or a prince or even a sheikh. They were simply a man and a woman, although how long they'd have that pleasure before the media jackals interfered was anyone's guess. They'd find out about Laurel and then they'd snap at her heels the way they did at his.

  They'd turn their cameras on her, follow her, the gossip crazies and the just-plain-vanilla crazies like the woman who'd come to his suite last night…

  Hell! How could he have forgotten?

  Khan rolled away from Laurel, shot to his feet, and grabbed his clothes. "I completely forgot that I have an appointment this morning. Forgive me. I'll take a quick shower, if you don't mind, and—"

  "Oh. Oh, of course. I understand."

  "Good. I'm glad that you do because…"

  Wait a minute. There'd been a world of meaning in those few words. He turned and saw Laurel sitting up, her back to him, the covers clutched to her throat.

  What a fool he was!

  "Laurel."

  "That's okay," she said quickly, "you don't have to explain. Really, I underst—"

  "Dammit," he growled. A second later, he hauled her, none-too-gently, into his arms. "You think this is a brush-off?"

  She didn't answer. What could she say that wouldn't sound pathetic? She was a grown woman. Taking a man to your bed in today's world didn't mean he was signing on forever, or even for a second night.

  "Look at me," he demanded.

  She took a breath and raised her eyes to his face. It was time for a clever remark, a sophisticated laugh, something that would make it clear he didn't owe her any explanations or allegiance because he didn't, but the lie stuck in her throat.

  "I'm a big girl," she said quietly. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

  "I don't have to explain myself to anybody," he said, with all the princely arrogance she'd accused him of. "But I want to explain myself, to you." Carefully, he tucked a dark curl behind her ear. "One of the joys of being somebody like me," he said with forced lightness, "is that you attract devoted followers."

  "Trust me, your highness," she said coolly. "I have no intention of—"

  "You," Khan said, "are a very prickly woman."

  "I am an independent woman, and I assure you, I am not—"

  He kissed her to silence.

  "A quick lesson in the realities of life in the fast lane," he said, when he finally raised his head. "I'm talking about the kind of devoted followers who… How shall I put this? The kind who collect restraining orders like Olympic athletes collect medals."

  Her eyes widened.

  "What?"

  "There are always people who want someone they consider a celebrity to give autographs. Or pose for photos. Annoying, when you are your nation's representative and not a rock star, but harmless." His mouth twisted. "It only becomes a problem when people with mental issues decide you are their reason for living."

  "And that's happened to you?"

  "Once," he admitted, "in the past. Now, I seem to have caught the attention of a woman with problems here in Dallas."

  Laurel's face paled. "Did she try to hurt you?"

  "She tried to—to entice me. I know it sounds amusing—"

  "No, it doesn't. I have several clients—women—whose husbands and boyfriends can't decide if they want to seduce them or kill them."

  "Yes. Well, I guess you can't always tell until things start to escalate. Not that I think this will," he said quickly. "She's more an annoyance than a threat."

  "What did the police say?"

  "I haven't contacted them."

  "But you must!"

  Khan shook his head. "Altara doesn't need that kind of publicity. Besides, there's nothing they can do. That's what I was saying. She hasn't really done anything actionable."

  "Yet," Laurel said.

  He shrugged. "The odds are that she won't."

  "You're talking to a lawyer, remember?"

  Khan smiled and dropped a light kiss on her mouth. "How could I possibly forget?"

  "I'm serious. You should have some kind of protection. That's what I always advise my clients. In your case, because of who you are, you need a security detail. Bodyguards, in shifts around the clock."

  "You and Jamal would get along fine," he said dryly. She raised her eyebrows in question. "My head of security. I sent for him because of this—this problem."

  "If you sent for him, where is he?"

  Khan almost laughed.

  A little while ago, she'd been shy about waking in his embrace even after they'd spent the night making love.

  Now, he was holding her in his arms, both of them naked. And she wasn't anything close to shy. She'd gone from the woman he'd spent the past hours with to the woman who'd confronted him at the Wilde ranch.

  And he loved it.

  In fact, it was turning him on.

  Any second now, and she would know it.

  He told himself to concentrate. On Jamal. On bodyguards. On anything but the feel of her, the sexy contrast between her softness and her determination to make him admit he was wrong.

  "Khan!" She scowled, gave him a look that surely meant he was being impossibly foolish. "Don't look at me that way."

  "What way?" he said, all innocence. .

  "As if you find what I'm saying, I don't know, amusing! It's a serious question. If you have a security guy, where is he?"

  "At my hotel. If I need him, I can reach him in a second."

  "Oh, that's brilliant! You can reach him in a second. What about how long it would take him to get to you? What about his being around to protect you? What about—"

  "Nothing will happen to me." He smiled, traced the fullness of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "You are the only danger I face." His voice grew husky. "And that is the kind of danger that pleases me."

  "Don't try to change the subject," she said, but her tone softened. "If something were to happen to you…"

  Her voice trailed away. He felt his heart lift.

  "Trust me, sweetheart. I'll be fine. But it means everything to me that you care."

  He framed her face with his hands, lowered his head to hers and gave her a long, teasing kiss. She sighed, kissed him back…

  And caught her breath as she leaned into him.

  "Uh oh," she whispered.

  He grinned. "Is that all you can say when a man shows you how glad he is to have you in his arms?"

  She gave a sexy little shift of her hips.

  "You're impossible."

  "Anything is possible," he said solemnly. "For instance…"

  He moved. Her lashes fell to her cheeks.

  "Oh," she whispered, "oh, that's –that's—"

  "Yes. It certainly is."

  "You said—mmm—you said you had an appointment…"

  "I do. With a realtor. Caleb set it up. She's going to show me a couple of rentals so I can get out of that hotel. And before you ask, Jamal approves. For all I know, he might install a metal detector at the door and turn a pair of fierce dogs loose in the living room."

  "Good. That's good. You'll be safe and—and—don't do that," she murmured. "Khan. Don't do—"

  "This?"

>   His mouth was at her throat, his hand between her thighs.

  "Oh," she whispered, "oh…"

  She was breathing fast, as if she were running a marathon. If the rapidly accelerating beat of his heart was any indication, he was going to make that run with her.

  "You want to know another excellent thing about being a prince?" He bent his head to her breast, sucked the furled crest into the heat of his mouth. "I don't have to worry about being late for appointments."

  "No?"

  "No," he said, and he tumbled her back on the bed.

  ********

  They showered. Dressed. Agreed nobody could possibly start a day without caffeine. While Laurel made coffee, Khan phoned the realtor and explained he'd be a little late.

  "Is she okay with that?" Laurel asked as she took a pair of hand-thrown mugs from the cabinet over the stove.

  "Of course."

  Laurel flashed him a look and he raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.

  "You are right. I must learn not to take such things for granted."

  "Being modest and humble are virtues."

  He could hear the laughter in her voice. He caught her around the waist and kissed the tip of her nose.

  "I had a British nanny who used to say things like that."

  "See what a small world it is? My Texas mama used to say things like that, too."

  "You say that as if she's gone," Khan said softly.

  Laurel nodded. "She is."

  "Ah, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

  "Me, too," she said, with a little smile. "I loved her like crazy." She gave him a quick kiss, moved out of his arms, took a package of bagels from the fridge and popped two halves in the toaster. "What's it like to have a nanny?"

  "Depends on the nanny. Some were kind. Some were not. Some ignored me." He grinned. "Those were the ones I liked best."

  "Did you get to spend much time with your parents?"

  He shrugged. "My mother died when I was little. My father was a man of tradition. He had a country to run."

  Laurel looked at him. His tone was casual. Too casual. She suspected the subject was painful for him.

  "Not the best childhood in the world," she said carefully.

  A muscle in his jaw flickered.

  "No. But not the worst, either."

  "A pragmatist," she said, to lighten things.

  "And one who can butter bagels," he said, for the same reason.

  She smiled, handed him the butter and a knife.

  "We'll see."

  "I," he said, with exaggerated dignity, "am an excellent bagel butterer. In fact, I am an excellent maker of breakfasts."

  "You are, huh?"

  "I did a lot of cooking when I was at college. Well, not a lot. But enough. Why are you staring at me? Ah. You think I went to school accompanied by a small army of servants."

  'Well, no. I just didn't imagine you…" Laurel raised her eyebrows. "A man of many parts."

  Khan grabbed her, bent her back over his arm.

  "All parts that are hungry for you," he said, and kissed her.

  Sighing, she wound her arms around his neck as he brought her slowly upright.

  "So," she said softly, "I have a lot to learn about you."

  "You mean the me who isn't a dictator?" She would have said something but he put a finger over her lips. "Don't apologize. It is good you said it. You reminded me that I have to find ways to let people know more about me and my country."

  She smiled. "I like the way you're letting me get to know more about you."

  "Like the fact that I am an excellent maker of breakfasts?"

  "So you claim."

  His smile tilted.

  "I'll prove it to you, tomorrow. Either here, or at whatever place it is I rent today."

  Her heart kicked against her ribs. She thought of ways to ask him exactly what that mean, and then she thought, no, to hell with that.

  Honesty. Wasn't that what she'd decided on? So she took a steadying breath and looked into his eyes.

  "Are you asking me to spend tonight with you?"

  "No," he said huskily, "I am not asking. I am telling you." He reached out and gathered her in his arms. "Spend the day with me. And the night. And tomorrow. … What?"

  What, indeed?

  He wanted to have an affair. There was no reason not to go along with it. She liked being with him. He was fun. He was smart.

  And then there was the way he was in bed.

  But he would leave Dallas soon.

  Then, what?

  She had not thought that way in the past. She'd known, going in, that her prior relationships would wind down, given enough time; why would that have been a problem? She was dedicated to her career. Commitment took time, effort, it wasn't in her plans.

  And yet, the thought of being with Khan and then giving him up…

  "Do you not wish to be with me?"

  She blinked; her eyes felt strangely blurred. She looked up into her lover's wonderful face, and smiled.

  "There it is. Your accent. Getting more pronounced—"

  "Stay with me," he said, with a fierceness that she felt in her bones. "I want you with me, Laurel. Tell me it is what you want, too."

  She clasped his face between her hands, rose to him, planted a kiss on his lips.

  "It's what I want, too," she whispered. "More than anything in the world."

  He groaned, lowered his head, and leaned his forehead against hers.

  "Damn that appointment."

  "You have to keep it. You have to get out of that hotel."

  "Yes. I know." Reluctantly, he let go of her. "All right. Drink your coffee. Eat your bagel." He checked his Rolex. "God, I'm late again." He looked at her; shot her that grin she was coming to love. "It isn't a problem. I'll just point to you and explain that you are the cause."

  "Point to me? But—"

  "You're coming with me." His eyes swept over her, his gaze finally rising to meet hers. "You're going to spend a lot of time in my new home, shalal," he said softly. "Don't you think it matters that it should be a place that is to your liking?"

  She smiled. Then she turned away and busied herself with nonsense like getting out the cream.

  Otherwise, she was afraid she might tell her lover something foolish…

  Something that would sound an awful lot like the frightening admission that being with him, anywhere, was rapidly becoming the only thing that mattered.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The realtor's name was Adele Simpson.

  She was a middle-aged woman with a handsome office and a determined attitude.

  Khan liked her on sight, especially when she greeted him not with a dip of the knee but with a firm handshake. .

  "Your highness. I'm delighted to meet you, sir."

  "The pleasure is mine," he said politely. He put his arm lightly around Laurel's waist and drew her forward. "This is Ms. Cruz."

  The realtor smiled and held out her hand. "How do you do, Ms. Cruz?

  "It's Laurel. And it's very nice to meet you."

  "And I'm Adele." The realtor nodded to a pair of chairs drawn up before her desk. "Please. Sit down. May I offer you some coffee? Tea? Water?"

  Khan drew out Laurel's chair, lightly touched her shoulder, then took the remaining chair for himself.

  "Nothing, thank you. And thank you, too, for meeting with me on such short notice."

  "Not at all, sir. I've known Caleb Wilde for years. He explained this was a matter of some urgency."

  "Well, I don't know that I'd call it urgent, exactly. I'm at the Desert Oasis Hotel—"

  "An excellent accommodation."

  "Yes—but there are privacy issues. Security concerns."

  "I understand. It isn't easy for someone like you to maintain a low profile in a public setting."

  It was a perfect summation. Khan felt himself start to relax.

  "You're correct, Ms. Simpson."

  "Adele, remember? Caleb tells me you want something fully furnished,
well-equipped, and secure. Does that sum it up?"

  "The house, the apartment, whatever I rent must also have sufficient space for some of my staff."

  Adele Simpson nodded, jotted down some notes.

  "Of course. Secretaries, personal assistants…"

  "Security personnel," Khan said bluntly, knowing that Jamal would insist upon their presence.

  "Of course. So… perhaps a place with two wings, one for your staff, and one for you, sir, to assure you'd have privacy…?"

  She looked from him to Laurel, her smile still pleasant, but suddenly he could see a dozen questions in her eyes.

  Questions, he suspected, about Laurel.

  Questions she was too professional to ask.

  Dammit!

  Of course, he should have thought of this!

  In his eagerness to keep Laurel with him, he'd completely overlooked the possible ramifications of this visit.

  Hadn't he just thought about that, a little over an hour ago? That is was one thing to have cameras focused on him but that the last thing he wanted was to put his lover in the media's hungry path?

  And then there was the blonde… What could you call the woman except a stalker? No way would he want to draw her attention to Laurel.

  What was wrong with him? Where was all that clarity of thought and purpose by which he lived his life?

  Khan cleared his throat.

  "Adele." He paused. His staff generally handled things like this. They, or at least, his P.A., dealt with, well, they dealt with the basics. They ensured that things were done when they needed doing.

  The simple truth was that he owned a mews house in London, a penthouse in Manhattan, a ranch back home and another in Brazil, as well as his newest acquisition, a private island in the Caribbean—and yet, this was the first time in all his life he'd spoken with a realtor.

  Perhaps he was not quite as much in touch with the real world as he liked to think.

  "Prince Khan? Was there something else?"

  He nodded.

  "There is, indeed. I must demand your complete discretion. About me, my life, everything and anything that involves me…" He reached for Laurel's hand. "I especially require total discretion regarding those who—who matter to me."

  Oh, hell.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laurel wince. Because of what he'd said about her mattering to him? No. Something else. The realtor's spine had gone so rigid it could have substituted for a yardstick.