The Prince of Pleasure

by YoBro

  "Check," the realtor said briskly, each time she gave Khan another bit of information to approve or disapprove from what seemed an endless assortment of things that, as far as he was concerned, lacked any real meaning.

  He maintained his patience until she asked how many cords of wood he wanted delivered for the six fireplaces.

  "I have no idea," he said calmly.

  Too calmly. Laurel knew it instantly. Apparently, Adele Simpson didn't.

  "I need some idea, your highness," Adele said, and flashed a brightly professional smile. "One cord? Two? Four?"

  Khan drew himself up to his full, very impressive six feet two inches of taut male arrogance.

  "Do I strike you as a man who keeps track of how much wood is burned in a fireplace?"

  "Well, probably not, sir, but—"

  "Then why ask me such inane questions?"

  The realtor blanched; Khan, irritated as he was, saw it. He muttered something under his breath, apologized for his temper, and suggested that any other such questions would be best asked, and answered, once he'd lived in the house for a few days.

  "Certainly, sir. Of course. The house will be ready for you by morning."

  "By tonight."

  "Yes. Absolutely. By tonight."

  Laurel half-expected the woman to click her heels and salute, but Khan extended his hand, she shook it, and the afternoon of house-hunting was finally over.

  "I have not been paying my P.A. enough," he muttered, once they were finally alone in his Land Rover.

  Laurel gave her lover what she hoped was a benign smile.

  "I'll bet he's going to be happy to hear that."

  His smile was the equal of hers. "She. And yes, I'm sure she will."

  "Your personal assistant is a woman?"

  Khan raised an eyebrow as he turned the ignition key.

  "The last I noticed, yes, she was."

  "But I thought—I mean, I assumed—"

  He leaned over, planted a quick kiss on her lips.

  "Assumptions can be dangerous things, sweetheart. You figured she was a he because you are quite certain you know all there is to know about my country's antiquated customs."

  "No," she said quickly. Then, she sighed. "Okay. Maybe I have some misconceptions."

  "Some." Khan checked the mirror, then pulled the Rover away from the curb. "But you're not entirely wrong. Much had changed in my country but there is still more that needs doing."

  "The changes that have already taken place… are they yours?"

  He reached for her hand, curved it over the gear shift knob beneath his.

  "My father was a good man, but he believed in the old ways." He glanced at her; a rueful smile tilting at one corner of his mouth. "He was many of the things you accused me of being, not out of a lack of caring but out of the conviction that the way things have always been is the way they must continue."

  "He was a traditionalist, you mean."

  He nodded. "I understand the need to honor tradition—but there has to be a line between those things that should stay the same and those that should be set aside. And sometimes, even when my ministers and I agree on change, they warn me that I must be careful not move too quickly."

  "Because?"

  "Because it isn't enough for me to want change for the kingdom, the people must want it, as well."

  "I don't see how anyone can't want to move forward."

  "Change makes people feel uncertain."

  "Change is what the world is all about."

  He smiled. "Spoken like a true American."

  "If nobody ever took a step into the future, think of what life would be like."

  "You mean," Khan said solemnly, "my personal assistant would be a man."

  "Go ahead, make fun of me. But some of the things I saw, growing up, some of the things I see as a lawyer…" Laurel drew a breath. "Sorry," she said, with an apologetic little laugh. "The senator says I go overboard once in a while."

  "The senator is wrong." Khan drew up at a light; the hotel was just ahead. He brought her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Fire burns within you, sweetheart. It's part of what makes you the woman you are. And I would never make fun of you. How could I, when you mean—you mean so much to me?"

  She looked at him.

  "Do I?" she said, hating herself for the question.

  His eyes met hers.

  "Yes," he said his voice rough. "You mean—"

  "Hey! Your majesty!"

  Something banged against the Rover. A hand, holding a microphone. Laurel cried out in alarm and shrank back in her seat.

  "Goddammit," Khan growled.

  The light changed; he stepped on the gas pedal and the car shot ahead.

  "Are you all right?"

  It was a stupid question. One glance at her white face was all the answer he needed.

  The tires squealed in protest as he took a hard right at the next intersection. There was a parking garage somewhere along this street…

  There it was, just ahead.

  Another hard right and he kept going, driving the Rover up ramp after ramp until they reached the top level, all but deserted at the end of the workday. He pulled into a space, turned off the engine, undid his seat belt and Laurel's, and pulled her into his arms.

  "It was just a reporter," he said softly.

  She nodded. He closed his eyes as her hair slid against his jaw.

  "They're like animals, running prey to the ground."

  "Jackals, he murmured." I agree."

  A tremor went through her. He held her even closer. After a minute, she leaned back in his arms. Color had returned to her face and some of that fire he so loved blazed in her eyes.

  "You need a good lawyer," she said. "To sue the pants off bastards like that!"

  "First amendment rights," he said lightly. "Remember?"

  "Is that what your attorney said? Because he's right, but you could scare the hell out of those idiots."

  "A lovely thought, sweetheart, but we both know how such a suit would go."

  "Still, as an attorney—"

  "As an attorney," Khan said, stopping her with a quick kiss, "I understand how you feel. But we both know the laws are made by the people and for the people, which means no law is going to please all the people."

  She smiled, as he'd hoped she would. Then she cocked her head.

  "As an attorney? You mean—"

  "I have a J.D. from Harvard."

  "You're full of surprises, your highness," she said, playfully batting her lashes at him.

  He grinned.

  "I thought an education in the law, particularly North American law, might be helpful someday. And I was right."

  Laurel toyed with his collar. She loved seeing his tanned throat, the hollow where his pulse beat.

  "How?"

  "Well, for instance, I can present logical arguments to my ministers when they try to tell me that the female of the species is not meant to vote." He laughed at her shocked expression. "I'm teasing you, sweetheart. We've had voting rights for women for fifty years… but there are many, many times when understanding your legal system and your constitution has been useful to me." He paused. "Being a sheikh, a king, a prince, whatever title Altara chooses to give me, isn't all about riding white stallions into the desert sunset."

  Laurel felt her cheeks heat.

  "I never accused you of that,"

  "No," he said lightly. "That was one you missed."

  She sighed. The warmth of her breath put a knot of longing right in the pit of his belly.

  "It's a nice image, thought," she said softly. She put her mouth to the hollow of his throat. "Very sexy."

  "Laurel," he said in a warning tone.

  She smiled and looked up at him.

  "So, no big white stallions?"

  "Not exactly." Khan tucked a curl behind her ear. "I have horses. Arabians. I breed them."

  "Aha."

  "Aha, what?"

  "Aha, I could have pushed
that stallion button the night we met!"

  He thought of an easy comeback, one that involved sex, but he didn't use it. Instead, he found himself wanting to know something about her buttons, those that made her who she was.

  The little she'd told him about herself wasn't enough.

  "Speaking of buttons… I pushed one a while ago, didn't I?"

  She thought of denying it, or pretending she didn't know what he meant, but she did know. He was talking about that quick reference to losing her parents, and to her childhood.

  She'd known Khan for only a couple of weeks, but she felt as if she'd known him a lifetime.

  Still…

  "Okay, he said, "me first. An exchange of facts. You know, button for button."

  That won him a smile.

  "For instance… The House from Hell reminds me of where I grew up."

  "The House from Hell? Very nice. I like the alliteration. But I refuse to believe there's another place like it anywhere in the world, especially one that would be home to a prince."

  "That's because you haven't seen the palace in Kharda. Our capital city. Marble. Crystal. Maybe it isn't exactly like Hell House but that's only because it's hard to separate one degree of ostentation from another. I mean, marble halls and French chandeliers are pretty much the same everywhere."

  "See one chandelier," Laurel said, straight-faced, "you've seen them all."

  Khan laughed. "Exactly." He clasped another dark curl, let it wind around his finger. "Your turn. Where did you grow up? In the country? The suburbs? The city?"

  "The city."

  "This city?"

  Yes." She looked at him. "Actually, in a barrio in this city," she said, a faint quality of what sounded like I-dare-you creeping into her voice. "People call it that because it sounds lots sexier than calling it a slum."

  Khan nodded. "Time for another 'aha.' And you're right. It's always easier to use exotic names for things that make you shudder."

  "It drives me crazy," she said, heat replacing the I-dare-you edge. "If only more people would acknowledge that."

  "More people being…?"

  "The media. Politicians. Social workers. People with power."

  Khan decided it was time for another quick brush of his lips over hers.

  "You mean," he said, "your version of our sheikhs and princes."

  She smiled. What an amazing man he was! No wonder she—she liked being with him.

  "Nicely done, your highness," she said, and kissed him.

  "That's nicely done, too," he said, and deepened the kiss.

  "We're in a public place," she whispered breathlessly.

  "An empty public place." His hands cupped her breasts; she moaned as his fingertips feathered over her nipples. "I need to touch you," he said, his voice low and rough. "Now. Right now."

  He captured her mouth with his; his arms tightened around her. A groan rose in his throat. All he could think about was being inside her, and he knew that what he should be thinking about was getting her into the hotel without another incident.

  He could deal with the SOBs who haunted his life but he'd be damned if he'd let them drag her into the maelstrom.

  He clasped her shoulders. Put her from him. Rested his forehead against hers.

  "I'll call Jamal and tell him we're coming in through the service entrance. We'll give him ten minutes to set up some kind of diversion."

  Laurel laid her palm against his cheek. It was almost the end of the day; there was light stubble on her lover's jaw. She loved the feel of it against her hand.

  Loved it even more against her breasts and thighs.

  Heat shimmered to life low in her belly.

  "And what will we do with those ten minutes, Lord Khan?"

  His laugh was wonderfully low and sexy.

  "I'll try and think of something."

  And there, in the dark confines of the Rover, he did.

  ********

  Whatever scheme Jamal had come up with, worked.

  They made it to the rear entrance of the hotel, were hurried into a waiting service elevator by two of the bodyguards, and rode straight up to Khan's floor.

  All the other suites had been emptied of guests, Jamal said. He had made the arrangements.

  Khan nodded his approval.

  It was what he should have done right away, taken over the entire floor, but he despised that kind of thing. He knew it was easy for the media to call it affectation rather than the need for security it actually was.

  Once inside the sitting room, the door locked, Jamal and two of his men outside, others stationed at the elevators and stairwell, Khan took Laurel in his arms.

  "We haven't eaten in hours," he said softly.

  Her lips curved in a smile.

  Are you hungry?" she said, just as softly.

  His eyes grew dark. "Only for you."

  "Yes," she whispered, "oh yes."

  It was all the answer he needed.

  They'd made love in the parking garage, or as much as the restrictions of space would permit.

  He had feasted on her mouth.

  Tasted her breasts.

  Brought her to climax with his hand.

  Pleasuring her had also pleasured him, but he wanted more.

  Laurel, his lover, his woman, naked beneath him. Sobbing his name. Begging for the release only he could bring her. As he led her into the bedroom, he realized he had been waiting for this through the endless day.

  Now, with the time finally here, he didn't want to rush. He'd always enjoyed prolonging the last moments as long as possible but with Laurel, it had become more than a way for him to be in control because yes, she was right about some of the things she'd said of him, and being in control was, he knew, one of them.

  Making the moment she came apart in his arms last as long as either of them could stand it was about watching her eyes blur as he took her to the edge of the world, about feeling the thud of her heart against his, about hearing her cry his name.

  In the end, making love with her had nothing to do with technique.

  It had to do with emotion. With Laurel.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They fell asleep in each other's arms.

  When Laurel awoke, she could see the night sky through the windows.

  And she could see Khan, his back to her, his iPhone at his ear. He was wearing a dark suit, and he must have showered—his hair was still damp, droplets of water caught among the dark curls glittered like diamonds on black velvet.

  Her heart lifted.

  He was so beautiful. So incredibly masculine.

  And he was hers.

  Hers, but only for a little while…

  "Finally," he said.

  She blinked. He'd ended his call; he was coming toward her, smiling. She tried to smile in return but there was a sudden lump in her throat.

  "Sweetheart?" He sat down next to her on the bed. "Is something wrong?"

  "No," she said quickly, "only that you're all dressed and I'm not."

  "Mmm." He drew down the duvet, pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. "I like you that way. Undressed. Naked. Waiting for me."

  She wrapped her arms around him.

  "But it isn't fair. I haven't even combed my hair, but you—"

  He grinned. "And? What do you think?"

  "I think you're looking for compliments." She grinned back at him. "And you deserve one. You are one fine-looking man, Lord Khan."

  He laughed. "Thank you—I think."

  "Seriously, I didn't mean to sleep so long. You should have woken me."

  "Another five minutes, I intended to do exactly that. Otherwise, think of how foolish I'd look at a table for two at the French Room."

  Laurel drew back in his arms. "The French Room? You can't get reservations there unless you make them weeks ahead of…"

  Khan raised his eyebrows.

  "There are times," he said solemnly, "when it pays to be a sheikh."

  She laughed, dug her hands into his damp hair,
dragged his head down to hers, and gave him a smacking kiss.

  "Emperor of the Universe," she said, "and no matter what you claim, I'll bet you really do ride a big white stallion over the desert sands!"

  "Only on special occasions," he said, laughing. He gave her what began as a light, teasing kiss but it grew deeper as her lips warmed and softened beneath his, until finally he groaned and lifted his head. "If I keep doing this, we're never going to get to the restaurant. And I want to show you off."

  "Show me…" Laurel's eyes widened. "But you can't! I mean, you're wearing a suit—"

  "And you're wearing nothing." She felt her skin heat under his gaze. "It's a beautiful outfit, sweetheart," he said softly, "but I suspect I'd have to bloody far too many noses if I permitted you to wear only that."

  "Permitted me?" She fluttered her lashes at him. "Now I'm certain about that white horse."

  "There are some things that are more than tradition," he said, his voice rough. "When a woman belongs to a man—"

  The idea thrilled her. The words upset her.

  "People belong to themselves," she said.

  He nodded. "Yes. Of course. I only meant…"

  "I know what you meant," Laurel whispered, lifting her face for his kiss.

  After a long moment, he sighed and gathered her into his arms.

  "I could hold you this way all night," he said softly. He drew back a little and flashed the smile she loved. "But then, we'd miss dinner."

  "Dinner at the French Room! There's no way. Don't shake your head! I can't possibly wear jeans to—"

  "All taken care of."

  "What do you mean?"

  He rose from the bed, stood with his arms folded, looking not just gorgeous but extremely pleased with himself.

  "I think you'll find something more suitable in the dressing room."

  She stared at him. Then she rose from the bed, too, snagged a hotel robe from the chair, slipped it on…

  "Ohmygod," she whispered, as she stepped into the adjoining room. "Khan? What…?"

  "I had to guess at the sizes. Well, not exactly. I checked your clothes. Your shoes. But I did have to guess at the style and color and… "Damn. He had paid for women's clothes and jewels before; it was what a man did for his mistresses—but he had never actually chosen those things for them. The women did that themselves.