by YoBro
He looked at Laurel. Could she see the word 'Help' blinking on and off in his eyes?
"Lord Khan." Laurel said softly. "I'm sure you don't have to worry about requesting Adele's cooperation."
She'd put a slight emphasis on the word, 'requesting.' It puzzled him for a couple of seconds, and then he realized that he'd said 'require'. Hell. He'd also used the word, 'demand'.
What a time to fall into the nonsensical royal imperative.
Now what?
"Ms. Cruz is correct, sir. I assure you that I am accustomed to working with clients who have every reason to expect the absolute silence of those who work for them. In fact, if you have any concerns that I cannot provide you with—"
"No," he said quickly, and cleared his throat. "That is, I'm sure you can. I only meant—"
Laurel squeezed his hand.
"He only meant," she said, with an easy smile, "that the recent intrusions into the private lives of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge—you know, Wills and Kate—have made everyone edgy."
Wills and Kate?
Khan blinked. His thoughts spun. In a couple of sentences, Laurel had turned royal protocol on its ear.
For openers, he'd never have referred to the heir to the British throne and his bride so familiarly when talking to a stranger.
It just wasn't done.
But there was more to it than that.
Laurel had interrupted him in mid-sentence. And she had not just interrupted him, she had tried to explain him.
What for?
He was—well, he was the prince. The king. He did not have to explain himself, ever, and surely no one ever had the guts to do it for him…
Except the beautiful, tough, not-easily-impressed woman sitting next to him.
Had they been alone, he'd have hauled her into his arms and kissed her. Instead, he cleared his throat. Again. He was becoming expert at it.
"Precisely," he said. "I couldn't have put it better myself." His lips twitched. "We were all most distressed by what happened to Wills and Kate."
Adele's frozen expression relaxed.
"Of course. Who wouldn't be? I assure you, your highness, we have never done anything to violate a client's privacy, and we never will."
"Of course," he echoed, and paused. "If that offer is still open, Adele, I would be delighted to have some coffee. I'm sure Ms. Cruz—Laurel—would be, as well."
"Excellent, sir. There's nothing like breaking bread to establish a solid relationship."
"Or drinking coffee," Laurel said brightly.
Everyone smiled, and Adele hurried out of her office.
Khan took Laurel's hand and brought it to his lips.
"Thank you," he said in a low voice.
"Well, somebody had to toss the Emperor of the Universe a lifeline."
Laughter danced in her eyes. He flashed a quick grin. Then he sighed.
"Clearly, I am not quite the man of the people I believe myself to be."
"What matters is that you're a man your people admire. And respect. And love." She squeezed his hand. "And you were doing pretty well," she said softly, "for a man who, I bet, never did this kind of one-on-one before."
"It showed, huh?"
"Maybe a little." She paused. "What showed, too, is that you wanted to protect me."
"Yes," he said, a little gruffly. "I wanted you to spend the day with me and I never stopped to think that dragging you into my life—"
"You're not 'dragging' me into your life."
"No?"
"No." She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I wanted to come with you. To be with you. To—to—"
"Here we are," Adele Simpson said cheerfully. A young man followed in her footsteps, carrying a tray topped with a silver coffee service and delicate china cups and saucers. "We can look over some information I've prepared while we enjoy our coffee."
Khan nodded.
Something had just happened.
The only question was, what?
********
She had three properties to show them.
"I have others, but I think these would best suit your needs, your highness, in terms of space, privacy, location, and availability. You did say you'd like to make a move ASAP?."
"I would, indeed."
"Well, you can move into any one of these places immediately. I've taken the liberty of checking into household staffing with an agency we've used many times in the past, and I've been assured that we can arrange for a housekeeper, cook, maids, butler, whatever, at a moment's notice."
An hour later, they had seen a town house in Turtle Creek and removed it from the list. Khan was trying not to think about Jamal, who would surely be furious at his men for letting their prince leave them behind last night, but Jamal was the first thing he thought of when they saw the house.
He would surely find it too exposed.
The second rental was a spacious condominium, not far from the town house.
Khan said it was handsome. He was going to add that there were too many entrances to the building, but he didn't have to.
Laurel did it for him.
"I bet your security guy will say there are too many ways in and out."
What his security guy would say, Khan decided, was that his shalal was an amazing woman. Too bad he wouldn't have the chance to meet her…
But he would.
Once he found the right place, he'd move in. Today. Which meant that Laurel would stay with him.
She'd be with him for the rest of the week.
Or two weeks.
She would be with him until he left for home, and that was the thing about business deals. Nobody could predict how long it might take to conclude negotiations.
For all he knew, he thought, as he held Laurel back for a quick kiss before they followed Adele Simpson back to her BMW, two weeks might stretch into three.
Or even four.
*******
They had only one more property to see.
The realtor predicted it would be perfect, excused herself, and stepped out of the car to take a phone call.
Khan decided to prove he could still exercise some diplomatic skill and not say that he didn't think it would be anything approaching perfect.
From what he'd seen in a glossy photo, she was taking them to a house that was a cross between Tara and Versailles. Big, which was good. Seven bedrooms and baths. That was good, too. A dining room that seated twenty. Even better, considering the need to staff it with Jamal's men.
But it was ugly, which was bad.
The exterior photos showed porticos and colonnades and balconies and what could only be described as gingerbread.
Still, this was temporary. Assuming it met the necessary security requirements, he could tolerate it for—for however long his work kept him here.
He glanced at Laurel, seated next to him, and reached for her hand.
"A day spent looking at real estate," he said softly, and smiled. "Not exactly exciting, hmm?"
"Oh, it's fun. Seeing all these neighborhoods, walking through other peoples' lives… I mean, that's what it is, isn't it? "
"I never thought of it that way but yes, you're right, that's what it is."
"It reminds me of when I got out of law school. I'd been living in dorms for so long that looking for a place of my own was incredibly exciting!"
"Was that when you found the flat you live in now?"
"Are you kidding?" She laughed. "I had something like eighty dollars in my bank account, and enough student loan debt to keep me a pauper for the next twenty years."
"But you had a job with the senator waiting for you."
She shook her head.
"I went to work for La Verdad." She smiled. "I loved it, but I can't say it did much for my finances."
"La Verdad?"
"It means 'the truth,' in Spanish."
"I know what it means, but what is it?"
"It's a group that provides legal services to the poor, mostly to Hispanics
. I'd worked with the Justice Project while I was in law school, and La Verdad seemed a natural extension of that." Her gaze met his. "My father was Mexican."
Khan heard the touch of defiance in her voice.
"And a good thing he was," he said lightly, "or where would you have gotten all those beautiful dark curls and skin the color of café au lait?"
A smile curved her mouth. She leaned against him; he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
""You would have liked my papa," she said softly." He was a lot like you. Tough on the outside, marshmallow on the inside."
Khan chuckled.
"I have been called lots of things, sweetheart, but never a marshmallow." He lifted her face to his. "So, he is gone, the same as your mother?"
Laurel nodded. "He worked in a convenience store. You know what that is?"
"Sure. Open 24/7, a place where neighborhood people can buy newspapers, groceries, odds and ends."
"Right." She hesitated; her lovely eyes darkened. "He was killed in a robbery."
"Ah, Laurel, I'm so sorry."
"It was hard. I was thirteen and I missed him terribly but my mother couldn't—she couldn't accept his loss. She sort of escaped into a world of her own and then, a few years later, she died."
"How old were you when you lost her?"
"Seventeen."
"Someone in your family took you in?"
She shook her head. "There was no one."
Seventeen. And all alone in the world. Surely, being raised by nannies and a father who hardly knew you were alive was preferable.
Khan drew her closer.
"What happened to you?" he said quietly.
"I had myself declared an emancipated minor. Well, the legal term is different than that, in Texas, but that's what it came down to. I doubled up on all my courses, graduated six months early from high school, got into the University of Texas."
"And then law school." Khan shook his head. "All on your own. Incredible."
"Right time, right place, lots of luck," she said, dismissing what he knew were amazing accomplishments with an easy smile.
"When did you go to work for the senator?"
"Well, he offered me a job right out of law school, but I wanted to work for La Verdad, at least for a little while. So, he waited a year, and then tried again."
"That time, you said 'yes.'"
She laughed. "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He said, if I came on board, he would assign me what would seem like hopeless cases."
"Wow." Khan rolled his eyes. "Who could resist such a lure?"
"And he promised he'd let me take pursue any case that dealt with women's issues to an adjudicated conclusion, because that was my specialty at La Verdad."
"Was that when you tried to get a grant for a foundation that would provide legal help to abused women?"
"You know about that?"
"Travis told me."
"Right about then, yes." She sighed. "Talk about losing your political innocence…"
Khan kissed her hand. "So, you went to work for the senator's firm. And you specialize in women's issues."
"Yes."
"And you are happy there?"
Her face lit. "Wonderfully happy. I'm researching a case now that I'm really excited about. It could have far-reaching implications for immigrant women with no papers who are abused…" Laurel laughed and buried her face against his shoulder. "Just listen to me! You asked about my first apartment and I end up telling you my life story."
"I want to know your life story," he said, a little gruffly. "I want to know everything about you."
It was the truth, and it shocked him.
He had never been a man given to too much interest in the life stories of his mistresses. That they were beautiful and intelligent and fun had always been sufficient…
Until now.
He frowned.
"So," he said briskly, "tell me about that first apartment. What could you possibly have found that you could afford with eighty dollars to your name?"
"A share."
"A what?"
"When I said I was looking for a place of my own, what I really mean is that my name would be on the lease. I knew I'd have to share. But I was lucky. One of my classmates knew about an apartment downtown. It was perfect, and we took it."
"We?"
"Four of us. There was lots more space than in a dorm. Three bedrooms A big kitchen—"
"Three bedrooms. And four people." Khan played with her fingers. "So, two of you shared a room?"
"Yes."
A muscle flickered in his jaw. Had she been the one who'd shared her room? Her bed? Was there a man in her past who'd been lucky enough to have lived with her?
"I see."
She looked at him.
"You're jealous," she said, with barely concealed delight.
"No." His eyes narrowed. "Yes. I damned well am."
She leaned in close, put her lips to his ear.
"Well, you should be. I was the one of us who shared a room. A king-size bed." She paused. "But it wasn't two of us. It was three."
"Three?"
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Oh, the look on his face…
"Yes. Me. And a friend from school. Her name was Meryl. And, of course, Butch. He insisted on being with us."
"Butch," Khan said in a strangled voice.
"Butch." She paused. "Meryl's Springer Spaniel."
She tried to look wide-eyed and innocent. It didn't work. She giggled, and Khan growled, grabbed her, and kissed her. When he finally took his lips from hers, she sighed.
"I think I'm going to make you jealous more often, your highness."
Her voice was soft and sexy, and Khan decided that even if Tara/Versailles was truly awful, he would sign the lease.
Anything, so he could leave the world behind and be alone with the most exciting woman he'd ever met.
********
He'd been wrong about the house being a cross between Tara and Versailles.
That would have been an improvement over what it really was.
Not just big, as he'd expected, but huge, and with embellishments that would surely make any respectable architect weep.
As in the photos, the house dripped porticoes and porches and balconies, all supported by colonnades and pillars and trellises.
And that was only the exterior.
The interior was…
"Unusual," Khan finally said in a choked voice, after Adele Simpson unlocked the massive double doors and motioned them into the entry hall.
Enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling; heavy red velvet draperies covered the windows. Gilt cherubs vied for space with bisque shepherdesses on a sea of claw-footed tables.
"A monstrosity," the realtor said cheerfully. "Why not be honest, your highness? I would never show this to you if you were looking to buy something, or if you wanted a long-term rental, but for a week—"
"A couple of weeks. Perhaps, uh, perhaps a little more than that."
"The point is, on a short-term basis, you won't do better than this. You won't even do as well. You need enough rooms for your staff, plus privacy and security. Well, you saw that high wall that surrounds the house, the electronic gate… and there are motion sensors and cameras on the grounds, the windows and doors are all alarmed, and there's a kind of control center behind the dining room, from where everything can be monitored. Would you like me to walk you through?"
Khan shrugged. "Might as well."
Adele Simpson led them briskly from room to room.
"A cattle baron built it for his fourth wife. She left him for a gentleman who owns a diamond mine in South Africa, and the cattleman moved on to wife number five. She sued for divorce after a year or two, her lawyers got the house as part of the divorce settlement, and they put it on the market at a price nobody, but nobody, will pay."
Laurel rolled her eyes. "Not all lawyers are smart.
Khan laughed and drew h
er closer.
The rooms went from ugly to just plain poor taste—until they reached the east wing of the house, and the master suite.
"I think you'll find this a little different," the realtor said. "My understanding is that the owner's fifth wife insisted he have the suite redone before she agreed to marry him." She smiled as she opened the door. "Not that it had any long-term effect on the marriage."
"Oh," Laurel said, very softly.
Oh, indeed, Khan thought.
They were in a sitting room, done in black and white; ahead, a door stood open, revealing a bedroom furnished in the same colors. White carpet. Black bed linens. Sheer white curtains at French doors that opened onto a balcony.
"Well," Khan said, smiling, "wife number five was not entirely foolish. Very well. I'll take it. Draw up the necessary papers and forward them to me at my hotel."
Adele beamed.
"Certainly, sir. For what duration shall I make the rental?"
It was an excellent question.
He looked at Laurel.
She was standing at one of the windows, looking out over the grounds. It was growing late in the day; the sun was dropping on the horizon and its rays glimmered in her dark hair.
Something inside him tightened.
"Sir? How long a lease shall I—"
"A month." A muscle in his cheek flickered. "On second thought, make it for two months, and with a renewal clause."
The realtor smiled. She and Khan shook hands and then she excused herself and took her phone from her pocket.
"Shalal. You're deep in thought."
"Sorry," she said, turning and smiling at him. "I was watching the sun set. Isn't it beautiful?"
"Beautiful," he agreed.
He held out his arms. He saw Laurel's eyes fill with a brilliance that was the equal of the sun.
"Come to me," he said softly.
The realtor was still in the room; she saw him gather Laurel close and he knew it, but he didn't give a damn about propriety and privacy right now.
All that mattered was Laurel.
CHAPTER NINE
It had been a long day.
Very long.
Agreements to read. Papers to sign. Lists to go through.
