by YoBro
********
Khan had said he had his own plane. That wasn't so unusual among the rich. The Wildes had planes, as did several of the senator's clients…
What Khan had was a Boeing747.
"This," she said, "This is your plane?"
"I know"
She looked at him. He sounded uncomfortable and looked it, too.
"My father purchased it, not I."
"It's—it's—"
"Showy. Ostentatious."
What she'd meant was that it was big. It was a perfect example of that favorite kids' word. .Humungous.
"I hate the damned thing," he said. "I have it on the market but so far, no takers."
"I bet," she said, her voice faint. How many people in the world could there be who could afford to buy a plane like this?
A crew of three greeted them when they boarded. Two men and a woman, all in well-tailored pale grey uniforms.
"Sir. It's good to see you looking so well."
"Thank you, Mark. Laurel, this is Captain Carter. Mark, this is Ms. Cruz."
The pilot smiled and shook Laurel's hand.
"And this is Captain Taylor, Mark's co-pilot and navigator." Laurel started to extend her hand to the man standing beside the pilot. Khan deftly turned her toward the woman.
After more handshakes and an introduction to the cabin attendant, Khan led her toward a grouping of sofas and chairs in what would have been the first-class section of the 747. Jamal and his men had settled into seats in the closed-off rear compartment.
"Gotcha," Khan said softly.
"I don't know what you mean," Laurel said with wide-eyed innocence, but she couldn't keep from laughing. "Okay. One point for your side. A woman co-pilot? And a guy as flight attendant? Not your father's crew, I bet."
"No. I hired them."
"Was Jamal horrified?"
Khan grinned as they settled into a glove-leather loveseat.
"Not as much as some of my council members."
"To which you replied…?"
"Let's just say it turned into an interesting lesson in 21st century employment practices."
"Seatbelts, please, Lord Khan. Ms. Cruz."
The flight attendant waited until they'd complied. Once he'd gone back up the aisle, Laurel leaned closer to Khan. The opportunity was too good to waste.
"So," she said softly, as the engines began to whine, "you do know something about gender equality."
Khan raised one dark eyebrow. "All right. Let's have it."
"You called my boss."
"I did, yes."
"To get his approval about something that involved me."
"Yes, again. I wanted to ease the way, if that had been necessary and…" He met her gaze and sighed. "Damn. It was yours to do, not mine."
She'd been primed for a fight, or at least an argument. She hadn't expected him to look so contrite.
"I am sorry, sweetheart."
She hadn't expected an apology, either.
"I think," he said, "that I may yet have much to learn about gender equality."
How could she not smile at that?
"That's all right," she said softly. "I'll teach you."
He put his hand under her chin, lifted her face to his, and kissed her with slow, sweet thoroughness.
"Did I tell you that I have a private bedroom on board this plane?"
Her lips curved an inch from his.
"I think you might have mentioned it."
"It's the perfect refuge for a man recuperating from an injury."
"What about for the woman with him?"
He kissed her again, his lips moving gently against hers.
"Even better."
"Ah. Well, you'll have to show it to me."
"As soon as we can take off our seat belts." He laughed softly. "All we have to hope is that the plane reaches the correct altitude before I do."
********
His bedroom was elegant, a sophisticated man's interpretation of a place both serene and private.
A bed, covered in austere black and white, took up most of the space. Drawers and cabinets were built into the walls. The bathroom made up for its modest size with its use of white tile and a glass-enclosed shower.
A painting hung on the wall behind the bed. In it, a graceful nude stood beside a basin of water and dried herself languorously with a towel.
Laurel looked at it and swung toward him. "Degas," she said, with delight.
Khan nodded.
"Oh, it's the perfect choice for this quiet oasis."
His face lit. That was how he thought of the room, as his oasis in the clouds, where he could escape from everything, at least for a while, during what seemed increasingly endless business trips.
"And it's real?"
"No. It's a copy, done by an artist I sponsored." He cleared his throat. "I bought the original at auction a few months ago." He wanted to sound casual, hated himself for sounding boastful, but the look on Laurel's face was all a man could want. "It hangs in the new museum we built out of one of the palaces we no longer use."
"One of the palaces you no longer use, you mean."
"Yes."
She smiled at him. "You're really changing things."
"I'm trying."
"It can't be easy."
He thought of the problem awaiting him at home, of how difficult it was going to be to ease out of the bridal negotiations without ruffling too many feathers.
Was now the time to tell her about it?
"Your people are very lucky to have you."
His heart swelled.
"I am the one who is lucky," he said gruffly. "To have you." He drew her into his arms. "Laurel. We haven't talked much about Altara."
"No. We haven't."
"I've told you how beautiful it is. The mountains. The desert. The Sapphire Sea."
"I know. And I'm eager to see it all. The glass towers in the cities, the ancient villages in the foothills of the mountains…" She took a steadying breath. "But what will your people say, when they see me? Do they even know that I'm with you?"
A muscle flickered in his jaw. "My ministers, you mean?" The muscle danced again. "No."
"No?"
He saw the worry in her eyes, heard it in her voice. The problem was, he didn't have answers for her. News of the bridal arrangements had changed things.
How would she deal with what awaited him?
God, how selfish he had been, bringing her into this. He should have gone home, alone, sorted out the mess. He knew that now, he'd known it all along, but he'd been blind to doing the right thing because he could not run the risk of losing her…
"Khan? You haven’t answered my question. What will your ministers think?"
"They will think that you are beautiful."
She stiffened.
"Don't do that! I'm not some—some foolish female you can silence with platitudes."
She was right, and it was one of the things he loved about her, one of the many things he loved about her.
"Laurel."
"No." Her eyes snapped with anger. "If you're going to—to say something to—to try and turn this into a—a sexy game, don't do it because—"
"Because," he said, "this isn't a game of any kind. I know that, and I know what I will tell my ministers. It is what I should have already told you." He drew a long breath; let it slowly leave his lungs. There was a faint pain when he did; it reminded him, as if he needed reminding, of how close he'd come to losing her. "Laurel. Sweet Laurel. I love you."
What did a man expect of a woman, when he showed her his heart? Surely not tears.
" Beloved. Please, don't cry."
"I'm not crying," she said, as tears spilled down her cheeks. "Why would I cry when you've just told me you love me?"
He framed her face between his hands.
"I do love you. With all my heart. I cannot imagine living without you." He waited. She was still crying and he, a man who had never felt fear, felt the first stirrings not of f
ear but of terror. "Say something. I beg you, say—"
"I love you, too..."
Her words seemed to whisper in the air between them. He could almost see them, shining with light.
He laughed. "You love me?"
"Yes! Oh yes, yes, yes—"
He kissed her. "Say it again," he said, against her lips.
"I love you, my prince. I adore you, with all I am, all I will ever be. And I will love you, to the end of time."
********
He made love to her, there in that place of perfect serenity.
He undressed her slowly, drawing out each second as if it were spun glass. He kissed her lips, her throat. Her breasts, her belly. He knelt, put his mouth to the soft curls between her thighs, brought her to shuddering climax with his teeth and tongue and quick, clever fingers.
Still, he hadn't taken off his own clothes.
Being naked with him, stripped of everything, vulnerable to everything, was almost unbearably exciting. Still, she wanted to feel him against her. His hot mouth, his hot skin, the fullness of his erection.
Her hands went to the buttons on his shirt. She undid them, one by one. Slid the shirt off his shoulders. Saw the wound that would always remind her how close she'd come to losing him.
She rose to him. Kissed his mouth. The taut muscle over his heart.
Her hands moved lower.
To his belt.
His fly.
She undid it. He made a sound deep in his throat.
His jeans slipped down his legs and he stepped free of them.
He was wearing black Jockeys. His sex bulged against the cotton fabric; she cupped her hand over him and he groaned.
His hands went to his shorts. She stopped him.
"My turn," she whispered, and she drew them down.
He was naked. And beautiful. All hard, lean muscle. All hard, lean man.
She caressed him, watched his face as she took him in her hands and stroked his length. His eyes closed. His head fell back and as it did, she dropped to her knees before him.
He groaned again as she took him into her mouth.
She had done this for him once before. It had been the first time she'd ever done it, ever wanted to, and now, when he tried to stop her, she wouldn't let him. She learned quickly what pleased him, how to use her lips, her tongue, and she would have taken him to completion but he said her name, reached for her, drew her to her feet, and tumbled onto the bed with her.
"I want to be inside you," he said, and entered her on one long, deep thrust.
When she shattered and came apart, he came apart with her.
And he knew that he was the luckiest man who had ever lived.
********
They slept and woke, made love and slept again.
And, as Laurel lay dreaming in his arms, he decided that not preparing her for what lay ahead was cowardly. He knew how she felt about tradition but she would understand diplomacy, and that the arrangements that had been made, without his knowledge, would require the utmost diplomacy to undo.
I should tell her now.
But she was sleeping, her face peaceful, and he'd noticed a tension in her the last couple of days.
The conversation he dreaded could surely wait a little longer.
When she awoke, he told himself, he'd tell her then.
But when she sighed and stretched and blinked her eyes open, all he wanted was to kiss her. And when they were somewhere far over the Atlantic, the moment seemed wrong for a serious discussion of something unsettling and right for an elegant, moonlit dinner in the bedroom that had become their private world.
He came closest to telling when the plane landed in Paris to refuel, but she had a million questions about the city and he held her hand and told her how it would be the next time they came here.
"We'll stay at my flat near the Palais Royal," he said. "We'll walk along the Seine, and we'll eat at an amazing little lace I know near L'Opéra, and then we'll fly on to London or wherever you like. I want to show you the world." He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Sweetheart. About the next few days…"
She put her hand lightly over his mouth.
"I know it won't be easy," she said. "I mean, your ministers will be—will be surprised. But we'll get through it."
His heart filled with love.
"A'lanai'imata, sweetheart," he said softly.
"You said that to me before. Do you remember? It was the night you were shot."
"Did I?" He smiled. "Amazing. I was probably only half-conscious and yet my heart knew what my brain had not yet figured out." His smile tilted. "It means, I love you.'"
She blinked. "Does it always mean that?"
"Of course. Always. What else could it possibly mean?"
She thought back to that night, to what Jamal had said the words meant.
"Laurel? What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she said, "nothing at all."
He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. "Say you love me again. In Altaran."
She smiled. "A'lanai'imata," she whispered, and his logical plan to do the logical thing and tell her of the difficulties awaiting him fled in his desire to make her his.
********
Hours later, Khan woke her with a kiss.
"Sleepyhead," he said softly, "time to open your eyes. We land in fifteen minutes."
Laurel sat up against the pillows. Sunlight filled the bedroom. Khan was sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, dressed in…
Dressed in flowing white robes. A white headdress. A curved, bejeweled dagger was tucked into a leather sheath at his waist.
For a heartbeat, he was a stranger.
"It's called a djellabah," he said, as if he could read her mind.
"I know what it's called. I just didn't—I didn't expect—"
"You didn’t expect to see me in a dress."
He was trying to make her smile and she knew it. And, really, what was so difficult about seeing him in the djellabah? If anything, it emphasized his masculinity.
"You just—you look so different," she said. "That's all."
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll be back in jeans and suits soon enough. This is for tradition only, and because my people will make a little fuss over having me home again"
"Does that happen each time you go away?"
"Well, no. It's only that…" He cleared his throat. "The media got hold of the story about the shootings."
Laurel bit her lip.
"So, everyone knows. About what happened."
He nodded. "Don't look so upset, sweetheart. More exciting things happen in any major city every day of the week. A little brush with—"
"With death," she said quickly. "You almost died because of—"
Khan silenced her with a kiss.
"You are a woman worth dying for," he said in a low voice.
"Don't say that! Please. If you had—if I had lost you—"
"But you did not lose me, and I did not lose you. I never will."
There was a gentle bump as the wheels of the plane touched the runway. Laurel shoved aside the sheet and comforter.
"It'll take me a few minutes to—"
Khan rose to his feet. In his white robes and headdress, he seemed to fill the room.
"There is no rush. You are not leaving the plane with me."
She stared at him. "Why not?"
"There is a—a ceremony. I have not the time to explain it now. Those who have come to greet me are waiting."
She scrambled up against the pillows, opened the window shade an inch, and looked out.
Dark blue mountains defined the horizon. Closer, the runway shimmered beneath the glare of a bright yellow sun. But what made her catch her breath was the line of white-robed men on horseback who waited, motionless, alongside the plane.
"Who are those men?"
"They are my escort."
She stared at him. "Horsemen? In robes?"
"It is because of what happened. The incident. They are
showing me respect. Later, when I see you again—"
"You should have told me."
"I did tell you. Tradition is important to my people."
"Yes, but—but this isn't what I expected…"
The truth was, it wasn't what he'd expected, either. The foolish display of pomp and circumstance. The horses and men dressed like extras in a bad movie, when half a dozen Jeeps and a handful of men in suits would normally have met him.
"Khan?" Laurel laid her hand on his arm. "Let me go with you."
"No." He spoke harshly. He hadn't meant to, but he was angry and growing more angry by the minute. At the theatrical display outside the plane, at the clumsy matchmaking…
At himself.
He hadn’t handled things well.
He should have anticipated that word would get out about the shooting, and that someone would get the brilliant idea to greet him with full ceremony. He should have come home alone and smoothed the way before bringing the woman he loved to Altara.
Instead, he had been selfish and now, all he could do was try to protect her from prying eyes and speculation until all the nonsense was out of the way.
"No," he said, more gently. "Get dressed, shalal. Jamal and some of his men will escort you from the plane. They will take you to my summer palace, in the mountains. I will join you there as soon as I can."
Fear beat its wings in Laurel's throat. Too much was happening, too fast.
"Laurel." Khan bent down, threaded one hand through her hair, drew her head back, and kissed her, hard enough to make her gasp. "Just remember that you are my woman."
A second later, the door closed after him, and she was alone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jamal and three of his men were waiting when Laurel left the plane. She'd half expected him to have a horse ready for her but, of course, he didn't.
A small convoy of four shiny black Jeeps stood a few yards away.
"Ms. Cruz," he said courteously, "are you ready to proceed?"
She nodded, but her thoughts were with Khan. The column of horsemen was out of sight but when she shaded her eyes against the sun's glare, she could see a rooster tail of dust that marked its progress.
She'd watched Khan's ceremonial homecoming from the plane.
