“Wait! Ms. Nelson, I would like to speak to you. I am temporarily without an assistant. As I’m in your country for the next two weeks, I wondered if you would consider working for me until I leave.”
“This is ridiculous,” Bambi said, stamping her high-heel-shod foot. “I’m beautiful. She’s not. In fact, she’s—”
Dora winced and braced herself for the insult, but it wasn’t forthcoming. She realized that Khalil had motioned to two men standing by the entrance to the terminal. She hadn’t noticed them before, but they came over and took Bambi by the arms.
“Stop,” the blonde called as she was led away. “You can’t do this to me. Khalil, I know you want me. We’ll be great together. Khalil, no. You’re so rich and I—”
The glass door cut her off in midsentence. Dora breathed a sigh of relief. Khalil did the same.
“A most distressing woman,” he said. “As I was saying, would you consider a temporary job? The pay is generous. Five thousand a week.”
She blinked. “Dollars?”
“Yes, of course.”
It was more than she made in a month back in Los Angeles.
She looked around the airport. Khalil’s job was a gift from heaven, and miracles had been in short supply lately. She nodded. “Sure. I’ll do it, on the condition that I can have an advance so I can buy myself some clothes.”
He took his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket and peeled off several hundred-dollar bills. “Here.” He handed her the money. “This is for you. As far as the clothes, we’ll call from the car, and you can have what you need delivered to the hotel.” He flashed her a smile. “Consider it a signing bonus.”
Dora felt all the blood rush out of her head. It wasn’t the sight of the money or the fact that her problems had been, at least temporarily, solved. It was the impact of his smile. The contrast of dark skin against white teeth, the way his lips had curved up at the corners. He’d been transformed from terrifically handsome to absolutely irresistible.
Just then, a long, dark limo pulled up next to the jet. The two men returned from their escort duties in time to hold the rear door open for Khalil and herself.
In her career as an executive secretary, Dora had found herself traveling in style a time or two, but never before in the company of a prince. She slid across the smooth leather seat to the far side of the vehicle. One of the suited men stepped in next and sat facing her. Khalil settled onto the bench seat next to her. The last suited guy—was he a bodyguard?—got in next to the driver.
They pulled away in a matter of seconds. Dora found herself fighting a smile and then laughter. Just that morning she’d been in her own apartment in Los Angeles, planning her day, expecting to be married at the end of the month. Now she was in New York, in a limo with an El Baharian prince. She’d lost her purse, her fiancé and her dignity. Yet all she wanted to do was laugh. Was it hysterics or simply relief that she wasn’t going to be spending the night on a bench at the airport?
Khalil popped open the top of the armrest he’d lowered between them and pulled out a cellular phone. “Here’s where we’re staying,” he said, handing her both the phone and a gold-embossed business card. “Phone the hotel, and ask them to recommend a boutique that can deliver clothing to you this evening, then get in touch with them, and order what you need. Have them bill my room at the hotel.”
He gave her a second card that proclaimed him as Khalil Khan, minister of resource development, El Bahar. She supposed the small crown in the top, center of the card made it clear he was a member of the royal family.
She glanced around the interior of the limo. The suited man stared out the rear window, but he could obviously hear everything that was being said. As could Khalil, not to mention the two men sitting up front. She swallowed. Oh, joy. She was going to have to order a week’s worth of clothes, not to mention lingerie in front of four strange men. It seemed as if her good fortune was never going to end.
Chapter Two
The lobby of the elegant hotel stretched up at least three stories. Dora tried not to gawk as she took in the fine furniture, the expensive rugs, and the chandeliers that sparkled like cut crystal…which they probably were.
She’d never been part of an entourage before, and the sensation was slightly disconcerting. Or maybe the attention they received had more to do with her attire than Khalil’s wealth. Dora attempted to look casual as they crossed the marble floor and headed to the registration area, but it was tough.
They were interrupted before they could reach the clerk waiting there. A small, well-dressed man bowed low before Khalil, then introduced himself as the night manager of the hotel. They were instantly whisked into the elevator, where the manager inserted a key before pushing a button for the top floor.
So the rich didn’t have to check in, Dora thought with a slight smile. How nice. They probably got to keep the plush bathrobes as well.
When the elevator doors opened, a discreet brass plaque listed only three room numbers. Dora swallowed. Three suites took up the whole floor? That wasn’t possible. Maybe there was a private club or a banquet room or something. There had to be. The hotel was huge. If there were only three suites on one floor, then they would be incredible, not to mention very large.
The manager turned left and walked a few feet before opening double doors. Khalil paused and motioned for Dora to go first. She did so, trying not to think about the fact that the sight of her bra strap and a triangle of bare flesh was anything but appealing.
She was so caught up in feeling self-conscious, she almost didn’t take in the dimensions of the main room. Then she saw the floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the city and Central Park that made her gasp in disbelief.
The living room was the size of a basketball court and decorated to befit visiting royalty. There were marble pillars and huge sofas. Original art including paintings and a nearly life-size bronze of a horse. Tucked in the corner by the window was a baby grand piano. Hallways ran both left and right. The manager pointed to the left.
“The dining room is next door, and beyond that, the full kitchen. Please let us know if you’ll require the services of a chef. At the end are the offices. We’ve installed the office equipment you requested, along with the phone lines.” He motioned to the right. “Four bedrooms, including the master suite. A light supper is set up, and several items were delivered from the boutique. We put the latter in one of the bedrooms.”
Khalil nodded. “Thank you, Jacques,” he said, barely paying attention to the other man. “That will be all.”
The manager bowed again. “It is our great pleasure to have you as our guest, Prince Khalil. My staff is here to serve you.”
“Yes. Good night.”
Dora still couldn’t believe she was in this room, listening to this conversation. She had to keep telling herself to press her lips together so that her mouth wouldn’t fall open in shock. She hadn’t known that suites like this existed, let alone ever dreamed that she might spend the night in one. Or maybe Khalil planned to give her a small room somewhere else. Who cares, she thought, suppressing a grin. Any room in this place was going to be fabulous.
Khalil spoke to the two suits, and they disappeared down the hall. Then he turned to her. “I find the bodyguards tiresome,” he said. “However, my father insists my two brothers and I are protected when we travel away from El Bahar.”
“It seems like a sound precaution,” she offered, not sure if a comment was expected.
“I suppose. They stay in the suite and accompany me when I leave. But they are discreet and won’t be in your way.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. How nice to know that the bodyguards wouldn’t inconvenience her. And to think she’d been so darned worried about that, too.
“As you heard, your clothes are in your room. I ordered a light supper. That should be in your room, as well. I would like to begin our work day promptly at eight. The office is over that way.” He pointed to the hallway on the left.
&n
bsp; “I’ll be there,” she told him. “If I get lost, I’ll phone for one of the maids to show me the way.”
“I think you’re intelligent enough to find it on your own.”
As he spoke, he smiled at her. She suddenly found herself slightly breathless and had to clear her throat before she could speak.
“I’ll do my best.” She took a step toward the bedrooms, then paused. “What do I call you? Your Highness? Prince Khalil?”
“Khalil is fine.”
She took another step, stopped and turned to face him. He was tall and forbidding in a deliciously handsome way. For a second, Dora wished that she was as beautiful as the Bambis of this world, that God hadn’t been quite so generous with brains and had instead given her a pretty face or a killer body. But He hadn’t, and she really didn’t want to give up her intelligence. Not after she’d gotten used to it being around.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “You were very kind to me today, and I appreciate it.”
He waved off her words. “My act of kindness as you call it, turned into my own good fortune. I would not have survived another day with that woman tormenting me. Good night, Dora.”
His final words were a dismissal, and she took the hint, heading in the direction of the bedrooms.
It wasn’t hard to figure out which was hers. Two doors were already closed and a third led to a huge master suite. She had a brief impression of a four-poster bed large enough to comfortably sleep four, a sitting area, complete with fireplace, and fantasy bathroom beyond. Then she made her way to the open door at the end of the hall.
The large space had been decorated with blues and golds. The furniture looked French and highly polished. A small table in the corner contained a room service tray, and more than a half-dozen shopping bags were lined up in front of the queen-size bed.
Dora hesitated, not sure which to deal with first, then her stomach growled, and she remembered that she hadn’t eaten since early that morning, back in her apartment in Los Angeles. She sat down and made quick work of the salad and roll, then moved on to the delicately flavored chicken, served with baby vegetables and saffron rice. She saved the gooey chocolate dessert for later.
Still sipping her glass of chardonnay, she moved to the bed and settled on the mattress. As she did so, the mirror on the dresser opposite reflected her image. She stared at herself and resisted the need to groan aloud.
She was a mess. Whatever makeup she put on that morning had either faded or drifted under her eyes, leaving her skin sallow and smudgy looking. Her short, dark hair had gone flat, and the ill-fitting wedding dress billowed out around her in a most unflattering way.
“My life is a mess,” she told her reflection and didn’t get a single argument in return.
Twelve hours earlier, she’d been happy and content, planning her wedding, preparing to travel to Boston with her boss-fiancé. Now she was alone in New York, at the mercy of a virtual stranger. Granted, the stranger was a prince, and how many people could say that about their rescuer? But he was hardly more than a temporary refuge. When her two weeks were up, she was going to have to return to the disaster that was her current circumstances. She would probably even have to face Gerald again.
The thought made her shiver, so she pushed it away. Instead of dwelling on something horrible, she bent over and pulled the first shopping bag onto the bed, then dumped the contents. She did the same with the next bag and the next until they were all empty and a huge pile of wonderfully expensive new garments surrounded her.
There were shoes and bras and nightgowns and dresses and skirts and blouses. A tissue-wrapped box contained an entire set of makeup and brushes. Another zippered case had been filled with toiletries.
She stood up and yanked off the wedding gown, tossing it into a heap in the corner, then pulled on the first dress, a soft blue silk shift that skimmed over her full hips. Delicate roses in a slightly darker shade of blue had been embroidered into the shoulder and upper bodice, drawing the eye higher on her body and actually making her looked balanced.
She looked more closely at the clothes and realized the blouses were all light or bright colors, while the skirts were more subdued. At first she marveled at the insightfulness of the boutique’s manager, then she remembered that she’d given them her sizes—the top half of her body differing from the bottom by a full size less.
Dora shrugged and returned her attention to her reflection. She’d never looked better. The boutique’s manager had created an attractive illusion, sight unseen. Then Dora glanced at the price tag hanging from the sleeve of the dress. Her mouth dropped open and she made an audible gasp.
Twelve hundred dollars.
She blinked. Twelve hundred dollars? For a dress she would wear to the office? She looked at the crumpled wedding gown, the one she’d bought on sale at an outlet.
She stared at the clothes she’d tossed carelessly on the bed and realized she didn’t dare calculate how much all this had cost. It would make her nauseous. Instead she hung them up in her walk-in closet, then washed her face, changed into a plain cotton nightgown, which probably cost more than her wedding gown, and got into bed.
As she settled back against the fluffy pillows, she thought about her day. Which was a mistake because it forced her to think about Gerald. The man was a weasel. A walking, breathing snake of a weasel. She was better off without him. Better to live alone than to live a lie.
She believed what she was saying, even as the words broke her heart. It was one thing to find out that her fiancé had never loved her, it was another to have that information thrown in her face. She rolled onto her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. Was it her? Had she been to blame? After all, in her whole life, no one had ever wanted her.
Gerald hadn’t wanted her, either, she thought as the first tears formed beneath her closed lids. He’d only pretended. He—
The sound of soft, female laughter drifted through her closed door. Dora raised her head, then relaxed as she realized her handsome prince had company for the evening. What kind of woman would Khalil Khan of El Bahar have in his bed? Someone beautiful, she thought, but the woman would have to be bright. After all, Bambi had driven him crazy.
She smiled at the memory of his encounter with the former centerfold. Who was this man who had changed her life, if only for a few days? What was he like? Was he a weasel, too, the same as Gerald? Were all men? Or was he different? Was he honorable and did he tell the truth?
She didn’t want to think about him too much, preferring not to risk her temporary job by creating a fantasy world. But if she didn’t think about Khalil, she would have to think about all she faced back in Los Angeles. At least she could cancel the wedding long distance. That would be humiliating enough, but better than doing it in person.
Tears came again, and she fought them. She was done crying over Gerald. He wasn’t worth a single one of her tears. Except, she thought as she pulled the covers higher, she’d wanted so much for him to love her. No man ever had. But he’d only pretended. And she’d believed him. It was a sad statement about both herself and her life.
“Yes, I understand, Mr. Boulier. The restaurant’s wine list is most impressive, however the prince prefers to make his own selections from his private cellar. These wines have been flown in from El Bahar. He is happy to pay the corkage fee to use his wines, but if this is too much of an insult to you and your staff, then we’ll simply have to reschedule the dinner elsewhere.”
Dora heard the spluttering on the other end of the phone, but she wasn’t listening. Instead her attention focused on the fax coming over the second line. She caught the phrase “developments in memory chips” and knew it was the information she’d been waiting for.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Boulier, what did you say?”
“Of course I understand the prince’s preference. We will be honored to accommodate his request.”
Dora gave a little smile, although she kept any note of triumph out of her voice. “I’ll be sure to info
rm him of your cooperation. The final count is thirty-five for dinner.”
“But you’re closing my restaurant, and we can easily accommodate twice that many. The price I quoted you was for seventy-five dinners.”
“I understand. However, privacy is of the utmost importance to the prince. You’ll be paid for seventy-five dinners, but you need only prepare thirty-five. Is that a problem?” She could practically hear the man tapping on his calculator keys. He was about to make a small fortune for very little work.
“Of course not,” Mr. Boulier said, his voice quivering slightly. “We’ll be ready.”
“Thank you so much for your help. See you tomorrow evening.”
She hung up the phone, then picked it up when it rang immediately. The man identified himself. Dora checked his name against a long list, then accessed the scheduling program on her computer, made an appointment, and hung up again. Before the phone could ring a third time, she flipped the switch that sent calls to voice mail and rose from her desk. On her way out, she grabbed the waiting fax, three folders and her notebook.
Khalil’s office was next to hers. He left the door open and had told her to feel free to interrupt with information or questions. In the past five days, they’d developed a rhythm in their working style, with her giving him updates once in the morning, then again in the afternoon.
She crossed the Oriental rug and took a seat in front of his desk. He gave her an acknowledging nod. “I’ll just be a minute,” he said.
“No problem.”
She let her gaze move to the open windows behind him, through which she could see south, across the city. It was a clear but cold January morning, and from this many stories up, the city was beautiful. She’d never been a fan of New York, but the past few days had changed her mind. There was so much to do. When her temporary job with Khalil ended, she just might spend a few days here on her own…in a slightly less expensive hotel, of course, she thought with a smile.
Khalil continued to type, staring at his screen with fierce concentration. As usual, he wore a well-tailored suit that emphasized the animal strength and grace of his body. Looking there for too long was a dangerous occupation, so she moved her gaze higher. His dark hair hung to the edge of his collar. He wore it brushed straight back, and the thick strands seemed inclined to obey his wishes. She rarely saw a hair out of place.
The Desert Rogues Part 1 Page 2
