The Prince of Pleasure

by YoBro

  "I won't leave you," she told him, over and over, as if it were a mantra that would somehow keep him alive.

  Doctors and nurses surrounded him at the hospital's emergency entrance; Laurel still clasped his hand as they hurried the gurney down a long, brightly-lit corridor, but when they reached a set of double doors and the doors swung open, a nurse in green scrubs stopped her.

  "This is as far as you can go," he said, not unkindly.

  Laurel leaned over Khan. His eyes were closed.

  "I love you," she whispered. "I'll always love you."

  She kissed him. Stood straight.

  And the doors closed gently but firmly in her face.

  ********

  Except for Jamal, the waiting room was empty. The place was harshly lit and smelled of disinfectant and despair.

  Laurel sat in a chair that had seen better days, hands tightly clasped in her lap.

  "They took him to—"

  "Surgery," Jamal said. "Yes. I know."

  She nodded. "There's nothing we can do now but wait."

  They fell silent. After a while, Jamal took out his cell phone, walked into the corridor and began making calls.

  She envied him for having something, anything, to do.

  More minutes dragged by.

  She thought about contacting the Wildes. They were Khan's friends; they'd surely want to know he might—that he might—that he'd been hurt, but her cellphone was back at the house.

  She had nothing with her. Almost literally nothing. She was barefoot, wearing only the white cotton nightgown.

  It didn't matter.

  Nothing mattered, but Khan.

  There was a black phone on the wall. She grabbed it, closed her eyes in gratitude when she heard the dial tone… but what good did that do, when she didn't know any of the Wildes' phone numbers?

  Wait. She did. She knew Caleb's office number. Quickly, she punched it in. The call went to voice mail—she'd expected that, at this hour—but she was counting on his having an answering service, and she breathed a sigh of relief when it picked up.

  "My name is Laurel Cruz," she told the operator. "I need to get an urgent message to Mr. Wilde."

  "What is the message, ma'am?"

  What, indeed? How did you tell someone that a man who was his friend, a man you loved, might be dying?

  In the end, she left just a couple of sentences. She thought she'd worded them cautiously—but maybe not.

  Less than twenty minutes later, all three Wildes—Jacob, Caleb, and Travis—hurried into the waiting room, unshaven, unkempt, wild-eyed.

  "Laurel? What the hell happened?"

  She stood and went toward them.

  "Khan was—he was shot.""

  "But he's alive?"

  She nodded.

  "Jesus" Travis ran his hands through his hair. "Who did this?"

  "A woman. She'd already turned up at his hotel a few days ago. That was why he—"

  "—why he wanted to move out," Caleb said grimly. "He had a stalker."

  Laurel nodded. "Somehow, she found out where he'd gone. And—and, I don't know, she must have gotten a job as a maid or a cook or—"

  "Easy," Jake said gently. "You're shaking like a leaf."

  "It was awful," Laurel whispered. "And it was my fault."

  "What? No, honey, that's not true."

  "It is. Khan jumped in front of me and—and—"

  Her legs buckled. Travis cursed, grabbed her, and eased her into a chair.

  "The only person at fault here," he said, "is the lunatic who shot him."

  Jake squatted on his haunches and took her hands in his.

  "You're ice cold," he said softly.

  "I'm all right."

  "Yeah," he said, pulling off his denim jacket and draping it around her shoulders, "I can see that." Silence. Then, he cleared his throat.

  "How bad is it?"

  "I don't know. They took him to surgery. They didn't really say—they didn't say—" She buried her face in her hands and wept.

  The Wildes exchanged looks.

  "Give us a minute," Caleb said.

  They stepped away, huddled, and spoke quietly to each other. Then Jake and Travis went out the door; Caleb went back to Laurel, pulled a chair next to hers, sat down and reached for her hand.

  "Okay," he said briskly, "here's the deal. Jake's gonna scrounge up something warmer than those scrubs. You must be freezing."

  She nodded. "Thank you."

  "Trav is gonna find out what's happening. What the diagnosis is, what doctors are involved in treating him."

  "Thank you," she said again, or would have, but tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her face. Caleb dug in his pocket, took out a spotless white handkerchief and handed it to her. "Thank you," she sobbed.

  "Man," he said, with deliberate lightness, "three thank-you's in a row. No woman's ever said anything that nice to me before."

  She gave him a wobbly smile.

  "I mean it, Caleb. Thank you for everything. For coming here so quickly. For—for knowing how to deal with this because—" Her voice broke. "—because I'm lost, just lost, I don't know what to do. If only I'd taken that bullet instead of him."

  Caleb pulled her into his arms. He held her, rocked her, and she wept until she had no more tears. Gently, he clasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

  "Khan would never have wanted that to happen."

  "I know. He's wonderful. Strong and brave and—"

  "And, you've come to mean everything to him."

  Laurel looked at him.

  "Do you think so?"

  He smiled. "I know so. When he asked me to recommend a realtor, he said some things… I'm pretty dense when it comes to that kind of stuff, Laurel, but even I could tell how much you matter to him."

  "And he matters to me. I—I can't believe how much, you know? I mean, we've only known each other for such a short time—"

  "You'll have lots more time to get to know each other, honey. I'm certain of it." Caleb smiled again. "Trust me. Khan is tough as steel. I'm not just saying that to make you feel better. When we were in college together…"

  He told her stories. Khan and the Wildes, skiing unmarked trails in Aspen during a winter break. An avalanche. Khan getting caught in a giant wave of snow and coming through, unscathed.

  Or the time at El Sueño when Khan, an avid horseman, was riding a half-wild stallion and a rabbit spooked it.

  "The horse took off like a bee-stung bull. Khan hung on for all he was worth until his head slammed into a branch the size of a full-grown tree. He ended up with a lump that looked like a doorknob, but it was the branch that broke, not his head."

  Laurel gave a wobbly laugh.

  Thank God, Caleb thought in a rush of relief, and told her more stories. After a while, he had to make them up but he had to do something to keep her from falling apart.

  And he thought how lucky his pal was, to have a woman whose love for him shone so brightly in her eyes.

  Jake returned with a big plastic bag.

  "For you," he said, handing it to Laurel.

  She peered in, saw blue scrubs, a white cotton lab coat, yellow slipper sox and green paper scuffs.

  "The latest in hospital chic," he said with a quick smile. "Go ahead. Put this stuff on. You need to get warm. Besides, don't you want to look as if you just walked out of Vogue when Khan sees you?"

  Not 'if'. When. When Khan saw her…

  "There's a bathroom just outside, in the hall."

  Laurel got to her feet.

  "If the doctor comes, if somebody shows up with news—"

  "We'll get you, I promise."

  The bathroom was small and as cold as the Arctic. She stripped off the nightgown, put on the clothes Jake had given her, looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, and almost laughed.

  It was one hell of an outfit.

  She'd have to save it and model it for Khan when she had him home again.

  If she had him home again.
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  And where was 'home,' anyway? She was living with him in a house he'd rented and no matter what she felt or what Caleb said, she wasn't a true part of his life.

  How could she be?

  He had responsibilities. Obligations. Duties. He ruled a kingdom that had, until very recently, been isolated from the world, a place where tradition was everything…

  "Laurel?"

  She jumped at the knock at the door, fumbled with the lock, flung the door open, and found Travis waiting for her.

  A tall man in scrubs stood a few feet away, deep in conversation with Jake and Caleb. Travis put his arm around her and drew her toward the little group.

  "Honey, this is one of the doctors on the team treating Khan. His name is Ben Steinberg. As it turns out, he's an old friend. Ben, this is Laurel Cruz. She's –" Travis's expression softened. 'She's a very important part of Khan's life."

  The doctor nodded.

  "Ms. Cruz."

  "Doctor." Laurel swallowed hard. "How is—how is Khan?"

  The doctor motioned toward a small sofa flanked by a couple of chairs.

  "Why don't we sit down?"

  Laurel nodded. Somehow, she made it to the sofa. Jamal entered the room, and she motioned that he should join them.

  Steinberg cleared his throat.

  "The prince took a bullet to the lung."

  Laurel had known that but hearing it was different. She made a little sound.

  Caleb took her hand.

  The bullet had gone deep. There had been significant bleeding, and that had threatened asphyxiation or drowning.

  "But neither happened," he said quickly. "Thanks to the plastic wrap. I heard that was your idea."

  "I saw it in a really bad movie."

  "Well, let's hear it for really bad movies," the doctor said, smiling. "You may have saved the prince's life."

  Saved his life. Saved his life…

  "We have him on a ventilator, but it's only a precaution. Once we're sure he's up to breathing on his own—"

  "You mean, he's going to live?"

  "Yes. He's going to be tired for a while, a little short of breath, but those things will go away. Given time and rest, he's going to be just fine."

  Laurel laughed. "He's going to live," she said.

  And then she wept, but her tears were ones of joy.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At dawn, Khan was moved from Recovery into a private room.

  Jamal had demanded a suite. The admissions clerk, backed by the director, insisted there were no such things as suites in the hospital. Jamal scoffed at that and the argument escalated until the Wildes stepped in and negotiated a compromise.

  "If you need us for any reason," Travis said when Laurel finally convinced them they could leave, "just call. You have that cell phone Jake gave you. All our numbers are in it."

  She nodded. "Thank you."

  "Clothes for you, real clothes, stuff like that, should be here any minute," Caleb said. "Can't promise you'll love 'em—my P.A. is a little older than you are, but—"

  "A little?" Jake rolled his eyes. "She's one hundred, if she's a day, and she's a battleax." He smiled. "But she has a good heart."

  "Whatever she brings will be fine. I can't thank you enough."

  "Hey," Travis said lightly, "'what are friends for?"

  She went to all three men, gave each a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug.

  "He's gonna be fine," Caleb said gruffly. "I'm sure of it."

  "I just wish he'd—he'd wake up."

  "He will," Travis said, and grinned. "And he'll be the worst possible patient. You just wait and see."

  Laurel rode to the lobby with them, hugged them again as they left. She detoured to the reception desk and, as luck would have it, there was a package waiting for her from Neiman-Marcus.

  She went into the nearest ladies' room, opened the package, found underwear, a cotton T-shirt, a light cardigan, jeans and sneakers inside, all in the right sizes and even in colors she'd have selected herself.

  It was a relief to take off the hospital scrubs and replace them with real clothes; somehow, it distanced the promise of today from the horror of last night.

  The room the hospital had finally assigned Khan was at the end of a short corridor. The compromise the Wildes had negotiated left the rooms to either side empty, with the assurance that they would remain that way unless there was urgent medical need for them.

  "But my master is a king," Jamal had said, over and over.

  Such imperious determination! Such a stubborn, uncompromising attitude!

  Laurel was sure Khan would have disapproved but it offered disturbing insight into what her lover had told her about how slowly some things changed.

  Still, she didn't give a damn about that.

  She cared only for now, and what was happening to Khan, who lay in the hospital bed, still unconscious from the anesthesia that had been used during surgery, still breathing through the ventilator.

  Tubes and needles pierced his flesh.

  He was a king, walking a line between the past and the present, but except for the night they'd met, she saw him only as a man.

  A man she knew she loved.

  Jamal loved him, too, in his own way. She understood that, just as she also understood that he didn't want her there.

  He looked at her with disapproval etched into his face, spoke to her with the sound of it in his voice. She could almost feel his dislike, and every instinct warned that it was only a matter of time before he showed it.

  She was right.

  In mid-afternoon, he walked over to her—she was sitting in a chair next to Khan's bed—and cleared his throat.

  "Ms. Cruz?"

  Laurel looked up.

  "Yes?"

  "It is kind of you to stay."

  The key was to be as polite as he was.

  "It is good of you to say so," she said pleasantly, "but I'm not trying to be kind. I'm here because I want to be."

  His already thin smile narrowed.

  "I am sure you are exhausted and in need of rest."

  Meaning, as far as he was concerned, she had no place here. She was an outsider, and, as such, she was unwelcome.

  "I'm sure you are, too," she said, still pleasantly.

  "But I must be here. The king is my responsibility."

  "I must be here, too. It's what I want, and what I think the prince would want."

  "He is my king. I know him well."

  "You know him as a king. I know him as a man."

  "You know him in the same way other women have known him."

  The gloves were off. Laurel bit back her anger.

  "I am not 'other women,' Jamal. I am me. I suggest you remember that."

  Jamal stared at her. Then he inclined his head. It was a small victory but a victory none the less…

  Except, there was truth to it.

  Khan would have had other lovers. Many of them. What woman wouldn't want to lie in his arms?

  But what they'd found together was different. He'd said as much, and each time they'd made love, her heart had told her the same thing.

  Was that what made Jamal so hostile? Did he sense there was more to this affair than sex? Because she knew, without question, that there was.

  Maybe she could win him over. Ask him about Altara, about his people—except, she wasn't in the mood for small talk. Something more immediate, then.

  "Jamal?"

  He had gone back to the door, where he'd insisted on standing, motionless, for the past hours.

  "Yes?"

  "Before the ambulance came, the prince said something to me. He said…" She thought back to those terrifying moments, when it had seemed that Khan might die, and repeated the words as best she could. "He said, a'lanai'imata."

  Jamal said nothing.

  "The words are Altaran, aren't they?"

  "Yes."

  "Then, perhaps I'm saying them wrong."

  "You are saying them correctly."

  "Wh
at do they mean? They seemed important."

  "It is—how do you say it? It is a phrase. A way of offering thanks. It means—it means, 'I am grateful for your help.'"

  Laurel blinked. "That's it?"

  "That is it. My master has always been unfailingly polite, even at the worst possible times."

  She nodded. Polite, for sure—but the last thing she wanted was Khan's gratitude. She knew it was foolish but she'd put so much more meaning in the whispered words than an expression of thanks…

  'Is that all, Ms. Cruz?"

  Laurel moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Yes, thank you. That's all."

  "I am going to speak with my men. If you need me, I shall be down the hall."

  She smiled, assured him she would remember that, but they both knew that the only thing she needed was Khan.

  ********

  Khan's private duty nurse asked if it was okay to take her lunch break. Laurel said that was fine.

  Actually, she was grateful for the chance to be alone with Khan for the first time since he'd been shot.

  She had been holding his hand. Now, she brought it to her lips and kissed it.

  "I'm here, sweetheart," she said softly. .

  Of course, he didn't answer.

  His lashes lay dark against his stubbled cheeks; his breathing was still not his but that of a machine. He looked pale and exhausted.

  Could he hear her? She hoped so. She wanted him to know that she wouldn't leave him, that he wasn't alone…

  That she loved him.

  She'd never thought much about saying those words to a man.

  Her life was busy and full; she had a career she adored and there hadn't seemed room in it for anything else, but Khan had changed everything.

  That he hadn't yet said he loved her didn't matter.

  Her heart told her that he did—and really, even if he never said the words, that wouldn't change what she felt.

  Last night had reinforced, with brutal reality, the terrible lessons of her childhood.

  Happiness can be torn from your grasp at any moment. The trick was to make the most of it while you could.

  "Ms. Cruz?"

  Laurel looked up. Jamal was back.

  "Ms. Cruz, you must leave the room."

  "We've been all through this. I'm staying."

  "The Altaran ambassador has flown in. He is coming to see my master."