She waited in line to get a glass of champagne, then sipped the bubbly liquid. People stood in groups around her, talking loudly. Some of the conversations were in English, but many were not. She recognized a few of the languages.
She moved closer to a large plant and wished she hadn’t agreed to the high-heeled sandals Victoria had insisted on. She’d only been at the ball a few minutes and her feet already hurt.
Maggie glanced around to make sure no one was paying any attention to her, then she eased back behind the plant, slipped out of her shoes and bent down to grab them. She’d just started tucking them out of sight in the planter when someone came up behind her and said, “I’m not sure the king would approve.”
She spun and saw Qadir standing behind her. His expression was stern, but humor gleamed in his eyes.
“They hurt my feet,” she told him.
“Then make sure you hide them so no one can find them.”
She laughed and slipped the shoes under a couple of large leaves.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.”
“Have you danced yet?”
“No.”
Before she could explain she didn’t know how, he’d taken her glass from her and set it on a nearby tray, then led her toward the dance floor.
“I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” she admitted.
He pulled her into his arms. “I am good enough for both of us.”
He was warm and strong and held her securely. She rested one hand on his shoulder, her tiny evening bag held in her fingers. Her other hand nestled in his. He moved purposefully, guiding her with a confidence that allowed her to believe that maybe she could dance after all.
“See?” he said.
“Don’t test me with anything fancy. Not unless you want people pointing and laughing.”
He chuckled. “Are you always so honest?”
“Most of the time. I try to be.”
“You are charming.”
“Really?” The word came out before she could stop it. “Sorry. I meant to say thank you.”
“So polite.”
“It’s how I was raised,” she told him. “You’re very nice, too.”
“Less arrogant than you’d imagined?”
“Something like that. Although you have your imperious moments. Am I allowed to say that?”
“Tonight you can say anything.”
Was he flirting with her? Was that flirting?
She wanted to believe it was. After spending her entire life as a tomboy, it was nice to be girly for once. Not that she would want to make a habit of all the torture Victoria had put her through.
“I like your country,” she said. “The parts I’ve seen are very beautiful.”
“The city is more modern than many parts of El Deharia. Out in the desert the people still live as they once did.”
“I think I like my modern conveniences too much for that,” she admitted.
“I agree. One of my brothers has chosen to live there permanently, but not me. I, too, want my conveniences.”
They moved together in time with the music, swaying and sliding and turning together. She stumbled once, but he caught her against him. Then they were touching from shoulder to knee, pressed intimately as they moved.
She raised her gaze to his, not sure if this was allowed or appropriate. He was a prince, after all. But he didn’t seem to mind and she found herself enjoying the contact, maybe more than she should.
It was the dance, she told herself. The night, not the man. But the faint tingles in the pit of her stomach warned her that maybe it was the man. Just a little.
“Are you homesick?” he asked.
“Not tonight.”
“But other days?”
“A little. I think being here has been good for me.”
“New adventures?”
She nodded. Tonight was certainly that.
The song ended. Maggie felt a jolt of disappointment as Qadir released her, followed by a distinct coolness. As if all the warmth had faded away.
She found herself wanting him to pull her close again. She’d liked being in his arms.
Victoria’s words of warning flashed into her brain. While Maggie didn’t agree that she led with her heart, she was smart enough to realize that regardless of how good Qadir looked in a tux and how much she’d liked dancing with him, he was light-years out of her league. All tingles aside, nothing was going to happen.
She started to excuse herself when they were interrupted by a tall, older man who looked oddly familiar.
“There you are,” the man said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Father, may I introduce Maggie Collins. Maggie, my father, King Mukhtar of El Deharia.”
Chapter Four
K -king? As in king?
Maggie stood frozen, not sure if she should curtsy—not that she knew how—or bolt. Worse, she was barefoot. She couldn’t meet the king when she wasn’t wearing shoes.
“Lovely to meet you,” the king said, not even looking at her. “Qadir, I want you to meet Sabrina and her sister Natalie. Their uncle is a duke. British, of course. Well-educated.” The king moved closer to Qadir and lowered his voice. “Pretty enough, they seem to have decent heads on their shoulders. Their older sister already has two children, so we know they’re breeders.”
Maggie still couldn’t move but the shock had been replaced by humor. She was terrified that if she did anything at all, she would break out into hysterical laughter.
It wasn’t just the king’s matter-of-fact description of the two potential brides that made her want to giggle—it was the look of long-suffering on Qadir’s face.
Apparently being a prince had more than its share of stresses.
When she was sure she could control herself, she eased back, pausing only to look at the two young women hovering just out of earshot. They were pretty, she thought humorously, and hey, known breeders. When one had to worry about the continuation of the royal line, that was probably important.
She was about to turn away when Qadir glanced at her. “You’re not leaving.” It sounded a whole lot more like a command than a question.
“Um, surely you want to dance with one of the duke’s nieces,” she murmured. “Sabrina is especially lovely.”
“Exactly,” the king said, smiling at her. “That’s what I thought.”
Qadir stepped closer to her and spoke quietly. “You have no idea which one is Sabrina.”
“They’re both very pretty. And reasonably intelligent. What more could you ask for?”
He started to say something else, but his father pulled him away.
Maggie took another step back as she watched the introductions. She was willing to admit to a slight twinge of envy, but this was for the best. Better to remember who Qadir was and where he was going than to allow a single dance to mess with her head.
Still, it had been a very nice dance, she thought wistfully. It had reminded her she was still alive and capable of tingles. Which probably meant she was nearly over Jon. A good thing, if a little sad.
She watched as Qadir spoke with both women, then led one off to dance.
“Good luck,” she murmured. “It’s not going to work.”
Unfortunately as she spoke, the music faded and one of the sisters—Natalie, she would guess—flounced away.
“What is not going to work?” the king asked Maggie.
“I, ah—” She looked around frantically for a way to escape. “Ah, nothing.”
“It is not nothing. It is important that all my sons marry. As they seem to be in no hurry to find a bride on their own, I am forced to interfere.”
Maggie remembered what Victoria had said about the beheading and hoped the other woman had been kidding.
“You can’t lead a woman to him like that,” she said cautiously. “Not that your choices aren’t lovely, lovely young women.”
The king glared at her. “I assume you have a reason for saying that.”
“Because men like the chase.” Jon had told her all about it several times. They’d laughed about his friends and their disastrous love lives, secure in the comfort of their own relationship. “Did you see the movie Jurassic Park?”
“No.”
“You should rent it. Or have it delivered or something. Men are like the T-Rex. They don’t want their next meal handed to them. They want to hunt it down. By meal I mean—”
“Women. Yes, I understand the analogy.” He looked out at the couples dancing then turned back to her. “You’re sure of this?”
“Sort of.” At the moment she wasn’t sure of anything except she really wanted to be done talking to the king.
“Who is he hunting now? You?”
“What? No. No. Not at all. I work for him.”
The king frowned. “Doing what?”
“Restoring a car.” She held out her hands to show him the scars and calluses. “See? I’m not anyone. Really.”
“For not anyone, you’re very free with your opinions. Come with me.”
He started walking without once glancing back to see if she was keeping up with him. Maggie entertained a brief thought at ducking away, then she reminded herself she lived at the palace. Total escape was impossible and she really did want to keep her job.
The king stopped and motioned her forward.
“Do you know any of these people?” he asked.
She looked at the unfamiliar faces, then shook her head.
What followed was a rapid set of introductions to people she’d only read about in the newspaper, including two American senators, a impossibly thin starlet and the Russian ambassador to El Deharia.
Maggie murmured greetings and tried to ignore the fact that she was barefoot. Thank God her gown trailed onto the floor and no one could see. Still, she couldn’t help covering one foot with the other, as if to hide the truth.
Conversation flowed for a few minutes, ranging from a recent Grand Prix time trial to the continuing rise in oil prices. Maggie kept her mouth firmly closed and wished for someone to rescue her. Unfortunately she was on her own.
Then the Russian ambassador, a handsome older man, smiled at her. “May I have this dance, Miss Collins?”
Everyone looked at her. Maggie did her best not to blush. “Thank you, sir. It would be a pleasure.”
At least she hoped it would be. If he danced as well as Qadir, she wouldn’t have a problem.
He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. The music began and they were moving together. It wasn’t as easy as it had been with Qadir, and not nearly as exciting, but she didn’t step on him or stumble.
“You are friends with the king?” he asked.
“We’ve just met.”
“So you are not his mistress?”
Maggie did stumble over that. She steadied herself. “No.” The next word should have been ick but that wasn’t appropriate. “I work here, at the palace, Mr. Ambassador.”
“I see. You may call me Vlad.”
Did she have to?
“I am a powerful man, Maggie. We could be good for each other.”
Her shock must have showed because he chuckled. “You are surprised by my honesty?”
Not exactly, she thought. Was it just her or was the whole thing really tacky?
“Mr. Ambassador—”
“Vlad.”
She ignored that. “Mr. Ambassador, I’m afraid you have the wrong idea about me.”
She had plenty more she wanted to say, but just then Qadir appeared at her side. “Maggie. There you are. Our dance is next.” He smiled at the Russian. “Do you mind if I cut in?”
Vlad stepped back. “Of course not.”
Qadir drew her against him. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He waited. She sighed. “I think he was coming on to me. I’m not sure.”
“He was.”
“Yuck.”
Qadir laughed. “He would not be flattered by your reaction.”
“I barely know the man.”
“He is powerful. For many women that is enough.”
Then those women needed to get a life, she thought. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“You can start with no. That usually works.”
“I’ll remember that.” Not that she was likely to run into any more ambassadors. “How was your dance with Sabrina?”
Qadir’s gaze narrowed. “Are you mocking me?”
“Maybe a little. But she is a known breeder.”
He moved them off the dance floor and out onto a balcony. The stone floor was cool on her bare feet.
“For you this situation is amusing,” he grumbled. “For me it is anything but. I do not want an arranged marriage to a sensible young woman from a good family.”
“Then what do you want?”
Qadir didn’t answer. Was it that he didn’t know or was he simply not prepared to share his private thoughts with her?
“Can the king force you into marriage?” she asked instead.
“No. But he can be difficult.”
“He cares about you and it’s not totally crazy that he wants his sons married. I’m sure he’s more than ready for grandchildren.”
“You’re taking his side?” Qadir asked.
“No. I’m pointing out that while his tactics are a little obvious, he means well. He cares, which should be worth something.”
“If he were to turn his considerable interest on getting you married, I suspect you would change your mind.”
“Maybe,” she murmured thinking she wouldn’t mind a little meddling from her own father. It would mean he was still around to bug her. Right now that sounded lovely.
“So he wants a good breeder,” she said, “and you want to fall in love?”
“Love is not required. I would settle for mutual respect and shared interests.”
Neither sounded very romantic, Maggie thought, but then she wasn’t royal. She wanted a lot more than that. Passion, excitement. She wanted to be swept away. She wanted a deep love that would last forever.
Qadir walked around the edge of the dance floor, both watching Maggie dance with his cousin and avoiding Sabrina, Natalie and any other woman of whom his father would approve.
Nadim danced with Maggie as he did everything in his life—with great competence and little real interest.
Nadim was sensible. In truth he lacked personality. Even as a child, Nadim had been boring.
Qadir, As’ad and Kateb had been close, always getting into trouble together, playing tricks on unsuspecting palace staff and causing their father to constantly threaten them with banishment. Nadim had always followed the rules.
Even now, as the song ended, Nadim bowed politely to Maggie, then turned away, never once noticing her bare feet or the way she adjusted her dress to make sure no one caught sight of her toes.
His gaze shifted to the left where he saw Natalie—or was it Sabrina?—glancing around the room as if searching for someone. He moved deeper into the crowd.
While he was pleased his brother As’ad was celebrating his engagement to Kayleen, Qadir wished only for the ball to be over. If he had to meet one more “appropriate” young woman, he would ride into the desert and join his brother Kateb, living in the villages, far from the palace.
It wasn’t that he objected to marriage…at least not in theory. But practice was a different matter. While he wasn’t waiting for the fantasy of falling in love, he wanted to feel something when he chose his future wife. Anticipation would be good. Pleasure.
Even a comfortable level of fondness. So far, he hadn’t felt anything.
He’d been in love once, he reminded himself, and once had been enough. He wasn’t interested in love, as he’d told Maggie, but he insisted on something more than simple disinterest in a marriage of convenience.
He saw As’ad bend down and say something to Kayleen. They looked happy. Not only had his brother found the right woman, but he’d managed to get their fath
er off his back. If only Qadir could do that, as well.
What he needed was an engagement, he told himself. Or at the very least, a serious relationship. While he knew dozens of women who would be interested, he found himself not the least bit intrigued by any of them. One of life’s ironies, he supposed.
He saw Maggie move toward the buffet. She ignored the caviar and went right for the tiny quiches. She popped one in her mouth, then licked her fingers.
The action was quick and unstudied, yet he found it erotic. The flick of her tongue against her skin made him think of doing the same to her himself. All over.
The heat that accompanied the thought was nearly as surprising as the image now planted in his brain. Maggie? Sexy?
She was competent and he enjoyed speaking with her. He liked teasing her and the sound of her laugh, but nothing more. She worked for him. She wasn’t the type of woman who played his kind of game. She was…
Perfect, he thought as he studied her. Sensible, hardworking and not the least bit pretentious. While she hadn’t come out and said money was an issue in her life, he knew she’d wanted the job because of the high fee involved. Was she willing to sell other services that might help him distract his father?
“It’s almost like Christmas,” Maggie breathed as she stared at the stack of boxes waiting right outside her office. She’d arrived a little late this morning. The party had gone on long into the night and she’d stayed far later than she’d expected. It had made getting up with her alarm a bit of a challenge. But now that she was here, she stared at the packages and forgot to be tired.
She wasn’t sure where to start, she thought happily as she dug through her desk for a utility knife to slit open the first box. There were so many choices, so many possibilities.
“You look happy.”
She turned and saw Qadir walking toward her. While the tux was gone, he still looked pretty darned good in his tailored suit.
“I love fast delivery,” she said, pointing to all the boxes. “It’s like a miracle. I don’t know where to start. There are so many possibilities. Headlights, gears, pistons, brackets.”
He stared at her for a long time. “You’re a very unusual woman.”
The Sheik and the Pregnant Bride Page 5
